Midway through December, while temperatures in the UK plummeted, heaps of snow drove transport services into a frenzy and schools into closure. Water supplies froze. Medical assistance slowed, threatening genuine peril. People began to store fuel. Across the Midlands, families were left without power – no electricity, no heat – in some instances overnight. For those of us safely tucked away indoors, or unaffected by the weather, the news could be shocking. It also brought to mind an unnerving question: would you be ready if calamity struck?

The answer for most of us is no, not really. We tend to think of disaster as something that happens to others. But a growing number of people around the UK – preppers or survivalists, in the parlance – are quietly gearing up for the worst. They’re filling pantries with supplies in case their local food chains disintegrate, storing thermals in their cars in the event that they break down in a snowstorm, packing “go-bags” with a collection of bare necessities – water, food, medicine, perhaps a portable stove – supposing they need to leave home in a hurry. If catastrophe were to strike, the thinking goes, a preparatory head-start might well be life-saving.

This is behaviour that can sound extreme, but often it’s forged in reaction to events that could affect any one of us. Some preppers are concerned by natural disasters. Others worry about terrorism, or our financial system, or the repercussions of Brexit, whatever they may be. Survivalism has had a dedicated following in America since the 1970s, swelling during the run-up to the millennium in the 90s and peaking again after 9/11. Trump’s posturing hasn’t helped – the threat of nuclear war can send even the most rational thinkers running to the tinned-food aisle.

And not everyone is rational. The prepping movement contains overzealous elements, particularly in the US, where natural disasters are bigger and badder and, well, the guns. But those signed up to the movement in the UK are like you and me: relatively normal, with the odd quirk. They just keep a half-tank of petrol in the car at all times, and at least a month’s worth of food, and an alternative way to heat their homes in winter if the gas goes down.

Shaun Leonard: ‘I’ve organised escape routes’

When I was 17, Nasa announced the discovery of a far-off planet. News reports hinted at the prospect of the Voyager being deployed, but I never got to hear what the probe actually found. The excitement eventually dwindled and I got on with my life, but the discovery sparked an ongoing interest in space and exploration and, later, in the environment and geopolitics. About 18 months ago those interests led me to prepping.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘There have been times when we’ve been cut off, unable to get out’: Beckie Clarke, with some of her stockpiled food. She also has a brick outhouse full of tins, rice, long-life meat and water. Photograph: Alex Telfer/The Observer

I prep on two levels: first, for events that might cause a bit of social unrest and all of the food in my local supermarket to quickly disappear – a financial collapse, say – and, second, for something bigger: a national pandemic, a major environmental catastrophe. For the first scenario I’ve organised a reliable supply of clean water and a store of long-shelf-life food, and then some practical stuff: stitches for wounds, analgesics, antibiotics, a whole range of meds you wouldn’t normally have, various kinds of equipment needed to start a fire. I have go-bags at home and in my car, because you never know where you’ll be when something happens, and I’m part of a prepping community that has an equipment cache stored in a secluded spot near to my house. If there’s some kind of cataclysm? I’ve organised escape routes, away from the general population. You’ll find me above 900ft – or out of the country.

‘For most, it’s a no-go subject. My friends think I’m barking mad’

I’m a grandfather now and I’m a positive person, but being a prepper can be tough. It’s difficult to get others on board, for most it’s a no-go subject. A lot of my friends think I’m barking mad. It’s taken me three years to convince my daughter and her family to take more of an interest and, before she eventually became a full-blown enthusiast, my partner used to humour me politely.

But there are more and more like-minded people out there in communities around the country: engineers, nurses, doctors, dentists, people with different skills and mindsets and ways of contributing. We’re harmonious. We offer each other support and keep ourselves to ourselves. We see prepping as a way to increase our chances of survival if something happens. And we’re all ready to get out of the way when it does.

Beckie Clarke: ‘I’m ready’

Eight years ago the leaders of my church suggested I keep a store cupboard. Hurricanes and earthquakes were becoming more prevalent, and flooding was affecting whole villages within hours. The store cupboard was suggested as something to fall back on – a few months’ food in case of disaster. I live in a small village in Derbyshire. It’s rural. And with five kids I have to be prepared for everything. I thought it was a good idea.

I started to store a tin a week – sweetcorn, beans, tinned tomatoes – and, over time, added cases of pasta, bags of rice, boxes of long-life meat and bottles of water. Most people keep a few tins in their cupboard – soup and beans, things like that. That’s what I’ve got in mine. It’s just that I’ve got 70 of each, stored in a brick outhouse that my husband converted.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘Prepping is an attitude, really’: Steve Hart. Photograph: Alex Telfer/The Observer

It helps. I’ve never had to panic-buy when snow’s been threatened and everybody else has raced to the supermarket. And I could cut back on the food shop when my husband was temporarily asked to work three days a week instead of five, reducing his pay. Perhaps it’s hereditary. My parents have a year’s worth of food in their store cupboard, including 50kg of wheat, which they can soak to make a vegetarian supplement or grind to make flour. My eldest daughter keeps a 72-hour bag in her car.

It’s mostly natural disasters we’re preparing for. I’m concerned about a war’s potential knock-on effects on the food chain, although I haven’t dug a bunker in my garden or anything. And then there’s Brexit. If that doesn’t go the right way, who’s to say we’ll be able to get hold of the things we can get hold of now? But, realistically, we are mostly likely to be affected by flooding or severe snow. There have been times when we have been cut off, unable to get out. We’d need to be prepared if that happens again.

‘Suppose you lost your job and money’s an issue. Do you have supplies?’

And if something happened at the house? We can be clear with everything we need for 72 hours within 20 minutes. We have a family go-bag in the loft: a big tent, sleeping bags, medication, food, a portable stove. My husband’s in charge of equipment and I’m in charge of the kids. We all know the plan.

Steve Hart: ‘I can forage, hunt, trap and fish’

Many years ago, while living in Australia, I was bitten by a snake. I’d gone walkabout and wasn’t carrying medical supplies, but I met a few locals who very quickly rustled up a remedy to ease the pain and stop the swelling. That was the first time I realised the importance of thinking ahead, and I’ve prepped in a small way ever since. About 10 years ago I got into prepping seriously. I started to analyse “what-if” scenarios: what if something went wrong near to where I live? What would I do? How would I survive?

This country is one of the safest in the world. We have no killer animals. We don’t have earthquakes. There are no major tsunamis. We don’t really have to prep for a huge natural disaster – and there’s very little you could do to prepare for a nuclear event even if you wanted to – so we prep more pragmatically. Suppose you lose your job and money’s an issue. Or the electrical grid goes out and the food chain goes down and all of a sudden every man and his dog is arguing over a bag of sugar. Do you have your own supplies? Do you have the means to cook? And what about keeping warm – could you make a fire? Some of us buy food through an app; groceries are delivered to our front doors. Do people know how to survive without electricity?

The difference between me and someone else? Imagine if we both lost our jobs at the same time. Realistically, I haven’t got to spend any money. I’ve got a back-up of food supplies to last six months. I haven’t got to buy wood. I haven’t got to turn the taps on, because I’ve stored rain water and filtered it for drinking. I haven’t got to put the heating on, because I have other means of keeping warm at home. I could be unemployed for a while without it impacting me financially. Whereas someone else, they’re thinking: “Shit, I’ve got a month’s wages. I don’t know how long this can go on for.” That’s a kind of prepping in itself.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest All wrapped up: Sarita Robinson in her car. She never travels without a blanket and thermals on board. Photograph: The Observer

Our grandparents were the original preppers, really. They could make a chicken last for two weeks. When my wife and I are wandering around the supermarket, I’ll keep my eye out. I’m always looking at a product’s shelf life. I don’t want to buy food that has a shelf life of two weeks; I need five years plus. It’s an attitude, really, but it’s also a fascinating hobby. I’m constantly learning survival techniques: how to forage, hunt, trap, fish, purify water. And I’m informed on larger environmental and political issues by friends in the know. People think I’m a tin hat-wearing nutter, sitting here guarding 3,000 tins of beans, but it’s not all-consuming. It’s like having a spare tyre in your car, or some winter basics: a torch, some candles, a sleeping bag. You can leave it at that, you don’t have to go mad. That’s how I started – I just happened to carry on.

Sarita Robinson: ‘People think it won’t happen’

I run the BSc psychology course at the University of Central Lancashire. I wrote my doctorate on survival psychology and completed the write-up in LA, on the San Andreas fault. I’m a big sci-fi fan, and obviously tales of the apocalypse creep into every great story in the genre, but I only really started to consider my own preparatory behaviours when I began living in a city that experiences major earthquakes and spending my days writing about people dying horribly in disasters. I remember thinking, wouldn’t it be embarrassing, writing what I was writing, if someone found out I’d never looked into prepping myself?

I’ve always thought the UK was sheltered from major natural disaster. But when I returned from LA I reconsidered, and I started to identify situations for which prepping might give me a bit of an advantage. It’s basic stuff: having a first aid kit in my car, storing extra food, carrying a power bank for my mobile phone – things a lot of us do naturally. Think of mothers with young kids: they’ve all packed a first aid kid, some water, some food. That’s a go-bag.

I live about an hour outside Manchester. It’s not the back of beyond, but there are things that could happen, especially as we’re approaching winter: a delivery drivers’ strike, an oil strike, floods. I store a bit of extra food in case the food and petrol chains crumble. I travel with a blanket and thermals in case I break down in snow, lose a phone signal and am too far away from home to walk. My husband once got stuck in poor weather on a motorway. He was grateful for the self-heating food packages I’d packed.

A lot of prepping is common sense, but there’s very little of it around. The theory goes that it’s psychologically uncomfortable to think about death and dying, so people tend not to. And people often think that a disaster won’t happen to them, so they’re less likely to prepare. But it’s not very difficult, and it’s not expensive – I buy equipment from Amazon: a survival blanket, a sleeping hammock, one of those bottles that filters contaminants found in water. Most of the time you won’t need it. But it’s that one time when you really do, and you haven’t got it, or you haven’t taught yourself how to use it… that’s when it’s too late.