It was an ongoing joke in one of my past schools that in morning assembly, if it was taken by a particular deputy headteacher, then whatever the ostensible topic was, the eventual message of the assembly would be, "Don't drop litter!" Sometimes the reasoning behind the transition from one of the parables, or an improving story of personal courage, or whatever he had heard on the radio coming in to school that morning to "Don't drop litter!" could be a little involved. But, as one of the few members of staff that actually listened to what was being said in the morning assembly, I always looked forward to the Heath-Robinson reasoning that would take us from the story of The Titanic, for example, to rubbish and the evil ways in which school kids dispose of it.
I suppose it is impossible to listen to this sort of thing year after year without have some sort of almost instinctive reaction to the throwing away of rubbish in the street or playground or where ever.
Personally, I find it impossible to throw a piece of paper on to the pavement. I simply cannot do it. I keep it in my hot little hand until I find a bin, or I put in a pocket to be disposed of later.
I do not claim to be a saint in rubbish disposal, as my 'sorting' of household waste leaves much room for improvement - but the casual throwing away of a piece of paper in the street is something that I simply cannot do.
My parents were stern guides in this department and schools also play their part in inculcating socially acceptable standards of behaviour. And there were the campaigns, of which "Keep Britain Tidy" - with its stylized one armed man (it is a man isn't it?) puts a piece of paper into the bin or basket - is the one that comes most readily to mind. It is a campaign that never really ended as Keep Britain tidy is a registered charity and is still going strong.
But that campaign saw litter as un-tidyiness, it didn't really have the same sort of do-this-or-perish imperative that comes with the solutions to the Problem of Rubbish today. It seemed like a problem that was more about unsightliness than survival.
And, given that there appears to be a whole new continent of rubbish forming in the Pacific Ocean, the dropping of a small piece of plastic rubbish in the leisure centre of Castelldefels does not seem very important. But, watching a kid throw the packaging of something away with an almost unconsciously instinctive movement of the hand was deeply depressing to watch.
As I was having my traditional cup of tea after my early (very early) morning swim, I also had my trusty notebook to hand in which I had made a few inconsequential remarks on the weather, and so I was able to add my thoughts on the thoughtlessness of the kid.
It was a moment
of that childish mindlessness
that children do so effortlessly well:
discarded cellophane consigned to gravity
and to oblivion that’s far beyond
the immanence of youth.
That
which has left the hand,
Is
Other, out of sight, does not exist.
But I observed, and flinched a little
at the regal disregard for what was done.
They pick and choose
the calculations that they do
- the young.
They add up and they take away
within the firm circumferences
of urgent lives.
Adolescent algebra is still ahead,
as is the calculus of age, but
“Here and now, boys, here and now!”
is a belief enough by which to live.
Complex tenses, just like complex sums
lie ‘lives’ away in distant years to come.
But years and lives that they,
not I, will see.
“Keep Britain Tidy” is engrained
(and is a good exportable campaign)
whose time has perilously
come round again:
as streams and rivers,
lakes and seas,
land-fill and people-filled
are found too full of
what . . .
But yes,
in case you’re wondering,
(although I merely watched
the rubbish fall)
I later passed the dropping point,
and passing, stooped and picked it up
and placed it in a bin.
For what?
For whom?
We need
a damn sight more
than “tidiness”.
Any comments on this poem will be gratefully received and will get a response!
