“Do you want a coffee?”
So we sat in the dark kitchen and listened to the transistor radio. Ted twiddled the knob backwards and forwards to find anything that was talking about the storm.
“Do you think they’ll be alright?”
“The house is well built.”
“But they’re surrounded by millions of trees and trees are coming down all over the place.”
“I’d be worried if they were on the coast, or at the top of the hill, but they’re not, they’re protected. They’ll be fine. They’re probably all sitting round the kitchen table drinking coffee listening to the radio. Just as we are.”
“I hope the boys aren’t stupid enough to try to go outside again. It sounds like it’s getting worse.”
There was nothing we could do but drink coffee, listen to the noise and the crackling radio which Ted continually retuned to try to find out what was happening.
It was a long night.
When the shipping forecast came on the radio just before 6 o’clock we listened in awe at the storm warnings and coastal reports. I knew next to nothing about the sea, despite having been born and brought up in a coastal town. Hoylake had been, as my brother Charles used to say, ‘Orpington on Sea’, a suburb of Liverpool first and foremost, not a real coastal town. But even I knew Force 7 was pretty bad, but they were talking about ‘Gusting Hurricane Force 12’.
“They said there wouldn’t be a hurricane.” I complained.
“’Hurricane force’ doesn’t mean a Hurricane it just means very, very strong.” Ted was being pedantic.
“How strong? What does ‘hurricane force 12’ do?”
It was beginning to get light and there was enough for Ted to find the books that Maureen had used to complete her crosswords. “This one will have it in.” He thumbed through the index and found the pages he wanted. “It doesn’t say what Hurricane force does.” He sounded disappointed but carried on reading. “Force 11, Violent storm, Very rarely experienced, accompanied by widespread damage.”
“What does ‘widespread damage’ mean?”
“Well Force 10 says seldom experienced inland, trees uprooted, considerable structural damage. We definitely had that.” Looking outside as the day began to establish itself we could begin to see the mess that had been the garden. “Force 9 says slight structural damage occurs, chimney-pots and slates removed. That must be what that is.” He pointed towards a pile of bricks in the middle of the lawn.
“What about Force 8?” I asked.
“Breaks twigs off trees, generally impedes progress.”
We both laughed. In the middle of the lawn was a complete tree, on its side, surrounded by bricks and slates, the remains of someone’s garden furniture. “I recognise that,” I said somewhat hysterically, “that belongs to the pub. We were sitting on that last night. It should be 100 yards away.”
“So should that.” Ted pointed to the door of the red phone box, caught up in branches leaning against what was left of the garden hedge.
“Oh my God.”
Ted took my hand and we walked through the house and opened the front door. The wind was nothing like as bad as it had been but we watched as tree branches, dustbins and rubbish were blown down the lane.
Ted shut the door. “Come back in, Annie. Let’s get back to that radio.”
‘Under no circumstances should you attempt to travel anywhere.’
‘There are no trains or buses, many roads are blocked.’
‘The area around Sevenoaks has been particularly badly hit.’
“Sevenoaks! Ted! They say Sevenoaks is particularly badly hit. Should we call the police?”
“They’ll be inundated.”
“What about Charles? Linda?” Surely they wouldn’t continue their feud against me under these circumstances. “We can try them to see if they know what’s going on?”
“I’ll try, I doubt they’d be asleep.” He picked up the phone and dialled. I noticed he knew the number without looking it up.
“No. There’s nothing. Just number unobtainable.”
There was nothing that could give either of us peace of mind. There was a continuous stream of warnings, not to go out on the roads, not to venture out of houses while trees, chimneys, roof slates were likely to fall at any time, not to try to get to work. “They’re all telling us what not to do. What can we do? And please don’t say have another cup of coffee.”
“Thank goodness for the Aga. Eggs, bacon, sausage and tomato. Just what we need to start the day.”
I opened the cold box we had brought with us and began to cook breakfast.
“We’ve got to try to get back, Ted.”
“I don’t think we should. We should stay listening to the radio. Then, later, we can try. If you want to.”
“Of course I want to. God knows what’s happened to them all. What are you smiling at?”
“I know it’s not nice, worrying, but really they will be fine and it’s wonderful to see you caring.”
“Of course I care.”
“No ‘of course’ about it. You spent a large part of your life not caring.”
“And a lot of the rest of it caring for the wrong people.”
I couldn’t begin to interpret the look he gave me before he changed the subject.
“There’s nothing you can do for a few hours, get some rest because once we get going, oh yes, we’ll try at lunchtime, of course we will, you’ll need all the energy you have.”
So as the last of the storm died down I lay in the bed that had once been mine and tried to relax to the sound of Ray Moore on Radio 2 telling no one in south eastern England to attempt to leave their homes.
It was just past 12 when we put our bags back in the car and settled in for the unknown.
“We’ll come back as soon as we can.” He said as he tuned the radio into a station that was talking about travel and the weather. “I’ve made the house as secure as I can and spoken to the neighbours, they’ll keep an eye on the place but we’ll get back as soon as we can.”
He reached over and put his hand on mine. “Everything will be fine. Trust me.”
And I did.
“So far so good.” Ted said as we drove slowly up the main street of the village, our usual route, and out onto the deserted main road. Although we had to zig zag to avoid fallen trees we managed to reach the final roundabout before the motorway. The road there was completely blocked so we had to turn towards the town centre. There was simply no alternative if we weren’t to turn back, and we weren’t going to do that.
“This is a one way street.”
“I know.”
“And we’re going the wrong way.”
“I’m following that chap in front, he seems to know where he’s going.”
“He might be going home.”
“In which case we’ll join him.”
Ted concentrated on following the car in front. The zig-zagging stopped as we neared the centre of the town where there were fewer trees. But by now we were the centre car in a convoy of five and entering the pedestrian precinct.
“This is ridiculous.”
“But look, there’s the road to the motorway.”
“But we’ve got to drive down these steps!”
“That didn’t do the suspension any good. Still here we are, clear road to the motorway.”
There was nothing on the slip road to say the motorway was closed but I was very worried. There seemed so little other traffic. Were we the only ones stupid enough to be out ignoring all the warnings? We crept along never faster than 20 miles an hour, often considerably slower. There was so much debris. Every few yards there would be a carpet of leaves and twigs, branches, even large trees, but we managed to get through to the Reigate turn off where we were flagged down by the police cars parked across the carriageway.
“You can’t go any further I’m afraid. Sir. Madam.”
“But we’ve got to get to Westerham, my children, my grandson.” I was so tense from the jo
urney and disappointed not to have got those extra few miles that I was nearly in tears.
“Sorry madam, but the road is completely shut. You could try the A25, though I think you’ll be lucky to get through. You’ll get close to the town but they want the roads clear for the police and emergency vehicles.”
“Emergency? Are people hurt? Are people injured?”
“I’m afraid so madam, there are tens of thousands of trees down, many onto houses and there have been injuries. Haven’t you been watching the news? Listening to the radio?”
“They don’t go into much detail.”
“It’s not the town that’s worst hit, it’s the hills around. It’ll be some time before any of those people get out.”
“What about helicopters? Can’t you get to them like that?”
“There are hundreds of people trapped by the trees, People are cutting roads through, now the wind has dropped and people are they’re walking through.”
“But my son’s in a wheelchair, my grand-son’s only a few weeks old. How are they going to cope?” I don’t care what impression I gave I wanted them to help, and if they thought it was only a woman, her baby and crippled husband in the house I didn’t care.
The young policeman looked concerned, I tried not to catch Ted’s eye but out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw him trying not to smile.
“Give me the details and I’ll get onto the radio.”
A few minutes later, after he had muttered urgently into his radio, the young policeman said “Follow me. I’ll escort you as far as I can. I won’t be able to take you into Kent but I can get you to the border.”
“Why were you smiling back there?” I asked Ted as we followed the police car off the motorway and down Reigate Hill.
“It’s just that you’re like a lioness trying to protect her cubs, but those cubs are pretty grown up and have been looking after themselves for years. I have far more confidence in them than you do, I suppose it’s because I don’t think of them as children. You still do, but they are as grown up as you and me. Whoops!” He interrupted himself as we turned sharply to the right, following the police car through someone’s drive. It was a very large house with an in and out drive, which was handy as there were a number of trees blocking the main road exactly half way between the entrance and the exit. “Neat!”
“Where do you get expressions like that?”
“From your daughter.”
It took a long time to get to Westerham and as we got closer our worries increased. We had thought Surrey was bad, but as we travelled eastwards the devastation was getting worse and worse. Our police escort stopped short of the town. The young officer got out of the car and wished us luck. We thanked him saying we hoped he wouldn’t get into trouble. “No one really knows what anyone’s doing today. I hope your daughter is OK and your grandson.”
We drove the final few miles in awed silence, it seemed that nothing had been untouched by the wind, every house, every garden, was affected. We reached Brasted and at the point where we should have turned right off the main road to head up the hill there was a ‘Road Closed’ sign. It was completely redundant because no one could have thought for one moment that they could drive up the lane, it was as if the cables and trees had been woven together in an impenetrable three dimensional tapestry.
“I’ll try the pub.” Ted did a three point turn in the road where usually there was so much traffic that such a manoeuvre would have been unthinkable and drove back to the White Hart where the car park was full of pick up trucks and four wheel drives.
We were welcomed as if from another planet, the lady behind the bar handed us all drinks.
“On the house, if you’ll just tell us what it’s like in the outside world.” There was no electricity here either and they had been relying on a barely audible transistor radio for any news.
“Is everyone alright on the hill?”
“We’ve heard from the Fox,” she said “well not actually from the Fox, about it.”
“As far as we can tell. They’re all using a car-phone, it’s the only contact anyone has. There’re hundreds of men working with chain saws to clear the lane, they’ve even got the army involved.”
“Has anyone heard from Josie?” Ted asked.
“No. Sorry. There’s that many trees down in the drive.”
We were only half a mile from the house but today it might well have been a hundred miles.
“Will they be OK?”
“There’s no reason why not. We haven’t heard of any problems. Well here’s your answer…” She pointed to the door.
“Jack!”
“Ted?” He sounded shocked and relieved. “Mum?”
He couldn’t help but show his surprise as I got up and gave him a relieved hug.
“How is everyone? Josie?”
“Everyone’s fine. Tired, no shattered, but we’re all OK. Andrew slept through the lot.”
“How did you get here?”
“Down the lane, crawling over and under the trees. The chainsaws are making a bit of headway but it’ll take days. You wouldn’t believe it up there. It’s like all the trees were matchsticks and someone’s just tipped the box out. It’s unbelievable.”
“Are you sure everyone’s OK? We’ve been so worried.”
“We’re OK but we haven’t got much food. We’ve no milk and so I came down to see if I could get some, anything really. We were only expecting to be there last night. They say we won’t be able to get through with a car for three or four days.”
“Three or four days!”
“You can’t believe what it’s like up there.”
“We’ll get some food, there must be some in town, and then we’ll all carry it back.”
“I don’t think you’ll find much in the shops, everyone’s clearing the shelves.” A man sitting at the bar with a shopping basket interrupted our conversation, “I’ve been into town and this is all I could get.” He pointed out a single bottle of water and some packet cheese.
“No bread?”
“Nothing, the shelves were cleared.”
“What are we going to do?”
“There’ll be stuff tomorrow, we’ve only got to get through today.”
“I’m so stupid, Ted, we both are. We could have got everything we could possibly have needed in the village and brought it with us. We just didn’t think.”
“Why would we? We couldn’t have known it was like this.”
“We’d still have to carry it up the hill and it was difficult enough coming down hill not carrying anything.”
“We’ll have to try.”
We sat in the bar sipping at the beer, Ted making a list of what we would need for two or three days for six people and a baby and how we could possibly, even if we managed to buy anything, get it up the hill.
“Come on Jack,” Ted suddenly stood up, “come with me, no, Annie, you stay here. We’ll be back in an hour or so.”
It was the middle of the afternoon already, it might be dark before they got back and then we had to walk two miles up the hill, a difficult enough walk even without the hundreds of fallen trees it looked like we would have to negotiate.
I watched Jack leave with Ted and sat down at a corner table by the fireplace. I didn’t know any of the men and women standing around the bar sharing their experiences of the night before. I picked up the menu that was on the table and read the brief history of the pub that was printed on the back. The White Hart… The Pub of the Few … There was a picture of a blackout screen with chalked signatures Dickie … Brian… Michael … Tony … Jimmy … Elizabeth had sat here, under this low beamed ceiling and had waited for Jimbo. David had sat down with her and had told her what she had already known. I was too tired to cry so I just thought as hard as I could about them both, trying to connect with them across the gulf of 45 years.
Just over an hour later Ted and Jack came back grinning and excited.
“Come on, we’re setting off up the hill. But first, here,
put these on.”
They had thought of everything, even a pair of decent walking shoes for me, the ones I was wearing would obviously have been completely useless. Outside they handed me an anorak, a pair of gloves and a rucksack which clattered as I manhandled it over my shoulders. When they had helped me prepare myself for the trek each of them put on an identical anorak and hoisted vast rucksacks, at least twice the size of the one they had given me, onto their backs.
“It looks like we’re heading off into the Himalayan foothills. I hope you’ve got the…” and as Ted silently held up a white slab “…Kendal Mint Cake.” We laughed together. It was a wonderful feeling.
I caught Jack’s eye and he grinned, “Here, put this in your sack” we might not get there by dark.
Ted was suddenly very serious, “It’s not going to be easy, Jack’s told me what it was like for him coming down, going up’s going to be hard work.”
“And Ted’s worried about you Mum, he thinks you’re not really OK after the accident. But I’ll help. Don’t struggle on, tell me when you need a rest.” I couldn’t believe this thoughtful young man was the same Jack who had made my life such a misery in Cambridge.
“It will probably be dark anyway before we get to the end of the drive.”
I saw Jack and Ted exchange a look, I realised they were both thinking I would not be able to make it. I was going to show them.
We started off up the lane, Jack in front, Ted in the rear and me in the middle. At first it was quite easy going and I wondered what all the fuss was about, there was a relatively clear path along the middle of the road. There were twigs and leaves covering the tarmac and they were slippery from the rain which was still falling and I was very grateful for the anorak and the gloves. The cut trunks of trees littered the side of the road, but as we walked the clear road got narrower and narrower until every yard became a struggle.
When we turned a small bend we reached as far as the chainsaws had reached in a day.
We were maybe 100 yards up the lane.
It had taken them a day and we had hardly started. Ahead, in the gathering dark, there was a haphazard tapestry of trunks, branches and cables. Everything suddenly seemed overwhelming; the storm, the disruption, the implications of all this damage, what it was doing to so many people’s lives suddenly seemed immeasurably vast. I just sat down staring at the mud and leaf covered tarmac.
Runaways Page 33