Olivia Sprinkel is studying at Royal Holloway College for an MA in Creative Writing: Place, Environment and Writing taught by Andrew Motion, Jo Shapcott and Sara Wheeler.  When she heard about NATURAL LIGHT’s campaign she got in touch:  “I first read about the OJD removing nature words in a book called Towards Re-enchantment: Place and its meaning in an essay by Robert Macfarlane.  I was moved to write a poem which includes [in italics below] some of the words added and some of the words deleted, to highlight what is happening to children's childhoods.”

The Committee for Childhood has decreed by Olivia Sprinkel

Young people of today,
the Committee for Childhood has decreed
the following words are hereby deemed
superflous to your youthful need:

No longer do you need to know
the onomatopoeia of babbling brooks,
or recognise the glint of minnows as they dart.

Henceforth, no longer will earthy beetroot
or hedgerow blackberry stain your little fingers,
let’s keep them clean! Our official stamp
obliterates the porpoises who arc
between crystal sea and sky,
the heron standing proud and still.
The conk of a conker being conquered
or the lonely belly-deep bray of a donkey
from across fields far away -
you will not miss these sounds.

It is but childish to hold a buttercup
to a friend’s chin to see gold glow.
And why do you need to know
it is from acorns that oak trees grow?
We will provide.

Instead, we decree,
these are the frames
for what you see:
bungee-jumping celebrity
is, of course, compulsory.
Your souls will be formed
through attachments
to block graphs and databases.

The Committee welcomes you
to your citizenship of this world! 

Remembering the fallen in the centenary of the outbreak of the Great War needed a stunning and unforgettable piece of contemporary art. Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red by Paul Cummins and Tom Piper certainly met that need.  The poppy as a symbol of remembrance arises from another work of art, whose centenary is next year.  In Flanders Fields was written by Canadian army physician Lt. Col. John McCrae (1872-1918), on May 3 2015.  

In the third and final pre-Christmas blog of this campaign, we look at some more words - poppy among them - that must be put back in the OJD, and hear from more people with recommendations for alternative books for children.  But first, a new poem.

The list of words removed from the Oxford Junior Dictionary two editions ago includes thirty of our best loved plants and animals, and a host of others relating to the countryside, farming and food.  The list of ins and outs is here.  As we pointed out in previous blogs, a generation ago, 40% of children regularly played in natural areas, now only 10% do so, while another 40% never play anywhere outdoors.  The physical fitness of children is declining by 9% per decade, according to Public Health England. There is no single reason why childhood has changed so radically in barely a generation;  if there were, it would be illegal:  it would simply not be permitted to consign children to a lower life expectancy than their parents as, for the first time in recorded history, we now have.

In a ground-breaking initiative the RSPB and the Wildlife Trusts are calling for a Nature and Wellbeing Act in England to strengthen legislation for the creation of accessible green space, more resilient protected areas and an education system that reconnects society with nature as a matter of duty.

What has that got to do with a few words removed from a dictionary?  The toll of lost words will come as a surprise to anyone who still regards connecting with nature a vital part of growing up.  Sounding the death knell for outdoor play by axing some of the words most associated with it is to be part of a problem society cannot afford to just accept with an impotent shrug.

So to my final recommendations for alternative children's books this Christmas.  My RSPB colleague Suzanne Welch has worked in young people’s social development and learning for a range of different organisations from social care to environmental education centres.  “I am a firm believer that many young people learn and develop as individuals more effectively through experiential opportunities within the natural environment” says Suzanne. 

"I think The Beginner’s Guide to Being Outside by Gill Hatcher is lovely.  And one of my all time favourites is Everybody Needs a Rock by Byrd Baylor with pictures by Peter Parnall. The beautiful illustrations and reflective process of finding the perfect rock for you is different and compelling."

Mark Sears is Director of the Wild Network, which brings together organisations dedicated to reconnecting children with nature.  “I have been lucky enough to get hold of any early copy of Learning With Nature by Marina Robb, Anna Richardson and Victoria Mew.  It’s aimed at adults who want to get their children learning outdoors.”  The official publication date is end of January 2015 but you can place orders now via the link.

Mark says: “it is beautifully set out with hundreds of awesome things to do with your wild one.  Whether its making flower fairies (a particular favourite of my 4-year old and me) or learning how to make shelters and fire safely, its all in this book in a really easy to read and digest way.  Every wild thing needs one in their rucksack.”

One celebrated as a pioneer ecological poet, feted as a fallen hero and one of the many artists whose voices survived though their bodies perished.  Another unknown in English-speaking lands and one of a handful of German war poets to be recognised as such.  Edward Thomas and Gerrit Engelke had poetry in common, and shared a country of last repose:  France.

In 1914 Engelke was gaining recognition as a poet of industrial Germany, with works that celebrated labour and the working man, cities and factories.  His poem At the Seashore seems uncharacteristic in its subject matter.  There is a machine-like rhythm to its lines and its rhymes, but it is perhaps a rare reflection on the vastness of nature and the wider world.  It is ambiguous as to whom it is addressed – to the sea itself, or to the author himself, or both.  Here we present the original and a new translation.

In 1908 Edward Thomas wrote “Man seems to me to be a very little part of Nature and the part I enjoy least. But civilisation has estranged us superficially from Nature, and towns make it possible for a man to live as if a millionaire could really produce all the necessities of life - food, drink, clothes, vehicles etc and then a tombstone."  It was to be another six years before he took up poetry – at the start of the war and a few weeks before enlisting.  He was to write a lifetime of poetry in the two and a half years before he was killed, and in writing works that had nature, rather than humanity, at its heart, became for later generations a pioneer ecopoet and a voice that will resonate for many today.

The Combe was ever dark, ancient and dark.
Its mouth is stopped with bramble, thorn, and briar;
And no one scrambles over the sliding chalk
By beech and yew and perishing juniper
Down the half precipices of its sides, with roots
And rabbit holes for steps. The sun of Winter,
The moon of Summer, and all the singing birds
Except the missel-thrush that loves juniper,
Are quite shut out. But far more ancient and dark
The Combe looks since they killed the badger there,
Dug him out and gave him to the hounds,
That most ancient Briton of English beasts.

Edward Thomas 

b. London, 3 March 1878   d. Arras, France,  9 April 1917

And wave comes and wave flees,
And the wind rushes his melodies,
Foam water plays around your toes -
Kneel down, wanderer, repose!

The sea washes o’er the sun on high,
And heaven’s flowers light the sky.
Which wave do you want to ride?
It will not always be a midday tide.

Roars a sea unto eternity,
Into silence, splendid, and mighty,
And no one knows how far you flow-
And if you reach your rest, or no

Life-long wanderer, you.

Gerrit Engelke

b. 21 October 1890, Hanover, Germany
d. Cambrai, France 13 October 1918

Am Meerufer

Und Welle kommt und Welle flieht, 
Und der Wind stürzt sein Lied, 
Schaumwasser spielt an deine Schuhe – 
Knie nieder, Wandrer, ruhe!

Es wälzt das Meer zur Sonne hin, 
Und aller Himmel blüht darin. 
Mit welcher Welle willst du treiben? 
Es wird nicht immer Mittag bleiben.

Es braust ein Meer zur Ewigkeit, 
In Glanz und Macht und Schweigezeit, 
Und niemand weiß wie weit – 
Und einmal kommst du dort zur Ruh, 
Lebenswandrer, Du.