My home was unique: a wooden chalet on the sand dunes at Hemsby, Norfolk. We had three tiny bedrooms and amazing views out to sea. Rainbows came to the water’s edge, and then you’d watch them travel out. The moon lit a path across the sea. The sun rose over the water. Everything was lovely, apart from the snails in the loo.
I had a bad car accident in 2016 and bought the house with the compensation. I was raised on the Isle of Wight, but worked in London for much of my career. That was the draw of Hemsby – to get back to the sea. It was my only home, but I had to first rent a place an hour away in Suffolk, where my son was finishing his further education. My husband died in 2021, and my son and I were desperate to move into our new home.
In the meantime, I did it up. I teach design and technology at secondary school, so know my way around DIY. My son stripped one room of seven layers of lino and we found nice floorboards at the bottom. The doors were stripped pine and I repainted the outside a pretty pink and put in a retro pink toilet. I really enjoyed doing that sort of thing.
I knew the coastline was eroding, though the estate agent had said that Hemsby hoped it would be getting sea defences. But, despite the village’s 10-year campaign for rock-berm defences along a 1.3km stretch of coast, the authorities only recently provided temporary defences of 40 metres. The village must raise millions if it is to properly protect itself.
No two days are the same on Hemsby beach. Tides, currents and storms move the sand around. One day, there will be little pools; another day, the sand has been sorted into small piles. We noticed a big change last summer when a new sandbank formed off the coast to the north. This seemed to create a new riptide, forcing waves towards the dunes in front of my house.
It all happened so fast; we didn’t have time to prepare. We’d had so many storms – I didn’t think in my wildest dreams that we would be left on the brink.
One weekend this March, strong winds covered the whole of the back of the house with sand, which hadn’t happened before, and the electricity was cut off. Things were fine for a few days, but with more big tides and fierce winds, the dunes lost more land.
The next Friday, the council delivered a “section 78”, a piece of paper telling me they were going to demolish our house. They do this when they consider a building to be dangerous.
I thought it could have been saved. As these chalets are wooden and don’t have dug-in foundations, they can be slid back if you’ve got enough land. A neighbour saved his house by dragging it back from the brink. I hoped to do the same, but the council told me I’d require planning permission. That would take too long.
I was in shock; I was given so little time. I shoved my belongings into carrier bags and bin liners. The council removed bigger pieces of furniture and put them into storage. I forgot to take the 50ps out of the defunct electricity meter. Some metal detectorist will probably find them on the beach.
On the Saturday, council contractors demolished my home as I watched. It was surreal. Four other houses were also knocked down. The couple next door had put their life savings into their home; like me, they were devastated. I think the council should plan to save these homes, not just destroy them. There’s no compensation and no counselling.
With the climate crisis, this is going to happen more and more. Plenty of people make money from the coast – from the crown estate dredging sand offshore to tourist businesses – but the authorities won’t pay to protect Hemsby. Coastal villages and towns need to come together to put more pressure on the government.
I’ll never be able to afford to own another home, but I’m lucky that I can move back into my rented place in Suffolk. Losing my home is a kind of bereavement. At least the daffodils I planted in the garden are still there. Hopefully they’ll come up every year. I’ve still got my house keys in my pocket. I don’t know why – there’s no home to go to any more.
• As told to Patrick Barkham
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