I stepped off the bus and stopped dead. There was chimney smoke on the wind. The acrid tang carried me instantly back to childhood. Both sets of my grandparents had open fires. During the lengthy, glorious stays with them, I’d watch the magic of coal for hours – its glowing caves, its restless rainbow of flames. Granny told me that coal had once been forests filled with dinosaurs. Later, I learnt more about coal. The pitman’s bitter life, the bitterness of the miners’ strike in the 1980s, and the bitterest legacy of climate change. Hurriedly I walked on from the smoking chimney, and mounting a hill felt the freshness of the untainted air. The good, clean wind filled me like it would a ship’s sail.I wasn’t the only one enjoying the fresh breeze. The wind