 |
| Pic: Gina McIntyre |
Last night Dulverton became an island. The rivers burst their banks; the bridges
couldn’t cope. It didn’t surprise me
somehow – I could feel it coming as I drove back over the moor. A restlessness in the river.
I came through a deep flood on my way
into town, thankful I’d followed my instinct to drive straight back from
Braunton. I got through fine with the Toyota’s high wheel base but I figured it
wouldn’t be long before the road was impassable.
When the main flood came, it came
quickly. ‘We watched the water rise up against
the bridge,’ said Kenny, the landlord of the Bridge Inn. ‘And we cleared everyone
out of the pub and put up defences as best we could. Then, it crested the wall and just swept over
in a tsunami of water.’
People here were their usual stoical, sensible selves. Vulnerable people were checked; offers of help abounded. But rumours spread, the way they will. Someone had heard there was fire; other
people were concerned about relatives they couldn’t reach. There were reports of cars being swept under
bridges, of people stuck in cars. Social
media is great in emergencies, but it can also breed panic. So we went out to check up on a few things,
hopefully to separate fact from fiction, to report back and reassure if we could.
Adrian patrolled the pubs, of
course. I turned away from the town
centre and walked up Northmoor Road to check on a property up there, where the
owners are away.
The river roared alongside me – just a
few inches of wall separating us. It
crashed and smashed over the weirs, a maddened beast flinging itself against rock
and tree. The ferocity took my breath
away – it was majestic, a barely caged lion and I felt like the stupid child, standing
at the bars, almost tempted to poke its finger in.
The street lights flickered out and I
walked on in darkness. Just me and the
river. Until I came to the place where
the road ended in black water. And found
the fire brigade.
‘Are you all right?’ one asked me.
I explained I was there to check on a
house and we tried to see the names by torchlight. Then I stood and stared at the water.
‘You’re not thinking of going across, are you?’
I smiled. ‘Of course not.’
He gave me a beady look.
And I bid them farewell and walked
slowly back to town, resisting the urge to wander up into the woods, having to stick my fingers in my ears to avoid the siren call of wind and water and darkness and feeling more than a bit
guilty for loving the wildness so much, when it causes such destruction and
such misery for so many people.
PLEASE NOTE: Dulverton is no longer cut off. Please do continue to support our pubs, shops, cafes and restaurants over the Christmas period. The Bridge Inn hopes to re-open as soon as possible. Probably Boxing Day.
Exebridge the following day. Pic by Sam Gardiner
Exebridge following day by Sandy Takel
 |
| The bridge last night (pic The Bridge Inn) |
 |
| The bridge normally (yes, that's me on the bench!) |
 |
| The Anchor - pic by Alice Hounslow |
