I remember lying there unable to sleep, despite my exhaustion, thinking of my poor daughter who had turned 25 that day.
I remember the horror of having to wade, with my 7-year-old over my shoulder, through water up to my waist. In the dark. With the Wind. With the RAIN. When we got back to the house I could not feel my legs.
We didn’t die. It was luck not judgement. This has affected me badly.
Month 3 we went back. We had been at (another) friends holiday cottage. But they had tenants coming. There was not really much available.
We put in a door.
We put in a kitchen.
We moved upstairs.
We made ourselves think it was all ok.
My parents came to visit (from France) – to help. To show solidarity. My father had a heart attack.
We are upstairs.
Now with a heart attack patient (he is ok – Can’t praise the Infirmary emergency care and the ambulance crews enough – I know it is not the norm but my father could not have got better treatment in those first 12 hours anywhere – and the Cardiac surgeon, who put in the stents, lives in Crosby on Eden and was flooded.)
We nearly went quietly mad.
And the work was slow.
The house had water in it for over two weeks.
It was very wet.
We were not insured (it had been flooded before – our fault for living there!)
We lost a great deal
We were lucky. It was rented. But it was our home for almost 6 years.
We moved. Again. 3rd time in 5 months.
We now have a year here – 95m above sea level – but last week we received a flood alert for the ‘old’ house – we are far from over this.
We fear the rain.
And we are unsettled – we have a year – then we have to move again – probably.