It is 1955. The chunky triangular metal control knob of the electric washing machine is of grey ribbed metal. It has three positions: on, spin, off. The machine, Thor, is statuesque with the graceful presence reminiscent of a First World War tank.
Continue readingOn Ogmore beach the sea is calm, the wind is still and all is at peace. It is the 17th of August 1950. In North Korea the last of thirty-nine American prisoners of war are executed on Hill 303.
Roger, aged six, is with his parents, Martin and Janet. Summer sun shines as he stands on a sandy path holding a metal Mickey Mouse bucket in his hand. He wears a short-sleeved shirt, short trousers, white ankle length socks and buckled sandals.
Continue readingI am thirteen and standing on a narrow old bridge as flames flicker from burning braziers. I watch glittering flakes of ash, pages of burning books, tumbling slowly out of a darkening sky. A gentle breeze shifts them hither and thither. Their beauty is both fragile, ephemeral and somehow threatening.
Continue readingJeffrey, an elderly potter of some distinction, has been invited to attend a conference – ‘Crossing Borders: The Arts & Human Rights’ – where he is to deliver a presentation: ‘Agitprop ceramics: El Lissistsky to Grayson Perry’.
Continue readingIt’s 1954. Simon, aged eight, stands on the front door step of his house, about to walk to school. His mother, Rachel, holds a large glass jar of brown and white peppermint sweets. On the jar there’s a picture of a grinning boy, his cheeks bulging with sweets. Rachel takes a mint from the jar, unwraps the cellophane wrapper, and pops it into Simon’s mouth saying, It’ll keep you warm on the way to school. They both laugh at this nonsense, but – in a sense – it does just that: her love keeps him warm.
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Phil Cosker 