The damage from the most recent hurricanes to hit the United States is on the minds of everyone who lives on the Outer Banks. These islands have been inhabited for hundreds of years, and the fury of storms has changed both the shape and destiny of the land. On Hatteras Island, the worst storm in memory is known as the “Storm of ’44.” In 1944, Hatteras Island had to be reached by ferry; there were no paved roads, no electricity, and water was pumped from a well in each yard. The following is taken from a journal kept by Mrs. Grace Gray of Avon, and gives a personal view of “riding out a storm”.

“The Storm of ’44 came as a surprise. My husband, Cyril,  was in Virginia seeking a home for us as he had recently been working at the fire department at Fort Story. I remained at our home in Avon with our four young children.

“The day of the storm began as a beautiful one, and I took advantage of the sunshine by washing and drying clothes all day. I starched all the covers (doilies used on all table tops) and starched some of my children’s best clothes. Everything was to be folded and packed away to be taken to Virginia; the ironing could wait for the convenience of electricity that my new home would offer.

“During the night I heard the wind blowing, but it didn’t seem too bad. The next morning brought sunshine, and Grandma Mary suggested we go gather the figs that had been blown off their bushes. We went outside along with the children, who helped and played. It was dead calm outside, not even the sound of a bird could be heard. We did not know we were in the “eye” of the storm.

“Cyril’s brother-in-law, Eugene Gray, was a widower with five small children and lived across the road from Grandma Mary’s. Eugene came running towards us shouting, ‘My God, Miss Mary, look what’s coming down the road! I ran from the back yard to the front and saw an awesome sight. Three giant waves had leaped over the dunes and a wave was rolling down the road toward us, almost to the yard, bringing grasses, bushes, and everything else in its path. I quickly gathered my children and ran into the house, followed by Grandma.

“Willard (Sr.), who lived in Grandma’s home, had gone to the sound, about a city block from the house, to see to his boat. The water had blown out of the sound, leaving about a mile of sound bottom dry. About the time we got into the house, the wind, which had been blowing from the east, suddenly shifted to the west. The water from the sound came rushing back and the two, sound and ocean, met in the front yard. When they came together it was with such force it looked like a geyser. In the meantime, Uncle Willard had run from the landing (sound side) and got into the house. Grandma, the children and I went upstairs. Uncle Willard opened the front and back doors to keep the house from floating off of the blocks.

“We stood at the front windows in the hall upstairs and watched the water cover Uncle Willard’s car, which was parked outside the fence. We also looked across the road at the children that could be seen through the upstairs window at Eugene’s house. Suddenly his house rose off the blocks and sailed across the yard and settled at the east fence. We could see the children screaming and jumping around – poor little things were scared almost to death.”  (However, they made it through the storm unharmed, as did the rest of the villagers.)

“We went into the east bedroom and knelt by the bed and prayed. I knew it was the end for us and thought how sad it was going to be for my husband to come home and learn that we had drowned. We went into the hallway. I sat on a chair, holding the baby, Connie. The other children, Amelia, Norma Lee and Cyril, Jr., sat on a trunk just opposite. Norma Lee, who was five years old, was white around her nose and mouth. She said, ‘Mother, I’m seasick.’ The house was rocking like a boat. The water had risen up above the 7^th stair step; there are just 11 steps in all.

“By afternoon, the storm had subsided and the water had gone down enough so that we could go downstairs, although everything was soaked, and all the food ruined. I decided to go to the store and see if there were any supplies that had survived the storm. Uncle Willard went to the landing to check on his boat and fishing things. The children remained with Grandma Mary, as the water was still knee deep. What a sight met my eyes! Houses off their blocks. Two houses down the road from where I lived had switched places perfectly. As I went along I met a man (a stranger, who had come down in a plane to survey the damage). He said hello, sadly. I said ‘hello’ back very happily. He said, ‘How can you be so happy in all this mess?’ I replied ‘Brother, we’re happy to have escaped with our lives after what we’ve been through!’ And we were!

“As I waded along I met several men who also were surveying the damage. Near my house there was a clump of bushes with a ditch in front of them. Knowing it was there I skirted it. It is a good thing I did – the strong tide had made that shallow ditch into a deep ravine.

“I went on to my house. The house was off the blocks, windows were broken, blocks pushed up through the floors of two rooms. The house was slanted. It made me sort of dizzy to walk onto the floor. Everything was topsy-turvy. Of course everything was wet. Dishes were on the floor, and my beautiful home-made quilts were in the mud. The starched clothes were down in the mud as well, but nothing made me feel too bad – just to be alive and have my precious children unharmed! Oh, how I praised God! And I still do when I realize what could have been.

“For two days I took the little ones and went home to salvage what I could. I washed the mud from everything with water from the pump in the yard. The well water had been contaminated by salt water, so sodas from the store were the only beverage. The family ate pork and beans, pickles, potted meat and canned sausage, which had been undamaged at the local store. About the third day Cyril came down the beach in a ‘duck’ (amphibious vehicle); there was no ferry running and of course that was before the bridge.

“Willard and Hattie Gray’s house had floated across the road, which was just a car track, as there were no paved roads in Avon then. Cyril’s brother Ellis’s house had sailed across the road to the east, also. When the men came home, Willard said, ‘Why, Hattie, you didn’t tell me you were going to move while I was gone!’

“That night a barge came in with drinking water, but we left the next morning for Virginia. Someone took us to Oregon Inlet and the Coast Guard boated us across the inlet where Cyril had left his car. How happy we were to get to Virginia!”

Much has changed on Hatteras Island since 1944. The old-timers of Avon have seen their village change from a fishing village into a haven for tourists. The Bonner Bridge is a lifeline to the northern beaches and the mainland; there is electricity, city water, all the comforts of modern life. But, as we have learned from recent storms, all of these comforts can be taken away within a few hours. Our links to civilization are fragile. But the beauty and the magic of this island make any risk or hardship worthwhile. When our time comes to be hit by nature’s fury, as it will, some of us will clean up and stay, some of us will leave. But we will all be changed.