Bentwater Roads: Gone With The Wind

When your telephone rings at half 4 in the morning, the usual thoughts go through your head - the death of a loved-one, a major catastrophe, or an invasion from Outer Space at the very least. When my telephone went off, I staggered out of bed to be told that 50 mile-an-hour winds were, at that very moment, ripping our marquees apart up at the Rendlesham Airbase. We'd known it was going to be a windy night, and had spent most of the Wednesday evening preparing the marquees as best we could - even dragging large heavy pieces of metal over from the junk pile next to the Hush House and lashing them to the marquees. We were not however expecting what actually occured.

The next hour is a bit of a blur - a quick look out of the window to see that 30 mile-an hour winds were currently going through Ipswich, and 30 mph winds here meant something much worse at Rendlesham. The Airfield can act like a wind-tunnel - lots of open spaces between large hangars - and as i dressed and drove over, my head was already full of what I might find when I got there.

The reality was about right - all three marquees were gone, the bar fridge was on its back, full of broken glass and beer. A scene of chaos. But help was at hand. Roger and Steve, two members of our fantastic community chorus, had luckily been staying the night on site, and when they heard the fridge go over, were able to ring me, then start working out what to do next. By the the time I arrived, they were battling the winds, to keep the marquee frames, now stripped of their canvas, from flying away. One of the marquees had flown high into the air and landed a fair way away in the middle of the neighbouring onion farm. The power had tripped - probably when the lights attached to the marquee were ripped out of their plugs - and much of the contents of the marquees were strewn about the airfield.

The wind was still very strong, and the three of us spent the next hour or two lashing canvas over the fridges and freezers, tieing everything down. For a while, it felt like we were in a multi-media production of Moby Dick, and I wondered if at one point I might have to tie myself to the freezers, and howl against the screaming winds like Captain Ahab. By 8am the site was all tied down, the power was restored, and Roger, Steve and I were in one of the portacabins having a well-deserved coffee, as the winds continued to batter everything around us. We were rather hoping that Jay's Cafe, elsewhere on the airfield, might be open so we could reward ourselves with a hearty breakfast, but alas it was not to be. The Cafe was resolutely shut.

As I headed back to Ipswich to start phoning Ian at Prestige Bars who had hired us the marquees, I had another call from Roger. The awning on the caravan that we were using as the ladies Dressing Room, had succumbed to the tempest, and the contents were flying about. A quick stop off at Ipswich to catch my breath and I was on my way back once more to the scene of the crime. Roger had done a fantastic job of tying the awning back onto the caravan, and averting another disaster. By this time, the bar hire company had arrived and were trying to get the fridge upright for an inspection, and Ian was looking sorrowfully at the remains of his marquees. It had been a terrible night, but we had been lucky. Lucky that it hadn't happenmed during a show, with 200 people there. Lucky that we didn't have a show the next day. Lucky that we had such magnificent help from two of our Ancient Britons.

As the day went on, Bentwater Parks stepped in with an offer of a new marquee, and as I type this, they are erecting it over what the storm had left of the bar and BBQ. By the time the audience arrive tonight for the next show, they should be unable to tell that anything had happened. The bar will be serving drinks, the BBQ will be cooking away, and all will be well. However those with a keen eye may notice that the Front of House Manager looks a little tired, and that two of the Ancient Britons are stifling a yawn...