“You’re kidding. Are they okay like that?”

He shook his head. “There’s a real danger they’ll end up down the river but there’s not much we can do about it. For the moment this is more important.”

He nudged me towards the terrace, and I went with him. Seconds later Phyllis appeared.

It was a shocking sight; filthy water poured freely into kitchens, sitting rooms and garages while people were helped through their windows, laden down with bags and clothes and books, pillows and pictures and pets. Members of the Fire Service carried older people in their arms and on their shoulders, and a man with a tractor and trailer gave people lifts through the water. In places where people attempted to wade, the water was up to their thighs. Children were carried too; some cried with fear, others laughed with excitement, completely different responses to the same predicament. I saw dogs and cats and guinea pigs, and two goldfish in a tank which floated upright through the chaos.

I threw myself into the mix, helping wherever I could, carrying children and bags and one very unhappy marmalade cat. The sensation was like wading through treacle, the brown flood water with its myriad loot so much heavier than the sea. At times, it was like being in a surrealist painting. Random items of kitchenware bobbed past, a bread bin, a sock, a shoe, a bowl with cereal floating out of it, an electric lamp. I saw a passport and I grabbed it; someone would be glad of that later, I thought. I saw McFadden helping Stan out of a window and remembered that he’d bought one of these houses last year after his flat had been burned down with the pub. The poor man wasn’t having much luck with places to live.

When everyone was safely out, I began giving lifts to the Beacon Hall in the Mini, packing people’s belongings in as best I could. At one drop-off I caught sight of Jude Burns carrying a multitude of bags, trailed by a family with two kids; four drenched people, pushing hair away from their eyes, muddy and fed-up.

On my last trip up, I helped carry some bags myself into the main auditorium and saw that there were blow-up mattresses arranged in lines on the floor.

“Hardware shop,” Phyllis said as she appeared at my shoulder, her arms full of duvets and pillows. “They donated a load of camping stuff. Very generous of them.”

“Just as well we have this place,” I said. “At least there’s plenty of floor space and a big kitchen.” The town had done a big job on the hall last winter and now it was warm, dry and insulated. It was good timing.

“And showers and toilets.” Phyllis put her bundle down with a heavy sigh. “The important thing is that everyone is safe.”