Brighton is the place of my birth and I am 78 years young.

The memories of this cosmopolitan, majestic town are vivid. In 1948 I returned, with my husband, to live in Cromwell Road, Hove.

My first child, Jane, was born in the Brighton and Hove General Hospital on April 17, 1952.

Walking along the immaculate Hove Lawns (where ball games were not allowed), the West Pier stood proudly in regal splendour, a historic symbol of a bygone era, when Victorian ladies graced her boards to stroll with lovers in their private world of enchantment and their whispered secrets of timeless love.

The demise of so precious a jewel would be a catastrophe.

The West Pier is as important as the Royal Pavilion, as stimulating and passionate as were the theatrical productions on the Palace Pier, as culturally worthy as The Lanes.

A gracious lady in need of tender loving care and sensitive restoration, that future generations will benefit from her mysterious historic ambience and their rightful heritage.

Beyond the initial Lottery grant, I sincerely hope the captains of industry and commerce will rally their troops to give generous support to this significant monument that is going to need nurturing through the years in order to maintain its glory.

The West Pier is, after all, a vital gene in the throbbing heart and the intangible soul that is Brighton and Hove.

As the seagulls screech their haunting refrain, the waves echo their sorry lament and pound the pebbles on your favoured beach that has welcomed millions of tiny feet through the ever-changing passage of time.

The memories are sacrosanct.

While half the world is starving and the other half is at war or preparing for conflict, so poignant and noble a symbol depicting gentler climes can invoke timeless joy to a progressively hostile world.

For, in order to embrace the future, it is imperative we first honour and respect the past.

-Mary Ratcliffe, Croft Road, Old Town, Swindon, Wilts