A line of\nmakeshift shelters fringed the hillsides above the city. Outside crude shacks\ngroups of people sat facing the sea, looking out at ominous signs of turbulence\nwhich been a familiar part of earlier lives. Many had experienced rapid costal\nland erosion where homes had once been. \nSome had been fortunate escapees from rogue tides and surging waves that\nhad wiped out people, dwellings and, often, all means of surviving. People had\nfled for their lives, joining the worldwide population of climate refugees in\nsearch of safety and clean water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
All the\nhillside people had found their way to their present precarious safety by\ncrossing the sea \u2013 some by rescue boats illegally patrolling the Mediterranean,\nothers by crooks with inadequate boats ready to exploit fear and desperation.\nReceiving countries inevitably rejected claims for asylum, and yet were unable\nto deport to countries of origin since many of those places no longer supported\nlife. No recourse to the public purse, as the official language stated. It was\nan undiscussed problem amongst an indigent citizenry, primarily concerned to\nprotect its own life and keep its resources for its own use. Why should people\nshare, or even care?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A few\ncared, of course. A small trail of\npeople regularly made the challenging climb to deliver blankets, some food\nsupplies and useful surprise items such as seeds and string. It was all very\nwelcome in putting together makeshift lives, and so was the kindness and\nfriendship of strangers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When the\nstorm clouds began to blot out sunlight, the hill-siders became acutely aware\nof sudden changes happening. Rain and hail pelted down and blasts of gale\nstormed around the city. From the beach\nterrifying plumes of water began to beat the shore. Giants with many watery\nhands rose from the sea seized the shore side cafes and threw them down, along\nwith trees and cement pathways. They\nrelived private nightmares of loss and fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was\nno warning that could be given as a colossus of water rose above the city and smashed\ndown, eliminating everything in its mighty path. The hill-siders knew this was\nnot the end and that other, less mighty torrents would smash the land and suck\nall in front of them back into the angry guzzling sea. The city would flood,\nhouses be demolished and many people would be lost for ever. A collective\nshiver signalled shared memories of parallel losses.\n\nLooking down from the hillside it was clear that\nthere were survivors. Straggling lines of people could be seen making their way\nslowly to higher ground. What response could the hill siders offer other than\nsimply to share what little sanctuary they could and divide their limited\nsupplies to keep life going. They had learned much during their various routes\nto safety, and particularly that calls for asylum were usually not due to the\nfault of the seeker and needed respect. The other key lesson was the paramount\nimportance of a dry box of matches.\n\n\n\n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
A line of makeshift shelters fringed the hillsides above the city. Outside crude shacks groups of people sat facing the sea, looking out at ominous signs of turbulence which been a familiar part of earlier lives. Many had experienced rapid costal land erosion where homes had once been. Some had been fortunate escapees from rogue […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[2,21],"tags":[41],"class_list":["post-81","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2","category-october","tag-reciprocity"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-1j","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/81","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=81"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/81\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":101,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/81\/revisions\/101"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=81"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=81"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=81"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}