A Surge of Memories: Stories of the Great Flood 1953 and the East Coast Tidal Surge 2013.

[@EventVideo]

Emotional and so well told. We're glad we could be a small part of this. Congratulations on an incredible piece of oral history for the coastal communities along the East Coast.

[@emmasupple1527]

Thank you for producing this. Such sad and important part of our island history.

[@adminelf]

Brilliant documentary. Thank you.

[@carolinecurrington1867]

My grandma Denton and my mum's sister Deana died in theses floods . Such a shame ...

[@tomaddison6576]

My father ran the last company of DUKWs and came down from Glasgow for this event. One of my earliest memories as a six year old.

[@glynluff2595]

I remember the results well. The pictures in the EDP were shocking afterwards. An American airman did huge rescue work and was rewarded with honour afterward. The family car was retaxed afterwards and and we drove around the devastation area at later date and saw haystacks and milk churns in the telegraph lines. Fishing boats were over half a mile in land,

[@JimEvans-bv2uz]

The great storm of 1953. Let me take you back in time. If I may. It happened In the mid afternoon of Saturday, the 31st January. 1953, when the howling Northerly winds rapidly increased to storm force. Such was its ferocity that the majority of Whitby folks sought shelter in their homes. Only a few the hardiest and healthiest people were out on the streets. Baxtergate was deserted and all the shops had closed early because of the danger of falling masonry and roof tiles. At that time, I was 12 year old kid, living in the 18th century coaching Inn on Baxtergate, the Black Swan. Like most boys of that era, I had very little fear of the elements. The pub was devoid of, customers, despite a roaring fire that blazed like a furnace from the abnormal updraft. There was no point in keeping the pub open, when it was clear that the town had emptied.. At two thirty, prompt, the pub doors were closed and the coal fire damped down. Mother retired upstairs for her usual afternoon break.. My own bedroom, where I spent most of my time, was at the lowest level on the intermediate first floor, where my window just above the archway coach entrance overlooked Baxtergate. It was my space, my special place known as the "Cubby Hole" It was still mid afternoon and lying on my bed, close to the window, as I often did, listening to the crescendo of noise outside, I could see and hear those heavy pantiles smashing into fragments on the road. Masonry was falling everywhere...the street was littered with debris. The old wooden and beautifully hand painted pub sign , depicting a graceful black Swan, swung wildly on its hinges, it was insane, watching that massive sign, being flung, too and fro, as if it was weightless Inevitably. It's ancient, well worn hinges could no longer take the strain, and in a flash, the creaking old sign was ripped off its iron bracket where it became air borne, crashing to the ground in smithereens, not far from Hepworths store. The street, thankfully was deserted.. I was becoming even more aware of the wind as it increased in strength, I had never previously experienced such powerful, or destructive natural forces. The fabric of the old building seemed to shudder as the blasts increased, and the noise from the centuries old, ill fitting sash windows which were shaking and vibrating began to be intrusive, almost frightening. All the doors in the pub were clattering, and loose tiles could be heard sliding down the roof before being lifted away into orbit, and taking flight to earth.. Then, unbelievably. I noticed that flood water had reached the opening of the Angel hotel yard where it opens onto Baxtergate, this really drew my interest because this was something very new and quite alarming. Something inside my foolish boys head compelled me to venture out, and onto the street. No one would see me leave the confines of my little "bolt hole".. I put on my wellies and a warm coat, made my way down stairs, no one would see me as I opened the side door and gingerly exited onto the deserted Baxtergate. I was immediately aware of the crescendo of noise as debris, masonry and tiles were crashing all around me.. Undaunted, I pressed on towards the swing Bridge, a few yards away. eager to see the harbour.. As I approached Boot's Corner with great difficulty, due to the strength of the wind, I was literally blown off my feet... It was great fun, leaning with all my strength, like a bird in flight, balancing against the wind.. With some difficulty, I made it to the small opening of the old National Provincial Bank where there was a little shelter from the Northerly hurricane. What I witnessed will remain a vivid memory forever. The waves in the harbour were enormous, each one breaking over the harbour wall adjacent to the deserted Bridge house. I watched each wave run down the slight incline towards New Quay road which in itself was flooded almost up to Colliers hardware store. Looking beyond the harbour wall and the breaking waves, what I witnessed was a maelstrom of white water, an angry foaming sea of spray and spume, whipped up by ferocious winds. It was almost impossible to distinguish the boundary between the sea and the land.. I was awestruck, fearful and aware of my vulnerability. Besides, it was getting dark now and I didn't want to be discovered, missing in action.. My return to home was undertaken very rapidly as once more, I was swept off my feet in the wind.. No one saw or heard me creep back inside..they never knew that I had risked my life for an adventure of a lifetime. At the age of 12. I was expected to open the doors of the pub at 6 pm for the evening session..the wind had eased a little, and the public expected a pub to be open, they were obliged to under the law. Acting under orders from mother, I was told to open the pub doors, stoke up the fir, put on all the lights, and turn on the beer barrel taps. I must explain that the Swan Inn had an underground cellar about 10 feet deep where the barrels were stored on wooden gantries. I opened the cellar door to gain access to the stone stairway. Normally, switching on the light would give some illumination to the steps..unknown to me, the circuit fuse had blown, hence no illumination. In the pitch black, I attempted to descend the stone steps, but was stopped in my tracks by the flood water which had almost reached the top step. There was no draught beer sold that night. What few customers appeared. were obliged to purchase bottled beers..not their usual best bitter. The following day. Sunday the 1st February, the hurricane had subsided and now if was time to count the cost. The most bizzare sight met my eyes when I went down the Angel Yard to see the harbour.. A number of fishing cobles had broken loose from their moorings at the highest point of the tide and were now sitting, high and dry on the previously flooded car park, adjacent to Corner and Brown's timber merchant. The cobles had been driven onto the car park by the strength of the wind and left stranded as the tide receded. Other local people looked on in amazement.. On my return to Baxtergate, via one of the smaller yards, the force of the flood water had forced off the many iron manhole covers, all of which had been swept elsewhere. Debris and a thick layer of slimy mud was deposited everywhere. The aforementioned flooded cellar was a mess. The flood water had exited via a drain in the cellar floor. The water went out in the same way it came in. The beers barrels had floated off the gantries and deposited randomly on the filthy cellar floor. Needless to say, the beer they contained was undrinkable. Many harbourside houses jad been flooded and a number of families were evacuated..The damage locally was immense. Flooded homes. Ruined carpets and furniture. A lot of infrastructure was damaged, especially to the old piers and harbour walls. The road bridge at West Row was damaged beyond repair, closing the main coast road for many weeks Sadly, 13 people on Canvey Island in the Thames estuary lost their lives. The once in a century weather event was due to a combination of very unusual coincidences. A trough of extremely low air pressure causes the sea levels to rise, a hurricane force wind in excess of 100mph drove a very high spring tide all along the Eastern UK seaboard. These coincidences simultaneously created unimaginable destructive forces, never before witnessed in living memory.

[@borleyboo5613]

Very vivid telling of that awful night. Very well written. Thank you and well done. 😊

[@kartherton]

I was at wells taking photos on 2013. I have got photos of the harbour office flooded i took. Also of the mash totally covered and the water over the top of the quay.

[@markflack]

Very very interesting 👍

[@ginacable5376]

Bless the British spirit!

[@krugerfuchs]

Don't forget the micheal griffith or the Netherlands 🇳🇱

[@krugerfuchs]

Princess Victoria micheal Griffiths before her