A friend of mine was recently on holiday in one of the areas in France where wildfires have been blazing out-of-control. His family were staying in a wooden lodge on a beautiful tree-lined site, which they were at first delighted about because for at least some of the time they were able to ensure shade from the blazing sun. A few days into their time away the unmistakeable smell of burning cut through the still evening air. Early the following morning, they were horrified to find arid smoke drifting by slowly on a gentle breeze. France, or parts of it, was on fire.
There was little by way of local information about what was actually going on. Were they safe, several hundred miles from home, or were they in danger? Fortunately, my friend is fluent in French was was able to listen to the French radio stations which were broadcasting in detail about the spreading fires. The family decided that given the uncertainty around the situation, they would immediately head to the French port at which they had arrived with a view to returning home. They were not alone in that thought.
There were long queues leaving all the local towns and villages and the drive to the port (I am not sure which one) was slow and not a little scary. The fires were clearly visible along the way and the smoke was, at least occasionally, so thick they had to keep the car windows closed on what was a stiflingly hot day. The relief as they hit the gridlock at the port was palpable. They had to wait over 24 hours to get a place on one of the ferries home but at least they were safe.
I have not had a similar experience, thank goodness. The nearest I came was about ten years ago when we were on Kalamaki beach in North Corfu as a small aircraft swooped to the surface of the Ionian sea, collecting water which it dumped on forest fires in the nearby hills. We were aware of the fires but thought ourselves safe, which it turned out we were, but it was a bit of what is known as a “wake-up call”. At the back of my mind was the “what if?” thought about the possibility of fires spreading across the island and the dangers people would face.
The French are not alone in suffering terribly from wildfires. We have had them in England, too, as we have seen in a number of areas and, sadly, the New Forest. The long, hot, dry spell across the land, causing drought conditions throughout, has turned parts of the country into a tinderbox. For the first time in my life, I have found myself wishing it would rain, even if only for a few days, to freshen up the scorched earth and replenish our dried out rivers and diminishing reservoirs.
While the latest heatwave is likely to end later this week, the dry spell appears to be far from over, with no meaningful rain expected to fall in the foreseeable future. I am just glad, for once, that I am not away in the sun, enjoying Britain’s brown and not-all-that-pleasant land, fearing from one moment to the next whether I might have to suddenly turn tail and escape from an incoming wildfire. This appears to be the new normal.
The summer of 2027 will follow a major El Niño, which is likely to have a major effect on the climate in many parts of the world, including here in Europe. It is impossible to predict next year’s weather – it’s hard enough for forecasters to predict next week’s weather – but if we do get a hot spell, it is very likely to be hotter and even more extreme than this year. Can you imagine that? To that end, I’ll be thinking long and hard about what I will be doing holiday wise in 2027. The feeling of being a long way from home when home is where you really want to be during a moment of crisis chills me to the bone.
Sooner or later, England will return to its maritime climate and we will be battered by the Atlantic weather systems which will appear to go on forever. The rainfall will probably be as extreme as the dry summer we have enjoyed – or is it endured? – in 2026. And that’s climate change for you, everything in extremis.
I’ve loved the summer of 2026, which has unquestionably been the hottest, sunniest and driest of my lifetime. But I’m at, or near, the point where I feel the downsides, the drought conditions, the wildfires and so on are beginning to outweigh the upsides.
Above all, I just want people to be safe. The excess heat has killed thousands, the wildfires have killed the lives of some people and ruined the lives of others. A bit of normal would be very welcome, wouldn’t it?
