I live in a small terraced house that was young at the start of the last century. It is a house surrounded by stillness, the only sound the tumbling waters of the Corrwg as it passes close by.
Directly in front of my house across the river rises a steep mountain with allotments at its feet, and ferns and grasses above; stonewalls hedge in sheep with their bouncing lambs in the springtime. The only shadows cast are from broad-shouldered oaks and buzzards that wheel on the thermals above.
All that is about to change. Four incredibly high turbines, naked concrete and steel goliaths in all their soulless beauty, are intended for that mountain, designed to beat the wind in an endless exasperating whine.
Perhaps I would sacrifice this part of the planet to save another if I thought it would make a difference, but it won’t. The energy produced will be so small that wearing a jumper would probably do more good.
This is not a green issue; it is about ruthless opportunists riding roughshod over a community for money.
Norton Terrace, Glyncorrwg, Port Talbot
20 June 2007