When Was The Great Storm Of 1987

You might think you remember exactly where you were during the Great Storm of 1987, but let’s be honest—most of us were either asleep, hungover, or pretending we didn’t hear the roof tiles flying off. This wasn’t just any storm; it was a meteorological whopper that smashed into Southern England on the night of October 15th, 1987. The date is burned into British pop culture like a bad perm from the same decade.

Let’s get one thing straight: the forecasters royally screwed up. Michael Fish, the BBC’s mild-mannered weatherman, literally told the nation not to worry about a hurricane. Spoiler alert: he was dangerously wrong. He famously said, “A woman rang in and said she’d heard there was a hurricane on the way—don’t worry, there isn’t.” That sentence has haunted him for decades, like a soggy, inconvenient ghost.

The storm hit like a drunk uncle at a wedding—fast, destructive, and completely uninvited. During the early hours of October 16th, winds reached an astonishing 100 miles per hour along the south coast. That’s faster than a racing greyhound, and with worse manners. The storm didn’t even have the decency to wait until after breakfast.

The Chaos That Woke a Nation

People woke up to a world that looked like a giant had thrown a tantrum with a salad spinner. Fifteen million trees were flattened—that’s more trees than there are people in London and Liverpool combined. Imagine trying to get to your car when a 200-year-old oak is using it as a pillow. It was the great outdoors becoming the great indoors, and nobody had paid for that renovation.

Rush hour that morning was a comedy of errors, but nobody was laughing. Commuters in the southeast faced scenes straight out of a low-budget disaster movie: roads blocked by uprooted beeches, trains halted by fallen power lines, and a surprising number of people trying to use a wobbly hedge as a bus shelter. Nearly 3 million homes lost power, which meant no tea, no toast, and—for the truly brave—no charge for their brick-sized mobile phones.

Here’s a surprising fact: the storm killed 18 people in the UK, plus four more in France. That’s tragic, but given the damage, it’s almost miraculous. Most deaths came from falling trees and flying debris, not from the winds themselves. The storm wasn’t technically a hurricane—it was an extratropical cyclone—but try telling that to the man whose garden shed became a windsock.

Shocking photos show devastation left on London by Great Storm of 1987

The Night the Trees Learned to Fly

In the middle of the chaos, something magical happened: a barge in the English Channel broke free and smashed into a ferry. Yes, really. The general public, huddled around crackling radios, heard reports of a “runaway barge” and assumed the apocalypse had finally begun. Spoiler: it hadn’t, but the apocalypse probably took notes.

Perhaps the weirdest part of the whole affair was the reaction from the animals. Dolphins were spotted swimming unusually close to shore, as if they were trying to flag down a taxi to escape the wind. Meanwhile, seagulls—those airborne feathered menaces—apparently decided to sit this one out, clinging to chimneys like old men holding onto their hats. Nature was on pause, and it was terrifying.

Let’s not forget the humble caravan. Over 500 caravans were overturned in coastal areas, flipping onto their backs like grumpy turtles. If you ever needed proof that wind doesn’t have a sense of humour, this was it. The British Caravan Club never fully recovered their sense of dignity.

The Aftermath: Broken Gardens, Broken Egos

After the winds died down, the clean-up began—and it took over a month to clear all the major roads. The government declared a state of emergency, which in Britain meant the army was deployed to help with chain saws and cups of tea. The National Trust wept openly as they tallied the damage to ancient woodlands; the Sevenoaks area famously lost six of its seven original oaks, leaving it punningly renamed “One Oak.” Cheeky, but true.

Great Storm of 1987 claimed 18 lives, flattened 15m trees and caused £1

In the weeks after, insurance claims hit £1.4 billion (in 1987 money). That’s roughly the cost of 50 million cups of tea, if you’re keeping score. People filed claims for everything from shattered greenhouses to—my personal favourite—a “patio that ran away to Devon.” The storm had a short temper and zero respect for property lines.

The media had a field day blaming Michael Fish, but the real culprit was a jet stream that pulled the storm north long after European models had given up. The French and Spanish forecasts actually predicted it, but nobody told the British Met Office. We were like the kid who doesn’t read the exam paper and blames the pencil.

Why We Still Talk About It

Thirty-odd years later, the Great Storm of 1987 remains the UK’s benchmark for “proper weather.” It’s the yardstick by which all subsequent gusts are measured. “Sure it’s windy, but is it 1987 windy?” No. No, it is not. The storm has become a national shorthand for chaos, incompetence, and the fact that nature will always make a fool of your weatherman.

The next time you hear a hurricane warning, pour yourself a stiff drink, check your insurance, and remember: even Michael Fish survived. He wrote a book, did the rounds, and became a beloved folk villain. That storm taught us all a lesson: if a woman rings the BBC worried about a hurricane, take her seriously. She might just save your garden shed.