Cllr Blather and Cllr Stern
And a builder named Cllr Hod
Were viewing some green belt round their town
And thinking it rather odd
That all the animals, plants and trees
Walkers and dogs and birds and bees –
And none to be seen with a frown.
‘They’re enjoying themselves’ cried Cllr Blather
‘Playing not working’ growled Cllr Stern
‘I’d cover it in houses’ said Cllr Hod.
‘I’ve a developer friend’ said Cllr Hod
‘Who will pay a good price for the lot
The Chief Execs in need of a penny
To add to his pension pot
And, as Chair of Planning, Cllr Blather,
I’m sure between us we could gather
A voting majority’
‘This town must grow’ mused Cllr Blather
‘We’ve got to compete’ growled Cllr Stern
‘We’ll each trouser a packet’ crowed Cllr Hod.
When the Planning Committee met to decide
Whether to build on the land
Hundreds e-mailed and hundreds wrote
Determined to take a stand
And fight for their right to enjoy this space
And give the Council a kick in the face
And threaten them with their vote.
‘The young need housing’ burbled Cllr Blather
‘And housing means jobs’ growled Cllr Stern
‘You can’t halt progress’ said Cllr Hod
An objector said ‘This land was bequeathed
To the people for recreation’.
But another replied ‘the deeds have been lost
Under council re-organisation’.
‘These woods may provide a rare habitat
For a natterjack toad or a long-eared bat
But to prove it will certainly cost’.
‘They hold all the cards’ a small man spat
‘We’ve got to keep trying’ squeaked a Green Party girl
‘This is Britain, they’ll listen’, quoth a prat.
The sun crept away from the fields and woods
Ashamed it had witnessed this scene.
A dog walker halted, shuddered – then ran
At the sight of the rope through the green
And the boy that hung from the end of the line
With eyes like grapes on a ripened vine.
‘Whose child hangs here by the bank of the burn?’
‘And who’s his father?’ they asked in dread
‘It’s the only son of Cllr Stern.’
‘Dad, please listen, please try and see
Publish this letter, let everyone know
And think of the reason I’ve done this –
Then this seed I have planted, may grow.
The arms of this oak held me and my den
That I built in it’s boughs when I was just ten
This is one of the friends I shall miss
And my woods, my stream and the way that it weaves
The songs of the robins, thrushes and larks
And the dance of the light through the leaves.’
‘This place is special, Dad, not just to me
But to hundreds of others who weighed down with care
Come to this place just to walk, think or sit
And be fed by the life that lives here.
The primroses, bluebells, blackberries, sloes
Hazel-nuts, squirrels, badgers and crows
Each and everyone holds this place dear.
But the threat to this land is little compared
To what’s happening all over the world
And that is what makes me so scared.’
‘This wood is my rainforest – don’t cut it down
The Amazon, like this my small stream,
But they’re often used as sewers and drains
So there’s far fewer fish to be seen
And far fewer whales, rhino and bear –
My woodpecker left this time last year
It’s all like a horrible dream.
We’ll starve if we wipe out the insect and bee
We need these animals, fishes and plants
Dad, they’re part of yourself and of me.’
Your son
Christopher Stern