The Flood

When it rains, it pours. Never was that truer than March 1989. It was the busiest week of the year in Redmond Hall and the weather was horrible. Constant drizzle interrupted by massive down pours. It was race-weekend, and the hotel was chock-a-block with customers. Every night the dining room was full to bursting. The function room hosted private parties all week. Jockeys, trainers, horse owners and punters, all rubbing shoulders. The thing about a small place like Redmond Hall is, only a few staff do nearly everything. When it's so busy, for so long, it really takes its toll.

I had already done six days and nights straight when Saturday rolled around. We had a dinner booked for Tommy Tobin, aka big tommy. He was a legend in racing, having trained several national champions. Tommy, and forty of his cronies, had booked a free bar for the night.

I spend most of the morning setting up the bar with the help of a French exchange student called, Marc. Help might be stretching it a bit. Marc was older than me, and already had two years of catering college under his belt. As far as I was concerned, he was a numpty. He spent more time fixing his hair than working. The waitresses were all mad about him, and that did him no favours in my book. Who needs the competition? One way or other, I was stuck with the frog for the morning. He was lugging beer kegs up the steps to the store room. I was thoroughly enjoying the way he was struggling. Outside, the rain was coming down in buckets.

" Iss thiss ze last," he said, throwing back the hood of the yellow rain slicker he was wearing.

"Yea that should be enough. We can get a start on the glasses now," I said.

"Jezz Squid, Iz hungry can’t we get zom lunch first" he moaned. sticking out his bottom lip like some spanked toddler.

"Your always hungry, Marc. We’ve only finished breakfast. You’ll be lucky to get dinner, never mind lunch." He stomped off to get glasses for polishing while I finished stocking the shelves and fridges with beer and wine.

Outside the rain was getting heavier. Soon a fantastic flash lit up the sky, followed by a deafening roll of thunder. The wheels of God's chariot charged across the clouds, rumbling away into the distance. Flash after flash of blinding electricity crackled through the air while I worked on the bar. Slowly, the storm moved away to the north. Sixty feet below my window, the river surged angrily, already swelled to bursting.

No sooner had I the bar finished than I had to get dressed for the evenings service. It was hectic. Constantly running from the main bar, to the private dining room. Making sure the wine orders were being filled in the restaurant, and even helping with food service where needed. Maura and Mary were looking after the VIP dinner. They were like two adopted mothers to the younger staff.

"Squid, will you give me a hand with the sweet and coffee," asked Mary, as she passed the bar loaded down with plates. It was tough serving the function room because everything had to be carried the whole length of the building, and back again. These women worked really hard just to keep food on the table at home. For me, it was just pocket money, for them it was life.

After helping with the sweet plates, I went to pick up coffee in the still room. Maurice, the game keeper came hurrying down the corridor, leaving puddles of muddy water in his wake and followed me into the kitchen.

"Have you seen Mrs O?" he asked.

"She is in the restaurant," I said, but that was the moment she chose to walk into the room. That woman must have radar. She always knows when someone is looking for her, or up to no good.

"Hello Maurice," she said. "Nasty night out there."

"Mrs O, I think we’re in a bit of trouble," he said, not bothering with a hello.

"Oh Yes?" she said, arching her eyebrows.

"The river is rising fast. All that rain in the mountains earlier is just flowing into it. The ground was so wet already there is no soakage," he said as he shook the water from his jacket and filled a cup of coffee for himself from my pot. "I’ve no idea how high it will get but I think we should get people that have to leave out now. It's nearly to the gates already."

"I see," was all she said, but her smile had vanished.

I knew how important the money from this week was to the hotel. She was counting on at least another three- or four-hours solid drinking, all top shelf. She pulled her wax jacket from the peg and headed out to the patio. A few minutes later she came back dripping wet.

"Your right, Maurice, it's over the first steps by the lawn," she agreed. "Squid, can you let people know in the function room, and I will tell those left in the restaurant."

"Right you are, Mrs O," I said, and hurried off, coffee pot still in hand.

While making my rounds filling cups, I let everyone know the situation. Soon, most of the non-residents had either called cab's, or made for home in their car's. All but a few staff were sent home. I stayed as I had a room upstairs. We still had a full hotel of guests that needed looking after. There was no way the main building was going to be affected. Only the gate on the main road stood danger.

The water surged higher and taxies turned back at the gate, leaving a dozen guests stranded, with no rooms to give them.

What’s the best thing to do in a crisis? Serve more beer, that is what. I kept things going in the main bar. The fact that we were cut off made it all the more exciting. It was like the blitz, or something. Maura and Mary had not managed to get out before the flood came over the main gate. They had stayed on to make sure the function was properly cleared away, never leave a job half done they said. At half two in the morning, they were sitting either side of Big Tommy, on a massive leather sofa, sipping glasses of champagne and having a great time. The room was packed with people; talking, laughing or trying to get a few winks of sleep. I gave out blankets to those that had no rooms, so they could make themselves as comfortable as possible on couches.

It was just about then the bar door swung open, and in breezed Margo, Mrs O oldest daughter. She might be older than me in years, but most immature by nature.

"Hello, everyone," she slurred in her best Dublin four accent. "This looks like great fun! Should never have bothered going into town at all"

"You’ve just come back from town?" asked one of the group that had been waiting for a taxi.

"Absolutely, Darling. Went for a few drinkey's in Club 92," she said, as she threw herself into a high back chair.

"Is the taxi gone, perhaps he would take us," said one English man, sprinting for the door.

"I drove back myself," she called after him. "After all, I only had one or two." One or two buckets, by the look of her.

"If she made it in, we can make it out," the man said to his friend, putting on his coat. The two men left the bar and headed for the front door. I followed them out to the drive where they were getting into a brand-new Golf GTI.

"Gents, I really don't think this is a good idea. Why not wait till morning?" I asked.

"Don't worry yourself," the driver said, slamming the car door. Cocky git. Half an hour later he was feeling a lot less cocky and a hell of a lot more soggy. Ding Dong, went the doorbell. When I opened it, they were standing on the step, soaked from head to toe.

"Jesus! What happened?" I asked, still holding the door open.

The driver said nothing, just tramped past me into the corridor. The other fella at least had the manners to answer. "We must have gone off the road because the car sunk. We had to swim out of it."

They were cold, wet, and making a mess of the furniture. I locked up the bar and got them some clothes from my room. The guys got changed in the toilets while I went to the staff quarters to wake, Maurice, the Game Keeper. I explained what had happened. He gathered rope and a torch while I got the hotels tractor started. Into the rain lashed night we trundled.

When we got to the gate, we could only could see the roof of the car. They’d veered of the road and into the field beside the river. The water was as high as the head rests inside the car. What a disaster. We thought we might be able to pull the car out with the tractor, but seeing how deep it was, we knew that was not going to happen. Maurice stripped to his y-fronts and swam out to the car. He tied the car to a tree, hoping it wouldn’t get swept into the main flow of water.

"That yoke is fucked," he said, when he got back on dry land. "What a waste of fifteen thousand pounds".

Back at the hotel, Maurice went to make some tea while I went to give the English men the bad news.

"We got the car tied off to a tree but we will have to wait until the water goes down before we can get it out," I told them. At least this time the driver said thanks, but he was still a cock. The other man dipped his hand into his sodden suit pocket and produced a twenty-pound note.

"Thanks for all you did," he said, palming me the money. For a full week’s work, I would only get about ninety pounds, as well as my food and board. Twenty quid was a fortune. I gave ten to Maurice and kept ten for myself. That got me thinking. I could make a bit more out of this situation, if I put my mind to it.

People were getting sleepy, but with all the noise, no one was able to drift off. I went to the kitchen and made a big pot of tea and mugs of steaming hot chocolate. With a trolley load of cups, I started to make the rounds of the couches.

"Would you like a nice cup of tea, or some hot chocolate?" I asked as I went.

To a person they said, "Oh God, that would be lovely. How much do I owe you?"

"Your fine, its on us," I said. Just about every second person slipped a little something into my hand. Eventually I ended up at the couch where Tommy was snoozing under a blanket, book ended by Mary and Maura. He had a room upstairs, which he had offered to the two waitresses for the night. No way would they put him out of his bed, but Tommy was a true gent and would not leave them sleep on the couch when there was a perfectly good bed going spare. They were as stubborn as each other, until in the end, they all settled down where they were they were.

"Want a cuppa, girls" I asked.

"Ahh, thanks, Squid. You’re the best" they said, taking the cups, adding milk and sugar.

"You must be hungry, ladies, did you get any dinner?" asked Tommy.

"Were fine, thanks Mr Tobin," said Maura, but we both noticed she didn’t say she wasn't hungry.

"I'll see what I can find in the kitchen" I said, and went away pushing the tea trolley.

By now, it was close to three-thirty in the morning. The only thing I could find ready to eat was a big pot of seafood chowder, and a cold joint of roast beef. I put the soup on to heat, and made open brown bread sandwiches of roast beef and horseradish. I ate some myself. I was starving, and they were delicious.

I dropped bowls of soup and a platter of sandwiches to Tommy, Maura, and Mary. It is alright giving away a few cups of tea, but I had to charge for the food. Tommy didn’t even have to be asked, just held out a note when I dropped the tray on the table. That is class for you. I put the takings in the till and went back to Tommy with the change, but he just waved it away. I left them contentedly munching as more people called me over to order, "Whatever you got."

In the next hour, I sold all the food I had in the Kitchen, and made the hotel a nice bit of money. The change was filling up a half-pint-glass behind the bar. I reckoned I had made two weeks wages in tips.

Soon, a hush settled over the hotel. People slept where they could. I decided to stay up, as there were so many strangers around the hotel, they might need something.  By now, the rain had actually stopped, so the flood might start to recede soon. I sat behind the reception desk and grabbed forty winks.

It was six thirty when I was shaken awake.

"What are you doing sleeping there?" asked Lizzy, the youngest of Mrs O's children.

"Hi Liz," I yawned. "I stayed in case anyone in the bar needed anything."

"Are people still drinking at this hour?" she said. I noticed she was wearing her riding gear.

"Of course not. They’re sleeping," my exhausted brain not really getting this conversation.

"Why are people sleeping in the bar?" she said, making a big show of holding hands in mock exasperation.

"Because the river flooded," I said, and I was beginning to think Lizzie was being deliberately silly.

"Oh-my-GOD!!!" she said, dashing off in the direction of the restaurant. I jumped up and followed her. She was staring out of the picture window at the torrents of dirty brown water running over what had yesterday been lawn and woodland. "Oh-my-God!" she said again, holding her hand to her mouth.

"What’s wrong with you?" I asked. You would swear she’d never seen a river in flood before.

"I tied the goats beside the river last night," she said. Lizzy had two pet goats which she kept in an old gardener’s hut in the woods.

"Come on," she said, running towards the kitchen. I was still wearing my bar service clothes, bow tie and all, as we dashed along the trail through the wood. Soon we could see the little derelict shed which had been built into the hillside. You could only get in the door from the river side. Normally not an issue, but now the shed was waist deep in water.

"Billy! Betty!" called Liz. An answering bleat came from the small shed.

"Go and get them for me, Squid. Please, please hurry," she pleaded. She didn’t really have to ask; I was already stripping off my shoes and pants. I waded into the water and around the corner of the little building, into the strong current. Twice I nearly lost my footing. The ground sloped sharply away into the raging torrent. I made it to the door when, whatever I was standing on, gave way. In an instant, I was under the water. The pull of the water was way stronger than I expected. I struggled to get my head over the surface. Filthy water clogged my nose and eyes. I coughed, and struggled to stand, one hand still had a hold of the corner of the shed, but it was slipping. My fingers slid on the mossy surface and I lost my hold. My panicking fingers brushed and grabbed something solid seconds before the current pulled me away. I held on like my life depended on it, which it did. I hauled my head over the surface and gulped a big lung full of air.

"Squid, Squid, are you ok?" screamed Lizzie. I waved, coughing up filthy river water. I was holding a rope which disappeared inside the door of the shed. Finally, I got my feet on solid ground and hauled myself inside the shed. The two terrified goats were straining at the other end of the rope. Wild, terrified eyes: up to their flanks in dirty water. They must have had a horrendous night. I got the collars off their necks, but no way would they go towards the door. I used a piece of timber to break a small side window and lifted the goats out. They took off like lightening into the woods the moment their hoofs hit the ground. I carefully climbed through the window, preferring to risk cuts over going down in the currents again.

"Thank you," said Lizzy, giving me a huge hug. I put my clothes back on but they were soon sodden. The sun shone for the first time in days. I looked up at the storm-washed sky and knew it was going to be a lovely day. Lizzy was twittering on about how scared the poor goats must have been. I didn’t tell her I though my number was up when I went under the water, she would only blame herself. If it wasn’t for the goat’s rope, I was a goner. In the end, they saved me more than I saved them.

Mrs O was up when we got back. She was in the kitchen with the breakfast chef, Maura and Mary.

"What on earth happened to you?" she said, seeing me covered in muck.

"It's a long story, Mrs O. We were just letting the goats out."

I was looking forward to a hot shower and a fluffy duvet, but the thought of how close I came to slipping away in the current stayed with me. I like to think I’m a strong swimmer but when the river gripped me, it was like steel. I know I had no chance. In the shower, I started to shake and eventually what little I had in my stomach came up. I nearly lost it all for two goats. I slept badly that day and even now, the memory of the ground sliding away from under my feet is the scariest thing I have ever felt.