Esme Gordon-Craig with her grandfather, Nicholas. Photograph: Courtesy of Esme Gordon-Craig View image in fullscreen Esme Gordon-Craig with her grandfather, Nicholas. Photograph: Courtesy of Esme Gordon-Craig A moment that changed me Grandparents and grandparenting A moment that changed me: my grandpa risks his life to litter pick – and he taught me a profound lesson I thought I knew what it was to be a good citizen. But after seeing him scramble up a ditch, beaming with pride at his rubbish-filled bag, I realised what it actually involves
Prefer the Guardian on Google I ’ve always thought of myself as a good person: a good citizen and a good member of my community – at least in the ethical sense of the word. I presumed being good required refraining from harming the world and the people within it. An example of this being that I never litter.
However, when I moved home to Staffordshire after graduating in the summer of 2025, my understanding of what it means to be a good citizen – what it means to be “good” altogether – changed significantly.
It began earlier this year. I was on a walk with my dog and decided to switch up my usual route and head to the canal for a change of scenery. I soon bumped into my grandpa, Nicholas – who lives in the same village as us – not on the towpath but scrambling up a nearby ditch. He was beaming with pride, wielding a litter picker in one hand and a bag filled with rubbish in the other.
It turned out that my grandpa, even at 83, spends an hour or so almost every day litter picking. And I mean the extreme version of litter picking, where no rubbish, no matter how difficult it is to reach, will go unpicked. I knew he was a fan of keeping the village tidy, but I had no idea of his dedication to the cause.
It’s not an exaggeration to say he risks his life for the sake of cleaning up our area; clambering into bogs to reach an empty Pot Noodle packet, climbing up a tree to access dog poo bags left dangling in mid-air, and scavenging through thorns to get his hands on empty beer cans. He’s prepared to fall into the canal for the sake of removing large logs that might damage passing boats. The lengths he goes to are as anxiety-inducing as they are heartwarming.
Besides the odd litter-picking session at school, usually forced upon us for disciplinary reasons, I had never participated in this activity myself. I would never have dreamed of littering, but I was not the sort of person who would look at abandoned rubbish and decide to clean it up, either. But, when you see your grandpa about to fling himself into a bush to retrieve an empty crisp packet, it’s hard not to get involved.
Soon, I fell into an almost daily routine: I would set off on my walk with the dog and a good podcast – then, halfway through, I would find myself, litter picker in hand, being directed by my grandpa to fetch whatever the general public had decided to dispose of that day.
View image in fullscreen Esme Gordon-Craig on the Tixall canal towpath in April. Photograph: Courtesy of Esme Gordon-Craig And it wasn’t always just litter picking. Once, after a terrible storm, we spent half an hour straightening and restaking the recently planted tree saplings that had been blown over in the wind. Now, I take great pride in walking past said saplings, which are looking stronger and more sturdy by the day.
I practise my grandpa’s teachings even when we’re not on a litter-picking excursion. Never again will I walk past a stray can or takeaway…