My mother tells me that I was awake at that historic moment – warmly oblivious of the historic significance as I fed a little, far too young for memories.
It’s sad, but I can barely remember the tiny Isle of Wight bungalow where we lived for my first four years. I can recall the cracked white porcelain enamelled steel bath where frogs lived in the narrow garden outside and the swaying hidden tyre swing suspended from a gnarled branch where my dad pushed me back and forwards; it was located in a copse hidden from the view of the house, but that’s about all.
When I travelled back to capture memories in my early 30’s, the place had been demolished – four square characterless one bedroomed flats with UPVC window frames and false factory made chimneys scowled at me instead.
Recalling the moon landing, the song tells the tale of two sisters creeping downstairs “like shadows” to watch the event on their television. “They’re bringing the moon right down to our sitting room, static and silence in a monochrome vision,” Harriet sings. It’s so evocative you can imagine exactly what that excited moment must have been like, families huddled round to catch these incredible pictures. So this song acts as a memory that I don’t have, even although I was there. Thankfully the music will last forever – as proven last year when Kate Walsh recorded a blissfully still piano version of the song that is as gorgeously good as the original.