The street where I grew up: Dave Stewart, 69, musician, songwriter and record producer, shares memories of Barnard Street, Sunderland

I was born in Barnard Street, and lived there until I was ten. It consisted of a Coronation Street-type row of little terraced bungalows, each with a tiny backyard. I always looked forward to the coalman pouring coal through the hole in our backyard wall. 

Dray horses from the brewery would trot down the road and deliver barrels to shops selling ale. 

And an onion man, who wore a beret to look French and had a string of onions hanging from his bicycle, was a regular visitor. ‘The onion man’s here!’ people would call out. 

Dave Stewart, 69, (pictured) musician, songwriter and record producer shares memories of Barnard Street, Sunderland

Everybody’s front door was left open, so you could run into any cottage and ask for a piece of jam and bread. It was a free-for-all, that’s one of the things I loved about growing up there. 

I was one of two boys – I’ve got an older brother, John – and was only interested in playing football for Sunderland when I was growing up. And since there were next to no cars around, we could play football outside between the street lights. 

My dad, also called John, came from poverty – he played football barefoot until he was 12 – but then he got a job as a runner in a small chartered accountancy firm in the 1930s. After serving in the war, he went to night school and worked his way up to be a partner. 

Our red brick bungalow originally had one bedroom but Mum and Dad turned the front room into a bedroom for my brother and me. My dad, who lived to 87, had a little workshop in the backyard and built our furniture – the tables, chairs, everything. 

When I was five he even built a radiogram with speakers. I remember waking up to the most amazing sound of music in the house. 

Dad would play recordings of Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals, such as The King And I, Oklahoma! and South Pacific. So I’d walk to school innocently singing I Enjoy Being A Girl from their musical Flower Drum Song. 

My mum Sadie made most of the food we ate, and when she did mashed potato she’d stick a couple of peas in it to make eyes, and a carrot for the nose. In the morning, Dad would bring my brother and me a cup of tea with a biscuit with a thin layer of butter on one side on which he’d draw a face. My parents were very sweet. 

Dave aged nine, with his brother’s guitar. Dave was taught by his neighbour Len Gibson a weird way to tune the guitar, which later he realised was wrong and had to re-learn everything

Dad loved his allotment, and grew new potatoes there. When they were ready Mum would boil them, and the whole street would gather round for a night of new potatoes with mint, butter and a bit of salt. 

That was great. I also loved going to the corner shop with Mum and getting a jar of black treacle. 

It was a very secure environment, and my memories of those days helped inspire my new semi-autobiographical solo album, Ebony McQueen. 

I remember my next-door-but-one neighbour Len Gibson, who survived a Japanese POW camp and lived to be 101, with particular affection. In the camp, he’d made a guitar out of wire and floorboards to entertain friends who were being tortured. 

As a kid, he taught me a weird way to tune the guitar – I later learnt he’d made it up, so I had to re-learn everything! 

When I was ten we moved to a new house a few miles away, and everything fell apart. I broke my knee, so couldn’t play football for six months. 

Then my mum left my dad and moved to London, and ended up a headmistress at a school for children with special needs. Thankfully I discovered music.

Dave’s new album Ebony McQueen is out now on Bay St Records. 

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