By Platt, Edward
New Statesman (1996) , Vol. 142, No. 5139
I arrived in Tewkesbury on the November day the flood waters began to subside. The Swilgate, the tributary of the Avon that runs round the southern edge of the town, had overflown its banks fours days earlier. The dark brown water had spilled across a car park and playground and was lapping at the edge of the site of the new hospital, which is being built beside the old one. The line of trees rising through the middle of the placid expanse of water was the only indication of the Swilgate's normal course; even the local man standing on the footbridge that led across the river to his home on the far bank had trouble working out where it normally ran.
Another footbridge further down Howells Road was submerged, and there were sandbags piled against the gate of a builder's merchant. A man sweeping the tidemark of dirt off his drive showed me pictures he had taken two days earlier when the flood was at its height: the water had reached halfway up the drive, covering the wheel arches of his car, but stopping short of the motorbike and the dinghy parked beneath the windows of the hotise.
He had not been living in Tewkesbury in 2007, when the house was under 18 inches of water and the town acquired its reputation as the capital of a newly flood-prone country. According to the Environment Agency, 414 millimetres (16 inches) of rain fell across England and Wales between May and July 2007, making it the wettest period since records began in 1766 . When between 8o and 90 millimetres of rain--more than two months' worth--fell on Tewkesbury on Friday 20 July, the .saturated ground could not absorb it. Water flooded the streets and encircled the town's celebrated abbey, the second-largest parish church in the country, which stands at the southern end of town.
"We had people who were trapped in their cars, and slept overnight here," the Reverend Canon Paul Williams, vicar of Tewkesbury Abbey, told me. "We had 200 in the abbey, zoo in the hall and people dotted round about. It's something quite deep in Tewkesbury, the idea of the abbey as a refuge: people ran for shelter, and it became an ark."
An aerial photograph of the abbey surrounded by dark brown water was transmitted round the world. Paul Williams says it became as widely recognised as the image of the dome of St Paul's rising through the smoke of the Blitz.
A local councillor called John Badham was one of the people whose house had flooded. He lives in Abbey Terrace, which lies beneath the abbey, close to the Mill Avon, the canal built in the 12th century to service the mills in the southern part of the town. Yet it was not just the Mill Avon that caused the flood; the Swil-gate had overflowed as well, and water swept through his house from both sides. "It was very frightening," he said. "It brought down all the fences in the garden and it was so powerful that you couldn't stand up in it."
The flooding wasn't over. In the summer months, the gauge on the Mythe Bridge on the River Severn usually records levels of 0.5 metres, but on Sunday 22 July 2007 it reached 5.43 metres, beating the record of 5.3 metres set in March 1947. Both the Severn and the Avon burst their banks.
"When I woke up, it was eerily quiet, and I walked outside and saw the water coming, and the Fire Brigade all over the place," Paul Williams said. He maintains that the abbey is usually immune because the "monks knew where to build"--the story of the vicar who paddled a boat down the aisle in1760 is a folk memory of the only time in its 900-year history when it was flooded--but at 3pm on Sunday it flooded again. Paul Williams had to go down to the pub and ask people to help him move everything out of the reach of the water. He held evensong at the gates of the abbey and people came out of the nearby houses to listen. "It was a powerful cultic event. You could see the power of ritual holding a community together," he told me. …