Gareth O'Callaghan: Cork's catastrophic floods brought out the very best in people

A home is so much more than walls, rooms and a roof. If you were to count up all the hours you’ve spent transforming a house into a home, it would amount to years of precious but rewarding time.

Some of us may remember  moving into the shell of a newly-built house in our younger years, lucky to have a couple of sleeping bags and a mattress, maybe an old portable television perched on paint tins, a microwave, a toaster, and a kettle.

Decades later, that shell is now a place filled with memories: photographs of babies and parents, paintings in the hallway, comfortable furniture, cherished clothes, holiday souvenirs, favourite books, and all the “stuff” accumulated over the years that we couldn’t imagine having to do without.

We’ve watched children grow up there. They might have left home long ago, but part of them be there forever. It’s also home for our furry family members. 

This is where we celebrated, mourned, laughed and cried. It’s as sacred as our deepest thoughts, a location some call their castle, a place we associate with love and heartbreak. All our greatest achievements and saddest days are noted here. Timeless reminders of precious memories  hang in the air.

It sustains us through difficult days — the thought that we’ll be back there in a matter of hours, when we can close the door on the world and lose ourselves in its cosy familiarity. Home is the one place that is constant.  

As novelist Cecilia Ahern once said, “Home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling.” It’s not about its size or its style; it’s all about how we feel when we’re there. It’s the only place in the world where you can live as your authentic self.

Even if you live alone, your home loves you for all the love you have poured into it. But what if in a matter of minutes everything about that home is stolen from you? The fear of not having a home to come home to is one that terrifies us all.

Sadly it happened 10 days ago when floods that until now we might have associated with other parts of the world struck two busy communities in Cork.

In a matter of hours, parts of Midleton and Glanmire were submerged under 4ft of water. Businesses were lost, and homes were destroyed. It’s a miracle no one drowned.

One woman told me, as she watched her beautiful home quickly disappear beneath a metre and a half of filthy brown water, she felt as if she was dying, while at the same moment she never felt more alive, listening to herself crying and screaming for help.

A framed photo of her mother, who had died only weeks before, disappeared into the rising water. Her daughter was calling to her somewhere upstairs. She could hear the terrier barking and howling somewhere else in the house, but she couldn’t get to the dog the water was rising so quickly. Thankfully she survived. Another homeowner wasn’t so lucky. Her beautiful pet was swept away in what by then had become a raging river.

Another woman dragged an armchair out through her front door, struggling against the strong current of the water rushing into her house against her. It was her late husband’s favourite chair. It was eventually saved by neighbours, sadly the only memory of him she could rescue. Within an hour, all her photographs and mementos of the two of them in happier times along with her oil paintings were gone.

One of Midleton’s busy medical centres was flooded so quickly staff had to evacuate patients. Over €100,000 worth of medical equipment was destroyed.

On the main street, there was consternation, a sense of pure shock and disbelief as business owners watched their livelihoods disappear and customers ran for their lives. One shop owner told me: “Anything that wasn’t screwed down was just swept away.” 

In the days following the floods, a sense of despair crept in. We’re at that time of the year when daylight is becoming scarcer, and the prospect of further bad weather is now the greatest fear. The scenes in Midleton and Glanmire were nothing short of catastrophic. 

When faced with an overwhelming challenge, there is no greater fear than not knowing what’s coming next. 

I spoke to residents whose homes had been destroyed while presenting The Opinion Line on Cork’s 96fm last week. I realised while talking to one woman whose family home had been wrecked that it was like grieving the loss of someone she loved. And so it was. 

As Mother Teresa once said: “Love begins at home, and it is not how much we do... but how much love we put in that action.” 

To own a home is to be in love. We invest our precious time in order to create a love affair that we have to leave everyday, but in the knowledge that it’s waiting there to welcome us back later, a love affair that will last for the rest of our lives. It’s where our minds feel safe, and our hearts belong. Home will always be the place for which you feel the deepest devotion, no matter where you are, our strongest emotional connection.

At the end of the week, what struck me most was the resilience I heard in many of the stories I listened to in silence, in awe of that hidden strength that surfaces when all other emotional ports of call have been exhausted. 

Many residents wanted to remain in their flooded homes, even though the conditions were both life-threatening and health-hazardous. It reminded me of how a captain feels about his ship.

In a global society where good neighbours are becoming scarce, the community spirit in both Midleton and Glanmire is heartening to witness, and crucial to recovery — not just structural, but more important for the mental health of everyone who has been at the heart of last week’s devastation.

Residents have experienced major trauma and huge loss that they could never have contemplated in a lifetime.

For many of us, home is an extension of who we are. When it’s been taken away from us, we can quickly lose that sense of self-identity. So it’s important to ask for and to lean on the support that being a part of that greater community gives us. When our sense of belonging is gone, then the community becomes our home.

When I moved to London in the early '80s, homesickness devastated me until I found an Irish community that reached out to me. I soon realised I belonged with others who shared my experiences. Through the friends I made, I was able to discover the strength I needed in order to make a new home. 

In a time of change that we have little if any control over, reassurance from others that things will get better becomes the game changer.

One woman I spoke to last week said to me: “Nature has desecrated my home. But it’s not my time yet, so I will find a path through this.” 

Another woman said: “I have to dump my misery, and find my determination.” 

When we reach out to strangers in need, something truly amazing happens at a higher level of consciousness that we might never have been aware exists, but it does. We discover a part of ourselves that, once allowed to shine, transforms us into better human beings. 

It is the most empowering feeling we will ever experience, and it comes from simply extending the hand of friendship. I witnessed it last week in the hearts and voices of the people of Midleton and Glanmire.

Being comfortable financially is something that appeals to us all, but in the face of adversity that none of us has any control over, no amount of money will ever replace the strength of a community’s spirit, which proves yet again that none of us can make it on our own. 

If last week has demonstrated one thing, it’s that our community is as important as the bed we lie on every night. And a strong caring community will find you a bed when your own no longer exists.