The Gloucestershire floods in July 2007 led to the biggest peacetime emergency this country has ever experienced, and sparked hundreds of stories of heroic rescues, outstanding courage and community camaraderie.
During September Tewkesbury writer and poet, Brenda Read-Brown, visited emergency services, local heroes and ordinary people caught up in the crisis to hear their accounts of that extraordinary time.
Poetry
Some of their stories are told through the poems shown here, and are also being broadcast by BBC Radio Gloucestershire over the course of the Festival.
The title refers to the length of the Festival and, roughly, the amount of time the situation in Tewkesbury was headline news. In reality, of course, the crisis was ongoing for many people, and will still continue for some considerable time to come.
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Poem 1 - The violins played on
The inspiration behind this first poem = "Pittville Pump Room in Cheltenham was used as a rescue centre on the first night of the floods, which coincided with their final Cheltenham Music Festival concert."
There was no iceberg, and no dancing,
And the Pump Room didn't sink,
But the violins played on. We didn't think
Of stopping
The Festival's last concert,
Although the rain was dropping
Like nothing I have ever seen –
The winnings from a fruit machine,
A cascade of disappearing money.
At first, standing outside, it seemed quite funny,
To get wetter, and wetter and still wetter,
But then the penny dropped:
The weather wasn't getting better.
The lake was up over the road.
The cars had slowed, then been abandoned.
We were high and dry, above a moat,
But I couldn't help but feel
That it all seemed quite surreal
As the violins played on and on, until the final note;
And soaked survivors struggled to our music-loving lifeboat.
They stood, bewildered and bedraggled,
A raggle-taggle crew,
And no-one really knew just what to do –
So we got out all the crockery
And served shocked people cups of tea;
And noted all their names,
Families and foreigners – disaster hits them all the same.
The Red Cross brought clothing, blankets, games;
Sainsbury's sent food.
They all seemed quite subdued,
Chatting to make the time go by;
Quietly drinking, politely eating;
Focusing on getting dry –
We'd turned on all the heating.
And later – well it was a shambles:
Sleeping people everywhere –
The floor, the chairs, the dressing rooms upstairs,
All littered with unwitting and unwilling visitors,
Snoring through the echoes of the concerts of the past .
Of course, it didn't last.
By eleven the next morning every one of them had gone,
But in my mind, the violins played on.
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Poem 2 - Salvage
The inspiration behind this second poem = "Brynteg Books in Winchcombe supplies mostly educational books to schools. They have suffered from flooding four times in ten years. Many members of the company came into work the weekend after the flood to help clear up, and in only a few days they were trading, almost as normal."
It doesn't come knocking at the door,
But seeps, in silence, under walls; stains the floor
With the eerie alien menace of a creature
From a bad B-movie feature.
But hey – we'd seen it all before,
This repressive totalitarian force,
Sent, of course, to destroy our books,
Bent on eating knowledge,
Defeating education.
We knew the score;
Smug masters (and mistresses) of the situation,
We thought the Brynteg ship would ride the storm –
Mere floods aren't frightening, like fire.
"All hands on deck!"
We moved thousands of books up higher –
Harry Potter, AQA Psychology, and Shrek –
This was no time for discrimination.
Job done – by one. Racked, and stacked.
But then came the two-point attack!
As if the hills had tipped their load -
A wall of water crossed the road;
The river banks sank out of sight, ashamed,
As if they thought they might be blamed for failing,
And the current tugged around our knees.
No use baling –
The Jolly Brynteg was no longer sailing.
Powerless, we abandoned ship.
And nature, left alone, let rip
Like a giant child –
Smashing shelving, trashing tables,
Dumping desks and cutting cables,
And wild with frustration, because it could not read,
It peed all over books,
Till all was soaked and sodden.
But, as a child, it wasn't vicious –
Rather wanton, or capricious, lacking understanding;
Some things were saved, perhaps forgotten:
A Winnie-the-Pooh mug quite untouched,
And the wooden coat stand standing
In its customary place.
We watched it on CCTV,
Confounded and dumbfounded by all that we could see;
And as quickly as it came, it went away,
As if someone had pulled a plug –
You could almost hear it glug – glug – glug
As it swirled and bubbled into drains.
Next day, in tears, we looked on the remains,
Speechless, staring; not despairing,
But downhearted;
New-purchased brooms discarded,
Useless against such mess.
When with sudden unexpected chivalry,
The cavalry came (a farmer with his JCB)
And, like the water had before,
Thundered through the shattered store,
And swept the junk out through the door.
Pre-booked industrial cleaners arrived,
And we were shipshape, tidy, dry;
Back in business; trading;
With nothing but a watermark six feet high
And twenty thousand books, marinading
In the yard – a real pulp mountain
That took four full days to clear.
And if the waters come again next year?
Well, now we will know just what to expect.
We've learned – from life, not books – to pay nature due respect.
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Poem 3 - Tea
The inspiration behind this third poem = "Coming back into work after a flood can be strange – the small things can seem very important."
What do you look for, after a flood,
Among the debris and the mud?
I'll tell you:
Flynn's bed – our dog needs a place to sleep –
And his biscuits, that we keep
On a high shelf.
For myself, some photos in a box;
My stapler and the keys – the locks
Can stay unchanged; clock cards,
So everyone could be paid;
The lemon drizzle cakes I'd made the day before,
Now floating in a tub; my mug;
The darts, once we were sure
That the dartboard hadn't gone;
Some chairs still safe to sit upon;
But (we're English, after all) most important had to be
A kettle, so we could gather round
And have a cup of tea.
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Poem 4 - Priors Park
The inspiration behind this fourth poem = "Priors Park in Tewkesbury was badly hit by the floods. Even so, many local residents made the best of a bad situation."
When the power went off in Priors Park
The dark was defeated by candles that glimmered
On people all seated at tables outside, drinking wine,
While under the water the car roofs shimmered.
When the taps were turned off in Priors Park,
A human conveyor belt lifted and carried and trolleyed and ferried,
To make sure that everyone had enough water,
While around it was lying knee-deep.
When the food ran out in Priors Park,
Nobody cheated, just took what they needed
Of truckloads from Tesco and a Birmingham baker
Who'd sent crusty loaves, fresh and warm.
And when the floods went,
The Priors Park people were proud to have weathered the storm.
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Poem 5 - Blitzed
The inspiration behind this fifth poem = "So many people were stranded by the floods. Complete strangers, thrown together unexpectedly, made the best of things whilst employees who were also stranded responded magnificently to the challenge."
Was this what it was like in the blitz?
We were bombed out by water,
Covering the road, waist deep;
People stuck, nowhere to sleep,
So forced to stay and dally
In the Tenpin bowling alley.
I'd worked a long shift anyway,
But there was no choice but to stay
And help. Twelve French students didn't play
In the kids' area, but dozed;
A Canadian couple with a baby chose
Not to confer in the conference room, but slept;
A party of businessmen kept
Trying bribery to get cider – tempting, but I still said no
To the offer of £60 for a bottle of Strongbow.
Some teenagers en route to a festival were stranded.
And everyone, all different, landed
Together by chance, stayed cheerful, didn't complain.
And, no, I wouldn't want to go through it all again -
Twenty-eight hours non-stop,
Working until finally I dropped –
But it’s an experience I wouldn't have missed:
Knowing what it might have been like in the blitz.
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Poem 6 - Royalist
The inspiration behind this sixth poem = "Charles and Camilla visited Priors Park in Tewkesbury. Some of the staff at the Neighbourhood Project were rather surprised at their own reactions to this event."
At first, everyone was acting cool.
They're just like other people,
Nothing special, after all.
But later, as the day went by,
Clothes were straightened, make-up was applied,
The kitchen tidied; questions asked:
"Is it ma'am as in ham, or ma'am as in harm?"
We couldn't focus properly on tasks
That needed to be done;
Hid away copies of OK! and the Sun.
"If you're nervous, think of them with nothing on,"
Somebody said – not from perversity or vice;
Apparently it's considered good advice.
But anyway, it went unheeded, quite unneeded,
For suddenly, the royal pair were here.
Prince Charles and Camilla, come to call –
The handshakes firm, the smiles sincere;
But strangely, they seemed very small:
She dainty, in green frock and flowered shawl,
Charles slight, and suited, formal wear.
We were bewitched. They seemed to care,
Asked questions, listened, understood,
Were real. It seemed that anyone could
Approach; it seemed they were quite unprotected.
And when they left, she turned right round
To wave, the window wound right down.
Till then I'd thought that leaders ought to be elected,
And I don't believe that anyone deserves curtsey or bow,
But, like everyone who was here that day,
I am a royalist now.
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Poem 7 - Unbelievable
The inspiration behind this seventh poem = "A beautiful and poignant poem inspired by one man's experience of the disaster. Gloucester Fire Station Commander Tally Giampa, along with many hundreds of others in the emergency services, worked ceaselessly to help people caught up in the disaster."
When even blue lights make no progress,
And to rescue people in distress
A tractor is the only means to take;
When crossings seem to be real pelicans perched above a lake;
When stopping for a break
Is something people just forget to do,
Like buying water for HQ,
When there's none left anywhere;
When you use a mop handle to prepare
And check the way before you in the dark;
When the fire station yard and car park
Disappear under a crowd of people, tankers, vans and boats;
When mobile homes just float,
And the media go daft;
When I'm asked to be translator for Italians with hovercraft,
And arms waved, crossed, across a face
Tell me without words that they have found the place
Where a young man fell and died;
And to make them let me carry on, I lied
And said I'd had a little sleep;
When, with the water six feet deep,
I spent eight days in an undrugged high,
Buzzing with adrenaline, getting by
With nothing but nerves and colleagues for support,
No time for feeling or for thought;
When the impossible is found to be achievable,
That’s when the only word that seems to fit is
…Unbelievable.
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Poem 8 - A novel experience
The inspiration behind this eighth poem = "It can be very difficult for older people to cope with the unexpected, although a strong sense of humour prevailed in Victoria Court sheltered housing."
The water came up the road in waves, like the sea across flat sand.
We stood on the steps and watched it – an anxious little band.
Then
Me? Well, I made my escape, got out while the going was good;
My sister came over to rescue me, as quickly as she could.
And me? With the others, I was evacuated, taken away by bus,
And I tried to do as I was told, didn't make a fuss,
But to get things packed in half an hour, when you're older, is much harder.
I put in nightie, toothbrush and two pair of pants – then off to the Ramada!
So while friends and relatives worried about whether I was ok,
I spent the night in luxury – like a little holiday.
But me – I went to the bathroom in the early hours of the morning,
And felt cold water on bare feet. There wasn't any warning,
And all I had was ruined, and my flat's just an empty shell.
It's a novel experience, I'll tell you, but I think I'm coping well.
I'll be 80 in December, and I'm hoping that by then
Everything will be back to normal, and I never go through this again.
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Poem 9 - Washed Away
The inspiration behind this ninth poem = "The disbelief and numb shock after being flooded, experienced by hundreds of families, is reflected in this poem."
It was like the pictures on TV,
But this was grim reality:
The fridge freezer floating on its back,
And the dining table overturned,
As if there'd been a bomb attack.
Silence, shock, desolation, gloom –
The whole town echoed in my room;
And everywhere the strange, medieval smell.
And I put my memories in a skip,
As if my life was washed away;
All the little things I knew so well –
Dad's stamp album, just a blip
In time; the hymn book, used each Sunday
By my mum – just rubbish now.
And I look around, and wonder how
To stop feeling that my home's been raped.
I must be grateful, though – I can escape,
Walk up an alley, get away from here,
Whenever it really gets me down.
In Bangladesh it happens every year,
And people drown.
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Poem 10 - Instead
The inspiration behind this tenth and final poem = "The Fire and Rescue Services co-ordinated the activities of services from all over the country. Strensham services, on the M5, was one of their bases."
M5. Strensham services. The car park.
Not renowned for being interesting,
Let alone surreal,
But then transformed into a field
Of rigid fire and hard-edged poppies,
Soldier red and solid steel –
Half the nation’s New Dimensions assets
(That's high-volume pumps), instead
Of cars,
While crews kitted out like men on Mars,
But dropping from exhaustion,
Seemed glamorous as movie stars
To holidaymakers, wearing shorts,
Just popping in for petrol and a pee.
All caught permanently for me
In early-morning freeze frame,
Where my name and rank didn't earn a Travelodge bed
And I'd made do with sleeping bag and reclined car seat instead,
And I didn't even get a cup of tea.
Other memories abound:
In exhilarating action, not just desk-bound;
Challenged by the need for ever-changing plans;
Humbled by the gratitude of every man
And woman that I met;
I won't forget
The backdrop beat and thump of generators;
Rescue vessels sliding up town streets
Like alligators in a mangrove swamp;
The aerial view: not what we knew – instead
It was the Gloucestershire Delta, Terry said.
Twenty million litres pumped from Mythe in just one night!
But not only a water fight –
Crews from twenty services accommodated, fed,
Deployed; forced now and then to rest,
Although buoyed up and keen to do their best;
And they all had to be managed without messiness or muddle,
Even when, the rescues ended, the focus turned instead
On giving the community a cuddle,
Because sometimes life is hanging on a very fragile thread.
This was deadly serious stuff,
And we know that action's not enough –
Our aim is to give everyone a quiet life instead.
All poems were written by Tewkesbury poet, Brenda Read-Brown, in conjunction with the Cheltenham Literature Festival.
Brenda will be appearing at the Ledbury Poet Festival where she'll be reading her Ten Days poems on Friday 11 July 2008 at 10.30am.
