jill sanders's Letter

To my dearest grandchildren,

You love to hear my stories of when I was a little girl and played with my friends in the field at the end of the road, and got up to mischief. In those times, in the early mornings of spring and summer, I'd lie in bed in our suburban house listening to a very loud dawn chorus from the garden. It was music - robins, blackbirds, thrushes, tits, wrens, and others I didn't know because I'm not an expert, making such sweet sounds. It was a beautiful thing to wake up to, but I remember it with deep sadness because it's gone, even though I still live in a house among trees in suburban London.

In those days nights were dark in and we could see the stars. I got interested in the planets and constellations, proud to be able to pick them out. The air was fresh because not many people had their own cars. Roads like ours were safe and quiet, with a field at the end. We played out all the time with our friends along the street, and got up to mischief.

I would wish all this for you too. Perhaps your own children will, in time, again find nature and freedom if we all look after everything on our planet now and in the years ahead.