Copyright

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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

FIRST EDITION

Text © Sean Smith 2018

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Jacket photograph © Jesse Dittmar/Redux/eyevine

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Source ISBN: 9780008267513

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Version: 2018-11-05

Also by Sean Smith

George

Adele

Kim

Tom Jones: The Life

Kylie

Gary

Alesha

Tulisa

Kate

Robbie

Cheryl

Victoria

Justin: The Biography

Britney: The Biography

J.K. Rowling: A Biography

Jennifer: The Unauthorized Biography

Royal Racing

The Union Game

Sophie’s Kiss (with Garth Gibbs)

Stone Me! (with Dale Lawrence)

Dedication

For Hilaria

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Also by Sean Smith

Dedication

Introduction: Principality Stadium, Cardiff, 24 June 2018

PART ONE: FAMILY IS ALL

1 Painting the Picture

2 Pugilism not Vandalism

3 The Eminem Remedy

4 Spinning Man

5 The Loopmeister

6 Want Some Nizlopi

7 Ed Stage Left

8 Access All Areas

PART TWO: THE NEXT BIG THING

9 Singer–Songwriter

10 In the City

11 Loose Change

12 A Fine Example

13 A Big Deal

14 Wayfaring

15 Precious Moments

PART THREE: THE SHAPE OF THINGS

16 On Patrol

17 Moving Swiftly On

18 The Universal Shush

19 Thinking Out Loud

20 Home and Away

21 Perfect Symphony

Last Thoughts

Ed’s Stars

Life and Times

Acknowledgements

Select Bibliography

List of Searchable Terms

Picture Section

About the Publisher

INTRODUCTION
Principality Stadium, Cardiff, 24 June 2018

He’s on time. There’s no messing about with Ed. He doesn’t need to build up the excitement artificially by being late onstage. Instead, at 8.45 p.m. precisely, the lights go down and the video screens show him making his way casually down a corridor towards the stage as if he’s strolling to the pub for a pint. The only giveaway that this is an extraordinary event is the deafening roar from 60,000 people.

And there’s the man himself. The pedals of his famous loop station are at his feet and a small guitar bearing the logo of his latest album ÷ (Divide) is in his hands. He cuts a solitary figure. If you didn’t know he was the biggest pop star in the world in 2018, you’d be forgiven for thinking this was the warm-up act who couldn’t afford a proper band.

Standing a couple of rows in front of me, a young girl has the symbol ÷ etched in glitter on her cheek. I’m surrounded by people wearing official T-shirts with the logo on the front and the cities he’s playing on the back. This will please Ed, who has always been switched on regarding the promotional and financial importance of official merchandise. As a schoolboy, he would try to flog a few of his self-financed CDs to his audience, even if it was just half a dozen people in a social club.

The first chords of ‘Castle on the Hill’ are all anybody needs to get up and dance. Ed Sheeran is only one man but he seems to create an enormous power and charisma. There’s nobody else quite like him. Not everyone was brought up in a small town with a view of a magnificent castle, but we can all identify with thoughts and feelings about home. There’s something reassuring about making your way back, perhaps at Christmas or just to see Mum and Dad or old friends who haven’t moved on.

While he’s getting his breath back, Ed announces, ‘Good evening, Cardiff! Howya doing?’, which is not especially original but meets with a very positive response. Ed’s very relaxed between songs. The night before, he had left the stage twice to go for a pee.

He didn’t need to do that tonight. Instead, he tells us this is the biggest tour that has ever come to Wales. More than 240,000 people have swarmed into the stadium to see him during the last four nights. Apparently, Friday night was the largest single audience, although, to loud cheers, Ed suggests that tonight’s crowd is even bigger.

It’s the last night of the UK leg of his 2018 world tour. I wonder idly if I’m the millionth person to see him since he played the Etihad Stadium in Manchester last month. It’s not just a million teenage girls either. This is truly a family event with mums and dads, nans, grandads and children under ten all eager to enjoy themselves.

I’m next to a young couple from Barry Island who have brought their seven-year-old son Theo with them. ‘Who’s the fan?’ I ask. They chorus that they all are, although Dad told me he usually preferred Iron Maiden and Def Leppard.

He would have enjoyed the start of ‘Eraser’, the opening track on the ÷ album that begins with a wall of sound, courtesy of the loop station. It’s the first number of the night to feature some trademark rapping. In Ed’s hands, rapping seems to be more poetic than aggressive. He has made the genre acceptable to millions who might not have appreciated it before.

He launches into ‘The A Team’, the song he wrote ten years ago that changed everything for him. ‘If you know the words, then sing along,’ he says. It seems as if 60,000 people do. ‘There’s no such thing as “Can’t sing”,’ he tells us, ‘only “Can’t sing in tune”.’ That is certainly the case of practically everyone near me, but nobody cares.

Cleverly, he merges ‘Don’t’ from his second album, × (Multiply), with ‘New Man’ from ÷, both harsh and slightly bitter break-up songs. Between numbers, Ed may not have the distinctive patter of Adele but he chats in a relaxed fashion that appears perfectly natural and friendly, not at all scripted.

Apparently, he last played in Cardiff in 2011 and vowed then that he wouldn’t come back until he could fill this great stadium. That ambition didn’t take long to achieve.

He asks for our biggest scream before changing pace to ‘Dive’ perhaps the most underrated song on ÷. It’s a romantic ballad but not a soppy one. ‘Don’t call me baby/unless you mean it’ is a chorus to sing at the top of your voice in the shower.

As each song passes, I’m more and more struck by how everyone knows the words. I suppose it’s an indication of the sheer scale of his popularity. Ed’s strategy is that it’s a participation show and he wants everyone to sing and dance, although he reminds us that he can’t dance – even if the famous video to ‘Thinking Out Loud’ gives the impression that he’s a natural.

Ed wants us all to dance whether we can or not. Amusingly, he points out that there is always two per cent of an audience that refuses to sing or dance. They’re either the grumpy reluctant boyfriend or the ‘superdad’ who’s being a hero acting as chaperone for their son or daughter. Ed’s own dad, John Sheeran, was exactly that, taking his boy along to countless gigs that gave him a vitally important musical education when he was young enough to absorb any influences.

Ed moves easily between different styles, often in the same song. They might build from a rap or a quiet verse into one of those anthemic choruses you can’t get out of your head. He sings three songs in a row that reflect the agony of love. ‘Bloodstream’, from the × album, starts quietly before transforming into one of his most dramatic crescendos and a powerful wall of sound.

‘Happier’ is, for me, his most melancholy song, a story of love lost, a recurring theme with Ed. The poignant lyric touches anyone who has ever taken a wrong turn in love – and that would be everyone. ‘I’m a Mess’ is another song that reflects Ed’s own intelligence and openness in his lyrics. I wish I had a fiver for every time someone’s told me that they like the autobiographical touches he includes in his songs.

It’s time to lighten the mood a little and ‘Galway Girl’ does exactly that. Some critics don’t like this song and I’ve heard it described as Marmite – you either love it or you hate it – but we’re all up, having a hooley in the aisles. Ed has always embraced his Irish heritage and my guess is that this will become a party classic in the years ahead.

Ed doesn’t do many covers so it’s a surprise when he slips ‘Feeling Good’ into the set list. Although many people know it as a Michael Bublé song from a decade ago, it’s actually a much older stage-musical number that became an instant classic when it was recorded by the matchless Nina Simone in 1965. The late George Michael also featured it on his last studio album, Symphonica, in 2014. I wonder if there are any similarities between Ed and George – arguably the two greatest solo male pop stars the UK has produced. Ed cleverly mashes his version into the haunting ‘I See Fire’, the song he wrote for the 2013 film, The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug.

Ed changes guitars for practically every number. He is handed an electric guitar for the first time and mentions Amy Wadge, one of his original collaborators, who still lives locally in South Wales and is in the audience tonight. ‘If you don’t know the words to this one then you’re probably at the wrong show,’ he announces, then plays the opening chords of the sublime ‘Thinking Out Loud’, which he wrote with Amy.

Everyone goes into a huge romantic sigh. Instead of the thousand stars in the lyric, I can see a thousand and more torch lights from mobile phones shimmering in the darkened stands. Considering that he has only released three mainstream albums, Ed has already produced many classics – songs that will be first dances at weddings, reminders of first dates and kisses or just simply ‘our songs’.

This is the beginning of four peerless ballads. He follows ‘Thinking Out Loud’ with ‘One’ and ‘Photograph’, also from the × album. During the latter, the big screens behind him flash up images of Ed as a child. Could it get any more poignant? And then he plays ‘Perfect’.

Ed explains one of his secrets. This song is ‘super-personal to me’, he reveals. We know it’s written for Cherry but it doesn’t have the same emotion for everyone: ‘It’s my song before it comes out, but when it comes out, it becomes your song.’ This is a universal truth about music.

As if to prove that point, the grey-haired couple behind me put their arms around each other. The young mum next to me picks up her son and cuddles him, while a few rows down I can see a small boy standing between his mum and dad and they all have their arms around each other. It’s an ‘I was there’ moment that they will always remember. Perfect, indeed.

‘Nancy Mulligan’, the song he wrote about his Irish grandparents, wakes everyone from their romantic reverie and we all start dancing again – all except one superdad I spotted, who was determined to stay seated while his young daughter bopped away enthusiastically next to him. Even he got up for ‘Sing’, the closing number.

Ed pops offstage briefly to change his shirt. He’s back wearing a number-eleven jersey with Gareth Bale on the back, which gets a cheer. The reception for the first number of the encore, his biggest hit to date – ‘Shape of You’ – is the loudest of the night. He finishes with a frantic wall-of-noise version of ‘You Need Me, I Don’t Need You’, which is the song he traditionally performs as his last of the night.

Part of me thinks he should have ended with ‘Thinking Out Loud’ or ‘Perfect’, but that’s clearly not what he’s decided to do. He wants to leave with a dramatic climax, and that he achieves. This is the song that sums up his philosophy: be true to your own dreams and follow them. He wishes us a safe journey home and is gone – no fuss, no unnecessary milking of the applause, no insincere ‘I love you, Cardiff’ nonsense. He came, he played, he conquered.

On my way out with 60,000 other people, I thought about the end of the video for ‘Photograph’, perhaps my favourite. There’s a shot of Ed at the top of a hill and a voice asks, ‘Are you at the top of the mountain?’ His phenomenal success – in terms of record sales, downloads, streaming, audience figures – doesn’t lie. He is unarguably at the top of the mountain, looking down on the rest of the music business. My job, I thought, is to discover how on earth a scruffy, ginger-haired bloke climbed up there.

PART ONE

1
Painting the Picture

Undeniably, Edward Sheeran was a cute baby. The proof is in the many home movies his doting parents, John and Imogen, took of their second son as he crawled and gurgled, whooped and squealed around their first family home.

The footage was used charmingly in the nostalgia-packed video that accompanied his 2014 ballad ‘Photograph’. While the sweet film had little to do with a melancholic lyric that declared how much ‘loving can hurt’, it provided a fascinating window on to his world.

We see Ed grow from baby to small boy, with ginger hair, large blue NHS specs and a small port-wine stain near his left eye, to a teenager busking in the street while learning his craft and, finally, to the man acknowledging the applause of thousands at a pop festival.

The large late-Victorian stone house that is the setting for many of the clips is not, however, in his beloved Suffolk, the county so closely associated with Ed, but in West Yorkshire where he was born, and where he spent his early years in the cosmopolitan market town of Hebden Bridge.

John and Imogen Sheeran lived halfway up Birchcliffe Road, one of the steepest hills in the town and a lung-bursting trek from the centre for a young mum with a baby and a toddler. Their first child, Matthew Patrick, was born eight miles away in Halifax General Hospital not long after the couple had relocated from London. Edward Christopher followed just under two years later, on 17 February 1991.

Calderdale, the valley in which Hebden Bridge sits, is ideal for bringing up a young family if you want to be sure of fresh air, spectacular countryside and wonderful walks. The road the Sheerans settled in winds its way to the crest of the hill where the views over the town and its distinctive streets of stone-built cottages are breathtaking.

Everything about Hebden Bridge shouts character. The town, which takes its name from the old packhorse bridge across the River Hebden, has bundles of it – from the quirky craft shops, the organic restaurants and boutique cafés to the tall, narrow terraced houses that seem to cling to the hillside as if stuck there with glue. Recently, the town has featured as a location for the hit television series Last Tango in Halifax and Happy Valley.

When Ed was born, the place was a work in progress – more basic and much less touristy than it is today. It had thrived as a bustling mill town specialising in corduroy and moleskin goods, but that prosperity ended in the 1970s when the textile industry went into decline. Hebden Bridge began to flourish again towards the end of that decade when it was transformed into a destination for creative minds and free spirits. It became well known for its strong sense of community and tolerance, in particular becoming a welcoming haven for lesbians and gay men.

Local author Paul Barker explained, ‘It was a small mill town in steep decline. There were lots of squatters who had creative skills – writing, painting or music – so it started as an arts-based thing. It’s a tolerant place, which allowed this scene to develop. People came to visit friends and realised the freedom to be able to live how they wanted.’

A strong literary connection already existed, although not a particularly happy one. The controversial poet laureate Ted Hughes was born in the village of Mytholmroyd, two miles down the road towards Halifax. His former home at Lumb Bank, two miles in the other direction, is now a residential writing centre.

Of more interest to literary pilgrims is the grave of Hughes’s first wife, Sylvia Plath, in the village church in nearby Heptonstall, where his parents lived. She immortalised the location in her bleak poem ‘November Graveyard’ that spoke of ‘skinflint trees’. The revered American poet had tragically committed suicide in London in 1963 but Hughes arranged for her to be buried in this most picturesque of locations. Many devotees of her work wishing to pay their respects stay in Hebden Bridge.

John and Imogen were drawn to the artistic nature of the town when they decided to settle there. Hebden Bridge was perfectly situated for a young and ambitious couple forging strong reputations in the world of art. They had begun promising careers in London where they were brought up in neighbouring districts south of the river – John in South Norwood and Imogen, a vivacious blonde, in Forest Hill. They were married in May 1984 at the historic Christ’s Chapel of Alleyn’s College of God’s Gift in the aptly named Gallery Road, Dulwich. He was twenty-six and she was twenty-four.

John was always a man who grasped an opportunity, impatient to make something of his life. Unsurprisingly, therefore, he had been appointed keeper of the Dulwich Picture Gallery in 1980 at the age of twenty-three. He had been taken under the wing of the gallery’s charismatic first director, Giles Waterfield, and together they transformed its fortunes from a threadbare museum with a skeletal staff and no financial support into one respected throughout the world.

Giles took a chance on his protégé’s youthful talent – as so many would with Ed in the future. When he died unexpectedly in November 2016, John wrote in appreciation of his old friend: ‘You transformed a sleepy, forgotten capsule of late Georgian taste into a world-renowned art museum with its own dynamic exhibition and education programme.’

Giles and John were a formidable partnership. In 1983, they held a life-drawing class in the permanent collection to attract visits from schools and colleges, an initiative that proved to be the start of their acclaimed learning programme. Throughout the 1980s, John seized the chance to organise major new exhibitions, including a universally admired collection of Old Masters.

While the famous paintings of great artists would bring in the crowds, he also promoted a new generation of British artists – many of whom were based in the north of England – including the distinguished landscape painter David Blackburn, who was from Huddersfield. John curated an exhibition of his work in Dulwich in 1986 and wrote the catalogue that went with it.

John brought a refreshingly intelligent and critical eye to paintings. His goal, right from those early days at the Picture Gallery, was to encourage visitors to take the time to really look at a painting – not just to take a photograph and move swiftly on. He explained, ‘When you read paintings, you start to look at people and places differently. Once you can read art, you have a gift for life.’

After seven years’ working in the world of museums, John moved on from Dulwich. He had found other opportunities with galleries in Manchester and Bradford, and he and Imogen decided to base themselves in Yorkshire. They were ambitious to become independent and had an entrepreneurial spirit that rubbed off on their younger son at an early age.

In 1990, the year before Ed was born, they set up their own company, a fine-art consultancy called Sheeran Lock, with an office in Halifax. Their new direction meant lots of travelling, particularly the well-worn path down the motorway to London – long, tedious trips that provided Ed with some of his earliest memories as he listened over and over again to his dad’s distinctly mainstream musical preferences. John Sheeran seemed to be stuck in a time warp, listening to music from the sixties and early seventies.

Even as a very young boy, Ed was displaying some of the characteristics that would serve him so well as a professional musician. He picked up words and melodies very quickly.

He would learn all the songs on classic Beatles and Bob Dylan albums and be able to sing along happily, if a little tunelessly.

One of his father’s favourites was Elton John’s 1971 album Madman Across the Water, which contained the track ‘Tiny Dancer’. Ed would memorably reference it in his own classic song ‘Castle on the Hill’ when he reminisces about driving down the country lanes near home at ninety miles an hour. Many years later Elton would become an important figure in Ed’s own story.

Despite his connection to ‘Tiny Dancer’, Ed chose another song from that album as a Desert Island Disc. He went for ‘Indian Sunset’, the elegiac orchestral number that opened side two and told the story of an Iroquois warrior contemplating defeat and death at the hands of the white man. The sensitive lyric revealed Elton’s song-writing partner, Bernie Taupin, at his most poetic.

John and Imogen envisaged Sheeran Lock as a multi-faceted concern. They saw the company setting up exhibitions and educational projects not just in Yorkshire but also around the world. They acted as consultants to a growing band of artists, whom they felt deserved a wider audience.

One of their first steps was to set up a publishing arm to promote the work of their talented friends and clients, including northern painters Mary Lord, Marie Walker Last and Katharine Holmes, the Lancashire-based Anglo-Dutch sculptor Marjan Wouda and the printmaker Adrienne Craddock. A beautifully produced book would often accompany an exhibition of the artist’s work. It was an approach that would serve their son Ed well in the future: make use of every aspect of your work.

As well as sorting out the day-to-day administration and editing the books, Imogen was a creative force not to be underestimated. These days, she is given a postscript in biographies of her famous son as a mum who dabbles in jewellery design. That sells her very short. She graduated with an MA in art history from the University of St Andrews, the same degree Kate Middleton would later obtain. After completing her studies, she worked in the press office at the National Portrait Gallery in London before moving north with John and becoming the gallery services officer at the Manchester City Galleries.

She used her artistic flair to transform the somewhat austere interior of the house in Birchcliffe Road into a magical pot-pourri of beautiful paintings and sculptures. She ditched wallpaper and emulsion in favour of a patterned fabric that she hung on the walls, like tapestry. Her little touches made the rather cold house, which used to be the local doctor’s surgery, feel far warmer, especially in winter when a roaring fire was essential.

The boys shared the attic space as a bedroom and, looking out through the window, they could see across the valley to the spire of Heptonstall Church, where Sylvia Plath is buried. Imogen knocked through the wall into the next room to create an opening with a private play area they could crawl through. It was like a giant Wendy house for boys.

Lock is Imogen’s maiden name and her family was well connected and high-achieving – particularly in the contrasting worlds of music and medicine. She was named after Imogen Holst, a family friend and the daughter of Gustav Holst, composer of the classical favourite The Planets Suite. Imogen Holst was a gifted composer in her own right. Significantly, she was the personal assistant of Benjamin Britten, one of the most famous of all British composers, who co-founded the Aldeburgh Festival in Suffolk in 1948.

Ed’s grandmother, Shirley Lock, sang for Britten and for many years she and her husband, Stephen, would spend their summers on the Suffolk coast to be part of the annual musical celebration. Britten and his partner, the tenor Peter Pears, were both godfathers to their eldest son, Adam. On one memorable occasion the little boy spotted one of the famous men walking along the seafront at Aldeburgh. ‘Look!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s Uncle Ben-Peter!’

Shirley had an impressive musical CV as a founder second violinist with the National Youth Orchestra of Great Britain in 1948. She was also a member of the Cambridge University Musical Society (CUMS) orchestras, as well as a number of prestigious singing groups, including the Purcell, BBC and Ambrosian Singers.

In a family of high-achievers, Shirley’s husband, Dr Stephen Lock, perhaps stands pre-eminent. He is a CBE, one rank below a knight, and has a long entry in Who’s Who. For sixteen years, he was the much-respected editor of the BMJ (British Medical Journal) until he retired from the role the year Ed was born. His speciality, for which he won a worldwide reputation, was the future of the editing of scientific data and the responsibilities of ‘journalogy’ as he called it.

Stephen also supported the new venture of Sheeran Lock. He joined forces with his son-in-law John to write a book entitled The Gift of Life, which explored the paintings of Sir Roy Calne, the organ-transplant pioneer. Imogen continued the family’s medical heritage by producing A Picture of Health. Her book accompanied a landmark exhibition of Susan MacFarlane paintings at the Barbican Gallery, London, about the clinical treatment of breast cancer.

Stephen shared his wife’s artistic passions, for opera in particular. In Who’s Who he declares, amusingly, his recreations as ‘reading reviews of operas I can’t afford to see’ and ‘avoiding operas whose producers know better than the composer’. For many years he has been a popular volunteer at the Britten-Pears Foundation library in his beloved Aldeburgh.

Although Ed was close to his grandparents, he never knew his Uncle Adam. He had been fatally wounded at his home in Alleyn Crescent, Dulwich, two weeks after Matthew’s birth in March 1989. The local newspaper, the South London Press, described the distressing circumstances under the stark headline ‘Man Shoots Himself’.

Adam, an investment manager in the City, shot himself twice with a shotgun he used for clay-pigeon shooting. According to the paper, he left his girlfriend asleep upstairs at about 4 a.m. one Friday morning while he let himself into the garage. There, he sat in an old armchair and turned the gun on himself. The first bullet pierced his left shoulder. He then reloaded and shot himself a second time.

Adam died two hours later in King’s College Hospital, Camberwell. He was thirty-one. The death certificate was issued by the Inner South District coroner Montagu Levine after an inquest in June. He listed the cause of death as ‘Gunshot Wound to Head and Chest. He killed himself’.

On the first anniversary of his death, in 1990, a dignified notice appeared in the In Memoriam column of The Times, remembering Adam Timothy Southwick Lock and quoting Tennyson:

But trust that those we call the dead

Are breathers of an ampler day

For ever nobler ends.

The poet wrote his monumental elegy In Memoriam, also known as In Memoriam A.H.H., as a tribute to his friend Arthur Henry Hallam, who had died tragically young from a brain haemorrhage. The most often quoted lines are: ‘’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ Tennyson took seventeen years to write his masterpiece as he struggled to deal with the effects of sudden bereavement.

In March 1991, when Ed was six weeks old, the same notice appeared again in The Times. In 1995, without fuss, a painting was adopted in memory of Adam Lock at the Dulwich Picture Gallery. The peaceful work by the seventeenth-century Dutch artist Adriaen van Ostade is an oil on panel entitled simply ‘Interior of a Cottage.’ Adam would not be forgotten.

Ed’s grandparents’ love of music rubbed off on his mother, Imogen, who has a lovely voice and has been a mainstay of her church choir for many years. Ed, however, has never shared the family’s enthusiasm for classical music, unlike his brother Matthew, who had an obvious talent for it from an early age.

Ed enjoyed musical instruments, though. In his first classroom there was a musical bar where the children could help themselves to drums, recorders and other instruments and make as much noise as they liked. Ed loved this – much more than sport, for which he never had much of a taste.

By the time Ed began school, his birthmark had been successfully treated by laser but he was painfully shy, with a pronounced stammer. He later revealed that it was a result of one of his laser treatments, when the technicians forgot to administer the anaesthetic cream. Although the two brothers started at Heathfield Junior School at the same time, they were in separate classes because of the difference in age. Matthew, who was much more confident, never fussed around his younger brother but he was always there if Ed needed him.

Ed began in Reception, the infants’ class. The teaching assistant, Gillian Sunderland, remembers that the two brothers had very contrasting personalities, with Ed being by far the quieter: ‘He was rather nervy. He wasn’t needy in the sense of needing looking after but he was extremely shy. Extremely shy! He found mixing with other children rather challenging so he needed to be encouraged to mix really. He had a slight stutter but it was noticeable and I think he probably struggled with that.’

Looking back, Ed recalled that he had a ‘really, really bad stammer’. His own memories confirm that, as a little boy, he found it difficult to join in. He told Kirsty Young on Desert Island Discs that he was a bit of a weird kid: ‘I lacked an eardrum so I couldn’t go swimming – which helps get friends.’

Heathfield is a private co-educational school in the small village of Rishworth, a ten-mile drive from Hebden Bridge down demanding country lanes, but it was worth it for the idyllic setting. Heathfield and its senior equivalent, Rishworth School, occupy 130 acres. The youngsters could spend much of the summer outdoors, playing and being taught in the open air. Gillian explains, ‘There are other schools but if you want your child to enjoy the environment then you would choose here.’

While Ed would learn the basics of English, maths and phonics, much of the teaching at the school revolved around being creative. A small river ran through the grounds and the class would be taken down to look at the water and were encouraged to write a little story about it or perhaps draw a picture. Ed particularly liked to sit outside quietly and draw with his crayons.

The teachers liked Edward, as everyone called him at school, because he was such a gentle boy. While he was small for his age, he stood out with his bright ginger hair and big round glasses. ‘He wasn’t the type of boy who liked fuss, though,’ recalls Gillian. ‘He was very much a “Let’s get on with it” type. He wasn’t in need of stroking all the time.’

In the well-known photograph of young Ed in his burgundy-coloured school blazer and grey shorts he is wearing the Heathfield uniform. Throughout his childhood he was fortunate in that his parents were sociable, and popular with other parents and teachers. Gillian observes, ‘They were the type of people that you don’t forget because they were lovely – so genuine and very supportive and caring.’

When it came time for the Sheeran boys to move on because the family were relocating to Suffolk, Imogen presented Gillian Sunderland and form teacher Christine Taylor with a thank-you card – a pencil drawing of her two sons.

Growing up, Ed and Matthew were the subject of many works of art. One important creative decision that Ed’s parents made was to commission paintings, sculpture and lihographs of their children so that there would be a lasting record of their early lives. As a result, there is a superb archive of them, not just sentimental camcorder shots. A further consequence of their foresight is that Ed has always been entirely comfortable posing for camera or paintbrush, and thousands of pictures of him are in circulation. Imogen’s thoughtful gift ensured the boys would not be forgotten at Heathfield. One of the key reasons for their departure was the discovery that Matthew – not Ed – had considerable musical talent. He was showing potential as a treble soloist and there were greater opportunities for a boy soprano in Suffolk, near his grandparents in Aldeburgh and at St Edmundsbury Cathedral in Bury St Edmunds.

Imogen let slip why they were moving when she showed potential buyers around the house in Birchcliffe Road. Eventually it was bought by a local vet, Clare Wright, who was in awe of the art scattered throughout their home. She recalls, ‘There was wonderful, beautiful artwork everywhere.’ Every inch of wall seemed to have a painting hung on it, making the walls look bare when she moved in just before Christmas in 1995, when the family had left with their artworks. Ed was nearly five.

The Sheerans did, however, leave behind the piano, which also features in the ‘Photograph’ video, with Ed attempting to play it. Pianos are notoriously difficult to move and this was no Steinway, so it stayed put in the front room.

Eventually, Clare decided to give it away and, consequently, Ed Sheeran’s first piano moved ten miles down the Burnley road to the Elland Working Men’s Club. The family would need a new one when they moved into their next home in the Suffolk market town of Framlingham.

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