The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  Jonathan did not answer; it seemed to be taking all his energy to concentrate on dragging in the next breath. Ella and her grandmother exchanged a worried glance.

  ‘You go and snuggle in beside Grandma Eland,’ her grandmother’s tone was unusually gentle, ‘and I’ll bring you both a nice cup of something warm.’

  The girl shivered. ‘Don’t stay down there too long, else you’ll get a chill.’

  ‘Me, Missy?’ Her grandmother raised a small smile, but it was forced. ‘Not me! I’m tough as owd boots, lass.’

  There was a ghost of a smile on Ella’s mouth and in this moment for the first time she saw what it was that Rob so admired about her grandmother. In the midst of the drama, after that first initial shock, she was strong and determined once more. Not even the might of the sea invading her home could intimidate Esther Godfrey for long.

  ‘Oh, me pigs! What about me pigs? They’ll all be drowned,’ Esther said suddenly as she handed mugs of steaming liquid first to Grandma Eland and then to Jonathan and Ella.

  ‘Esther love, they’ll have to take their chance. I really can’t . . .’

  ‘No, no. You stay there, you’re not moving again. I’ll go . . .’

  ‘No, Esther . . .’ But she was not listening.

  ‘Wait for me, Gran. I’m coming with you.’ Ella quickly swallowed the hot milk that tasted odd but warmed her and put the mug down. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  ‘You stay there,’ her grandmother began, starting down the stairs. As the girl followed, she snapped, ‘Do as I say, Missy.’

  ‘No. I’m coming to help you.’

  In the fitful light, they glared at each other. ‘You get back upstairs. I dun’t want you catching cold an’ all.’

  Suddenly, Ella grinned cheekily. ‘Who me, Gran? Not me . . .’ And adopting the Lincolnshire dialect so strong in her grandmother’s speech, Ella mimicked, ‘Not me. Ah’m tough as owd boots, an’ all!’

  ‘Eh, ya saucy minx,’ her grandmother said, but suddenly, amidst all the chaos the two were laughing. ‘Oh, very well then. Wait there ’til I get you a pair of rubber boots from the scullery, if they’ve not floated away, an’ all.’

  Ella waited on the step just above the water. Bet she doesn’t come back, she thought, but then she heard her grandmother wading through the water towards her.

  ‘Here you are. Put these on. There was an old pair on the rack. They’re dry.’

  The boots were too big and chafed the back of her knees if she tried to bend her legs, but Ella made no complaint. Holding hands, they waded through the house to the back door and peered out. The black water rose and fell but there were no longer huge, swollen waves gushing towards them. Above the noise of the wind, they could hear the frightened cows lowing piteously from the cowshed.

  ‘Poor beggars!’ her grandmother muttered. ‘Still, it shouldn’t be too deep in there. I think the brick floor’s built up a bit higher. It’s the pigs I’m bothered about. Lady, and the two gilts.’

  Ella said, ‘Lady?’

  ‘The sow,’ Esther said and added, ‘Well, Missy, are ya ready?’

  Clenching her teeth together to stop them chattering, Ella said, ‘Yes, Gran.’

  Holding on to each other they waded out into the yard. The wind plucked at them and the sea swirled around them, threatening to bowl them over and plunge them beneath the black surface. The water slapped over the top of Ella’s boots and ran, like ice, down her legs.

  ‘Hang on to me, Missy. Dun’t let go, whatever ya do,’ her grandmother shouted above the noise of the wind. Ella made no reply, concentrating on keeping her balance, dreadfully afraid of falling down.

  They reached the sty and Esther pulled open the top half of the stable-type door. ‘Can you see ’em?’

  The girl peered into the gloom. ‘No – I – oh, there’s something floating . . .’

  ‘Oh, damn it!’ her grandmother muttered. ‘We’re too late.’

  Then out of the darkness came a snuffling grunt, and the water splashed against the door. ‘It’s Lady,’ Esther said joyfully. She unlatched the door and dragged it open, stretching out her hands in the darkness to feel the bristly back of the huge sow. ‘Come on, old girl. Grab hold of her ear, Ella, and let’s take her back to the house.’

  ‘The – the house?’

  ‘I can’t leave her out here. If the water comes any higher, she’ll drown too. It’s only ’cos she’s such a big pig . . .’

  The animal was struggling to escape, but Ella grasped her ear and keeping her between them, they shuffled back towards the house, the pig grunting and squealing in protest.

  They pushed her in through the back door.

  Taking a moment’s respite, Esther looked down at the pig standing in the middle of her kitchen, grunting gently, the water up to its belly. ‘Well, I never thought I’d be trying to get a pig up me stairs, but that’s where she’ll have to go, into the little bedroom.’

  ‘In my room? With me?’ Ella was wide-eyed.

  ‘Why ever not?’ Then her grandmother chuckled at the sight of Ella’s mortified face. ‘I’m only teasing you, Missy. You bring ya things out of there and snuggle in with Grandma Eland. It’ll be warmer for you in the big bedroom anyway.’

  Ella, suddenly sober again, said, ‘Gran, what do you think will have happened to Mum?’

  Gently, Esther said, ‘Ya grandpa thinks she’ll have stayed in the town – in Lynthorpe – that she’ll be quite safe.’

  ‘But what if the town’s flooded too?’ the girl asked.

  ‘Oh, there’ll be no floods there, Missy,’ her grandmother said confidently. ‘It’ll only be us got a surge come up the river ’cos of the high tides at this time of the year and with the wind to drive it . . .’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Course I am. Ya Grandpa ses so.’

  Comforted now by the confidence in her grandmother’s voice and trusting her grandpa’s knowledge, she tried to bury the worry about her mother and concentrate on heaving and pushing the huge pink sow up the staircase of Brumbys’ Farm.

  What Ella did not, at that moment, know – what none of them knew – was that, far from being the only place affected by the floods, Fleethaven Point had in fact suffered very little in comparison with the tragedy the long night was bringing to others. Unknown to the small community at the Point, struggling in the stormy night with their own problems, all down the east coast of Lincolnshire, and even further south, the sea had ravaged the land in the worst flooding within living memory. A north-westerly gale, with gusts approaching hurricane proportions, had swelled the southward flow of the flood tide down the east coast; crashing through promenades, bearing aloft huge tons of concrete like bits of flotsam; ripping gaps hundreds of yards long through the sea defences; tearing aside the dunes, dredging up tons of sand and spewing it into towns and villages; flinging chalets and caravans into heaps of splintered matchwood; rending whole roofs from bungalows and floating them away; rushing into homes, engulfing families caught unawares; without warning and without mercy.

  And somewhere, out there, was Kate Hilton.

  Seven

  ‘Gran, there’s a boat coming. Someone’s coming in a boat.’

  She rushed downstairs, praying fervently to herself as she went. ‘Oh, let it be Mum. Oh, please let it be Mum!’

  Snuggled up to the comforting bulk of Grandma Eland during the night, Ella had slept fitfully, waking every so often from a nightmare of crashing waves battering against the house. Each time, she lay listening to Grandma Eland’s gentle snoring beside her, while outside the storm still raged. Once she tiptoed out on to the landing to peer down the stairs, irrationally afraid that the water might be rising steadily to engulf them all. Sometimes when she woke, Grandma Eland was awake too and they whispered together.

  ‘Do you think Mum’s all right?’ she asked, more than once, in the darkness.

  The fat arms came around her, hugging her close. ‘Course she will be. She’ll’ve taken the car back to o
ur Danny and be safely at Rookery Farm. You’ll see.’

  They were all trying to reassure her; but were they sure themselves or just saying it to calm her fears? And their own.

  In cold light of dawn, that first grey lightening of the darkness, Ella had woken to the sound of snuffling and grunting from the other side of the door into the small bedroom, and the place beside her in the bed, though rumpled, was empty. She swung her legs to the floor and, barefoot, padded to the window. Drawing back the curtains she looked out on to a grey lake. There were no surging waves now. The wind, still strong though no longer gale-force, merely rippled the surface of the water. She could see now that the floodwater extended to a line just beyond the far bank of the river; beyond that, she could see the brown earth of the fields. She pressed her face to the window trying to see Rookery Farm and though she could see the buildings she could not be sure from this distance whether the water had reached the farm or not.

  She dressed hurriedly, shivering in the cold, finding her thickest jumper and warmest socks. Then she went out onto the landing. She knocked on the bedroom door opposite and when there was no answer she pushed open the door and peeped inside.

  There was no one in the room.

  A moment’s absurd fear swept through her that her grandparents, and Grandma Eland, had gone in the night and she was now entirely alone; marooned in an empty house. She swallowed such a foolish thought.

  She went into her grandparents’ room and went to the window. Maybe she could see Rookery Farm from here . . .

  It was then that she saw the boat.

  On the step just above the water stood the pair of rubber boots she had worn last night. Struggling into them, ignoring the damp insides and holding up her skirt, she stepped carefully down into the water, surprised at the cold which penetrated even the thick rubber of the boots. She could hear the splashing of water as someone moved about. Slowly she waded out of the hall and into the living room; then through that and stopped at the kitchen door. ‘Gran?’ In the kitchen her grandmother and Grandma Eland were lifting chairs out of the water and on to the table.

  ‘You stay upstairs, Missy,’ her grandmother snapped. ‘I dun’t want you getting soaking wet again. The range fire’s out now and there’s no way I can relight it.’ Ella saw the older woman cast an angry, resentful glance at the cold fire-grate.

  Ella ignored her grandmother’s scolding and said, ‘Gran, there’s someone coming in a boat.’

  Esther looked at her. ‘Really?’ And she began to wade towards the back door, with Grandma Eland close behind her and Ella following, asking, ‘It’ll be Mum coming back. I’m sure it’s Mum coming. Where’s Grandpa? Is he all right this morning?’

  Esther sniffed with disapproval. ‘Silly man. He’s got a bit of a cough through getting chilled but he’s gone out again to see to the cows.’

  The three of them stood together in the murky sea water at the open back door watching a little rowing boat being manoeuvred from the lane, or at least where the lane should be, through the farmyard gate and towards the back door of the house.

  ‘It’s Uncle Danny and Rob.’ Ella’s sharp eyes recognized them first. ‘But – but I can’t see Mum. Maybe she’s stopped at Rookery Farm and they’ve come to take me to her . . .’

  At that moment Jonathan emerged from the cowshed. Hitching his thigh boots up as far as he could, he began to wade towards the boat. He shouted a greeting. ‘Morning, Harbour Master, what time’s the tide go out?’

  They heard Danny’s laughter drifting towards them. ‘Glad you can joke about it.’ And as the boat floated closer, he called, ‘You all right, Missus, and the young ’un?’

  ‘As well as can be expected,’ Esther replied tartly, but she was smiling even if a little wryly. Danny pulled in the oars and he and Rob sat in the boat as it floated near the back door.

  ‘What about you, Mam?’

  Grandma Eland’s face beamed. ‘If it hadn’t been for that man there,’ she nodded towards Jonathan, ‘I wouldn’t be standing here at all.’

  ‘How’s things with you, Danny?’ Jonathan asked, swiftly turning the attention away from himself, but Ella noticed that his voice was still husky and his breathing difficult.

  ‘We’re okay. The surge came in over the headland and up the river and that’s why you’ve got it. It was too sudden, too fast for the river to cope with the volume. It’s come into our yard, but not into the house. So, we’ve come to fetch all of you to Rookery Farm,’ he said, his glance going from one to the other.

  Without waiting for her husband’s opinion, Esther said sharply, ‘I aren’t leaving me farm and no one’s going to make me.’

  ‘Now, wait a minute, Esther—’ Jonathan began, but she rounded on him. ‘I’m not going and that’s flat!’

  ‘Well, what about Ella, then?’

  Esther did not answer Danny’s question, but instead asked, ‘Is Kate with you? Is she back?’

  The colour drained from Danny’s face and his mouth gagged open. ‘Kate?’ he said hoarsely. ‘Isn’t she here? With you?’

  Esther shook her head.

  Fear shot through Ella like a knife and her knees began to tremble, but she could say nothing, ask nothing. She just stared and stared at Danny.

  ‘I thought—’ he was stumbling over the words. ‘When she didn’t bring the car back I thought – I thought she must have come straight home and – and that she’d bring it back next day . . .’

  ‘She’ll be in Lynthorpe. She’ll be in the town,’ Jonathan said and, trying to raise their hopes, added, ‘She’s probably the lucky one, keeping her feet dry.’

  But in Danny’s eyes there was no laughter. ‘She – she went up the coast, didn’t she?’

  In the boat, Rob, solemn and white-faced, sat beside his father. Ella began to cry, not caring now who saw her.

  Her gaze never leaving Danny’s face, Esther said quietly, ‘There’s more, isn’t there, Danny? Come on, out with it.’

  It was then that Danny began to tell them of the awful news bulletins that were coming over the wireless.

  ‘This . . .’ he waved his hand to encompass the floodwater all around, ‘this is nothing compared to what’s happened further north. We heard the news on our portable this morning. The whole of the Lincolnshire coast and, I think, Norfolk and Kent coastlines too, are devastated by flooding. The sea’s gone as far as two miles inland in some parts and this morning’s high tide’s been nearly as bad. We’ve just been up to the Hump and stood on the top . . .’ He glanced at Rob, sitting in the boat beside him. But the boy was pale, his eyes large and stricken. ‘I’ve never seen rollers like it out to sea. I felt sea-sick just looking at ’em. Forty foot high, I reckon they must be.’

  Esther gasped, ‘You mean we’re goin’ to get more?’

  Danny shook his head. ‘Not here, I don’t reckon. At least, no more than you’ve got now, but maybe that’s why the water’s not going down at all yet. It’s still coming in.’

  ‘What about the cottages at the Point?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘Still standing – just – but it’s a good job they all got out when they did, else . . .’ Danny cleared his throat and said instead, ‘But the pub’s gone altogether now.’

  Ella remembered Rob pointing out the crumbling ruins of a building that had been bombed in the war. His grandad Eland had been killed there, he’d said. Ella shuddered suddenly. And last night, his grandma Eland might have been drowned in her home if Grandpa Godfrey hadn’t rescued her.

  But where was her mum? Had anybody been there to rescue her?

  Noticing Ella shiver, Esther said, ‘Go on in, child. There’s no need for you . . .’

  ‘No,’ the girl said. ‘I’ve got to hear it.’ Then realizing her tone had been brusque, almost rude, she looked up swiftly at her grandmother, adding softly so that only Esther, and not the others, should hear. ‘Please, Gran. I must!’

  Their attention was drawn back to Danny as, haltingly, he was saying the words they most dread
ed to hear. ‘There’s – there’s been people drowned in some places . . .’

  They were all staring at each other now in horror, trying to take in the enormity of the destruction that had swept their county’s coastline.

  ‘What about the town?’

  ‘I don’t know. Later today I’m going to go up past the Grange and out that way and see if I can get news.’

  Ella moved forward. ‘Are you going to try and find Mum, Uncle Danny?’

  The man looked at her and even the young girl could see the depth of suffering that was suddenly naked in his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely. ‘That’s why I’m going.’

  There was silence and then he looked back at Esther again and said, ‘At least let me take the child back home where it’s warm and dry.’

  ‘No,’ her grandmother said firmly. ‘She stays here. With me.’

  From the tone in her grandmother’s voice, Ella knew argument would be futile.

  Over the next day or so, news filtered through gradually regarding the extent of the flooding; how the relentless waves had rolled inland, taking lives, destroying homes and livelihoods in one powerful, ruthless invasion. All the coastal holiday resorts of the county had suffered a terrible battering and now an army of mechanical vehicles moved in to fill up the breaches. Lorry load after lorry load of slag and stone was trundled hour after hour to the stricken coast and men worked day and night to hold back the sea.

  With growing horror the people of Fleethaven Point heard of the devastation and counted themselves fortunate in comparison.

  Yet they were not unscathed, for still there was no news of Kate Hilton.

  Eight

  By Thursday the water was gone from the house leaving a carpet of sand and sludge that Esther attacked with resentment. ‘How dare it?’ she muttered. ‘I’ve loved the sea, ever since I first came here as a young lass, and this is what it does to me!’