Hungerford 1987: The Life of Michael Ryan and the Day That Changed Britain

Daniel Holland
4 hours ago
8 min read

Collage of Hungerford 1987 shooting: man with camo hat, burning house, taxi covered with tarp, and newspaper headlined "Day of the Maniac".

It is strange how ordinary mornings can quietly carry the weight of history before anyone realises it. On Wednesday 19 August 1987, Hungerford felt like any other small English market town in late summer. Market stalls were doing steady trade, children were making the most of the school holidays, and the weather brought people out on foot. Nothing in the air hinted that Hungerford would soon be remembered for one of the darkest days in modern British life.

By the evening, sixteen people were dead, fifteen more were injured, and a community that had always seen itself as quietly self contained was suddenly at the centre of a national reckoning. What happened that day, and how it unfolded, cannot be understood without first understanding the life of the man at its centre: Michael Robert Ryan.

A Childhood Lived Quietly at the Edge

Michael Ryan was born on 18 May 1960 at Savernake Hospital in Wiltshire. His father, Alfred Henry Ryan, was a government building inspector in his mid fifties when Michael was born. His mother, Dorothy, more than twenty years younger, was well known and well liked in the community. She worked as a dinner lady at Hungerford Primary School and later as a waitress at the Elcot Park Hotel, where she became a familiar, reliable presence for more than a decade.

The family lived in South View, a small cul de sac that looked out over a modest part of Hungerford. Those who remembered Michael as a child often described him as quiet, withdrawn, sometimes sullen. He preferred solitary play and seemed happiest with his Action Man figures and military themed toys. He was small for his age, teased at school, and rarely fought back. Instead he avoided confrontation by stepping away, creating a habit of retreat that would follow him into adolescence.

Dorothy and Alfred Ryan, parents of murderer Michael Ryan

When he moved from the primary school to John O’Gaunt Secondary School at age eleven, the pattern continued. He underachieved academically, played truant, and shied away from sports, clubs, or anything that drew attention. Teachers did not describe him as disruptive, merely as a boy who stayed apart. Leaving school at sixteen, Ryan attended Newbury College of Further Education intending to train as a building contractor. He tried, but lacked aptitude and soon dropped out.

Socially and emotionally, Ryan remained dependent on his parents. He lived at home, worked sporadically in low paid jobs such as caretaking at a girls’ school, and relied heavily on Dorothy for financial support. She paid for his petrol, insurance, cars, and even his first weapon: an air rifle. Her efforts seemed driven by affection and worry, the instinct of a mother who wanted her son to feel capable even when evidence suggested the opposite.

The Growing Fascination with Weapons

Ryan’s interest in guns began harmlessly with an air rifle, progressed to a shotgun once he was old enough to apply for a licence, and eventually expanded into a small but significant collection of legally owned firearms. He stored them in a glass display cabinet in his bedroom as though they were emblems of a life he wished he lived.

Neighbours noticed his enthusiasm for military clothing, combat jackets, survival gear and masks. He subscribed to magazines on weapons and wilderness skills, he told people, falsely, that he had served in the Second Parachute Regiment; that he was getting married; that he owned a gun shop. He became defensive if challenged. Dorothy sometimes repeated the stories on his behalf, perhaps hoping to protect his fragile sense of self.

By the mid 1980s, Ryan had applied for and obtained licences for more powerful firearms. between 17 December 1986 and 8 August 1987 he purchased the following:

Beretta 9mm pistol
Zabala shotgun
Browning shotgun
Bernardelli .22 pistol
CZ ORSO self-loading .32 ACP pistol
Norinco Type 56 7.62×39mm semi-automatic rifle
Underwood M1 carbine .30 rifle

Since he had no criminal record or mental health history, police could not refuse them. They insisted that he install a Chubb steel cabinet to secure the weapons. He complied. On paper, he was simply another legally responsible gun owner.

That perception ended on 19 August 1987.

A Turning Point: The Death of His Father

The death of his father, Alfred, from cancer in 1985 was an invisible but important moment. Ryan was twenty five. The loss seemed to push him further into isolation. He lost his caretaker job shortly afterwards and retreated more into solitary routines: visiting shooting ranges, tinkering with cars, wandering Savernake Forest in camouflage clothing.

By 1987 he had joined the Tunnel Rifle and Pistol Club in Wiltshire. Staff described him as quiet, regular, and a very good shot. None of them imagined what he would later do.

19 August 1987

The Day Begins

It was a warm Wednesday and Hungerford’s weekly market was in full swing. Families were out. Visitors passed through the town centre. Ryan left Hungerford and headed for Savernake Forest, a place where he spent hours practising “army manoeuvres”, creeping between trees, imagining himself as a soldier.

Shortly after midday, Ryan approached thirty five year old Susan Godfrey, who was picnicking with her two young children. He ordered her to put the children in the car, marched her into the woods, and shot her thirteen times. He returned calmly to his vehicle and drove away, leaving the children behind.

When police found Godfrey’s body, they assumed the killing was isolated. They had no idea it was the beginning.

Froxfield Petrol Station

Ryan drove to the Golden Arrow petrol station in Froxfield. After filling his car and a five litre can, he retrieved a semi automatic rifle from his boot and fired at cashier Kakoub Dean. A bullet shattered the safety glass. When he tried to shoot her at close range, the gun jammed repeatedly. She survived by seconds.

From there, Ryan drove home.

South View Burns

Around 12.45 pm, Ryan arrived back at 4 South View. He went inside and shot the family dog. When his car refused to start, he fired into the boot in frustration. He then soaked the house with petrol and set it on fire, creating a blaze that soon spread to neighbouring homes.

Carrying an AK 47, an M1 carbine, a Beretta pistol and ammunition, he left his burning home and began shooting neighbours.

Roland and Sheila Mason were killed in their garden. Marjorie Jackson was shot through her window. Teenager Lisa Mildenhall was shot four times but managed to crawl indoors. Kenneth Clements was killed on a footpath. PC Roger Brereton was shot dead in his patrol car after responding to emergency calls. Several drivers who were mistakenly directed into Ryan’s path were wounded.

Abdul Khan was shot in his garden. Coalman Alan Lepetit was hit but survived. Confusion gripped the area as police struggled with jammed telephone lines, a partially renovated station, and an overwhelmed emergency network.

Then Dorothy Ryan returned home.

She saw her son in the road and called out, “Stop Michael. Why are you doing this?”He shot her five times. She died in the street.

Policeman cradling a young girl after her father was murdered

Through Hungerford Common and Into Priory Road

Ryan walked across Hungerford Common firing at cars and houses. He killed cab driver Marcus Bernard, shot husband and wife Douglas and Kathleen Wainwright (Douglas died), then shot washing machine engineer John Storms, who was rescued by a neighbour.

The shootings continued into Priory Road. Sandra Hill was killed in her car. Victor and Myrtle Gibbs were shot in their home. Myrtle, who was in a wheelchair, died later in hospital. Clerk Ian Playle was shot dead in his car. George Noon survived despite being shot in the shoulder and eye.

By now, press helicopters buzzed overhead. Police tried to follow Ryan’s movements, but the noise and flight paths of the media aircraft made it difficult.

The Final Stand at John O’Gaunt School

Just before 2 pm, Ryan entered the empty buildings of John O’Gaunt Secondary School — the same school where he had once drifted through childhood unnoticed. Tactical Firearms Unit officers surrounded the site.

At 5.26 pm he was seen at a classroom window. He threw out his Kalashnikov, leaving only his Beretta pistol.

For ninety minutes Sergeant Paul Brightwell spoke to him through a megaphone. Ryan asked repeatedly about his mother. He said things that seemed part confession, part bewilderment.

“Hungerford must be a bit of a mess.” “If only the police car hadn’t turned up. If only my car had started.” “I wish I had stayed in bed.” “It’s funny, I killed all those people but I haven’t got the guts to blow my own brains out.”

At 6.52 pm a single shot was heard. Officers eventually reached the classroom and found him slumped by the window. Michael Ryan had shot himself in the head. He was twenty seven.

Across six hours he had killed sixteen people, including his mother, and wounded fifteen more.

Lives Saved

Amid the horror, individuals acted with striking bravery. Lance Corporal Carl Harries, only twenty one and off duty, ran repeatedly into the danger zone, giving first aid and comfort as bullets struck nearby.Ambulance staff Hazel Haslett and Linda Bright kept working despite being shot at. Ordinary residents pulled the wounded into safety.

All were later recognised for their courage.

Killer Michael Ryan's guns being held by PC Colin Lilley and Inspector Laurie Fray Type 56 assault rifle M1 carbine Beretta 92FS

Aftermath: Shock, Grief and a Community Trying to Cope

Princess Margaret Hospital in Swindon received the majority of casualties, working at full emergency capacity. The RAF hospital at Wroughton took additional patients. Newbury District Council rehoused residents from the terraced homes destroyed by fire.

In Hungerford itself, the immediate emotional atmosphere was complex. Some national newspapers printed stories of celebration in the streets when Ryan’s death was announced. Local officials strongly denied this, saying Hungerford residents were largely silent, stunned, and grieving, while drinking and cheering — if it occurred at all — came from outsiders.

Donations poured in. The Queen sent condolences and a personal contribution. Margaret Thatcher visited the next day, meeting injured survivors and relatives of the dead.

A Hungerford Family Help Unit was formed to coordinate psychological support for residents suffering trauma. Funerals took place across Berkshire in the weeks that followed. Many were attended by people who had never met the victims, simply wishing to stand with the families.

Dorothy Ryan’s funeral drew a notably smaller crowd. People recognised her as a victim, but her connection to Michael gave the service a subdued tone.

The Hungerford Report and the Firearms Amendment Act

Home Secretary Douglas Hurd visited Hungerford on 23 August and ordered an urgent review. The resulting report, led by Chief Constable Colin Smith, identified several failures:

• Hungerford’s police station was under renovation, leaving only two working phone lines

• The local telephone exchange collapsed under the volume of 999 calls

• The police helicopter was out of action until late afternoon

• Press helicopters interfered with police tracking

• On a summer holiday Wednesday, staffing was severely reduced

Crucially, the report confirmed that every firearm used by Ryan had been legally obtained.

This finding led to the Firearms (Amendment) Act 1988, which banned the ownership of semi-automatic centre-fire rifles and restricted the use of shotguns with a capacity of more than three cartridges (in magazine plus the breech). An amnesty held following the passing of the Act amassed 48,000 firearms.

The law changed permanently because of Hungerford.

A Town That Learned to Live With Memory

On 8 October 1987, more than sixty per cent of Hungerford’s population attended a memorial and rededication service led by Archbishop Robert Runcie. For the town, it marked the beginning of rebuilding.

Over time, Hungerford adopted a quiet approach to remembrance: gardens tended near the memorial, private grief held with dignity, and a reluctance to sensationalise. Locals often refer to it as the Hungerford Tragedy, focusing on the community rather than the killer.

Yet the legacy remains broader. As Sir Charles Pollard later observed, it changed policing, changed law, and changed the British understanding of what one armed individual could do in a society where police officers were rarely armed.