On 12 August 2026, something happened. A total solar eclipse passed over the region of Europe for the first time since 1999, and the majority of the UK were within the range of its near-complete coverage. Totality wasn't visible from here, only from the Atlantic and later from Spain. And I decided I would pay active attention to what was going on, since I really didn't in 1999.
Also, speaking of eclipses in 1999, you may want to check out my radio play The Angry House which is set during the week leading up to it.
I'd seen people talking about eclipses, but this was the first time I'd be paying full attention to its clear and visible effects. Needless to say, my writer's brain was taking feverish notes during the whole process. There is something special about being present for this kind of event, an astronomical (literally) event that shows both the speed of the universe and the impact it can have on the environment, and on one's self. Red of Overly Sarcastic Productions has gone into far greater detail about eclipses with her videos on two total solar eclipses that happened in North America in 2023 and 2024.
If there's one thing that really hits home when looking at the effects of even a partial eclipse, it's how the light and warmth are impacted. Genuinely, on a day where a heat wave was gripping the UK, the drop in temperature was palpable. And while the light was fairly normal at around 18:45, by 19:00 things looked dimmer. At the height of the eclipse, the light level was roughly equivalent to an autumnal sunset.

And more than that, the birds were going nuts. That's something which caught me off guard. As the light dimmed, the birds started behaving as if it were one or two hours later than it was in terms of light levels. The eclipse, even if it wasn't total, was throwing off the habits of animals which were guided by light levels. It was unsettling on a deep level, as I knew that this strange behaviour had a reason that was far beyond our control. It was a movement of our satellite to pass across the Sun. The shadows were also acting strangely by comparison, all with fuzzy outlines and low definition compared to the stark lines that I'd been seeing throughout most of the hot, sunny, practically cloudless day.

I didn't see the disc through eclipse glasses, but instead through a home-rigged system: two bits of paper with a pin-hole through one of them. It was quite something to see the disc of the sun with the moon's shadow creeping across it. I did end up catching a momentary glimpse of the eclipse itself by accident, when I was turning round and got into the sun's path. And my eyes had the split second impression of the moon's shadow passing over it. It was a fascinating thing to see in person, and it's brought me up close and personal to an aspect of why eclipses were so significant.
Just throw yourself back, if you can, into the mind of someone who doesn't fully grasp the mechanics of an eclipse yet, even though the rough outlines of how eclipses work was essentially sussed out in Aryabhata in the 5th Century CE.
Suppose that someone, either the average person or someone who just hasn't studied that aspect of the sky, haven't even sussed about the nature of the moon and the sun, certainly not from our modern perspective. In that instance, the moon has disrupted the normal flow of day and night. The light dims and changes to become a sunset orange which alters how our eyes perceive the colours around us, the sun's warmth diminishes, animals are behaving oddly, the shadows taking on a shifting perspective at their edges.
Such a thing would be magical, frightening, perhaps momentous. Eclipses as special events or even ceremonial occasions are nothing new. They were seen as mythological battles, portents of great change, messages from a deity or deities. While lunar eclipses -- aka "Blood Moons" -- are very frequent and delightfully spooky, a solar eclipse feels like it has some real weight behind it. A sense of enormity and significance that in those moments on 12 August made me feel small. It put things into perspective, as the UK was cast into partial shadow by something that was happening hundreds of thousands of miles above us.
I've had a similar feeling of wonder before. During a trip out to an event in the mountains, it was a beautifully clear night and there was a telescope set up. I was able to see Jupiter and its moons, the rings of Saturn, and even faintly Uranus and Neptune before the Moon rose and blotted out all but the brighter stars in the sky. But this was different, it felt more tangible. The other planets are much further away, much less tangible to me. It's that feeling of immediacy that I had during the Eclipse which is precious. Those twenty or so minutes during which the world darkened, the heat lessened, and the birds went wild.
That's the stuff history remembers. That's the stuff stories are made of.
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