Before wading back through the bridge, Martin looked over towards the sea wall, planning the route for the vehicles. Even during their time assessing the bridge, he saw that the level of the water had reduced.
One by one, slowly and very carefully, they drove under the bridge and then, following Martin’s instructions, turned right to follow the edge of the field alongside the embankment. Soon they came to the western edge of the first field. They continued to drive straight on, keeping as close to the railway embankment as possible. They came to and drove round a wooded, marshy pond, until they finally reached the far side of the second field. Here, Martin now turned left towards the sea wall. On his right, he knew that there was a drainage stream. Tonight, in the moonlight, he could see that it was still full of fast running water, but he remembered that, just before the stream reached the sea wall, it flowed into the long open ditch which runs parallel with the sea wall all the way from Benfleet to Leigh on Sea.
At the bottom of the field, there was a bridge on their right leading over the stream. In the next field, there was a second bridge built over a narrow part of the ditch, giving direct access to the track next to the sea wall. As he drove slowly down the slope of the field, Martin could see across the ditch where a powerful outflow of water was continuing to erode the wall. He knew that they wouldn’t be able to do anything to close that gap until the force of the outflow of water had abated.
By the time the last of the vehicles reached the bridge over the ditch, the outflow of water was already reduced to a trickle. Charlie checked the generator and the electrical cabling, ready to set up as soon as his father crossed the ditch.
Martin walked up to the bridge over the ditch and, with his flashlight, carefully assessed whether it was still capable of bearing the weight of the other vehicles. He gingerly walked across but detected no adverse movement. He called James to come across to him.
“What’s up?”
“I’m concerned about this bridge. It’s always looked a bit flimsy. After all, it’s only old concrete beams laid across the ditch. They seem firm enough to me and, if we can use it, we’ll save an enormous amount of time. So, you’re the practical one! What do you think?”
James took the flashlight and walked across the bridge. He noticed that the concrete beams were actually quite substantial and deeply embedded in the ground on both sides. Even though they had been immersed in the flood, they did not appear to have moved. Looking to his left along the sea wall, he saw that the outflow had almost stopped and that they really needed to get on with the repair work.
“Dad!” he called over the ditch. “It looks OK to me.”
“I’m glad you agree.”
“The vehicles should take a good sweep round so that they approach the bridge straight on. That might be difficult, because the field will be very muddy.”
“OK. We’ll do that,” his father replied.
Martin got back into the Landrover and engaged 4 wheel drive. Driving forward he took a long loop to his right until he was facing the ditch and the bridge. James was still there and guided him safely over to the other side. He detected no movement of the concrete beams. The other vehicles, tractors and trailers copied Martin’s manoeuvre and followed on behind.
Now on the south side, Martin turned to his left and drove towards the breach. He was surprised to see that the concrete pipe, which allowed the stream to flow under the track and the sea wall through a special sluice, was still firmly in place. He parked and got out, in order to climb up to the path on top of the wall. It was very wet, but it all seemed to be holding firm. From the top, he was able to see to his left that the breach was about fifty yards long. The sea wall had simply disappeared. He tried to see whether there were any other breaches, but although the moonlight was bright, he was unable to see with any clarity. He decided that he would drive along the track as soon as the repair work to this breach was underway.
The plans to repair the breach were already thought through. Martin knew that it was his responsibility to give precise instructions to the team. It would be vital to ensure that the edges of the wall, at both ends of the breach, were made as solid as possible and to be tied into the remaining wall. He was also aware that the repair across the gap would be very flimsy at first, but it was even more important to stop the sea from flowing back onto his land when the next tide came in.
He looked at his watch. It was now after seven o’clock. By midnight, the tide would have turned. He reckoned that they had a maximum of eight hours before the sea would be making its way across the mud flats towards the sea wall. If the breach was closed, then they would still be able to keep working from the landward side of the wall.
As he was finalising his plans, all the other vehicles slowly arrived. Charlie started the generator and connected the lights. The immensity of the task suddenly seemed to be overwhelming.
“Right!” Martin faced them all. "This is going to be a hell of a long night. It’ll be dirty, cold, tiring and pretty miserable. The breach is about fifty yards wide. Fortunately that massive outflow of water doesn’t appear to have damaged the track between the ditch and the wall.
"The first job is to drive stakes into the ground, evenly spaced, right across the breach. The stakes must be close enough to allow the metal sheeting to be laid up against them.
"Next, we’ll lay the metal sheeting against the stakes on the seaward side. When the tide comes in, the pressure of the water will force the sheets against the stakes and they’ll act as some sort of initial barrier.
"From the landward side, we will then build up the soil and mud against the metal sheets. You must be really careful not to knock the sheets over and remember, any earth that is put on the seaward side of the breach will just be washed away.
“James, can you organise the stakes? They are vital. Remember you must keep them close enough. Charlie, I want you to ensure that as much light is made available wherever it’s needed. Can you run a second string from here to light the far end of the breach?”
“No problem, Dad.”
“Good. Please do that. Are there any questions?”
They set to their tasks with a will.
Very soon row of stakes began to snake across the breach. Martin ensured that the first metal sheet was laid upright, mimicking the angle on the wall itself. He hammered it into the ground. Because the earth was very soft and wet, he was able to force it at least eighteen inches down into the ground.
He laid the next sheet crosswise against the upright, solid sheet and the first post. Helen was driving one of the two diggers. It had a big scoop. She began to back fill the space behind the metal sheet. As he watched her taking earth from the ditch and dumping it next to the metal sheet, Martin suddenly realised that the original sea wall must have been built using the earth from the landward side, which was how the ditch was made in the first place. Helen was now doing exactly the same, creeping slowly forward, as the stakes and the metal sheets were put into place.
Martin drove along the track to the far end of the breach. He had already concluded that the water had swept over the top of the sea wall, just at that dip which he and the boys noticed earlier that morning. Pouring over the top with an unstoppable and growing force, it had simply eroded the back of the sea wall, until the weight of earth was no longer able to keep out the sea and it had collapsed. He recalled the height of the wave as it rolled majestically up the river. He realised that the dip in the wall didn’t really matter, because the wave had come over the wall along its entire length. The dip would simply have indicated a weakness, which was quickly exploited by the sea.
He knew that it was vital to seal the far end of the breach as well. Just as Charlie connected a second string of lights, Martin collected a metal sheet and again laid it upright, before hammering it into the soft ground. A second team joined him and began to hammer in more stakes and the second digger started to back fill as soon as the sheets were laid against the stakes.
Martin climbed up
the wall to check on their progress. It was dreadfully slow. They had been already been working for about an hour and a half and the stakes had only covered about 30 yards. It would be quicker, of course, now they were working from both ends simultaneously, but the back filling was not keeping pace with the sheet laying.
Realising that he was now somewhat surplus to requirement, Martin decided to drive further along the track to check out whether there were any further breaches in the sea wall. Although the track was wet, he was able to drive its length to his boundary. There were no other breaches, but the fields were very wet and he fully understood that they would be contaminated. He returned, somewhat relieved, to the breach.
At ten o’clock, Jennifer Havers arrived with sandwiches and coffee. They all took a very welcome break.
“How did you find us?” Martin asked.
“I just followed all the tracks,” she replied. “It really wasn’t difficult. Oh! And you’ll be pleased to know that power has been restored to the farm.”
Once again, Martin climbed up the wall. Standing on the footpath, he looked over the river Thames towards Sheerness on the north Kent coast. As he stood there all was in darkness when, magically before his unbelieving eyes, the street lights came on. He looked to his right, but Canvey Island still remained dark. He slowly turned round and realised that power had been restored to Benfleet and Leigh on Sea. Away in the distance, he could see the lights of London creating a glow in the western sky.
“OK, everyone.” He looked round at his dirty, tired family, friends and neighbours. “We must get on. It’s quarter past ten. In an hour and a half, it will be Low Tide and then the water will start to come back in. We’ve got to speed up, especially with the back filling. Are you OK, Helen?”
“I’m fine, Dad,” she replied and then pointed towards Hadleigh Castle. “Hey! Look over there! Someone else is coming.”
Two sets of headlights were making their way down the slope from the ruined castle towards the railway line. They didn’t wait to see who or what was coming, but went back to their back breaking work, in the full knowledge that if the tide came in before the breach was closed, the water could simply wash everything away. Scoop up, dump, scoop up, dump, flatten down; scoop up, dump, scoop up, dump, flatten down. It was monotonous, repetitive and mind numbing.
And then the cause of the lights appeared. Another two diggers had come to assist!
By midnight, all the stakes were in place and the metal sheets snaked across the gap. They looked very flimsy in the moonlight. Now that they were working with four diggers, the back filling was progressing much faster, but progress still appeared to be painfully slow. The extra diggers were placed in the middle of the breach and each began to work backwards towards either end of the breach. Even with this additional help, it would be a close run race between completion and the tide’s return. The next High Tide was due at about six o’clock, but Martin knew that the gap must be closed at least two hours before then. Although he knew that the stake bashers and the metal sheet handlers were tired, he gave them all shovels, to ensure that the back filling work would speed up as much as was possible.
With their shoulders aching, their backs breaking, their legs trembling and their minds numb with cold, the gap slowly closed. There were insufficient of them, for anyone to have any significant rest so, each hour, Martin called a ten minute halt for the shovellers. Then, once more, he encouraged them back to work.
Slowly the line of earthworks extended across the gap until, unbelievably, at half past two in the morning, the far gap was closed. Although it was the middle of the night, Martin now tried his mobile and was somewhat surprised and relieved to find that he had a signal. He phoned the farm, where Jennifer immediately answered.
“How are you getting on?” she asked, as she answered the call.
“It’s depressingly slow. I think we’ve closed about forty yards, so there are still ten to do. But the tide’s coming in. With High Tide at about six o’clock, we must get the gap closed latest by half past three. That’s in an hour.”
“That’s going to be tight, Martin. Are you OK?”
“We’re all fine. It’s cold and the work is really hard. I really need some hard core now, to bolster the earth works that we’re building.”
“Where on earth are you going to get that in the middle of the night?”
“Do you remember meeting that young chap at the Christmas Social? He’s new round here, but he told me he was the manager of the Builder’s Merchants in Benfleet.”
“Yes, I do. His name is Wayne Maltravers.”
“He gave me a business card. I put it into the office. I think I slipped it under the corner of the blotter pad.”
“Yes. You did. It’s here! His telephone number is a mobile.”
Martin breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought it might be. I know it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning, but can you get him up. Please ask if he can open up his site and provide any hard core that he might have available.”
“I’ll do my best.” She rang off and Martin returned to the back breaking work of shovelling earth and helping to back fill the repaired sea wall.
After dropping off his passenger in the city, Andy swung his cab round and started his return journey towards the West End. He decided to drive down Aldersgate and was surprised to find that the intensity of the traffic was considerably reduced. He had a virtually clear run around St Paul’s Cathedral south to Cannon Street, where he turned left. Because there were no street lights, nor traffic lights, he turned down Friday Street and then onto Queen Victoria Street and Blackfriars where, finally, he was able to turn right onto the Victoria Embankment. As he dropped down the slip road, he couldn’t help but notice that the river was still exceptionally high and had obviously flooded over the river wall onto the road ahead. There was still water lying on the road and, with some horror, he realised that HMS President had been lifted from its moorings, as though by a malignant giant’s hand, to be deposited partway over the road in front of him. The trees on the river bank had prevented the vessel from being pushed further across the road.
He stopped to consider his options. There was no traffic behind him. The road on his right was blocked by an abandoned lorry. He decided to carry on and, carefully, he drove past the wrecked vessel. Two hundred yards later he was approaching Temple Place with the Victoria Embankment Gardens on his right. He knew that HQS Wellington should be moored in the river just on his left, but it was no longer there. In his headlights, however, he could see that another boat was straddling the road ahead. Slowly, he drove forward to find the one of the pleasure boats from Temple Pier with its bow stove in, pointing into Temple Place with its stern still hanging over the broken river wall. The river water was still flooding over the road.
As he was carefully manoeuvring around the vessel, he saw four people sitting at the side of the road. He stopped.
“Are you guys OK?” he shouted.
“Not really.” One of them, a burly man with a bushy beard, turned to Andy. "I’ve got three ladies here who are bruised, wet and dirty. We were all on this boat when it was swept from its moorings and into the road. It hit something really hard and then just settled here.
“There are still six other people on board, but we checked and they’re all dead. Can you get us to a hospital?”
“There’s no electricity in London at the moment, mate. The whole area is completely blacked out. But I might be able to get you all to a safer place where you’ll be looked after.”
“Cheers, mate!” The man waded through the water to open the back door of the cab, before helping his companions to get settled. “Where is this place?” he asked.
“A client of mine has a small hotel in Kensington. I’m going to take you there.”
As Andy drove off, he looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock. He drove up Temple Place before turning left up Arundel Street towards the Strand. Near the junction with Lancaster Place, he saw another group of bedraggle
d pedestrians. One of them stepped out into the road to stop him.
Andy pulled over. “What’s up?”
David leant into the cab and said, "I’ve got a small party here who were trapped in a bus. It was hit really hard by something from the river and knocked on its side, before being washed almost under Waterloo Bridge.
“Anyway, one lady is still unconscious, one old guy has a twisted ankle and another has broken his leg. This man’s got a badly wrenched shoulder. There are three other ladies and another young lad besides me. We’re all cold and really need to get some shelter quickly. You’re the first car to have stopped. Can you help?”
Andy gestured in the back. “I’ve already got four, but I could take another couple.”
“Where are you going? I mean it’s getting really cold out here.”
“I can see that! The Gloucester Palace Hotel. It’s near Gloucester Road tube station.” Andy looked at the lad and considered. “Listen, lad. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll take the unconscious lady and the bloke with the broken leg and then I’ll come back for the rest of you.”
“Will it be helpful if we walk in the right direction?”
“Yeah! I guess it will.” He pointed westwards down The Strand. “Keep walking that way. You’ll finally get to the big roundabout near Trafalgar Square. Go under Admiralty Arch and keep walking along the Mall towards Buck House. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
After they loaded the man with the broken leg and the unconscious lady into the cab, with David leading, his dirty and bedraggled party started to walk slowly down the Strand towards Admiralty Arch. Andy drove off with his extra passengers, in the same direction. Within half an hour he arrived at the Gloucester Palace Hotel, where he stopped, got out of the cab and ran up the steps into the hotel. There was no one at the reception desk, so he walked down the corridor past the dining room to Sebastian Fortescue Brown’s office. He could see a sliver of pale, flickering light under the door. He knocked.
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