Your Stories

BBC Radio Humberside  reporter Adam Wild give his recollections of covering the floods.

Two-years on from what, at the time, was described as the worst peacetime disaster ever to hit Hull, the scars, both physical and mental continue to blight the forgotten city. 

Whilst a lot has happened in the past two years and the world inevitably moves on, travel to countless parts of the region and the caravans and skips lining the streets bear testimony to the fact that for many, life changed on the 25th June 2007.

Even for those fortunate enough to be finally back in their homes, weather forecasters will never again be able to predict heavy rain without a collective sense of unease, without eyes shifting nervously skyward; memories flooding back.

The national media have long since left, if indeed they ever came, but for those of us who remain to cover the clear up, the aftermath and the lessons learnt, the memories vividly live on; reputations made and careers defined.

Abandoned cars in Hull

Hull is my home. It is where I was born, where I went to school and where I became who I am. For that reason working as a reporter last summer was perhaps for me a more deeply emotive and personal experience. The streets where I grew up disappearing under dirty brown water; the lives of friends, family, and neighbours ruined; by telling these stories, I found myself a part of them.

Whilst no one could have predicted what happened, ironically the story began for me at a small primary school in Anlaby reporting on flood damage. I had been dispatched to the school at 6 a.m. to tell the story of how they had managed to reopen after heavy rain had forced their closure a week or so earlier. The rain was coming down by the bucket load, as it had done all night, and as I parked the mobile studio in the car park a caretaker mischievously commented that if I left it there for too long, it may be the last I see of it. At that point I thought he was only joking.

As I stood in one of the worst effected classrooms, with only a handful of children’s drawings clinging defiantly to the walls and the whirring of the electric dryers in the background, the head teacher and myself looked out on to the playground as it slowly flooded. As my allocated time slot on the breakfast show approached, it became clear that my story was changing. This was not going to be an interview with the head teacher about how all their hard work had enabled the school to get back on its feet so quickly; this was not a tale of triumph over adversity, this was a tale of impending disaster.

As soon as my live slot had passed, I was informed that the radio station had received a call from a woman in Orchard Park who had raw sewage running through her garden and I was told to attend. Driving through the streets on my way, the gravity of the situation was still unclear. The areas I saw were flooded, but for this to be happening right across the region was unthinkable. It was only much later on that I learnt that by this point Humberside Fire and Rescue had already received around 3,000 calls for help.

Paddling on Newland Avenue, west Hull.

After reporting live whilst standing up to my ankles in raw sewage, talking to a furious homeowner demanding action be taken, I drove on to Newland Avenue. A busy and multi-cultural shopping street had ground to a standstill as emergency work was being undertaken to desperately protect the shops. As I stood there describing the scene on-air to our mid-morning presenter, shop keepers and even one rather harassed-looking PCSO begged to borrow my wellies. Three large areas of the city, each worse than the one before, and we hadn’t even reached the lunchtime news.

By this point we had become reliant on members of the public to tell the story. The phones at the radio station hadn’t stopped ringing, as extra members of staff were diverted to field calls of panic and helplessness. I was moved on to Anlaby Road where garden ponds had overflowed and there were reports of people fishing in the middle of the dual carriageway. Having driven down this road on my way to work some hours earlier, it was clear that the situation was worsening and I remember taking a photo on my mobile phone to send to my sister; she wouldn’t believe what was happening to our home town. After another live broadcast there, describing the children splashing around whilst frantic mothers battled to do up raincoats – I received a call from my editor. A man was stuck in a drain in Hessle.

A journey that would normally take little more that ten minutes took nearly two hours as road closures and jams brought traffic to near gridlock, all the time flood water lapping up around my bumper. I got as close as I could to where I had been told to go, and got out to walk the rest. Anyone who has experienced flooding will know that there is no greater heart-sinking moment than the first trickles of water to overlap the top of your wellies. Having waded through the streets for around 20 minutes, desperately trying to keep my radio equipment from getting wet, the water continuing to rise, all the time torrential rain continued.

Rescue workers in Astral Close, Hessle

When I turned the corner into Astral Close, it was clear this is where I needed to be. The small, narrow cul-de-sac was completely blocked up by emergency vehicles and from the faces of the crews, this was a very grave situation. A couple of other reporters were already there and we discussed in hushed tones what was happening and what we could see. We stood for some time and watched helplessly at a distance the work of the emergency services. I don’t know whether it was the cold, the wet, the exhaustion or just the shock, but when the fireman came over, removed his helmet, and told me Michael Barnett had passed away, we were all numb.

It’s easy to forget at times like that that you are there to do a job, but I took my lead from the other reporters and phoned the story in. My radio equipment had stopped working but within a few minutes I was live on the radio, on my mobile phone, as sensitively as I could, describing the tragedy. As I waded back to my van, cold, wet and shaken, my phone rang again. This time it was London, and I was to appear on BBC Radio Five Live’s afternoon show. I stood there in the pouring rain, surrounded by water, waist high in places, for over 45 minutes listening to coverage from Wimbledon, waiting for my slot. It was at best, surreal.

By 6 o’clock the following morning I was at a community centre on Bransholme where half a dozen elderly people had spent the night after their homes had been evacuated. The scale of the disaster was clear but as we sat there eating bacon butties they told me stories from the war. In the same breath as cheerily reminiscing about evacuation and rationing, they told me that all their possessions had been washed away. This was the community spirit we became so familiar with over the coming weeks and months.

After the breakfast show, as I drove away, I heard one of my colleagues announce on-air that the East Yorkshire village of Hedon had been badly hit and was warning people not to go there, quoting some official source saying there was a severe risk to life and limb.

Flooded gardens in Hedon

Its not a part of the world I am hugely familiar with and the residential area where I had been sent all looked very similar, particularly under three feet of water. I parked up and decided to walk to where fire crews were pumping water into the haven. I waded through street after street, going in circles and backtracking on myself for half an hour before I found them, some of whom I seem to remember being in Hessle the previous day. I did the relevant interviews before my phone rang. Once again it was my editor telling me I needed to be live on air in the next ten minutes. I started to walk away, before suddenly realising I hadn’t even the faintest clue where I had left the van. In the midst of their hard work and exhaustion, the look of blind panic on my face seemed to strike a chord with one of the fire officers. After he had stopped chuckling at my predicament, he told me to jump into his vehicle and we sped off, around the streets of Hedon. We eventually found it, and I grabbed the microphone and switched on with seconds to spare. I didn’t even have time to thank him for saving my neck, as I tried to catch my breath and began describing the scene.

For the following week I spent around 60 hours on the road, driving from one location to another, speaking to residents, hearing their stories, and getting them on air; each place and each tale more heart-breaking than the last. People have since asked me why I didn’t just stop and help, but I think in many ways we did. What happened in this region that week was shocking, unforeseen and devastating, but for many people what was most important was not being forgotten. It was impossible for the emergency services or any other body to attend to every single person, but for people to hear on the radio that we were there, that their story was being told and that they weren’t alone, then that was the best help we could give.

Other memories

Paula Walton manages a children’s nursery in Hull.

Julia Nichols is a community warden based in Hessle Road, Hull.

Martin Rumford works for the Humber Rescue lifeboat at the Humber Bridge, Hessle.

Paul Davison is a Chief Superintendent for Humberside Police. He was in charge of the emergency operation.