This story was written and shared as part of the Read Now Write Now workshops which took place during the Look Climate Lab 2022. To find out more about Read Now Write Now, click here.

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I went back to the woods.  I had wanted to take the boys with me.

I knew things had changed but I hadn’t been prepared for the difference. I was glad I hadn’t told them about my childhood adventures there.  They were full of bright eyed enthusiasm that day, aged 9 and 6, high spirits lifted them.   Freckles danced across my eldests’ smiling face and harmless mischief shined from the eyes of my youngest.  I wondered when we first arrived at the gate to the woods if my sinking disappointment was down to false memory. Was I just seeing things with smoke filtered glasses of an adult?

We had trudged down the concrete path through the fields to the trees.  We were greeted by the new metal gate that marked the entrance to the woods.  All straight lines and cold to touch.  It felt clinical now, a planned leisure space, rather than the magical wilderness I had loved as a child.

My brother, sister and I had had so many adventures there when we were younger.  We would be sent off with apple juice, sandwiches, crisps, and, on some legendary days, chocolate.  We told ourselves the sweet treat was needed to keep our energy up on the way back home.  I felt flimsy absolution that at least I had brought some reusable water bottles on our expedition that day.  As children, we would set off down the two fields to the woods, with only more fields to see in the distance. Our destination sat so near in distance but so far in our imagination.   We would scramble between the old splintering fence to get in and we would have to take a run up to scrabble to the top of the steep bank.  I remember being told that it had previously been an area that was used for mining  but the only evidence left behind were the slopes that made the journey through the trees all the more thrilling.  The woods felt like a fairy land when the sun came to join our fun, but in the  autumn the trees morphed into a witches’ lair.  Our expectation of seeing some enchantment at each turn never dimmed.  The long grasses caressed us and the branches of the trees grabbed at us as we ran and chased.  The leaves rustled loudly cheering us on with our secret missions.  I forget the details of what the missions were now, but I remember the extreme importance they held.  It was always a big decision where to have our rations; on top of the volcano, in the pixie glen or nestled in the tree branches above where the goblins made their homes amongst the fungi.  I suspect we were too noisy to see much of the wildlife but there was always background birdsong and a kingdom of insects and bugs to build nests for.  The bushes and plants tangled together creating a whole spectrum of green and brown twisted shapes and dens.  It was a place that nature cared for itself.  It was not all tidy and neat, and as children we appreciated the beautiful chaos.

When it was time for home, when the supplies ran out, we would skip and chase along the usually dusty pathway.  The trees were closer together at the other end of the circular walk home and the light did not always creep through.  The darkness hugged us and the damp boginess stuffed mustily into our nostrils.  It always felt like the leaves whispered for us not to leave, but bursting out into the sunlight again felt like a rebirth.  We scraped our shoes on the way back home, covered in mud, grazes and joy.  It was an escape from homework and the routines of normal life.

Progress and development was needed, apparently. The shops, cinema and new hotel were exactly what the area required now.  Of course the faceless planners had insisted that some improvements were made for the wildlife too.  This amounted to a man-made pond and proper metal gates into the wood.  The path through the fields and plotted routes through the woods  with steps to get up the slopes would make them safer.  Manicured foliage and pruned trees would show how the woods were now cared for.  Of course the buildings would be visible from the woods and many of the fields would be turned over to housing but at least some thought was spared for the wildlife?

My own children could not compare the before and after and as children often do they still found some magic there- rabbits hopping away into the distance and the excitement of running down the steep slopes, ignoring the new steps,half slipping and skidding.  For me the magic had vanished- even when I struggled and squinted to see through their eyes.  It wasn’t just that I had grown up.   I had seen fairy dust on the glaciers last year, despite knowing they were dying, I had felt the exhilaration of breath stealing winds and waves powered by kelpies at the beach last month, I had smelt the heavily scented roses that turned my eyes to the sky in wonder that nature could still surprise me.  An official entry gate and mandated paths stole away the mystery for me.  My beautiful childhood wilderness was intruded upon by the sharp, glinting, grey and glass new buildings.

I wanted to explain to my children what was lost but I wasn’t sure they would understand, or perhaps it was worse than that.  Perhaps the truth was that they would understand?  I had moved away as an adult and my own children had their own beautiful wilderness now.  Perhaps they would ask me “Why did you not stop the developers?”.

“Why did you not say something mum? Why did you not do something?”.

But, I wouldn’t have had the answers.  I didn’t even try.

Maybe that is the biggest loss?

As a child I would have fought to protect and save the magic.  I would have shouted and screamed out my anger in a crimson cheeked tantrum.  I would have been stubborn and granite-faced in my refusal to accept the change.  I would have protested, campaigned and fought in a fury to let people know my feelings.  Even if I had been alone.

However, deep down that child is still there and I knew I would not be alone now.  .  Family, friends and neighbours would all understand.  They all have their own beautiful wilderness to save too.  The threatened green belt, the coastline drowning in rubbish, the ravaging deforestation and the suffocating pollution of modern excess.

Scream, shout, protest, tidy, use less, eat less, cycle and recycle.  This is what I can do now.  This is what WE can all do now.

My children can see what magic is lost but they also know what magic is still left.

Going back made me realise this too.

By E  A  Dennis