In this episode we explore the ways in which the new town development worked alongside the natural world with, for example, tree planting and daffodil days built into the planning. We hear about the value of nature reserves and parks such as James Steel Park and the Wetlands Centre as well as the ongoing appeal of allotments and 'council gardens'. Sixty years on, Washington has a legacy of woodlands and wildlife such as otters and kingfishers. As Nasim Rebecca Asl's poem portrays there's a darker side to the heritage on which the new town was built. Mesothelioma is growing in my grandpa’s greenhouseNasim Rebecca Asl Magnesia and some asbestos products were manufactured for decades at Washington Chemical Works. Hundreds died from illnesses caused by the material. We plant seeds together in your greenhouse on a Monday after school.Your weathered hands unwrap germinated sprouts from kitchen roll, pointing out their tiny roots to me. They’re new. All we can do is bury these treasuresin black plastic pots and water the soil with our sweat. Wait. One Tuesday we transplant the shootsto a flower patch right by the fence.My tiny hands wear yours like gardening glovesas you guide the plants from box to ground.We give them space to breathe.After tea, your fingers envelop mineand help me control my sprawling letters,show me how to build words, how to read.We don’t yet know what’s taken root in you - there’s a shadow blossoming in the greenhouseof your body, its cancerous petals unfurling in your lungs. We water. We laugh. We monitor.The saplings shoot up. It’s Wednesday when we bindtheir fragile spines to bamboo poles,and twine their bodies to the stakes. They can’t yetbear their own weight, but I hope they growin your image. One small flower, one large support:our shadows match theirs.  On Thursday, we’re side by side outsideadmiring the sunflowers as they swivelwith the earth to find their god.They’ve outgrown me. I look up to both of you.You tell me they seek the sun but I thinkthey’re always searching for your face.Grandma calls us in for tea. She wipes mudfrom my knees, the way she’d brush powderfrom your overalls when you came homefrom the chemical works. Her tummy rumbles. I turn to ask you a question, but you’re doubled over, clawing for breath.  It’s Friday. You’re gone.The flowers have rotted too, returned to mulchwith you. I don’t know who uprooted them in the end.Your bungalow, where I learned to tie my laces andhow to live outside myself, is sold, butsometimes I take the bus back through my childhoodbecause it passes by your fence, now painted blue.I can’t help but crane my neck to stare back down Coach Road, to see the sunflowers still haloing the fence,their sunlight crowning your head. Guests: Washington Community Podcasting Group, with Chas Ferguson, Ged Parker, Nick Jobson, Kim Hunter, Gloria Finnigan, Thomas Finnigan, David Duffy, Sheila Oxley, Irene Ridley, Jim Metcalf, Olive Metcalf and Ian Murray Music and ProductionProduced by: Grace Stubbings & the Washington Community Podcasting GroupMusic by: David Brewis Poem by Nasim Rebecca AslExecutive Producers: Caroline Mitchell & Jude MurphyAbout the ProjectThis episode was developed in collaboration with:Washington Heritage PartnershipSunderland City Council’s Washington Area CommitteeSunderland Culture at The Arts Centre WashingtonBaseline...

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