The Great Cley Floods 5

February 2nd 1953

By Monday, the water had more or less drained from the main roads, but the job of restoring the houses was going to take a very long time. Everything was covered with a thick layer of mud. Those with an upper floor, like Martin and Mary, more or less continued to live in the upstairs area, and gradually made bits of their houses liveable in again. For Mary, the kitchen had to come first. The Rayburn burned wood and coal, and once it dried out, they managed to make it work. The place smelled of rot, which got worse every day, despite getting rid of the organic waste first thing.

Martin, of course, had to go back to school each day, but when he returned home, he got on with
the scrubbing and cleaning. Ladies from the Red Cross and other organisations arrived on Tuesday morning, ready to do their bit. Some shovelled out muck, some washed down the surfaces of the furniture, some scrubbed walls. Not a single house on High Street, Holt Road, or the Green itself was untouched by the flood, but those slightly uphill from the main coast road had perhaps four feet of flooding while the worst hit had nine feet. The degree of anticipation and organisation varied greatly. Some had expected a storm and had put their spare door wood in place and blocked it in
with clay. Some not only did nothing before the flood, but made no attempt to move any of their furniture or food upstairs. Others, like Martin, had done all they could in the time available, so had nothing to feel guilty about.

As soon as things got more normal, Martin said to Mary, “You know you said you would tell me
about where you were that night when we had a bit more time. I think we should take a break and you can tell me now.”

“You won’t believe me,” said Mary.

“Of course I will, love. I know you wouldn’t lie to me. Was it so awful that you don’t want to talk about it? Were the people unkind to you?”

“Of no, they were lovely to me, gave me food and drink, and clothing and a beautiful warm bed in
a room with a fire. I couldn’t have been looked after better.”

“Who did you say these people are?”

“I didn’t say. You wouldn’t know them.”

“Well, where exactly do they live?”

“At Heron House.”

“Oh, we know them, don’t we?”

“No, I don’t mean them at all. It wasn’t them.”

“But it was somebody who was staying at their house?”

“No, not exactly, but sort of like that. Yes, they were staying at their house.”

“But the current owners didn’t know you were there?”

“No, they didn’t know about it. They were off being good Samaritans at the church.”

“But they found out the next day about how their friends had rescued you?”

“Well, no, I didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t you want to thank them for their hospitality? Even if they weren’t there, it was their roof and their food you were eating.”

“Well, not exactly.”

“What was the name of these people who helped you.”

“Mrs. Rebecca Jackson and her servant Annie.”

“I don’t think I have ever heard of her. Is she a relative of theirs?”

“I don’t know. Probably she might be. A very distant cousin or something like that.”

“Well, I would like to meet her and thank her for rescuing you. You say you had a bump on the
head and if she hadn’t taken you in, you might have died on the road from exposure. It was a cold frosty night. Some of the locals who were out in it nearly did die.”

“I don’t think you can thank her personally because she isn’t there anymore.”

“Did she rush off? The roads are all blocked along the coast still. Where was she going to?”

“I don’t know exactly, Martin. Can we leave it there?” asked Mary, starting to feel pressured by his unrelenting questioning.

“Well, I've heard that they are going to give awards for those who did rescues in the flood, and I think we should put her name forward for it. I will tell Mr. Bishop about it, and he can put it in play.”

“Oh, please don’t, Martin. She wouldn’t want anyone to know. She would be so upset if we made
a big thing out of it. She is a very quiet woman, very shy and retiring.”

“And yet she put herself out considerably to save your life. I do wish we could do something for
her privately, if not publicly, just to show how much we appreciate all she did.”

“It gets me upset thinking about it, love. Can’t we just leave it for now? We have so much work to do and yet we have already accomplished so much. Did I tell you that Betty Day was with the Red Cross workers who came to help today? You know Betty. Her husband Jan is the housemaster for Kenwyn. Of course, you know her, what I am thinking of. Anyway, it was her oldest boy, Philip who rescued me and brought me here, and her younger sons, Chrif and Nick were in the play you produced last year. You remember how much we laughed at Chrif. Anyway, Betty was a great
help. She doesn’t mind doing a bit of hard work when she has to. She was in charge of the group and she made sure the other ladies did their share too.”

“I’m sure she did, and I'm sure they did, in order to avoid her sharp tongue.”

“She doesn’t suffer fools gladly, nor slackers, not that there were any of those around here today.”

“And the funniest thing happened. She was having a quick cigarette, and the lady in charge of all the Red Cross popped in and saw her. She asked why she wasn't wearing her white gloves as part of their Red Cross uniform. Can you imagine it? White gloves while cleaning up all of this filth.”

Mary sighed with relief that the questioning about her night away was finally over. She knew she
should tell somebody. She wanted to tell Martin, but she thought he would think she had dreamt it all, or that she was mad. She sometimes thought herself that she must have dreamt it, but all those pictures kept reappearing in her mind. The house with its strange furnishings, the layout of the street, the ships in the harbour, the things Rebecca had said about how Cley was set up then. She hadn’t dreamt it. How could she have dreamt all those things? But best to forget it for now and get on with the cleaning.

By the end of the week, the house was almost back to normal. Some of the bits of furniture had to
be thrown out, and all the soft furnishings like cushions but they had more than they wanted anyway, or so Mary told herself. The rooms seemed bigger without the usual clutter. She missed the knick-knacks that had been smashed by the storm or just floated away. But she had a good wooden table and four stout chairs and various wicker based chairs which cleaned up all right. She had to remove the covers, but she was good with a needle and could soon make new ones. Luckily her
supply of fabric was safe in the attic.