On Sept. 21, 1938, the greatest natural disaster in local recorded history befell southern New England when a major hurricane struck without warning, creating a storm surge that smashed the coastline and brought wind and rain that felled trees and caused flooding hundreds of miles inland.

A week later Nona Murrell Kip of Quaker Hill, whose husband Herbert Z. Kip was a professor of German language and literature at Connecticut College for Women in New London, wrote to her son Van Houten Kip about the great storm, which she did not associate with being a hurricane.

Her granddaughter, Ellen Frost of Washington, D.C., recently discovered the letter and offered to share it with readers of The Day.

My dear Van,

Beautiful New London is no more. The ghostly remains are mere specters of its former self.

Wednesday afternoon about 3:00 p.m. a strong east wind arose. Its velocity increased so rapidly that I realized it was no time to venture forth to New London as I had planned.

The heavy foliage of the oak trees offered so much resistance to the wind that they were easy prey to the storm. The twin oaks by the gate, one of the big ones in front, the two near the garage, and others near the play court came down with startling rapidity. The two large ones in front were denuded of branches but were protected by the house until the change of wind direction about 4:30. I was fearful lest they fall on the house as the wind was now coming from the northwest and the sway was terrific. However, being so bare, they took it. The large 300-year-old cedars were all uprooted.

About 6:30 we went out to survey the damage. I was astonished to find all the spruces (six) between us and the Haggards’ flat. The white birches, usually so brittle, had taken it standing up — and of course most of the dogwood, being small, remains.

The house stood up well. Until the three near the large boulder crashed into it, everything was intact. That broke one of the garage doors and took some shingles from the edge of the roof. This damage is not too serious, I think, although a builder may tell a different story when it is repaired.

We have been extremely fortunate here. New London is a wreck. Houses everywhere inland stood up well. The large trees created havoc. On Huntington Street the elms fell gently in parallel rows against the wall, with branches resting on the few houses on the upper side. On Williams and Broad Streets near the park, God did not work in such an orderly fashion and that section looks like bedlam let loose.

The tidal wave brought boats onto the railway tracks and completely demolished the docks. Pequot Avenue is missing from the Whiton house to the stone wall at the turn going to the beach. The boardwalk and dock at the beach are of course gone without a trace. The houses on the walk are here, there, and everywhere. It is reported that the beach can be bought for a mere song (I wish I could sing.)

Our life: Everyone goes his own way more or less calmly. Martial law in New London: no one on the streets after eight. Traffic conditions are terrible.

We in Quaker Hill are without electricity, which of course means without water and refrigerator or heat. We have by previous use kept some water until now. We use it very gingerly, however. The rinse water from our wash, either dishes or persons, is saved to become the first water for the next operation, etc.

So far it has been good sport but I hope it won’t continue too long.