8th December 2007. A day that will live long in the memories of people who lived, or had once lived, in the village. It began soon after dawn, a strange howling wind blowing in from the west. By 10am it had reached gale force, branches and sheets of rusting corrugated iron littering the village square. And then soon after midday, with the sky the colour of dark chocolate, it happened. It swept in from across the fields, a swirling vortex picking up and scattering anything and everything in its path. Hedges, barns, cattle and sheep, nothing was spared. Relentlessly it moved on, its ferocious power encircling and reducing the Leg of Lamb Public House to a pile of bricks and shattered slates. Not yet satisfied it moved on down the main street, the Craft shop, Post Office, shoe shop, Grocery store, Bank, Butcher`s shop, The Wishing Well Cafe, Library, and police station; all were raised to the ground in a matter of minutes. And still it moved on, its anger undiminished, the bench in the village square reduced to matchwood in seconds. Still it tore forward, its power increasing as it sucked up Rose cottage before heading for the cluster of houses that made up the heart of the village. Within minutes they were no more, a distorted heap of stone and splintered slate.
     Then as quickly as it started, it was over. The sun came out and a glorious rainbow formed, its ends dipping towards the only untouched buildings in the village, the church and manor house. An errie silence fell over the whole place, broken only by the hiss of water from a fractured main as it shot high into the afternoon sky.

     A memorial now stands in place of the village bench. It commemorates the hundreds who lost their lives on that terrible day. Mary Walker...Jim Child...Mrs Loveday...Chris Mann...Alan Short..Ernie George,,Lydia Woods..so many names. Fred West, mercifully away at a brewery conference with Tanya that weekend, paid for the memorial out of his own pocket.
    It is fair to say  the heart was ripped out of the village that day. Those who survived had neither the energy nor the inclination to rebuild when so many painful memories lurked amongst the piles of dusty rubble. So they moved on, some seeking solace in a bottle, others, more resiliant perhaps, searching out a plot of land on which they and their family could once more build a life together....