25 years ago the Great Hurricane hit Brighton in the middle of the night. Alone with my small sons and dog, I brought them all to bed with me and we had orange squash and biscuits, listening to the terrifying crashing and smashing outside, and the loft hatch banging. I made up a story about A Windy Night. Nobody got much sleep.The next day was eerily calm, a bright clear blue sky, as in this picture. Everyone crawled out of their houses and clambered through streets strewn with upturned cars, smashed glass, and torn up trees. Brighton was cut off as all the roads were blocked, phones and TVs didn't work and this predated mobiles and iPads. Schools and workplaces were closed. The big old trees around The Level were uprooted and tossed aside. Many people were in tears at the sight.
Life gradually returned to normal. There was a constant sound of chainsawing throughout the city, and a smell of woodsmoke as fires, stoked with unwanted wood, burned on the treeless Level. It took me a few days to realise that all the unwanted wood represented free sculpture material. Always a sculptor, but poor, I had been used to collecting any useful materials I could find from skips and local tips. Ahaa! Wood! I had just two old chisels that had belonged to my father, one large, one small. With the help of a friend and a van, I collected a pile of wood, and started carving. I fell in love with the process, watching the grain move as I carved. Smelling the fresh wood. Respecting what had been a tree. I have been carving ever since. 25 years! No wonder my back aches!
