Thursday

by David Ridgway

“Well, if you take the boat round the back of the tower, there will be a window at about this level, won’t there?”

  “Bloody hell!” Fred muttered. “I’m losing it. Of course there is.”

  The tower was built as an enclosed staircase, around a central well. On each level there was a platform with a window, with the stairs climbing ever upwards, until they reached the observation platform four stories high.

  “That took longer than I thought.” He gathered his colleagues. "The hard stuff is about to start. First, we’ll take all the children, teachers and parents to the Sally Army Citadel. That’s not too far.

  "Second, using the station as a base and staging post, we will start to search for survivors down West Ferry Road. We will concentrate on the housing estates because the tower blocks appear to have survived intact. I’ll need two inflatables working the estates and the third ferrying survivors from here to the Citadel.

  "Third, I’ll control Boat 1, Terry will control Boat 2 and, Pete, and I want you to take control of Boat 3.

  “Fourth, I need someone to stay here at the top of the tower and to relay any information and observations. Vic, you can carry on doing that, please, as you’ve already started. Have you anything to report to date?” Fred looked at the young recruit. Vic, short for Victoria, was the first woman who had worked at Poplar Fire Station and was very proud of her position. Although not tall, she was exceptionally wiry and had a dogged approach to everything she attempted. It was almost as though she had a point to prove, but she was no feminist. She only wanted to fit in and be part of the team.

  "Yes, Gov. As soon as I got to the top, before it went dark, I could see both up river as far as Tower Bridge and down river as far as Queen Elizabeth Bridge. On the south bank, everything appears to be flooded between the Valley and Greenwich, as far inland as Woolwich Road. From Deptford to beyond Tower Bridge, everything is under water as far as Camberwell.

  "When it went dark, it became pretty obvious that all the power in London has blacked out. The only lights you can see, apart from tower blocks that have independent generators, are from vehicles on roads and bridges high enough to have escaped the water and from a number of fires that have started, particularly near the oil storage depots.

  "I’ve seen seven helicopters go across from west to east. It was too dark to make out their registrations, but I’ve only clocked one coming back.

  “I used the binoculars to try to identify some of the things that were floating upstream. There were containers, buses, vans and cars. I could see people trapped inside some of the cars. There’s a lot of other stuff swirling about, a lot of wooden beams and planking and, it took some time to identify that they are actually…” she paused and gulped. “A lot of bodies. Hundreds of bodies, just being swept upstream, obviously drowned.” She stopped, realising the enormity of her report.

  “Thanks, Vic.” Fred went over to her and put his arms round her.

  After a few seconds, she pushed him away. “I’m OK, Gov. It’s just…” Again, her voice tailed off.

  “So many of them?” Fred finished for her. She nodded. “Are you OK to carry on?”

  “Yes, Gov. Gov? There is something else.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, I wondered if it would be sensible to drop off a firefighter at a tower block so that advice can be given to the residents and survivors and, maybe, start the emergency generators. As each block is visited, the firefighter can be collected and taken to the next block.”

  “You’re right! Thanks for that.” Fred turned to his teams. “We’ll drop off two, one per tower block. When you are satisfied that the residents can perform the necessary, you will flash us as we return and we’ll divert to take you to the next block.”

  “OK. Let’s get to it.”

  The designated teams immediately picked up the necessary equipment and dispersed to the inflatables.

  Martin and his two sons stood watching the river for at least an hour after the wave passed in front of them. Strangely, even though the tide continued to come in, the water did not appear to creep further up the hill towards them.

  Martin checked his watch. It was three o’clock. He didn’t know when High Tide was scheduled, but he realised that the amount of water stretching from Hadleigh to the Isle of Grain would, in due course, ebb out to sea. He also appreciated that the freak wave would have caused massive damage not only to the trading estates that line the river all the way to London, but more so to the flood defences on both sides of the river Thames.

  The southern boundary of his own land, alongside Hadleigh Ray, was a dyke which had been upgraded, years before, to a sea wall by the Environment Agency. He knew that it could well have been undermined by such an inflow of water. He needed to assess the damage, but that would have to wait until the tide ebbed and the water drained off his land. Already they could see that the railway line was totally unusable, with rails buckled, embankment walls damaged and the bridges undermined and probably unstable.

  He would need timber and iron sheeting to close up any gaps in the wall and all such gaps would have to be closed quickly so that the next incoming tide didn’t wash through to create even more damage. That would now be the major difficulty; closing the gaps and keeping the next tide out. It would be an immense task and would require careful and swift planning.

  At last he turned to face his boys. “Got to get cracking,” he announced. Charlie and James looked at him. “The tide will start to ebb and as soon as the water is off the land, we must assess the damage to the sea wall.”

  “Can’t really do anything until the tide’s gone out,” said James, ever pragmatic.

  “I realise that, but we can start to get together the stuff we’ll need.”

  “Do you still have your digger?”

  “Yes, but it’s a bit old now. We’ll have to see if we can get it to start.”

  They all climbed into the Land Rover and Martin drove them all back to the farm. James disappeared into the barn with the keys for the digger, while Charlie hooked up the tractor to a trailer. He was backing the trailer towards a neat pile of corrugated iron, when he heard a massive roar as the digger’s engine suddenly fired, with an explosion of blue diesel smoke from its exhaust.

  “You’ll find an old generator in the other barn, as well as some outdoor cable and lights,” Martin said. “Check that all the lights are OK.”

  “Right oh!” Charlie disappeared.

  “James. Please carry on loading up the corrugated iron. I’ve got to see a neighbour to beg further equipment. My mobile’s not working, so I’ll have to go round. I’ll pop my head into the kitchen to see if your mum and the girls can help you.”

  “OK. Dad, it’s just coming up to five o’clock, now. I don’t think there’s going to be much we can do before dawn.”

  “No! You’re wrong. We’ve got to assess as best we can, even if it’s dark. Otherwise another tide will be coming in and that may well create even more damage.” And with that he left James.

  Soon James was joined by his mother, Jennifer and his wife Megan. As soon as they saw what he was doing, they both disappeared inside to change into more appropriate clothing.

  Martin, meanwhile, had driven out of the yard to his nearest neighbour. Tom Spedding and his forebears had farmed in Hadleigh for over three hundred years. Locally, he was regarded almost as nobility and there was nothing that he didn’t know. Unlike many people in similar circumstances, he was not standoffish, nor condescending. Very approachable, he was popular and his opinion was sought on all aspects of farming, from when to plant and when to put the bull to the cows. He was already in his yard when Martin drew up.

  “How the hell did you know I was coming?” Martin greeted the older man.

  “Actually, I ’bin expecting ’ee for two hours or more,” Tom replied. “And afore you ask, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like this afore. Nor even heard tales of the like.”

  “Did you see the wave coming in from the sea?”

&n
bsp; “Matter of fact, I did. I’d just bin upstairs for a call of nature, like. And I was looking out of the winder o’er the fields down to the sea. Must have ’bin about two o’clock.”

  “That’s right. My boys and I were on our way down in the Land Rover, to check the wall. We were stopped at the gate near the castle. Luck, I suppose.”

  “Luck dun come into it, youngster. The Lord looks after the good uns.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that.” Martin looked at the old man. “We saw the sea just wash over the sea wall and flood all the lower fields. And now the power is down, so I can’t get any information nationally or locally.”

  “No, you won’t. And what I know of the guv’ment, it’ll likely be some time afore you do! And then it’s likely to be wrong!” Tom ushered Martin into his kitchen. “I expect you’re worried about your wall.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  While Tom was making a cup of tea with the big aluminium kettle on the Aga, Martin told him that he and James had walked along the wall that morning and how they had seen the dip. He also told Tom how he and his boys had watched the sea inundate Canvey Island as well as all his lower fields, beyond the railway line.

  Tom shook his head. “It’s not good. I remember Canvey in ‘53. The whole population had to be evacuated. That was before the concrete sea walls were built, of course. An old fren’ of mine was farming on the river Crouch, not far from Burnham. He had the longest sea wall breach from Norfolk all the way down to here. It took him two and a half days to close that breach, working round the clock.”

  “I’ve heard you talk of him before and that’s why I’m here,” said Martin, quietly. “I’ve already got some corrugated iron and some wooden stakes. Quite by chance all our children are at home. As soon as the tide’s gone out far enough, we’ll be down at the wall to survey the damage.”

  “What? In the dark?”

  “Got to. Can’t wait until tomorrow. There’ll be another high tide in the early morning and I want to try to close any gaps before that comes in.”

  Tom nodded his head. “Reckon you be right, youngster! Is there any equipment you need?”

  “The more I’ve got, the quicker we can get done,” Martin replied.

  “I dun do much m’self these days,” Tom muttered. “But I’ll roust out my lads and send ’em down to ’ee.”

  Martin finished his tea, thanked his neighbour and went back to his car. As he drove back to Thatched Barn Farm, he noticed that the wind had dropped and the clouds had parted. The moon was already up and shining brightly. Perhaps it won’t be too difficult to check the state of play, he thought.

  When he arrived home, he went straight into the barn where James had already loaded all the corrugated iron and metal sheets onto the trailer. He could hear the generator humming in the other barn. He went inside the house to check in the newspaper when low tide was expected and was pleased to note that it would be just before midnight.

  “Listen boys,” he called his sons to him. “I’ve spoken with Tom next door. He’s going to send some of his lads across with some extra equipment. Low tide is expected just before midnight, so I expect we’ll have a good seven or eight hours, starting when the water has drained off the land. I expect that will be around seven o’clock this evening. We’ll have some difficulty getting under the railway line, because I’m assuming the bridges will be too dangerous and we might have to go right round near to Benfleet. With the state of the tracks, there’ll be no trains, so we might be OK.” He looked round.

  "Basically, in the first hour, I want to assess if there are any breaches and how big they are. I’ve dug out an old Ordnance Survey map and, if necessary, we can log the damage on it, so we all know what we’re supposed to be doing and where. If there are two breaches, we must try to repair both at the same time.

  “Surely it would be better to get one done properly, before doing the next.” Charlie interrupted his father.

  “No, Charlie. If we leave one breach open, when the tide comes in, it will wash in and come round the back of the repair where it is likely to wash away all the work that we’ll have done. We can’t afford that to happen, because that’ll simply undo all that work and take us back to square one. Actually, worse than square one, because the next tide is likely to widen the breach, so we’ll be even further back.”

  He paused for a moment and then went on. “While we’re waiting for the tide to go out, we’re going to get a bite to eat because I expect we’ll be hard at it right through the night. The next High Tide is due about quarter past five in the morning. If we can keep the water out, we will be able to keep on building up the wall. I will not rest until this is complete and solid.”

  Martin turned and looked at the trailer that James had filled. “Before we go in, I must check what you’ve got together.”

  There was an enormous pile of corrugated iron sheeting, stacked neatly in two piles. In a separate pile on the barn floor, the girls had brought together all the wooden stakes. There must have been between sixty and seventy. Martin nodded his approval and went into the other shed, where Charlie had finally got the reluctant diesel generator to start. It was now running smoothly.

  “Have we got enough fuel?” Martin asked.

  “The big tank is about half full, but I haven’t had time to find any cans to carry supplies with us.”

  “You’ll find a number of old army surplus jerry cans in that far corner. There must be at least six. Fill them all. What about the lights?”

  “There were a few bulbs that had blown. I found new ones in the cupboard and have replaced all the duds. So the lights are OK.”

  “Good.” Martin nodded once again. “And are you confident that the generator will start when we get down to the wall?”

  “Yes, Dad,” Charlie replied. “It was tough to get it going the first time, but I reckon it’ll start OK now that it’s been running for half an hour or so.”

  “Did you find the spot lights?”

  “Yes. Helen has loaded them in the back of the Land Rover. There were six altogether and I’ve tested them all. There are also some brackets so I can attach them to the Land Rover’s roof rack.”

  “Well done, Charlie.” Martin took his older son to one side. “Just one other thing, Son. It’s going to be really tough down there and I know that you will be looking for the easier way to do things. Please don’t do that. If anything goes wrong, I will be taking the responsibility, so all I ask is that you do exactly what I tell you.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad. Everything will be fine.”

  In Downing Street, the Prime Minister was feeling deeply frustrated. At last, after an interminable wait, some information was beginning to come through. The light faded fast and the country’s capital was coming to terms with the immensity of a devastating blow. Even so, he still didn’t know the full extent of the damage, the death toll, nor how soon power might be restored. Without such basic knowledge, he considered that he was unable to make any meaningful decisions. He also realised that now was the time to act, but how? Now was the time to lead, but how? He realised, despite the lack of meaningful information, that there were decisions to be made, even if they might ultimately be wrong. He couldn’t sit in a state of suspended animation any longer. He left his office to find the Chief Secretary to the Cabinet. He was outside in the main office.

  “We need to act.”

  “Yes, Prime Minister.”

  “Do we have any specific information as yet?”

  “I understand that a film of the devastation has been made from a helicopter, before darkness fell. With all electrical power interrupted and the local streets flooded, we are restricted to delivering messages by hand, using a police launch.” The civil servant looked harassed as he briefed the Prime Minister. “We also have a similar system of hand communication with the House.”

  “Where’s the film?”

  “It should be arriving any time now.”

  As he was speaking, a policeman ran up the stairs w
ith a brown padded envelope. He stopped, saluted and handed the envelope to the Prime Minister.

  “Is this the film?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Right. Please come into the cabinet room. Let’s have a look at it.” He handed the CD to the civil servant, who inserted it into the DVD player, as the Home Secretary and the Environment Secretary, closely followed by the Chancellor of the Exchequer, entered the room.

  The film had been taken from a helicopter flying down river from Heathrow. The helicopter had flown eastwards towards Richmond and the pilot had started filming as soon as he reached the river Thames. The time in the top left-hand corner of the screen was 15.10, as the river came into view. The quality was not good, because the light was already fading fast, but the rising moon gave the film a ghostly and rather terrifying aspect.

  As the aircraft continued to fly down the centre of the river, nothing appeared to be out of place until, suddenly, they could make out the enormous wave coming from the east. The time showed 15.25 and the helicopter was over Chiswick Bridge. The pilot banked to allow the camera to focus further downstream towards Hammersmith, before hovering over the river as the wave passed below. Behind the surge, the river Thames seemed to take on a completely new aspect. Moonlight was being reflected off a vast wedge of flooded water. Because of the lack of light, it was really difficult to judge specifically the full gravity of the devastation. Having hovered, as the wave passed beneath the helicopter, the pilot finally began to fly further to the east, passing Hammersmith and on towards Chelsea.

  Looking at the film, the Prime Minister could see that the flood water had inundated Chiswick and Fulham. Battersea, Vauxhall, Southwark and Bermondsey were all under water, as was much of Pimlico and Westminster. As the aircraft flew further down the Thames, the horrified viewers were able to catalogue mentally the famous suburbs that had apparently been swept away – Whitechapel, Limehouse and Poplar, the O2 Arena, Newham and Beckton, including the London City Airport and the Thames Barrier. Thamesmead, Rainham Marches and Purfleet were all flooded, as were Grays and Tilbury, Canvey Island and the Isle of Grain. Towards the end of the film, the helicopter hovered over the estuary between Southend-on-Sea and Sheerness, with the time on the screen showing as 16.50.