ON the morning of Sunday November 24 this year, the village in which I live, Trehafod, was under siege from a rising tide of water.

Following the worst of Storm Bert through the night, the only roads into Trehafod from north and south, along with the railway line, were all closed due to flooding.

In the meantime, the river Rhondda to the west was rising at an alarming rate, while to the east, culverts were gushing fiercely down the rocky mountainside. The village felt like a perilous place to be, with no escape route.