Imagine being forced to leave your home, not because of war or economic hardship, but because the very ground beneath you has become a threat. This is the stark reality for the residents of Clydach Terrace in Ynysybwl, South Wales, who have become the UK’s first climate evacuees. Their story is a powerful reminder of how the climate crisis is reshaping lives, and it’s one that’s both heartbreaking and, controversially, a glimpse into a future many more communities might face.
When Storm Dennis unleashed its fury in 2020, Paul Thomas found himself battling for survival. A torrent of icy, debris-filled water from the Nant Clydach river hurled him against his house. He clung to downpipes, fighting to avoid being swept away by the storm surge that had smashed through his front door. ‘The water was unbelievably strong,’ he recalled. ‘You’re sitting on the stairs, watching it rise step by step, and all you can do is wait and hope it stops.’
Since then, life on Clydach Terrace has been a relentless cycle of fear and anxiety. Every heavy rain or amber weather warning robs residents of sleep. ‘There are so many triggers that take us back to that night,’ Thomas said. Even his grandson struggles when it rains, a haunting reminder of the trauma they’ve endured.
Clydach Terrace isn’t just any street—it’s been deemed one of the most dangerous places in the country, classified as ‘high risk to life’ by the flooding management authority. But here’s where it gets controversial: after six long years of living in fear, the Rhondda Cynon Taf (RCT) council has decided to buy 16 of the street’s 18 homes for £2.6 million, demolishing them to eliminate the risk. While this decision brings relief, it also raises questions: Is this the only solution? And who will bear the cost of such drastic measures in the future?
This group of around 40 people—teachers, contractors, retirees, NHS workers, and young families—could be from any street in any town. They’ve lived side by side for decades, with some buying their first homes here in 2020, only to face the prospect of leaving. Of the 18 houses, only two newer builds, set back from the road and up a slope, will remain. For the rest, it’s a bittersweet farewell.
‘It’s a dream come true to live a normal life again,’ Thomas said, capturing the collective relief. Paige Didcote, 27, echoed this sentiment: ‘I won’t have the anxiety of rushing home from work, wondering if something terrible has happened.’ But this is the part most people miss: the emotional toll of leaving a place you’ve called home for decades, even if it’s for your safety.
The climate crisis is reshaping weather patterns, intensifying storms and flooding across the UK. Storm Dennis was one of the most intense extratropical cyclones ever recorded, with the River Taff carrying enough water to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool in just over three seconds. For Thomas, a carpenter, the weight of such water could collapse the fronts of the terrace houses, sending families into the river. ‘If you’re upstairs, the floor joists collapse, and you’re gone,’ he explained grimly.
Since Dennis, storms and heavy rainfall have repeatedly overwhelmed the residents, making insurance nearly impossible or prohibitively expensive. During a recent visit, the street showed signs of its struggle: damp, mossy homes, sandbags piled outside doors, and family belongings packed in plastic boxes, ready to be moved upstairs at the first sign of danger. On the other side of the road, the river flowed ominously, its level higher than normal, a constant reminder of the threat.
Thomas, who has lived on the terrace for 40 years, loves the area’s beauty. ‘In the summer, it’s peaceful,’ he said. ‘But in the winter, that river changes.’ The street’s location on a natural floodplain, combined with its narrow layout and basin-like topography, makes it uniquely vulnerable. A rise of just one centimeter over the retaining wall can turn into two meters of water within minutes, engulfing homes in an instant.
‘The water comes up the street faster than you can walk,’ Thomas warned. For Caitlin Gibbs, 24, the danger was even more personal. During Storm Bert in 2024, she was pregnant with her daughter Nyla, while her three-year-old daughter Layla battled cancer. ‘What if something happened with her feeding tube? We had no way out,’ she recalled.
Natural Resources Wales (NRW) explored dozens of solutions, from building taller defense walls to enlarging the river culvert. But after five years of surveys and assessments, they concluded that none of the options met a viable cost-benefit ratio under government funding rules. This decision frustrated residents, who felt their concerns had been ignored for years. ‘Even with defenses, there’s no guarantee,’ said Jeremy Parr, NRW’s head of flood risk management, pointing to recent floods in Monmouth despite its defenses. ‘Long-term viability is very difficult, and we’re going to see more of this extreme weather.’
RCT council’s decision to buy and demolish the homes was, in the words of council leader Andrew Morgan, ‘the right thing to do.’ But it’s not without controversy. While the £2.6 million cost seems small compared to the £130 million spent repairing infrastructure after Dennis, it sets a precedent. What happens when more communities face similar threats? And who will pay for their relocation?
Clydach Terrace may be the first UK community to disband due to the climate emergency, but it won’t be the last. Fairbourne in Gwynedd and Seasalter in Kent are already slated for ‘managed retreat’ due to rising sea levels, and the UK’s east coast is one of the fastest-eroding in Europe. According to the Byline Times, another 713,000 homes will face significant flood exposure by mid-century.
Before the houses are demolished, the residents plan to hold a street party—a final farewell to the place they once called home. By September, Thomas hopes, everyone will have moved on. ‘I would have loved them to fix the river, but there’s nothing else they can do,’ he said. ‘The weather has changed, it’s as simple as that.’
As we reflect on their story, it’s impossible not to ask: Are we doing enough to prepare for a future where such evacuations become commonplace? And what does it mean for our sense of home and community when the land itself turns against us? The residents of Clydach Terrace have answered these questions with resilience and courage, but the rest of us must now face them too.
