The Filkins-Broadwell Tornado
In order to grasp a clear view of the storm, we positioned ourselves about 3 miles south of Burford, as previously explained. Just over a mile south of our location is the small, sleepy village of Filkins. The small settlement is a traditional Cotswold village; small Cotswold stone cottages always looking immaculate, the small village nursery looking out onto a small green, with an orchard nearby. At the bottom end of the village, the Manor house commands ground comprising of towering poplar trees, like sentinals watching over the area. In the centre of the village a small local pub, fashioned out of Cotswold stone, welcomes residents and visitors alike, with walls and walls of pictures of the village from days gone by. A small Post Office, church and war memorial lead to the top end of the village, where most of its small population live. The scene is quiet, tranquil, and the pace of life seems slow and relaxed.
At around 1725 GMT on Sunday March 21st 2004, that peaceful existence was shattered by Mother Nature, cruelly singling out the small settlement for one of her most unforgiving acts - the tornado.
The following accounts are based on notes taken when talking directly to residents of Filkins and Broadwell, on Thursday 25th March 2004.
The sky was very dark to the north, almost ink black. I took one look at it and thought nothing of it. My wife was in the bath at the time, and my two young children were busy watching their favourite TV show. The local area news was about to start, so I prepared to relax in front of the TV for half an hour. At that point, I heard a knocking on the window, which quickly became a peppering, as if someone was throwing gravel and small stones at the back windows. I quickly ran over the see what all the commotion was about, and to my amazement, it was hailstones. This hail was like nothing I've seen before, some were the size of 10 pence pieces. They were bouncing up off the grass, and making a real noise on the roof. At that point, my wife came out of the bathroom to ask what on earth was happening, and as I informed her it was only hail, and huge peal of thunder roared out through the house...
Meanwhile, next door:
I was sitting in the living room, and my wife was in the kitchen. There was very loud thunder outside, and once it had stopped snowing there were some very large hailstones indeed. I decided to bring our two dogs in, as I didn't think they deserved to be out in such terrible conditions. Just after I came back in, it began to get very windy again. Saturday had seen gales across the area, and I couldn't get out and about in it. Sunday had been a nice day up until now, and once again that darn wind got up again. It's beyond a joke this wind, I told my wife, plain silly! At this point, the wind suddenly became stronger than I've ever seen it. Hailstones were trying their best to come through the patio doors, and I could hardly see out. Then the wind grew even stronger, so strong that my wife had to shout to be heard from the kitchen. On asking her for a second time, she came into the living room and told me that the dog kennel had just flown past the kitchen window, crashed into the apple tree in the front garden, then took off again over the wall and down the road...
Back in the first house:
The wind was unbelievable. There was crashing around outside, banging, all manner of hell letting loose! My kids tried to go out and see, but I ran over and quickly shut the door they had tried to open. The trouble is, I could hardly shut it again! I pushed with all my strength, and just managed to get the thing shut, such was the strength of the wind. Once it all died down, the sun quickly came out and the wind had almost stopped entirely. I decided to venture outside, sliding along on top of the enormous hailstones that had fallen. I stopped dead in my tracks though... where the hell had the kids' wendy house gone? Someone's stolen it! I cried out to my wife. Who would steal it? It was a large, solid wooden wendy house, and it would take more than two fully grown men to even nudge the thing. Just as my wife came outside, I happened to glance into next door's garden... and there it was! The wendy house was on its side, in next door's garden, against a tree! How had it got over the 3ft stone wall and landed over there, totally intact? I was about to go around to find out, when I suddenly realised I was walking on roof slates. I looked up, and to my horror the southern side of my house had no roofing tiles left! The garden was covered in them! Some were lying flat, others had been drilled upright into the ground like knives through butter! As I walked into the front garden, I suddenly noticed that was covered in roof slates too, and so was the road outside, and so was the grass verge and hedge on the other side of the road. Hell, even the field beyond that was full of our roof tiles!
and next door:
We rushed out to see what on earth had happened! We looked out into the road, to find the remains of our wood and iron dog kennel lying smashed in the road. Just yards from it, a motorist sat in his car, engine still running, his face was as white as snow. Just beside his car, was a tree lying in the road. I had a passing glance at next door's property - they had a large wooden garage, and that was gone, flattened! We even found the roof of our dog kennel 200 yards away across the fields!"
Up until now, we've seen many good reasons why this storm could be classified as a supercell. Large hail, single persistent updraft and downdraft, huge cloud structure, tell-tale hook echo radar signature. Now however, we're faced with the prospect that this storm produced a damaging tornado less than a mile from where we had watched the storm, and mere minutes before we arrived.
The evidence for supercell activity, it would seem, is growing further.
However, after a spectacular yet sobering day wandering around these villages, talking to the residents, surveying the damage, and working out the exact mechanics of the tornado, we feel this event needs a whole analysis of its own.
Filkins,
Oxfordshire.