David Hockney birth location, Bradford

Nowadays paintings by this wealthy and popular painter sell for £20 - £70 million (the most paid for a living artist.) He owns two homes in the United States (both in California), two in England (Bridlington and London) and one in France. It was a humble start though and here I am at the house in Bradford where he was born. The owners allowed me to look inside.

These days David's classed as a bit of a National Treasure and - in his eighties and hobbling about on a walking stick - his passion for canvases and brushes hasn't waned. He's still consistently producing stuff. It was good to see where he made his very first brushstrokes. The house sits to the east of Bradford city off the main road that eventually takes you to Leeds. I knew the house was up a narrow dead-end street so I parked on the road at the bottom. As I clicked away I garnered some odd looks. Perhaps it was because I'm scruffy though I'm sure it was because I was the only white person there (everyone I saw was Asian.) I strolled up the street feeling conspicuous, people sat in their tiny front gardens watching me. I reached the top and saw the house where David was born (no plaque.) A young couple sat in a parked car were watching me. They must be as nosy as me as they started the engine, drove about ten metres to me and wound the window down. Friends not foes : a smile and they asked if I was lost. I said, "I'm not sure if you know the house there was where famous painter was born."

"I know," said the man holding a tray of chips, "I live there. Come and have a look inside if you like."

Good show. He knew all about the famous painter and said the BBC had been in touch to see if they could film inside the house (they refused.) Inside his surprised mum was cooking. The lad showed me the pantry at the back where David did his first paintings. I asked if I may take a photo. The lad agreed but his mum's furrowed brow told she wasn't keen. I said it didn't matter but the lad kept insisting I take photos and "as many of the house as you like." I could see this private Pakistani lady was uncomfortable so I said I wouldn't take any more photos. I thanked them for this unexpected kindness and left.

I doubt I’ll pass by Steadman Terrace again. At the bottom I stopped and had one last look at it. It must have looked a little different in 1940. On 31st August 1940 a German bomber released a clump of bombs and one landed nearby. The Hockney family - seven of them - and their neighbour Miss Dobson - hid themselves in a tiny space beneath the stairs (about 7 foot long.) As the noises became almost deafening David’s mum clutched at a small “promise box” containing verses from the Bible. A bomb exploded and she hurled forward releasing a piercing scream that her children were never to forget. The bomb had missed the house and exploded on a timber merchant at the bottom of the street. Burning wood was sent in every direction until meeting resistance and blocked both streets. Most houses had their window blown out but 61 was untouched. David's mum was convinced the promise box had protected them.

Oh well, time to move on. I hadn't expected to get into the house. I did a salute and left.