
I am lucky. I can walk to the end of our garden and sit in the sunshine on the cliff edge terrace overlooking Endcliffe Park. Through the yet-to-leaf trees growing tall from the foot of the old quarry immediately below I can see the road. Normally busy with all sorts of traffic it’s almost deserted. A lone car turns off Ecclesall Road onto Rustlings Road and a solitary walker crosses in the other direction. It sounds quieter than a Sunday morning, quieter even than a New Year’s Day morning.