It’s hard to believe it was 20 years ago – being woken up in the 
early hours by the howling wind, loud bangs and my Dad gently telling me and my brothers we needed to quickly make our way downstairs.
We lived in a three-storey Victorian house on Alpine Road – with uninterrupted sea views – but looking back, rather exposed!
Our room was at the back of the house – my parents’ at the front.
We hopped out of bed and ran across the landing oblivious to the old glass skylight above us banging up and down in the wind.
We were closely followed by anxious parents, armfuls of pillows and my little brother and sister clinging to their backs.
Our hasty exit was all a bit of a blur – 
but I remember making a big nest in the basement – huddled together as a family – singing songs to drown out the ferocious noise above.
Around half an hour later there was another almighty crash. We stayed put. Strangely, in among the noise, I do remember feeling quite peaceful. Around half four there was a knock at the door and we were greeted by fireman to check we were all OK – I think we thought we were – until they climbed the stairs to check the damage.
My parents bedroom was open to the sky, the roof peeled off, 
bricks and rubble everywhere and a huge beam straight across the bed; right where they’d been sleeping with my little brother and sister.
The firemen were amazing. They stayed for what seemed like ages to help clear up.
We were definitely watched over that night.
