Catherine Wardle, 61, Wallsend
Hearing the front door swing open while I did the washing-up, I dried my hands on a tea towel.
It was April 1990, and as a single mum to four boys, life was never dull.
‘It's Natty,’ I heard my neighbour call out, as I spun round to see my eldest, Nathaniel, then 11, bleeding in his arms.
I gasped.
Natty had a gaping hole in his forehead and some of his teeth were smashed.
He was barely conscious.
‘What happened?’ I cried, holding him as we waited for an ambulance.
He'd been on