I was one of the evacuees, though we didn't go to any hotel. It was some kind of wooded campsite about 20 miles up/down(?) the coast. There were tents and........that was pretty much it. Not that I'm complaining mind. I recall that with the 'flood mentality' at the time, we took as many pallets and sandbags as we could, much to the bemusement of the campsite owner.
Anecdotal evidance at the time suggested that upon arrival the Royal Engineers surveyed the Ploce site and assessed that a certain amount of aggregate was required to lift the site above the water level. They were provided with about half that amount. They pointed out that should it rain inline with recent historical data, the camp would flood. It rained, it flooded, the thunderbox submarines floated to the surface, majestically rolled towards the camp and. dumped the erm...dumps as one would expect.
The storm was great fun though, hanging onto the inside of the tent-poles until the bare bulbs smashed against them, extinguishing the lights and leaving us wondering "is the remaining bit of bulb that is flailing about still live, and is it about to zap us through these metals poles what we are all holding on to?"
Ah the showers. Another example of RE ingenuity and improvisation (I'm not being sarcastic btw). Take one cattle market, fit a labrynith of 'scaffold poles' overhead at about 7' high, drill holes in poles every 3 feet, attach one end to water main, turn on (big) tap, voila! It was a tad chilly mind, but if you jumped in and exclaimed "fucbollocfannyarse!" repeatedly, it made it bearable. No roof by the way, so whoever allocated the dedicated 'birds only' shower time which comfortably coincided with a leisurely morning take off
