No.32

Photography: Chris Moore

This is the place I grew up. It’s the only place I lived where my parents were together. It holds the earliest memories I can remember, some of them I’m not sure if they happened or if it was stories I made up as a kid.

A vivid image that has stuck with me is seeing this girl skating outside my house whilst she had a lolly in her mouth. She ended up falling over and the lolly got lodged in the back of her throat. I remember her holding her arms up whilst blood ran from her elbows and her struggling to breath then the ambulance turned up. I never knew what happened to her.

It’s a small village that seems to be ordinary, and it truly is; however there always seemed to be something happening behind closed doors. The couples in the two houses opposite ours were having an affair, my dad discovered the next door neighbour dead in his garage after he had committed suicide.

When I went back to photograph the village – I haven’t been back there in over 15 years – people recognised that I wasn’t from there and would stare. I ended up shooting at 5am when no one was around. It was my intention for the photographs to come across as extremely ordinary, almost boring.

Photography © Chris Moore