The white cliffs of Dover have a very special place in the collective imagination, even for those who have never seen them. Nat Burton, who wrote Vera Lynn's famous song about the cliffs, was an American who had never crossed the Atlantic, let alone the Channel. We should harness their emotive and symbolic power, as we should with many other features of our coast and countryside, to help build a sense of togetherness and nationhood.
Over several decades, politicians and commentators have fretted that Great Britain has become a disunited kingdom. Last summer's riots were the most troubling sign yet that a large minority does not feel the police, authorities or even shopping centres are really theirs.
This year, the jubilee and the Olympics have papered over the cracks, providing a reassuring sense of "coming together". We'll be reminded of another such moment at the end of this month, with the 15th anniversary of the death of Princess Diana. But the truth is many of us were left baffled by the mass hysteria prompted by Diana's death, and cold by the flag-waving surrounding the diamond jubilee. Big sporting events and spectacles might give the national morale a shot in the arm, but they are too transient and taste-specific to stand as robust symbols of nationhood.
The facets of Britain fit to bind us must have two characteristics. First, they need to be deep and abiding, connecting us to the past in order that we may confidently face the future. But this conservative element needs its progressive complement, which is that they need to express forward-looking values that are inclusive and universal.
Both Gordon Brown and Tony Blair spoke of the importance of shared values rather than institutions for forging national identity. But neither prime minister found their symbolic counterparts, and simply draped the tired old union flag over anything new and exciting that could be rebranded by having "Brit" slapped on as a suffix.
However, we have the right symbols ready made in those features of the natural environment that everyone recognises as meaning "home". The coast has a particular role to play here, as Blair recognised when he linked virtues of tolerance, openness and adaptability to "our unique island geography and history".
It's this history that distinguishes the meaning of our coast from that of the Bay of Biscay or Bondi beach. Dover's cliffs call to mind the Roman invasion; the Battle of Britain; our proximity to, yet difference from, mainland Europe; and international trade and exploration, both fair and exploitative. These are reminders that our values have an ambiguous history, and they need to evolve to preserve the best of the past while enabling better from the future.
But perhaps most important, the coast is both a border and a porous point of entry, and so the cliffs remind us that we are a nation of immigrants. That is something the country still seems to be ambivalent about. On the one hand, the diversity it has created will be celebrated again at this weekend's Notting Hill Carnival. On the other, when the latest quarterly immigration statistics come out on the 30th, the general assumption will be that the lower the figure, the better the news.
But go back far enough and all of us can trace our ancestry to the other side of the water. Looking out over the port of Dover, with the endless steam of boats coming in and out, every British citizen is reminded that belonging here has never been about blood or genes. It's simply about being at home on this discrete island and being aware of the privileges and responsibilities that brings. Hence the cliffs have the rare ability to create a shared sense of identity that also fully acknowledges our differences.
The National Trust looks after 7km of the cliffs and it is raising funds to buy a critical missing 1.35km section. More than 11,000 donations, adding up to over £800k has been raised so far, suggesting that there is indeed something about the cliffs that resonates with the British. In the trust's hands, unlike other purported symbols of national pride, they remain accessible to everyone and free from corporate sponsors and governments seeking to bask in their reflected glory. But the appeal might also help shift our perceptions of the nation as well as the trust – no longer defined by stately homes, with their history of blue-blood and privilege, but with the open-spaces whose history embraces us all.