Elbow Beach, Bermuda - Far Away in Time

2003

Friday, September 5th 2003 is a day I will never forget. At the age of 32, I faced my own mortality head on and found my courage lacking.

Hurricane Fabian had been brewing in the Atlantic for days when we arrived on Bermuda following a week in New York. By September 4th we knew we were in for an almost direct hit, as the eye of the Category 4 hurricane would pass just to the west of the island.

Like sheep, despite staying in a resort hotel, we'd headed to Hamilton, the capital, joining the rush to buy candles, magazines, bottled water and sweets to pass the time, should the power supply fail. The massive cruise liners departed the island, carrying their passengers off to safer, calmer waters. Shops and businesses were boarded up.

Gathered in the smart hotel lobby like refugees for safety, I prayed to God with a fervour not summoned before or since. I begged silently, digging my nails into the palm of my hand to stop from tipping over the edge into hysteria, as the wind levels rose. I bargained with my future, and I have probably failed to fulfil all of the promises I made to God that day, as I pleaded for my life, and that of my partner's, to be spared.

During a hurricane, the noise is the thing that stays with you. Dramatically loud wind, as you would imagine, but accompanied by a high pitched, whining backtrack, that is relentless and exhausting as it carries on for hours and hours. To ease the pressure of the storm, windows were cracked open on the opposite side of the building from the direction of the hurricane. The air was heavy with static.

Leaving my spot in the lobby to visit the bathroom, I slipped on the marble floor as I entered the ladies room. The walls and floor seemed to be running with perspiration in the suffocating humidity. The air conditioning supply had failed, but thankfully the power and water were still on. I returned to my perch and to my praying, unable to concentrate on anything. I read the same page of my book five times and had taken nothing in. Several loud bangs, as flying debris hit the building, shredded my nerves further.

A couple appeared in the lobby, having just visited their room on the 4th floor. We'd been instructed to stay away from upper floors and out of our rooms, as they faced the sea and the direction of the now raging hurricane. However, the glass doors and windows of their room had been sucked out by the force of the storm. Their belongings and small pieces of furniture and lamps were flying around, seemingly impervious to gravity, with the force of the wind. Staff helped them to move the things they'd salvaged to another room, as my anxiety levels rose. Our room was on the same floor, room 414. I imagined our things; clothes newly purchased in New York, shoes, cameras, jewellery, being sucked out of drawers and wardrobes where we had secured them as we prepared to leave that morning. We had taped large black crosses from corner to corner on the veranda doors in case the glass should shatter and had packed the bottom edges of these sea-facing balcony doors with towels, as instructed by the hotel, to prevent water seeping into the room as the storm forced hundreds of gallons of sea water and rain directly towards the building. James offered to check on our room and despite my fear I felt the need to go with him to make sure that if something happened to him I wouldn't be left behind alone.

So we snuck upstairs along deserted corridors. Our room was fine, to our great relief, and we began hurriedly emptying our things into suitcases and then stashed them in the wardrobes, hoping this would keep them safe should the worst happen. We had filled the bath with water that morning, as requested by the staff, in case the water supply should be cut off. To my horror and fascination, the water was now swilling back and forth, just as it would on a ship, and the solid marble floor in the bathroom seemed to be moving. The windows flexed in and out alarmingly. My head ached from the extremely low barometric pressure and I craved fresh air.

Back in the lobby, the wind reached its height. Large glass street lamps had blown off down the driveway and where guests had made foolhardy forays outside earlier to take photographs, four men now battled to hold the doors of the hotel closed.

Fabian came within 50 miles of the West of Bermuda, about as close to a direct hit as you can get, I learned. Wind gusts increased by the hour until, at about 3pm, with sustained winds of 120 mph and gusts up to 164 mph, the main radio tower at the island's central radio station toppled.

Fabian moved away from Bermuda by the evening of September 5th, and rapidly headed northward into the cooler waters of the North Atlantic, as we fell into an uneasy, exhausted sleep. The following morning dawned beautifully calm and clear, but a scene of devastation faced us at breakfast.

Four people, including two police officers, died when a storm surge engulfed the causeway to the airport. Fabian caused $300 million of damage and it took several days for the airport to reopen. Puddles and debris remained all around the check-in hall when we flew out 4 days later.

Due to the damage and deaths on Bermuda, the name Fabian was retired in spring 2004 and will never again be used for an Atlantic hurricane. The World Meteorological Organization ultimately replaced Fabian with Fred, to be on the list for the 2009 season.

I remain eternally grateful for the kindness and professionalism of the hotel staff that day and I am certain God was definitely on our side too.

This piece was first published in 2014 for the Days Like This project run by BBC Radio Scotland and Scottish Book Trust. We asked you to tell us about an important day in your life - because we all have days we'll never forget.