In the moonlight, the imagery remained indistinct, but the overall picture had become blindingly clear. London was facing a major catastrophe and this was compounded by the panic demonstrated by so many people trying to escape the capital before the wave arrived.
“My God,” muttered the Home Secretary. “It looks as though the map of London has been redrawn.”
“I need to get across to the House.” The Prime Minister was beginning to appreciate the enormity of the devastation, shown by the film. “When the tide turns, there will be further damage as the water flows off the land. In any case, the Members need to be informed.” He looked round. “How can I get there?” He noticed the policeman, still standing in the corner. “Did you come here by police launch?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can take me across to the House.”
“I’m not sure about access.”
“Well, no one will have been able to leave. If the place is inaccessible, we’ll call it a fact-finding mission.” And with that, he disappeared to collect his coat.
After the wave passed them, Pamela and Milton carefully looked out over the extent of the water around Waterloo station. As far as they could tell, the station was marooned. In the water, they could see the bodies of people and various animals. They were floating about aimlessly, turning this way and that, caught in small eddies. Daylight was already fading and the station was completely blacked out, making it impossible to see anything with any clarity. From their vantage point, they were able to make out the expanse of the floodwater stretching from the Victoria Embankment in the north, as far as Camberwell in the south and, except for the skyscrapers; in the diminishing daylight they were unable to see any other buildings of note. It was increasingly difficult to make out any specific landmarks because the whole of London appeared to be suffering the same power cut. Moonlight was reflecting off the water and beyond the flood, the lights of grid locked traffic formed a beacon of hope on both horizons.
Looking through a window at the back of the room, Milton realised that the London Eye had fallen and he could see, even in the gloom, that the Archbishop’s apartments at Lambeth Palace were surrounded by water, as the park was completely flooded. The only sign of life was the traffic snarled on the bridges. On the north side of the river, Pamela could make out the Houses of Parliament, but it was quite obvious that all the streets around the Palace of Westminster were under water. As she watched, she saw the spotlights of a river police launch, carefully being steered over the river wall, past New Scotland Yard and towards Downing Street.
“We can’t stay here.” Milton gently took her by the arm and pulled her to him. “We’ll be needed below.”
“Milton. What can we do?” Pamela’s voice was husky with emotion. “How on earth can we help?”
“There will be people who need to be looked after. This is a disaster that no one has predicted and it’s up to us to try to cope.”
Pamela nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
They carefully made their way down the darkened stairs and into the corridor where the pedestrian bridge comes into the station. There were some people, just standing there, stunned into inaction with the awful sights in front of them. Milton made for the stairs.
“You can’t get down there, mate.” A burly man in shirtsleeves stopped him. “It’s all flooded further down.”
“What about the platforms?” Milton asked.
“Dunno, mate.”
“They should be OK because they are higher up than ground level. It’s only one flight down from here.” Milton looked back at Pamela. “Come on, Pam. We’ll go down and see what we can do.”
“Right, then! I’ll come as well,” said the man.
One step at a time, they went down the next flight of stairs and pushed open the door into the station itself. There were crowds of people, but very little noise. It was almost as though the people had all been struck dumb by the enormity of the disaster. The floor of the station was dry but, reflected in the moonlight Milton could see water on the tracks. There were some trains just standing there, as though waiting to depart, but nothing was moving in the darkness of the station.
“Why’s it so quiet?” asked Pamela.
“I don’t know. It’s really eerie,” Milton replied.
He walked purposefully towards the barriers, where he expected to find other staff. There was no one. All the electric barriers were closed and this was preventing people from milling onto the platforms. There were plenty of people about, but they appeared cowed and literally overcome by what they had just witnessed. In the gloomy stillness, Milton thought he could hear a child crying.
“Can you hear that baby?”
“Yes. I think it’s coming from platform 4.”
“Come on. Let’s have a look.”
They jumped over the barrier and ran along the platform edge. As they drew closer to it, the noise of the crying baby increased, but they still couldn’t see anything. Milton dug out his mobile and swiped up to get the torch icon. In the dark, the light seemed very bright. He flashed it down the platform, but still they saw nothing. He then pointed it over the lines, which were under water and was rewarded by a glimpse of white.
“What’s that?” He pointed.
“It’s the baby. I wonder where its mother is.” Pamela used her iPhone torch to look more carefully down the track. She saw a dark shape about twenty yards away. “There!”
“I’ll have to get down into the water.” Milton put his phone onto the platform edge and sat down next to it. He slowly let his legs drop downwards and he then rolled his body so that his stomach was on the platform edge and his weight was taken by his arms. He lowered himself further down and, at first, he could feel the water leaking into his trainers and then creeping up his legs. He dropped the last foot or so, with a bit of a splash. Reaching up, he was able to get his phone and he splashed across the tracks to the baby.
The little girl’s face was puckered up with fright and her woollen clothes were completely soaked. Her eyes were tight shut, as though she was trying to keep out all the horrible sights around her. She was floating, but her shawl had snagged on something under the water. Milton picked her up and was rewarded with her eyes opening, immediately followed by her mouth from which came a high-pitched wailing. Milton cuddled her to his shoulder and waded back to the platform edge.
“Here, Pamela. Can you take this little one, please?”
Pamela was already kneeling at the edge and reached down to take the child, whose wailing was already diminishing into heartbroken sobs.
“I’ll check out that other shape, over there.”
He waded down the track, where he found a young woman in a dark overcoat, face down in the water. He felt for a pulse, but there was nothing. She was dead, but he knew he couldn’t leave her there. He realised that it would be really hard to get her up to the platform. She was lying on her front, with her legs twisted beneath her. Milton lifted her into a sitting position and then knelt beside her. Leaning forward, he put her arms over his back behind his head and then knelt upright. The weight of her body was now spread across his shoulders, but her legs were still under the water. With a big effort, he lifted up one of his legs, so that its foot was firmly on the ground. He now leaned forward, taking the weight of her body onto that leg and braced his other leg against the rail track. He was now able to straighten the first leg and lift the body completely.
“You’ll have to help me roll her onto the platform,” he called to Pamela.
“I’m here.” She had put the baby down and was already kneeling at the edge. As Milton came close enough, Pamela was able to grab hold of the belt of the woman’s coat and pull her closer. With her other hand, she grabbed the coat’s collar and, with Milton pushing from below, they were able to roll her onto the platform edge.
And that was the moment a miracle occurred, for as she was rolled onto the edge of the platform, the woman coughed, releasing a torrent of filthy water from her
mouth. She inhaled raspingly, coughed again and opened her eyes.
“Where am I?”
“Waterloo Station.”
“What? I can’t be.” She coughed again, hacking up water from the deepest recesses of her lungs. Pamela tried to roll her over, but the woman resisted. “I can’t move my legs.” She started to cry. “Where’s my baby?” She desperately looked around.
“It’s OK. We’ve got her here. She’s safe and sound.”
Milton called from the rail track. “Pam, I can’t get up without a hand.”
“Hang on! I’m here.” Pamela put her hand onto the woman’s shoulder. “I won’t be a sec.” She went to the platform edge. Milton’s face was just visible in the light of her phone.
“Can you lie face down with your body at right angles to the edge? I’ll then pull myself up using your jacket as a rope.”
“Right. And hurry!” Pamela did as she was asked and Milton grabbed hold of the coat in the middle of her back. As he pulled himself up, he grabbed her waist band of her trousers. She put her arms round him, to stop him sliding back. He then grabbed her leg and, all of a sudden, he was up and lying, panting on the platform.
“The woman.” Pamela gasped. “She’s alive.”
“What?”
“And she needs our help.”
They crawled over to the woman, who hadn’t moved. “Where’s my baby?” She asked.
“She’s just here.” Pamela picked up the baby girl and brought her to her mother. “Why are you so surprised to be here in Waterloo station?”
“Tracy and me, we was just walking home, when I heard this noise. I got her out of her pushchair and the next thing I knew, we was caught up by this enormous wave of water. I’ve never been so frightened in all my life. I shut my eyes tight and held onto Tracy with all my strength. We was rolled over and over and then everything went black. I mean, like what’s happening?”
Pamela sat next to the woman and put her arm round her, cradling her. “Shh! Your baby’s safe and you’re safe. That’s what matters. Where do you live?”
“In one of the flats at Nelson Square. We’d only been to the Tesco Express on The Cut, when I heard that noise.” The woman looked round. “Why’s it all dark?”
“There’s been a power cut.” Ever practical, Milton then explained, “We were right up high, in the offices looking over Station Approach. We saw this enormous wall of water coming up the river from Tower Bridge, flooding everything in its path. I don’t know what’s caused it, but you’re safe now and I reckon the lights will come back on before long. I think we should try to get you into the main station, where there will be other people able to look after you and your baby.”
All over London and in many parts of the country, the weather literally overwhelmed the National Grid. With power supplies damaged throughout the capital, the distribution sub stations were unable to cope and simply closed down. Across northern England and throughout Scotland, the blizzards brought down power lines, cutting off vast areas of both countries.
To make matters worse, the loss of power set up a chain reaction, which closed down the landline telephone system. Mobile phone communications were similarly affected, because they are also dependent on electricity. Water flooded into many street boxes and underground cabling systems. Despite their claims that their communication facilities were quicker and more reliable, even the new fibre optic systems were struggling to cope because, ultimately, they too rely on electricity to convert normal communication into light pulses. Because it is inert and impervious to wear, fibre optic cabling is perfectly capable of working under water, but the loss of power at the exchanges now demonstrated a massive problem with this form of communication.
In Birmingham and across central England, however, most of these calamities were having little or no effect. There was some flickering of the lights and some interruption to the vast numbers of computers and laptops upon which modern business is so reliant. Even the mobile phones were working to a degree although connectivity was considerably reduced. From Nottingham, through the Midlands and down to the southwest, people’s lives generally continued with little disruption. There was a natural concern, however, when the BBC stopped broadcasting in the mid-afternoon. All communication with the capital was also lost, but this concern was short lived as people continued with their lives and simply switched to other, more local news feeds.
In Aldershot and other army barracks throughout the south and southwest, the loss of any form of communication with London rang serious alarm bells. Senior officers swiftly established links with each other and with other local emergency services. It was quickly realised that London was facing an immense catastrophe and that immediate aid would be required. Night was already falling by the time the first relief columns were rolling along the M3 and M4 motorways, with back up facilities including field hospitals, boats, bridging equipment, lighting and power plants, but much more importantly, trained personnel.
As communications were re-established with the Ministry of Defence, information began to flow in both directions. The Ministry used its own initiative to transfer its knowledge to Downing Street and the Prime Minister’s office. By the time the Prime Minister was being carried by boat to the House of Commons, he was much better informed. On arrival, he immediately sought out the Leader of the Her Majesty’s Loyal Opposition, in his own office.
“Ah, James!” he greeted him. “There you are.”
“And where else would you expect me to be, Prime Minister?”
“Yes! Yes! This is why I have come straight to you, to brief you on the sketchy details that I have received to date.”
“I thank you for that, Prime Minister.” He leant back in his chair interlaced his fingers and placed his hands under his chin, to await the news. Still standing, the Prime Minister looked down at him and, demonstrating a very brief moment of irritation, he very slightly shook his head. He took a deep breath.
"It would appear that the storms have created unprecedented conditions in the North Sea, creating a sea surge which travelled primarily in an east south east direction. It made landfall in Holland just after one o’clock GMT. The southern end of that surge entered the Thames estuary at about half past one and began to make its way up the river causing devastation on both banks. The surge was so strong that it created a wave some 40 feet high on top of the already high tide.
"This wave has flowed over sea walls in the Thames estuary, inundated Canvey Island, flowed over the top of the Thames Barrier and flooded many parts of London. Full details are not yet available because the loss of power has compromised communication, both electronic and landline. The Underground has been overwhelmed and there are rumours that some stations have been flooded.
"I have seen some video evidence of the damage caused. The video was taken from a helicopter, flying from west to east, as daylight was fading. It would appear that many of the modern tower blocks have survived, but older buildings and riverside housing estates have been devastated.
"Because of the loss of power, it has been difficult to confirm much of this information. Contact has been made with the National Grid and work is already underway to reconnect the electricity supply as quickly as possible.
"The situation in the north and in Scotland is complicating matters further because there have been excessive falls of snow coupled with considerable drifting. Power lines are down throughout Scotland and I am advised that it will be some days before a reasonable service is resumed.
“It is my intention, therefore, to declare a state of emergency and I hope that I will have both your support and your cooperation. James, this is not a time for petty politics. I have no doubt they will return in the not too distant future but, for now, I simply ask that we can come together to present a united face to the House. I am certain that, by such an action, you and I will help the people of this country to come to terms with this catastrophe.”
The Prime Minister stopped talking, turned round and saw that an aide had pro
vided a chair. He sat down and looked at the Leader of the Opposition. He lifted his head and regarded him, sitting straight backed in his chair, obviously waiting for some response.
“I agree,” he replied shortly. “When are you intending to address the House?”
“I will be making the same statement as I have given to you, as soon as I leave here.”
“I think it might be helpful, if we both enter the chamber together.”
“Thank you. I am sure that will give the right message to all our colleagues.”
When, some ten minutes later, the Prime Minister entered the chamber alongside the Leader of the Opposition, they were greeted with complete silence. Unusually, his statement to the House was also received in absolute silence from those members present. He then sought leave to attend the House of Lords and, breaking with all protocol and tradition, both he and the Leader of the Opposition were allowed to enter to address the upper chamber.
In Somerset House, David and Jackie watched the majestic wave roll past them, causing incredible damage to both riverbanks. As the day turned into dusk, they realised that they couldn’t stay where they were and, very soon, they would have to try to get back home to Richmond. David put his arm round Jackie in an attempt to comfort her and she nestled closer, half hiding her face in his chest.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Well, we can’t stay here. That’s for sure.”
“What was that?” she asked, slowly shaking her head from side to side.
“I don’t know for sure, but you remember I said that the wind yesterday was causing a build-up of seawater in the channel?” he went on. "Well, I reckon that the depression in the North has done the same thing and created another massive build-up of water.
“This second build up will have crashed into the first and caused a sea surge and when that entered the Thames estuary, it will have reared up even higher, causing that wave.”
Thursday Page 27
