Preparing for threat to life
Thursday night
On January 23rd people in Northern Ireland and Scotland were startled to receive a Severe Weather Alert complete with a boistrous sound alarm. It prepared us all for an official red alert that would take effect the next morning Friday the 24th.
It also represented a first time for the highest-level weather designation to apply across the whole island of Ireland.
The start of my new 10-week course at Queens University Belfast scheduled for the Friday had already been postponed with the university's closure of its entire campus for the day; likewise schools across the country were closed; similarly large supermarkets like Lidl and Tescos would close all day Friday, as would most other workplaces. A lunchtime concert for which I had got a ticket featuring the Ulster Orchestra and being produced/recorded for BBC Radio 3 had also been cancelled. All reasons to leave home, all correctly withdrawn.
To add intrigue to the drama, it was reported that the US-based National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration was visiting Shannon to study and track the storm's winds (1). They operate two heavy-duty Lockeed WP-3D aircraft known as Hurricane Hunters.
Apart from "battening down the hatches" on a calm Thursday night "before the storm," this resident made a last minute sortie into the dark to move potted plants indoors. The same treatment was applied to light-weight recycling bins that had been emptied on Wednesday by Council workmen. And, for good measure, following a Met Éireann tip, there was time to fill a big picnic flask with boiling water in case a nocturnal power cut might deny a breakfast cuppa on Friday.
Friday
The UK Met office was predicting a start time of 7 am for the red alert. I was awoken at about 3 30 am by the unmistakable howl of gales which continued and grew noisier by the hour. Heeding the emphatic advice to stay indoors, I didn't venture out - at least not until later on the Friday afternoon. By that stage the sun was appearing and the wind, while still strong, was not "a threat to life." A short survey and a feeling of overwhelming relief enveloped my headspace as there were no signs of downed fences or broken TV aerials - and crucially, no power cuts.
At 6 pm I sat down to celebrate my day's good fortune with a healthy dinner, followed by watching the TV news. The reports of record numbers of homes without power across the whole island were prominent (2), as was a repetition from the forecasters to be careful. A weather alert still applied, admittedly one level down to amber instead of red.
The unexpected
Shortly afterwards, I got a big shock when just before 7 pm, with no warning, everything turned black - a dreaded power cut - after the event, I thought. Could this set-back be a 5 minute wonder or something that might take a wee while longer to fix? I looked out the window - all the neighbours' houses were in pitch darkness and the street lights were all out.
Comforted, however, by a good meal and having had the benefit of a couple of hours when the gas-fired central heating system had warmed up the house, I had no reason to be fearful. I also had candles, torches and a good novel to tide me over the evening hours.
Saturday
By next morning, the 25th, the power cut had not been repaired and I left home for a gym class. A good way to warm up and get the endorphins going. In the meantime and in the absence of any indications about reconnection and with my phone losing power, family members living in GB provided useful support with some research. The news, however, was not encouraging. It confirmed my fears of widespread damage painting a bleak picture of the huge workload facing the grid's authorities:-
Statistics
The morning paper outlined preliminary figures about the damage (3). More than 540,000 homes were without power on Friday night in the Republic, with an additional 280,000 in Northern Ireland. The report added that the cost of the damage is likely to exceed Euro100m for the insurance industry. The strongest wind gust had been clocked at 183 kph at Mace Head in County Galway.
The paper's Martyn Turner graphically reminded us of how our first world woes relate to climate change and to wars abroad:-
Normal life
An appointment at the barber's that afternoon gave me an excuse to leave home. Normal life must continue. With no sign of power being restored later in the day, with darkness appearing and house temperature dropping, I thought about another exit with a visit to the cinema, somwhere warm and inviting. An opportunity to see the Oscar-nominated film, The Brutalist. A 3.5 hour epic sounded like a good plan. I was in no rush to get home.
For the first time and in spite of "sold-out" being displayed, I decided to think positive on the basis that there's bound to be someone who won't at the last minute be able to attend. Success and an absorbing thought-provoking film on a topic which happens to be closely related to my former profession and memories of problems faced by architects and town planners.
I returned home re-energised in a way, even if to an unheated house, minutes before midnight.
Sunday
After about an hour - the early hours of the 26th - wearing socks and a woolly hat in bed for the first time ever, I was startled initially by my burglar alarm followed by bedroom lights coming back on. Power restored when I least expected it, like an early Sunday alarm call. Confusion and joy combined. I dashed downstairs, disconnected the burglar alarm, switched on the central heating and belatedly plugged my electric car to the wall charger, taking advantage of the off-peak metre rate.
The day was spent recuperating in as quiet a way as possible, taking stock, consuming loads of calories, with the heating on full blast and feet up. I was content that evening to be captivated by television programmes like Dancing with the Stars, Call the Midwife and Match of the Day, while studiously avoiding news bulletins.
To coin a phrase, what a difference a day makes. But would it last? Another storm, called Hermione, is predicted and already gathering its rain clouds.
Fantasy or fact
I admit, and with all respect to the cartoonist's realistic art, that the experience of over 30 hours with no electricity was traumatic. It was not in any way make-believe. Rather than the fantasy conjured up by the Met Office with its naming of the storm, my sympathies for the prolonged plight of the Middle Eastern nations has grown even more, never mind that of Californians.
Éowyn derives from JRR Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy (4). In the books, Éowyn is the name of the noblewoman from the Kingdom of Rohan. In The Return of the King, Éowyn reveals she is a woman when she fights and kills the Witch King of Angmar, fulfilling the Macbeth-like prophesy that he would not be killed by a man. Apparently, Tolkien invented the name by combining the words "eoh" meaning horse with "wyn" meaning joy as in the series the people of Rohan are known as horse riders. Tolkien himself was born in South Africa becoming Professor of Anglo-Saxon at Oxford a century ago in 1925.
After a whirlwind few days, there's only one thing to do - write about it.
© Michael McSorley 2025
References
1. RTÉ News 23 June 2025 https://www.rte.ie/news/regional/2025/0123/1492488-us-aircraft-storm-eowyn/
2. BBC News at 6, 24 Feb 2025 Storm Éowyn; one dead and more than a million without power https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c78x4503neyo.amp
3. Irish Times Sat 25 Feb 2025 p.1 The big clean up begins Sarah Burns
4. NME film news 24 February 2025 https://www.nme.com/news/film/why-is-storm-eowyn-named-after-a-lord-of-the-rings-character-3831901