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So far, this winter of 2015/2016 has been dominated by stories of destruction caused by serious flooding. News reports pour into our homes through various mediums showing the devastation caused by inundations of water – the misery of the affected and afflicted. Today we blame and explain nature’s tantrums in scientific terms. Climate change, building on flood plains and neglected dredging are among listed causes. Morayshire itself is no stranger to flood, traversed as it is by networks of rivers and tributaries draining from the Cairngorms to the sea. But the worst flood in Scotland’s history and far beyond, happened in 1829 here in Moray, largely explained in those days as a calamity from the hand of God, and likened to Noah’s flood.

That year a summer sun shone hot from a July sky onto the Moray plain just as it had done all summer, wilting newly planted shrubs and trees. Haymaking was over. Littering the farmyards were golden stacks, covered and weighted down providing winter fodder for stock and hiding places for cats and kits, broody hens and rats. Wheat, bere barley and oats swelling in the fields, ripening near complete, would soon make their own stacks. A good grain harvest meant no-one would go hungry during the long dark months ahead, even without the new fill-belly crop, gaining in popularity every year, the potato, harvested in the autumn.
In a tradition stretching back beyond memory, the men of Moray and their families besides, from the Spey to the Nairn, from the highlands and plains, prepared for harvest.

As they sharpened their sickles, amongst other things they talked of the latest outrages and extravagances of Georgy Porgy, King George IV. Little did they know he would be dead in less than a year, and “good riddance” would be the general consensus. And then there were the rumours of new-fangled machinery that could each do the work of a dozen men. Once almost cut off from the rest of the nation by the rugged Grampians, lairds from the south, new roads and new bridges were opening the flood gates to admit ideas from a world beyond. Some young people had joined a growing exodus to start a new life in Nova Scotia on the other side of the ocean.

So it was, late on the Lord’s Day, of August the second, the wind swung round to the northeast, riffling the waters along the funnel of the Moray Firth. Squally showers began to fall. Old fishermen and farmers alike felt the first stirrings of unease. By Monday of the third, the weather’s temper blackened into a malevolent gale, whipping up a maelstrom of driving rain and discharging it in torrents over the hills and plains. Cloud lowered to meet land. All through that day the air was so filled with water and spray that those outside could do nothing but to breathe it in. No roof could keep it out, no window facing northeast withstand it. Fishing boats dared not venture from their harbours. Farmers realised if this were to continue the harvest was about to be ruined.

By mid-afternoon the major rivers had all started to rise and swell. With the wind shrieking like a demented demon, and water seeping and dripping through every chink and crevice, houses began to flood from the force of rain alone. Animals went unfed. In the hills above the plain, people began to abandon their dwellings. As the gloom of the day faded to night, a tumult of water thundered down the all the major water courses of Moray, the worse affected being the River Findhorn. At the Broom of Moy at the mouth of the Findhorn, all houses were swept away and their occupants drowned.

As that dreadful night of August 4th gave way to day, the full extent of the devastation became apparent. All watercourses and tributaries up in the hills had been affected. Gushing torrents reinforced by all manner of debris and detritus undermined river banks, cutting new channels and spilling far beyond their normal limited courses. Two flood stones at Randolph’s Leap are still a testament to the water being fifty feet above its normal height. Resonating with news reports of today, occupants of flooded properties were forced to seek shelter in garrets and attics. The Spynie loch, to the north of Elgin, drained nineteen years previous, was again filled to capacity. Twenty square miles of the fertile Forres plain was under attack by a thrashing, foaming brown monster. Five fishing boats sailed from Findhorn across the floodwaters rescuing a stranded population in dire peril.

Much of the new infrastructure: turnpike roads, harbours and especially bridges, that had so recently transformed and opened up these northerly lands were smashed, broken and washed away during the afternoon and night of the third and fourth: Bishopmill, Findhorn, Forres and Fochabers to name just a few. Imagine the chaos nowadays if those bridges were to suddenly become impassable with no warning. In those pre-electricity days mills provided the power for all industry – there were threshing mills, flour mills, mills for the textile industry, the brewing industry to name a few examples. These were especially vulnerable to the flooding with the mill leads, machinery, buildings and products all being carried off. It was reported a huge mass of machinery was swept nine miles downriver from the Faille fulling mill. Elsewhere a whole shearing shed with the year’s shearing of wool was carried off. Produce from the land, whether harvested or not, was destroyed, with soil eroded and washed away. Animals, both wild and domesticated, suffered dreadfully being either chilled, drowned or swept away.

The rain finally stopped late that morning after which the floods began to subside leaving in their wake destruction and destitution. For wily opportunists there was a bonanza of salmon stranded in pools together with mountains of driftwood to be collected for burning. But many were left without shelter, belongings or the means to feed or provide for themselves. A Central Committee for the Flood Fund had to be quickly established for the relief of cases of utter destitution, the parish of Forres alone recorded as having one hundred and eighty eight. One of their lasting legacies was the minting of silver medallions as an Honorary Reward for those who were judged to have shown Courage and Humanity in the disaster. Each member of the boat crews who braved the dangers of the floodwaters to rescue those in need were awarded a medal engraved with their name.

A few years later, a lengthy light-hearted poem in the vernacular, titled the “Muckle Spate”, describing the floods, was written by David Grant. In it he describes at length the nature of the debris swept away by the floods. An example is as follows:

“An' divots, thack, an’ timmer lums, An' rantle trees wi' cruiks, An' backets, baith for aise an' saut, An' racks for plates an' buiks;”

An' barnfans, an' flails, an' fleers, An' canasses an' secks; An' cheeks o' doors, an' doors themsel’s, Wi’ broken ban's an' snecks;

Should such a calamity befall us today in this age of plastic, the debris and detritus would inevitably be considerably different: cars, caravans, wheelie bins and road cones would likely to feature large.

We owe a debt of gratitude to one Sir Thomas Dick Lauder of Fountainhall, 7th Baronet (1784-1848) and friend of Sir Walter Scott. Sir Thomas collected a great many accounts of the flood from all affected locations and incorporated them into a book entitled “The Great Moray Floods of 1829”, still in print. Married at Edinkillie Church and owner of the Relugas Estate next to the Findhorn, he naturally focusses to a great extent on that area. Furthermore, he describes some of the consequent flood alleviation schemes at the time following the disaster, together with the accompanying difficulties.

Famous for his portrayals of Highland scenes, some years after in 1860, artist, Sir Edward Landseer (1802-1873), depicted the disaster in his painting “The Highland Flood”.

Back to the beginning of 2016, we can feel a measure of protection against such a cataclysm as described, by several modern flood alleviation schemes which have recently been engineered at great expense: £21m Forres (Burn of Mosset); £45m Forres (River Findhorn and Pilmuir); £86m for Elgin. Llanbryde and Rothes have also benefited. However, in December 2015, the news from other parts of the UK with their own flood schemes has amply demonstrated that we are still far from immune. Almost two centuries ago, Sir Thomas Dick Lauder summarised the event, “Before, a Garden of Eden; after, a desolate wilderness. He further succinctly observed, “Nature can seldom be regulated or controlled in one way, without running riot in some other”.