Once More Onto The Kilcoole Breaches

Stephen & Liz Meakin December 1989

s with many spots around the world who have the sea on the doorstep, very occasionally, that sea tries to pay us a little visit.

Before Park N’ Ride 1995

Back in 1995, the land later to become Greystones’ Park & Ride was turned into a lake, complete with one happily surprised swan.

More recently, the neighbouring playground was turned into an Aqua Fun Park, in 2015, and again in 2018.

And the less said about the marina dog park, the wetter.

But it’s over in Kilcoole and the stretch of the Sea Road that runs parallel to the train tracks – and those party-crashing waves – that tends to be turned into Waterworld most often.

Sea Road TUES9DEC25

It happened again on Tuesday, thanks to Storm Bram, but the most famous washout happened back in December 1989, with families such as the Meakins suddenly able to take a boat ride from their back garden.

It’s with these memories in mind that John Meakin – safely living on higher ground over in Germany these days – sent us his short story, The Perfect Storm…

Christmas was coming, and the thrill of opening one of those little advent doors had become the daily feature once more. Even the old calendars, with all their doors having already been opened, didn’t seem to dampen our morning Advent excitement to catch sight of one of those miniature, dreamlike Christmas symbols.

The Meakins’ front door WEDS10DEC25

My mother, though, was beginning to display, in minor ways, the seasonal stress that came along with this joyous time.

December was not only the month of Christmas preparations, with worries wholly fixed on how to supply a batch of kids with mouth-dropping presents – the majority from Santa of course – it was also the time of the season when we all wondered how this ole house would bear up to the annual December storms. And 1989 was the year that I began to comprehend this unique concern of my parents.

Like most years around this time, the bog out the back of our house would metamorphosise itself into a large winterly lake, providing us with seasonal water activities, such as exploring its boundaries with our boats, canoes and even our make-shift rafts. In the context of spending time outside, those cold, damp December days were almost as much fun as the long, hot summer days.

Shorter, sure, but we still indulged ourselves fully out in the wet and windy wilds as much as we physically could. Those days were best preserved in my memory when the surrounding atmosphere had that exemplary December appreciation. A thick greyness that would encompass our micro-universe, sealing us inside its gigantic canopy. In contrast to the summers with their far-off horizons, from blue mountains to open sea, the Irish winters would enforce upon us with more vigour the notion of our childhood cosmos.

Our bog adventures, where the wind would blow our breath back into our lungs with a cool drizzle piercing our faces, developed into the most loved, due to the frenzy that came along with them. It was for us, I suppose, a battle against the elements, children testing their survival skills against water and air. We had to rise to the yearly challenge since the fringe of our micro-universe always needed to be reached and explored. We were forever charged to discover how far the water’s perimeter had been pushed at the opposite end of the bog.

This particular year we were excited about the idea that we might be able to venture even further than usual due to the floods being seemingly higher, which was clearly evident by our ever-shrinking garden.

As we launched our boat on one exceptional excursion, the wind was so strong that the waves lapped up against the side our boat, already threatening to take a seat beside us as we pushed off into the open water. The silver, rippled water beneath us and the grey canopy above further encouraged our boldness in the challenge of our adventure, urging us to be even more defiant.

Terry & Anne-Marie Meakin

It quickly became clear as we made it across the small river, which marked the boundary between the bog and our garden, that the floods this year were actually at a record high.

This confirmation became quickly clear by how far down our long wooden, would-be gondolier poles would dive to reach the long grassy muddy bed underneath. Instead of being able to stand up straight, we now had to lower down to hit what lay beneath, our numb, grasping hands skimming the surface of the cool water with every stroke.

This year, our water adventures were starting to look decidedly more serious, and as we looked back towards our house, we all felt suddenly vulnerable, sitting just a few metres above the distant water mark.

After our long, difficult crossing of the main expanse of water, we began to approach the outer exterior of the floods. As we continued to drive our boat through the grassy water, again revealing itself as we drove our boat across the shallow, we found ourselves in the shelter of the wind, owing to the row of trees and bushes that marked the end of the bog. It was at that moment we experienced a pleasant surprise.

The Breaches JAN90

Just as our instinct had told us, the floods had extended their boundaries to a level we had never witnessed before. A thrill rose in us, providing us with the sentiment that we were discovering something which no other person had most likely ever seen with their own eyes before. Our daring exploration had revealed this important discovery…

For the first time ever, we were able to enter the narrow pathways of the large thicket of gorse bushes, which we had created and maintained over the years for our play. This discovery provided us with a new venture into unknown water territory, which we had never accessed with our boats before. We even made it as far as our camp in the middle of the gorse jungle, even though we were saddled to see it had succumbed to some flood damage. As we carried on with our expedition, we began to notice that the late afternoon was quickly turning to an early winter’s evening, therefore forcing us to make the prompt decision to head for home so we could deliver the important news from our voyage of discovery.

As we made our way back out into the open, the wind had moved up quite a few gears, and we found ourselves being blown off-course multiple times. The view of the small inlet to our garden with our house elevated above seemed to become more and more distant.

As I write about this memory, I am suddenly struck by the thought of what my parents must have been thinking by letting us engage in such daredevil endeavours. I cannot recall seeing any tiny, frantic figures at the end of our garden, beckoning us back home. Surely my memory is failing me, but I have little recollection of such situations since our outdoor activities were ninety-nine percent adult-free. After all, with such biblical weather conditions, and their small children out on a boat on a swelling mass of water, surely they were now on the lookout for their loved ones?

On the other hand, our independence had taught us naturally how to judge certain situations, including being left alone in the great outdoors. Was it recklessness or was it a gift? Was it tough love or natural selection? Even years later, I still can’t quite figure…

Back in 1989, upon returning home with the grand tales of our findings, it was deemed immensely necessary that The Breaches would need to be manually opened, as had been the case numerous times before. What had always been an exciting phenomenon for us younger children was now clearly a crippling worry for both of our parents, and as I looked out our back window, it was with some borrowed maturity. The water was getting dangerously close to our house.

Without further delay, we set off to The Breaches with our shovels and wellies, making our way to the river’s estuary further up the beach, and for the first time ever, I was allowed to accompany my older siblings on a bold and possibly even dangerous mission. Suddenly, I was just one of the older boys – even if I was being dragged along on a shovel by my oldest brother.

The late, great Mrs Dorothy Meakin 10JUNE20

Soon, I spotted the railway bridge in the near distance that crossed the outlet of our small river, and I jumped down from my carriage to try and gauge the situation. As we drew closer, it became clearly visible that The Breaches were blocked. The storm surges had pushed the sediment into the small channel, forming a large dam that would block the outlet while not allowing the excess from the prior storm surges and heavy rainfall to flow back out to sea. This would in turn cause the bog behind us to flood.

As we stood there assessing the situation, it was clear that there was no need to contemplate any further about what had to be done. We set to work in two teams facing each other, standing foolhardy in a line on each half of the natural dam, shovelling like our home depended on it.

I suppose we were taking a risk in trying to release a large body of water into a raging sea, but perhaps there existed a natural instinct within us, a natural respect and appreciation towards the elements that had surrounded us since birth.

After some hard heavy clearing, a trickle of water started to flow through the stony barricade, and we instinctively knew it was the decisive moment to quickly jump aside. I was now situated on the stony shore, and I watched how my older siblings jumped down to safety on the far side of the channel and within seconds, the trickle became a stream bringing down the sides with it, eventually causing the whole barrier to collapse into the rush of flowing water, then being sent out to sea in a something akin to an explosion.

Michael, John, Terry & nephew Josh 6FEB19

We felt like heroes as we entered back into the cozy family home out of the grey drizzle and wind, overdosed on oxygen and adrenaline. We didn’t need diggers and machines to take on the force of nature; we were able to realise this achievement with our own bare hands. We were the invincible Meakin family, and we can take care of ourselves!

In the days that followed, the waters began to slowly recede, and our garden was almost once more its original dimension, but we weren’t out of the floods yet. The December storms were still threatening to brew, and there were still the risks of further storm surges. The majority of our advent calendar doors were now open, and the Christmas feeling was well on the rise.

Unfortunately, the sea was too, and one was catching sight of the odd splash of a wave from our front windows upon the rocks that served to protect the railway line. Even the water from the bog was beginning yet again to creep up over our lawn from the river’s edge, and we knew our work a couple of weeks back had suffered a major setback. I often spotted my mother from the sitting room window, standing on the rocks in the wind and rain, holding down both sides of her open coat with her hands, trying to determine the latest threat from The Irish Sea. Even from a distance, I could sense her anxiety.

Then it finally transpired what had been our deepest fear. Our barometer wouldn’t rise from rock bottom no matter how hard you hit it, the moon was full, the spring tides were high, and an easterly wind was blowing hard. It was the perfect storm for the sea to greet us.

It was around midnight, and I was fast asleep in my bed when my older brother grabbed me by the shoulders, rocking me back and forth, and shouting in my ear, “John, get up, get up, the sea is coming over!”. Being the child I was, I turned over and went back to sleep. A minute later, I heard my name being shouted again, and this time, the realisation of what was happening struck me like a bullet in the chest. I sprang out of my bed and ran down into the hallway; my brother was holding the front door open. Standing in the dark front porch were two policemen. “Are you alright?” they clumsily asked. “Does it look like we’re alright?” my brother shouted back, and at that moment, I heard a loud crashing sound in the turbulent darkness outside and caught sight of a large black belly of movement with dashes of white foam on top. With the blink of an eye, my brother slammed the front door closed, and what followed was the immediate impact of smashing water and the sound of banging objects against our door. After a few seconds, we opened it again and witnessed the two police men getting up off the floor, dripping wet, while awkwardly fixing their hats back on.

What I recall from that moment onwards was a frenzied rush about the house together with my parents and other siblings. We lifted furniture and house appliances onto bricks and crates, and desperately tried to secure whatever else we could. At one point, a surreal sight, witnessing a window beginning to bulge back and forth, as if the glass was trying to bend itself into an oval shape. Then came an explosion of glass and water onto the sitting room floor. Which seemed like a good a time as any to get the hell out of there.

For some reason, I was tasked with rescuing our cat, Tiger, and I vividly remember running along the dark road, heading for a neighbour with both arms clasped around our beloved pet. Unfortunately, Tiger was also clinging onto me, with his claws, and every time a crash of a wave was heard, he dug his claws further through my pyjamas and into my skin.

In the light of the morning, the scene was colossal. Our front and back garden had been turned into a pebbled beach, whilst our next-door neighbour’s car lay lopsided on a mound of gravel, smashed against the gable end of our house. It became quickly apparent that there would be no possible way for us to live in our house in the immediate future.

The clearing begins…

We relocated that very same day to a house in an estate located in the next village, and I remember the excitement and relief of moving into a new home, and all the donations we received with it. We were shook but grateful to have a roof over our heads. We were also provided with new bunk beds and fresh new blankets. We received boxes of food with tasty Christmas treats. The new house just seemed so modern in comparison to our 200-year-old draughty stone cottage. Even going to the bathroom suddenly became a comfortable experience.

It was a very different Christmas to all those other twelve I had experienced before, and, despite all the drama, it felt like a very special one. We all realised that we had maybe survived a close call, and that brought us closer as a family.

That said, my father suffered from a mild stroke from the stress of it all (being the old man that he was), and us younger ones only began to notice due to his slightly impaired speech. He too seemed to bounce back though with a newfound appreciation of life, and family.

Despite finding ourselves in a strange house in an alien setting, we were all together. And that was our home…