Thursday

by David Ridgway

  The station was very busy and it was considerably hard work pushing to get through the crowds. They abandoned all thoughts of using the Underground when they saw the numbers of people emerging up the stairs at the entrance. Instead, they decided to cross the river on foot and left the station.

  At lunch, Martin said that he and James would take the Land Rover down to the sea wall as soon as they finished eating. Charlie decided to join them, if only to satisfy his own curiosity of the level of the river. The wind was still strong and the rain was still falling heavily. Having experienced the conditions earlier in the morning, all were suitably dressed with warm jumpers, denims and boots plus wax jackets and heavy mufflers. They left the farmyard at ten minutes to two and drove down the track at the side of the first field. When James got out to open the gate, he could hear a strange, muffled roar. As Martin drove through, James knocked on the passenger window and shouted, “Dad! Get out here, quickly.”

  Martin put on the handbrake and got out of the vehicle, followed by Charlie. They immediately heard the same odd noise, coming from their left. They peered through the rain squalls and saw, in the direction of Southend on Sea, what appeared to be a mountain of water moving up the river towards them.

  “Good God!” he exclaimed. “Just look at that!” He pointed at the enormous wave, which was now passing in front of them. They watched it race up Hadleigh Ray, spilling over the sea defences as though they were not there and completely inundating all the land between the seawall and the railway line. The railway was built on a low embankment but, along its length, there were a number of bridges to allow access to the lower fields. There was also a series of ditches between the railway and the seawall. The sea burst through these bridges, weakening and eroding the brick structures.

  As the wave surged on towards Benfleet, it washed away parts of the embankment, leaving the track bent and buckled.

  Martin and his boys were standing next to Hadleigh Castle, an old monument left as a ruin from the days of Edward III. The water continued to rise up the hill towards them. Martin suddenly felt an extraordinary build-up of rage inside him.

  “God knows how much work I’ve put into that land and now look at it.” He pointed to the fields below the ruined railway line. They were completely covered in sullen, dark and sinister water. “The ground will be poisoned with salt and God knows what else.”

  As they continued to stare at the flood, the rain eased a little and, before them, they could see a single expanse of water, right across Canvey Island as far as the Isle of Grain on the north Kent coast. Although the water continued to rise up the slope towards them, Martin refused to move. Rather like a latter day King Canute, he remained stock still three paces in front of his sons, almost as though he was daring the sea to flush him away as well.

  “Come on, Dad,” muttered James. “There’s nothing we can do here.”

  “There’ll be plenty to do as soon as the tide turns. The sea wall will be completely buggered and probably washed away, especially where we were looking at it this morning.” He pointed in the general direction, but the wall was completely under water.

  “I can hardly believe that we were walking on it less than seven hours ago.”

  “What?” Charlie exclaimed. “You were both down there?”

  Martin turned to look at him. “What of it? The tide was out and it was important that we checked the state of the sea wall.”

  “But that – that wave thing might have come and swept you away. You were both being exceptionally reckless.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” James came to his father’s defence. “That tidal surge will have been caused be a freak weather situation. And it came now, not at low tide.”

  As they were bickering, the water was continuing to rise up the slope in front of them. Martin took two further paces towards the water. He pointed at it and muttered, “Fuck off, you bastard!” He then looked up at the sky and shouted at the top of his voice, “Fuck off, you bastard!” As though in response to his command, the water seemed to stop rising.

  After climbing up the training tower twice, Fred decided to telephone the Chief Fire Officer to see if there was any up to date information and to request any specific instructions.

  He spent the next hour or so, talking with colleagues and formulating plans, should there be any change in the river and the weather. When the Environment Agency’s warning came on the television, his colleagues called him into the common room. Why, oh why did they have to add that last sentence? he thought. If anything, official advice like that seemed designed to create panic, not to save lives.

  “Listen guys! I’ve got a feeling we’re in for a bad one here.” He looked round at his friends. “As you know, I spoke to my pal at the Environment Agency, earlier. I’ve now been onto HQ and the message is the same. Bad weather conditions in the Channel are affecting the tides and flooding is expected in the London area. But no one can specify where or how badly.” He paused and looked round at them all.

  “Most of you have families nearby. I suggest you contact them now and get them here as quickly as possible. I just feel that we have a disaster unfolding and our major purpose is to protect lives. I’m going to call Dinah, to tell her to go to the school and get it evacuated and bring all the kids here. When this fire station was built, they included features for it to withstand flooding. Come on, let’s get to it.”

  As soon as he was sure that Dinah understood exactly what she was to do, he telephoned the school, explaining that his wife would arrive very soon to assist with the evacuation of all the children and the staff to the fire station. The head teacher had already seen the Environment Agency’s message and appreciated the urgency. She assured Fred that all the staff and children would be ready to leave within thirty minutes. By midday, they all arrived at the fire station, together with a number of parents, including Rajinder and his wife. Before locking his shop, he had packed up a large number of bags with food and water.

  Fred also telephoned the manager at the Queen Victoria Seaman’s Rest on the other side of the East India Dock Road and the Salvation Army Citadel on Kerbey Street. To each in turn, he explained the message from the Environment Agency and the added information from the London Fire and Rescue Service. He suggested that the Seaman’s Rest and the Citadel should act as a temporary refuges, should the flooding in London get really bad.

  At half past one, Fred again climbed the tower. This time, he remembered to bring the binoculars. He was thankful that the rain seemed to be easing. The river, from this height, looked sluggish and dark. It was very full but, as far as he could see, there was no local flooding. He looked upriver where, beyond the King Edward VII Memorial Park, he could see Tower Bridge and the iconic skyscrapers of the city of London, the Shard, the Gherkin and others, as well as St Paul’s Cathedral and beyond them, even the top of the London Eye.

  He turned to look southwards down past the east side of the high-rise office buildings of Canary Wharf, towards the O2 Arena and the Blackwall Tunnel southern approach. There seemed to be no movement of the sullen, dirty brown water. The wind was no longer as strong and there was a sudden burst of sunshine on the southern bank of the river. He looked up at the sky. The clouds were reluctantly lifting and the day was noticeably lighter, but the feeling of foreboding remained heavy on his shoulders.

  As he turned towards the east and the Thames Barrier, he glanced at his watch. It was just after half past two. Behind him, he thought he could hear an odd, unusual mumbling sound. Cocking his ear, he turned back to face the west. This time he looked over Limehouse Basin towards Whitechapel. A movement caught his eye on the main road. He lifted the binoculars and could see people running and shouting on the Commercial Road.

  I wonder why they are running this way, he thought. If there’s going to be some flooding, they would be safer in the city because the land slopes quite steeply up from the river.

  “That’s right,” responded Dinah. Fred jumped. He hadn’t heard her coming up the to
wer, nor realised that he was talking out loud.

  “Blimey! You gave me quite a turn.” He pointed to the west. “Look there. Why are all those people running down the Commercial Road?”

  “I don’t know.” Dinah turned and looked to the east. “But what’s that noise, over there?” She pointed past his shoulders, towards the east.

  Fred looked through the binoculars towards the Thames Barrier. Now that the rain had virtually stopped, the view was remarkably clear. Just beyond the Barrier, he could see the London City Airport and, further down river, the uprights of the Queen Elizabeth II Bridge. As he looked, he saw two fountains of water erupt on the Dartford side, immediately followed by two on the Thurrock side. What the hell? he thought.

  And suddenly he saw the tidal surge, a wall of dirty black water sweeping up river towards him. Inexorably, purposefully and indiscriminately, it moved with a terrifying majesty, scouring all before it. The Rainham Marshes disappeared before his eyes, one moment an expanse of grass and muddy creeks, the next a sheet of dirty, oily water dotted with sea containers. A few moments later, on the southern side, Thamesmead and Abbey Wood were overwhelmed.

  They watched, aghast, as jetties and gantries simply disappeared under the water. They could see that there were large, sea containers being washed upstream, tumbling over and over on the crest of that awesome wave. As one tumbled into the oil depot at Barking Reach, it must have snagged a power cable. There was a flash and the whump of an explosion as spilled fuel caught fire. He put his arm round Dinah and protectively drew her to him.

  They watched, as if turned to stone, as the wave obliterated the piers of the Woolwich ferry before it swept over the Royal Docks pumping station and, aided by this access to the Gallions Point Marina, it flowed into and over the airport. Several aircraft standing on the tarmac were simply washed away, while others were swept into buildings and crushed, releasing hundreds of gallons of high-octane fuel.

  They watched, as the wave battered its way through the shopping parks at the southern end of the Barrier and through the blocks of flats at the northern end, sweeping over the man-made Thames Barrier Park. The Barrier itself now acted as a weir with the contaminated seawater surging over the top, together with containers, cars, trucks, broken derricks and general detritus plus a growing number of drowned bodies. The gates stood firm against the increasing pressure of the water and the continual barrage of the heavy containers, but major and disastrous damage was inflicted to both riverbanks, where the floating containers were destroying much of the riverside infrastructure. With most of the riverside protection now being too low, the water had immediate access to the land on both sides of the river, with such devastating effect. It swirled around both the north and south ends of the barrier, eroding the land and undermining the buildings overlooking the river.

  They watched, as Fred put his arm protectively round Dinah and pulled her closer to him, the water surging over Olympia Way and across the North Greenwich peninsula with the O2 Arena at its tip. The water poured into the Blackwall tunnels, both of which were heavy with traffic. He turned to look at the northern end of the tunnels, but the wave, after surging up the river Lea as far as Bromley Hall, had already overwhelmed them.

  They watched, as the tower blocks at Blackwall proudly withstood the onslaught. They had been built with deep foundations and strong steel frameworks. Despite this, however, the continual battering from the heavy containers in the filthy, contaminated water finally overcame the glass work at ground level. As soon as the first crack appeared, the windows shattered and water poured into the lower floors. The tower blocks effectively slowed the progress of the surge at its northern end. Just to the south of the tower blocks, however, there was no riverside barrier to stop the water spilling into and inundating South Dock. The Blue Bridge was swept away before the wave was squeezed between the tower blocks of Canary Wharf and the hotel blocks at Marsh Quay. This had the effect of increasing the power of the wave, which swept away both the South Quay footbridge and the South Docklands Railway Bridge, before re-entering the river itself at the Marsh Wall roundabout.

  They watched, with their hearts hammering in their chests, as the wave inundated and destroyed Cubitt Town, Millwall and the southern end of the Isle of Dogs, leaving only the tower blocks standing proudly, isolated and surrounded by the swirling, dirty water, their lower windows broken and their lower floors flooded.

  Suddenly, Fred turned to focus on Commercial Road. The people had stopped running and were transfixed, staring towards the river, as the wave spread over the northern riverbank towards them. The wave simply overwhelmed all those who had already passed Limehouse station and were now on the East India Dock road. It tossed some into the air, while sucking others under the surface. Either way, they drowned.

  They watched, as cars and vans were washed into the streets surrounding the fire station and deposited on the ground with total abandon. They watched, as the wave passed them by, moving with a frightening and unstoppable purpose, ever further to the west.

  After witnessing the people on Commercial Road being overwhelmed and swept away, Fred focussed the binoculars onto Tower Bridge. The south side of the Rotherhithe Tunnel was already flooded, as the wave moved on to inundate Bermondsey. All the old warehouses, lining the south bank, were swept away by the heavy containers and vehicles in the water, as the mountain of water inexorably flowed on towards Tower Bridge.

  Fred finally looked to the north. All the streets beyond the fire station, as far as the Limehouse Cut were flooded. Realising that his work was just about to start, Fred led Dinah downstairs. Together they had witnessed a devastation of the east end of London that was totally unprecedented. Even the German Luftwaffe, during the Second World War, had been incapable of inflicting so much damage in so short a time.

  David and Jackie made slow progress against the crowds. They emerged from Waterloo station and forced their way onto Waterloo Road leading to the bridge. They watched spellbound as the screaming mass of people running towards them spread all over the road, with complete disregard for the traffic and their own safety.

  “I just don’t understand why they are all wanting to get to Waterloo. If there’s going to be a flood, it will be on the south side,” he muttered more to himself than Jackie.

  “Why?”

  “Well, look at the land on both sides – try to ignore the buildings – you’ll see that the banking on the north side is much steeper.”

  Jackie looked and immediately realised that the south side of the Thames is actually very flat and low lying. She also noticed that the water level in the river was extraordinarily high. She was thankful to be on a high bridge. David took hold of her hand and pulled her towards him.

  “Come on,” he urged her. “I want to get onto the other side.”

  “Why?” she repeated.

  “I think it’ll be much safer over there.”

  “Then why are all these people running south.”

  “I don’t know. They don’t seem to be acting rationally. Come on!” he said again as he pulled her hand and started to walk to the north. “I want to get higher up, if that’s possible.”

  “Why?” Jackie asked again, as she allowed him to pull her across the bridge, surprised at his dogmatic attitude.

  “Two reasons. I want to see what’s going on and the higher we are, the safer we’ll be.”

  They started moving north again. It was no longer raining as they crossed over the river. First Blackfriars Bridge came into view followed by the twin towers of Tower Bridge. They saw Somerset House on the northern side.

  “Do you know what that is?” David asked.

  “No.” Jackie looked at the imposing stone building. “It looks like a fortress.”

  “We’ll try to get in there.”

  As they reached the north end of the bridge it was just after two o’clock. The wind was lessening and the clouds were lifting. The sun was trying to come out. They walked along the right-hand side of Lancaster Gate
, before turning onto Riverside Terrace. David saw the arched entrance on his left and they both ran towards it. No one was around and they were able to walk into the building. They headed for the stairs and then walked down a short corridor. David tried a number of doors before one opened. They went in and crossed the room to a window overlooking the river. Below them was Riverside Terrace and, further down, Victoria Embankment. To their left, they could see three ships, riding high on the swollen river – one of the tourist boats, HQS Wellington and HMS President.

  David looked further down river and saw that Blackfriars Bridge was as crowded with people as Waterloo Bridge. Even the Blackfriars railway bridge, which carries the trains to Blackfriars Station, was crowded with people. He nudged Jackie and together, further down river past the Millennium footbridge, they could see Southwark Bridge and, beyond that, London Bridge. After looking at the river for about thirty minutes, they were about to leave. The room they were in was as silent as the grave. Suddenly, beyond the window, they could hear a growling sound rather like a distant artillery barrage.

  Jackie turned to David. “Can you hear that odd noise?”

  “Yes. It seems to be coming from down river. And it’s getting louder.”

  They looked down the river and then eastwards towards the noise. In the very far distance, they could see the twin towers of Tower Bridge, just to the south of the Tower of London itself.

  As they watched, through the raised roadways of Tower Bridge, they saw the river reared up like a mountain. It suddenly burst out of the Upper Pool, through the iconic towers of the bridge and past the Tower of London itself.

  They watched as the water flooded over Bermondsey, engulfing the land around the Shard and London Bridge Station, past London Bridge and Southwark Cathedral and into the housing estates of Southwark itself. As the wave reached HMS Belfast, it ripped the ship’s moorings out of the ground and the vessel began to drift upstream, until it struck London Bridge with such force that its bow became stuck fast under the central arch. Masonry was dislodged, causing many people to fall into the water and onto the deck of the old vessel.