Fighting for the Fens

 

The Fens of South Lincolnshire and Cambridgeshire have always been precarious – a landscape engineered by human determination, machinery and hard labour.

Now, as ageing infrastructure meets rising seas and volatile weather, the vast area of low-lying land faces its gravest threat since it was drained in the 17th century.

According to a report this week on the Lincolnshire Live website (Jamie Waller, 29 September 2025), the county could be forced to “surrender the Fens” back to the sea unless billions of pounds are spent on new defences.

As someone who lives on the edge of the Fens, I read his account from Lincolnshire County Council’s Environment Committee with unease – it could almost have been lifted from the pages of my upcoming novel Flood Waters Down (to be published Spring 2026).

Amy Shaw, flood risk manager for the Environment Agency (EA), didn’t sugar-coat it. “The cost is likely to be billions, not millions,” she told councillors. “The problem will be here before 2100 – within the next 10 or 15 years we will need to have a clear direction.”

This is no longer a hypothetical dilemma for the future. Decisions made now will determine whether the Fens and low-lying lands of Lincolnshire remain habitable for future generations.

Breaking point
Most of the area’s pumping stations and sluices were commissioned in the 1960s and recent Environment Agency studies show what would happen if those pumps stopped: vast swathes of Lincolnshire and Cambridgeshire would be under 1.5 metres of water.

Combine this with rising sea and tide levels, and it’s clear why the issue is urgent. Daniel Withnall, chief executive of the Black Sluice Internal Drainage Board, laid out the scale of the threat. “If we do nothing, we are surrendering the south of Lincolnshire – that’s how drastic it is,” he said.

The Fens 2100+ partnership (a consortium of local authorities and interested organisations) has begun preparing proposals to bid for government funding. But the scale of the ask is daunting and political priorities are often short-term.

Councillors at the meeting made no attempt to disguise the severity of the problem. Tom Ashton (Conservative) said: “I’m pleased our ambition to defend the Fens matches the ambition of our ancestors to create it. It will come down to money, and a huge amount of it. It’s unfortunate that river maintenance money is going down, not up.”

Raymond Whitaker (Reform UK Ltd) warned about the decrepit state of existing infrastructure: “If we have a couple of big storms, the pumping stations could break down and Lincolnshire could flood.”

And Ashley Baxter (Independent) brought both history and climate politics into the room, citing an ancestor who first came to the country as a refugee to help drain the Fens. “Now, four centuries later,” he warned, “climate change is the elephant in the room.”

Battling against nature
The Fens have never been entirely “won”. Every field, every straightened river and drainage channel is part of a centuries-long battle against water.

In dry summers, the black peat soils shrink and crack. In wet seasons, pumps groan under the strain while the North Sea, higher now than at any time in recent history, creeps upward year by year.

Locals know this instinctively. Farming families talk about the land “sitting on borrowed time.” And yet, the Fens are more than well-drained soil: they are one of the UK’s most productive agricultural regions. A third of the nation’s vegetables come from these fields.

Foreshadowing reality
When I began writing Flood Waters Down, my aim was to push the current fragility of the Fens into the future, imagining a scenario where sea defences are neglected, climate extremes accelerate and political will falters.

The novel explores the consequences for communities forced to adapt to flooded landscapes – some clinging on with technology, others turning to new ways of living. It’s a speculative narrative rooted in the science of climate change and infrastructure decay.

Blurring the lines
It’s rarely comfortable when fiction and reality come together. Reading the Lincolnshire Live report felt like opening a chapter of my own novel – except this time the decisions rest not with imagined characters but with government ministers, councillors, engineers and all of us who live in this landscape.

The Fens have always been a battleground between human ingenuity and nature. Four centuries ago, our ancestors chose ambition and succeeded. Today, the question remains: do we defend or retreat – or just prevaricate until nature decides for us?

To stand still is to gamble because, as Councillor Whitaker pointed out, one or two big storms could push fragile pumping stations past breaking point.

Perhaps this is the true value of stories like Flood Waters Down – to bring perspective and help us imagine potential consequences before they unfold. Either way, the clock is ticking.

Climate scepticism is a killer

The small city of Silopi in Turkey’s Şırnak province made unwanted history on 25 July 2025 when temperatures surged to 50.5°C (122.9F) – a record not only for Turkey but for continental Europe. 

This broke the country’s previous record of 49.5C set just two years earlier and came amid a wider pattern of searing heat across the region. 

But just as the atmosphere cracked under the weight of heat and smoke, a parallel blaze of apathy dominated the comments of social media posts. 

This is not just weather. It is signal and the fact that so many brush it off as meaningless should alarm us as much as the rising mercury.

The numbers are startling:

•    50.5C in Silopi, verified by Turkish meteorological authorities, marking the hottest temperature ever recorded in the country

•    132 weather stations reported record highs or lows across the country on the same day

•    in cities like Bursa and Karabuk, more than 3,500 residents were evacuated due to wildfires

•    over 80 blazes burned simultaneously in southern and western provinces

•    the death toll – still rising at the time of writing – included firefighters, volunteers and civilians, some overcome by flames, others by the heat itself.

Turkey was not an isolated flashpoint but more akin to the leading edge of a continental burn. In Greece, Italy and across the eastern Mediterranean, similar conditions have prevailed. 

And yet: “Just a hot day.”

Scrolling through the UK Met Office’s Facebook post about Turkey’s record heat, one might expect concern, curiosity or even a sober call for concerted action. 

Instead the voices of indifference seem to shout loudest with many of the top comments veering toward minimisation:

    “It’s Turkey. It’s always hot.”
    “It’s summer. Get over it.”
    “Every year you say it’s the hottest ever – so what?”

Such remarks aren't surprising anymore but they are disappointing and dangerous.

What we’re seeing isn’t a few keyboard cynics. It’s a growing climate indifference – a conditioned reflex to ignore or downplay events that no longer feel shocking. 

It’s as if the extremes scientists have warned about have become background noise. But to those on the ground – displaced, grieving, choking in smoke – it’s all very real.  

Climate context
This summer’s heat in the northern hemisphere is part of a wider and well-documented trend:

•    Europe is warming twice as fast as the global average.

•    the frequency and duration of heatwaves across the Mediterranean has tripled in the past 20 years.

•    attribution science has made it clear – events like Turkey’s 50.5C day are virtually impossible in the short term without human-induced climate change.

So, no, this is not just “a hot day” for the record books. It is part of a pattern that is remaking our seasons, our safety and our stories of the future. 

Survivability
As global temperatures rise, there’s a growing and often overlooked truth: above certain thresholds, the human body simply cannot survive for long without artificial cooling. 

It is widely accepted that a 35C wet-bulb temperature – a combination of heat and humidity – marks the upper physiological limit for humans. 

Beyond this, sweating becomes ineffective, the body can no longer cool itself and death can occur within hours, even in the shade. In dry heat, conditions above 45-50C without shade, ventilation or hydration can lead to heatstroke, organ failure, and death. 

Turkey’s new record is dangerously close to these thresholds and in a world where access to air conditioning and reliable electricity is not universal, especially in rural or low-income communities, this is no longer just a matter of discomfort.  

Complicit indifference 
It’s tempting to see social media as a misinformation sideshow. But the stories we tell – and the ones we ignore – shape public discourse and political will. 

If each new heat record becomes a meme or a punchline, we lose the urgency. And without urgency, we lose momentum. Indifference breeds delay. Delay costs lives.

That’s why this blog post is not just about numbers. It’s about meaning – about connecting the dots before the hairline cracks become fault lines.

In a moment like this, it's not enough to track the rising heat. We must also track the rising silence – the space where concern should be but isn’t. If records like Turkey’s 50.5C don’t register as wake-up calls, what will?

This is not hyperbole. It’s our future history and the tragedy is already unfolding more quickly than was predicted.

Transformation, if it comes, will demand not just awareness but imagination – a capacity to think far beyond fossil futures and current lifestyles.

Heat, wealth and denial

 

The Earth is on fire – literally and politically. From southern Europe to the American West, from South Asia to the UK, we are witnessing heatwaves, floods and systemic breakdowns. These are not outliers but the new normal.

And still, somehow, we go on pretending.

The Guardian's recent opinion headline – “Why do we pretend heatwaves are fun and ignore the brutal, burning reality?” – poses exactly the right question. Inflatable paddling pools, rooftop cocktails and weather presenters chirping about “glorious sunshine” are still our cultural defaults, even as climate systems tip dangerously toward the edge.

This dissonance is a form of climate denial. Not the outright rejection of science but a quieter more pervasive refusal to let the facts fully alter how we live, lead or legislate.

Adaptation limits

This week (23 June 2025), the UK’s Climate Change Committee released its latest review, warning that Britain remains dangerously unprepared for what lies ahead. "We are not resilient to the changes that are already happening," the report states. And worse, the pace of adaptation is slowing just when it needs to accelerate.

While the report argues that the UK could still reach net zero by 2050, it warns that this alone will not protect the country from flooding, heatwaves and food system instability. "Adaptation is as important as mitigation," the committee notes, "and right now we’re failing on both fronts."

This echoes what climate scientist Tim Lenton told The Guardian in a powerful interview entitled 'This is a fight for life'.

Lenton, an expert on climate tipping points, warns that cascading climate failures are not decades away – they are unfolding now.

What may once have been theoretical risks are becoming visible ruptures in our weather systems, water cycles and social infrastructure.

"We are in a planetary emergency," he declares bluntly. "But there’s still agency. We have a meaningful chance to turn this around – if we act."

Tipping points and privilege

Among the most chilling parts of Lenton’s interview is his critique of how the wealthy attempt to insulate themselves from climate impacts – by migrating, insuring, air conditioning or building physical barriers.

"People with financial resources are trying to buy resilience," he says. "In the long run this is not a crisis that respects wealth."

We saw that vividly in 2023’s flash floods in Germany, and again in recent Canadian wildfires and southern US droughts. Critical infrastructure collapses. Water fails. Food prices spike. Insurance markets break down. And while the vulnerable suffer first, no one is untouched

In short, climate chaos is not a distant threat to people in far away lands. It is here, now, and it is coming for the systems we all rely on.

Fiction as foresight

As someone who has turned to fiction rooted in climate science as a means of conveying urgency, I see this means of storytelling as a way to make the different facets of climate change more real. 

My forthcoming novel, Flood Waters Down, imagines a near-future Britain fractured by flooding, individual greed and collective disorientation.

The geography is drawn from Climate Central’s real-world sea level projection tools. The characters – though fictional – face choices rooted in policy inertia, displacement and social fragmentation.

They live in a country that pretended, for too long, that it could “cope” its way through climate change.

If that sounds familiar, it's because it is.

In the same week, CNN in the United States detailed the now-undeniable link between human-caused global warming and record-breaking heatwaves across the globe. "We are seeing extremes that scientists didn’t expect until the 2030s or 2040s," one researcher noted. "We’ve accelerated the timeline of risk."

Heat isn’t neutral

Extreme heat is not just uncomfortable. It kills. It erodes productivity, threatens food security and degrades mental health. It disproportionately affects the elderly, the poor, outdoor workers and those living in poorly insulated or densely built environments.

And yet, in much of the UK’s mainstream media and politics, heat is still largely treated as a lifestyle issue, not a public health or systemic risk.

Another recent editorial in The Guardian put it plainly: "We must stop thinking of climate breakdown as a future issue. We need to build national readiness now, or we’ll let everyday life keep breaking down."

That means investing in climate-resilient infrastructure, yes. But it also means telling new stories – stories that prepare people not just with facts, but with frameworks for feeling, thinking and acting differently.

Inflection point

The convergence of science, policy warnings, media coverage and lived experience is no coincidence. We are in an inflection moment – when the consequences of inaction are visible yet the possibilities of change and adaptation remain open.

Whether we respond with courage or complacency will define more than just the future of emissions. It will define the kind of society we become and the kind of world we leave.

In Flood Waters Down, the waters rise – and so does something else. Its characters and the challenges they face aren’t far from us. They’re just a few degrees – and decisions – ahead.

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 Flood Waters Down – for further details contact Clive Simpson

Writing on the edge of reality

As a journalist covering the global space sector, I’ve spent years reporting from the 'edge of reality' – where science meets imagination, and sometimes vice versa.

I’ve had the privilege of interviewing dozens of amazing astronauts and, while their missions and motivations always differ, one experience unites them all. The profound, emotional impact of seeing Earth from orbit.

As well as sparking my own career, that view – the 'Blue Marble' of Apollo lunar astronaut fame – helped catalyse the modern environmental movement in the 1970s.

For many years I’ve also written extensively about the science of climate change. From rising seas and extreme weather to reporting from landmark international conferences on sustainability. 

The evidence is overwhelming. Yet mostly, in everyday life, the so often danger feels remote. Facts alone, however, don’t often stir the soul.

A one-degree temperature rise? A few millimeters of sea level? These sound trivial – until they flood your home, destroy your crops or make communities unlivable.

Our human brains aren’t wired to feel urgency from statistics but I believe fiction can bridge the gap between scientific consensus and human experience, exploring what lies beyond the data and what life could be like.

A novel can show not tell. It can make the consequences climate change real – not in charts or headlines but in lived, personal stories. So that’s why I’ve written a thrilling speculative fiction novel.

Flood Waters Down sees the Fens of eastern England vividly reshaped by the effects of anthropogenic climate change, societal fracture and greed. It’s not dystopian just for dramatic effect. It’s grounded in science and extrapolated from today’s trajectory.

We say we understand the climate crisis. But do we feel it?

In today's world I believe climate fiction and speculative fiction have a role to play. Not as escapism but as a tool – to challenge, warn and, above all, connect.

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Posted in response to Guardian Editorial (21 March 2024) which can be viewed on this link - The Guardian view on climate fiction: no longer the stuff of sci-fi

Flood Waters Down is on the road to publication - further details contact Clive Simpson