“My first vague memory is Summer 57, holding an orange in my sticky fingers. On 25 March 1958 my Aunt Muriel came to tell my mother that their father had died of TB. The cool linoleum floor, on which I was sat, and the wallpaper, were vivid in colour. It was sunny outside and the cooker range, to my left, was cold. But, following the tradition of the day, the curtains were drawn shut. An eerie light emanated from behind the curtain on the opposite side of the room.”
Artwork: John Thornton/GuardianWitness