When I was 13 (nearly 24 years ago now), I read a short book about astronomy. I was inspired enough to wander outside one crisp winter's night to look upwards. I had seen the night sky before, many times, but I had never really looked at it.

  That moment changed my life. The beauty of a sky filled with the bright stars of winter overwhelmed me, and I embarked on a journey of discovery and personal fulfilment which continues to this day.

  For various reasons I chose not to pursue astronomical research as a career. For one thing my love of the heavens was at that time a purely aesthetic passion—professional astronomy is, on the whole, not about that. So I studied medicine, and continued observing the skies as an enthusiastic amateur. No doubt many others whom, like me, had been inspired by the sight of a starry sky did in fact choose to become professional astronomers. No doubt some of them have made great scientific discoveries. Amateur astronomers, far more dedicated than I, regularly make observations that are useful scientifically; these people help professional astronomers gather data that increases mankind's understanding of the universe.

  As I have grown older my own interest has deepened; despite working full time as a GP in the National Health Service I am currently studying my second astronomy course with the Open University. I continue to observe the skies on almost every clear night. My interest and knowledge and love of the subject continue to expand.

  Twenty-four years later the skies over England look very different to those of my youth. Nearly everywhere the sickly orange glow of light pollution pervades the once velvet blackness of the night. Where once I could count thousands of stars I can now barely see a hundred. The beautiful band of the Milky Way—the "backbone of the night"of our ancestors—is now nothing more than a childhood memory. If I were 12 today, reading that book for the first time, minded to wander outside to gaze upwards, would I be as captivated as I was then? I doubt it. I think my whole life would have been very different. I think I would have lost a great deal.

  So I wonder how many children today are missing out on what I have experienced and enjoyed for a quarter of a century. How many fires have gone unkindled? How many potential Herschel's or Adams' or Halley's have been lost? What wonders remain undiscovered?

  But it need not be like this. Many people think light pollution is a price we have to pay for progress—for lighting our homes and our streets and our cities. It is not. It is unnecessary. It is pollution. It is a by-product of our extravagance—and it is all waste. If, somehow, the millions of watts of light which do not illuminate the ground but instead escape into the sky every night could be somehow blocked, it would make no difference at all to the illumination of our cities and homes. They would be just as bright. And if that light could be reflected back to earth—if all the misaligned, unshielded lamps could be replaced with well directed, efficient lighting fixtures; if the distracting and dangerous glare was removed, the illumination of the streets would be vastly improved. The dark skies—the main source of inspiration for religion and poets and philosophers and scientists—for countless millennia, and for me for a quarter of a century, would return.

  This committee may hear evidence from agencies which present other reasons why light pollution should be reduced, as well as suggestions about ways in which this can be achieved. I urge you to consider them all, because there are many reasons other than the loss of the night sky why light pollution should be reduced.

  But surely this one reason alone is enough?

  You now may be in a position to influence the future of astronomy in this country. By recommending the introduction of measures aimed at reducing light pollution (such as those recently implemented in Italy, the Czech Republic and several of the United States) you will be making an enormous contribution to all of the people of the United Kingdom. I appeal to each and every one of you to please do whatever is in your power, both to prevent further worsening of the problem and—eventually—to reverse it.

  What better legacy than giving us back the stars?

17 April 2003