Missiles were flying through the dark
We were tucked up in bed in the middle of the darkest night, with the wind howling outside and rain spitting on the windows. You know the feeling, warm, safe and cozy.
The house has walls as wide as your forearm including your hand, but it began to feel as if the house was being pulled this way and that by angry forces.
Then the tearing began. It started as a wrenching and flapping sound. Then quiet. Followed by more grinding and tearing. We could hear metal creasing and ripping. Vicious and violent, like two tractors in combat.
We knew that the roof was made from sheets of corrugated iron. They’re so rigid that you can’t bend them with your hand. Or even both hands. But it sounded like they were being torn into strips.
Finally one was wrenched away from its connection with the house, followed by silence. Well, not quite silence. There was still the buffeting of the gale.
Because I have never been in a tornado, I have never thought to prepare myself for one. When I reached for the light switch, I found that we there was no electricity. I stumbled through the blacked-out house, feeling for a match and a candle.
I heard another sheet of iron part from the house with a drawn-out groan. Then another.
I had an idea that I should go outside to survey the damage. But I had visions of sheets of iron with razor-sharp edges aimed at my neck, hurtling through the air, and I retreated to bed.
In the morning we found hundred of logs, branches and even trees, strewn across vineyard roads and even blocking the main access road.
Though I had heard hundreds of sheets of iron ripped from the roof, we only found four missing and these were spread across the garden.
Fortunately, the next day was Monday and we got a new tight roof into place before the downpour started.