Monday 20 February 2023

Memory

 Memory - at least short-term memory - seems to go the older one gets - but I understand begins to fade around the age of sixty.   I will hazard a guess that all of you over sixty can relate to the idea of going into the kitchen, sitting room or somewhere and then standing in the doorway and thinking 'what have I come for?'    Yet the self-same people can usually recall events that happened in their childhood (but maybe not with the accuracy they think - if they ask another person involved in the same incident memories are often very different.)   We remember what we want to remember really - or what we particularly notice at the time.

I love clothes - always have done - and can remember outfits from very early in my childhood.

But memories are precious aren't they - even if they are not altogether accurate - and especially precious if the people involved are no longer with us.   They may not be altogether accurate but they are like mental photographs and do recall precious    moments.   Here are a few of mine - many only perhaps a couple of seconds long.

My mother:   always slightly in awe of her inlaws, her father in law (my Grandad Smithson) died and his funeral service and burial took place in our village.   I was too young to go to the funeral so stayed with a neighbour and she provided me with a stool so that I could stand by the window and watch the funeral procession go by.   The coffin with the flowers all round went past on the hearse and then came the mourners in the funeral cars.   As the car carrying my parents passed my mother looked out of the back window of the car.   I waved frantically - she gave me a very disapproving look.   I can still remember that look.

My father:    Loved poetry and knew a lot of it by heart having gone to school in the days when it was 'fashionable' to learn poems by heart.    One of his favourites was Robert Southey's 'The Battle of Blenheim' and I can still clearly hear his voice saying ''tis some poor fellows skull said he, who died in the great victory."

My sister:  twenty two years older than me (same parents) lived in the same village.   Even at a very young age I played the piano.   I remember sitting at her piano in the sitting room one day.   My favourite fruit in those days (sound, healthy teeth of course) was apples and their Cox's Orange Pippin tree in their newly planted orchard had fruited (8 apples) for the first time that year.  All eight sat in an orange Shelley bowl on the small table by the piano.   As I played away I also ate my way through all eight apples, leaving just the cores in the bowl.   I was not popular.

My brother:   For a time my brother and I worked for the same company in different offices but easily contacted by phone.   One day, when my first husband and I had been married for five years , he rang me from his office to say that the family had been talking and that he had been asked to ring me on their behalf to suggest that they thought it was time we 'produced a family'.  I was already pregnant at the time but had no thought of telling him until we were ready to do so.   From then on he always assumed that his 'pep talk' had produced results.

My first husband.   One of our favourite places to visit and not all that far from our home in Wolverhampton for many years, was Stokesay Castle in Shropshire.   On one visit we admired a plant in full flower in the small but perfectly formed garden.   My husband asked the curator what it was but he didn't know.   When we got home my husband looked it up in one of our many gardening books - it was Osteospermum and I wrote a postcard telling him.   Several years later we visited the Castle again and my husband asked him if he had got the postcard - he was delighted to at last know who had sent it.   Since then I always have an Osteospermum in my garden - it reminds me of the occasion.

The farmer.   One very bad winter when there had been a lot of snow we went round the fields one afternoon, walking along the side of the stone walls a feature of The Yorkshire Dales, to see if any of our sheep had been sheltering during the snowstorm and had got buried where the snow had drifted against the wall.   We didn't find any but as we walked along, close to the wall, we saw a stoat - not its usual brown colour but the pure white - ermine - the colour a stoat's coat changes to during very snowy weather.   It was the first - and indeed - the only time the farmer had ever experienced this and he never forgot it.

Just a few snippets of memories - can you recall any to share with us?

 



25 comments:

Derek Faulkner said...

You are writing some remarkable posts just lately Pat and very enjoyable. The walking into the kitchen and wondering why I'd gone there, is a frequent event for me these days - fortunately it doesn't happen when I get to Tesco's - yet.

Ellen D. said...

What wonderful memories you have shared with us! I was just saying the other day that I can forget what I walked into a room for but I will recall all of the lyrics when an oldie hit song comes on the radio! I think my "hard drive" brain is full of old trivia and so there is no more room for short term memories!?!
I remember when my Grandpa died 2 days before his 69th birthday and my first thought was "but we already bought his birthday gift!"
I remember how my Dad cried with joy when I called to tell him his first grandchild was born - my oldest son!
Thanks for reminding me about memories!

Debby said...

So many, and they are the strangest things, those memories. I'm not sure why they stick. I remember though, watching my father and his uncles pour a concrete doorstep in front of our house. I was inside the house and watched the pour. The next day I stood at the same screen door and watched my father walking on it. He asked me if I wanted to come out, and I did. I stepped on it this way and that, and my father said, "She doesn't understand why it is hardened." I remember it all so plainly, yet years later, I was amazed to see a picture of our new front porch, with me on it. I was wearing those big balloon rubber pants that babies used to wear over their cloth dieapers. I really couldn't have been much over a year old, yet I remember the moment perfectly.

Watching dust motes in the sidewalk. Listening to the train whistle from my little bed in the dark. Once a lady in a house dress stood on her porch shaking out her rugs as we drove by. I watched her and I remember that, her housedress and the flapping rugs.

Debby said...

PS: I agree. I have been really enjoying your posts.

Rachel Phillips said...

I have a very good memory, better than most people. I thought everybody had a memory like mine but as I got older I realised this is not the case. I began to wish my memory was just like everybody else's. It is sometimes not so good to remember everything I think, well for me at least, and it would be good to have some gaps where the bad things once were.

Heather said...

I can remember the day my grandmother set the chimney alight by trying to sweep it while a fire was burning. She pushed a slim branch of holly up the chimney which promptly cauught alight, the smoke from which slowed all the traffic down.
Then there was the day my father got a 48 hour leave during the war, packed hurriedly to get home and told me not to look in his kitbag. He always brought me some chocolate and of course I looked for it and cut my finger on his razor which had been stuffed in the top.
What I find curious about memory, or lack of it, is when I shop with a list I can get right round the supermarket without having to look at it, but if I go out without the list, I am stumped.

Susan said...

Lovely memories. (1) My grandmother was religious and a devoted churchgoer. She played the organ and piano at her church. She also changed churches regularly. Her religion required not eating shellfish. One Summer, at the beach house my father decided to host a lobster bake on the beach. My grandmother said she would not eat lobster. My father told his mother, she was a lovely person and eating just one lobster would be okay. She ate lobster with the rest of us. (2) While enjoying a large family holiday dinner, my favorite Uncle announced that my son was baptized Roman Catholic. I was shocked and asked when and where did this happen? I also stated: being the mother, shouldn't I have been there. He said it was not necessary and later produced baptismal papers. Welcome to my family. I had to laugh.

the veg artist said...

I am very much the youngest as well, with 16 years between my late brother G and myself. This was partly because of the war - he was born in 1939, so a long gap between him and my other brother. G left home and started work, living-in, the year I was born. I remember When I was about 3, telling a neighbour who lived further down our lane that there was a strange man visiting our house. "That's your brother." she said. "No, I've only got one brother." I said, meaning it. We never lived in the same house, never really got on, being like chalk and cheese. Too late now.

Thankfully I'm very close to my other brother, and to my sister.

Linda said...

I absolutely love to read your posts. I too have a lot of memories from the past, some funny, some just a memory of an experience. Keep posting as long as you are able.

Anonymous said...

I love your posts Pat, and really enjoyed these memories. Reading you and John lately makes me feel perhaps I will write some of my memories down.
Thank you, your blog is a joy to read.
Debbie in London xx

Joanne Noragon said...

I like your blog more and more, Pat.

Salty Pumpkin Studio said...

I remember a beautiful photo your farmer husband took of a field, stonewalls, and trees at the top. I think there were sheep there, not sure. He took good pictures of the landscapes around him.

Cro Magnon said...

re The Short Term Memory. My wife and I often laugh about the things we forget. Better that than to worry about it. Strangely, I wave wonderful recall from when I was younger; I can remember conversations word for word.

Librarian said...

The walking into a room and forgetting what I wanted there has been happening to me nearly all my life - I don't think is has to do with age, more with distraction and having one's head full of things battling for attention.
Your memories are precious and make for wonderful reading here, Pat!
I won't start on any of my own right now, as I am off to work in a few minutes, and also I'm afraid my comment would be longer than your post.

John "By Stargoose And Hanglands" said...

Maybe our short term memories have always let us down, maybe we looked in our toy-boxes as children and couldn't remember which toy we were looking for - but perhaps our long-term memory has been selective and chosen not to store those incidents for us to recall now.

Sue in Suffolk said...

There are people that I wish I had memories of. - My real dad who was killed in a motorcycle accident just a few months before I was born and his Mother - My Gran - who died a year after I was born and I have just one photo of her holding me.

Rachel Phillips said...

I wonder how accurate your memories are. As you say yourself, two people will remember the same incident differently. I would have been both livid and mortified if a brother had telephoned me about having babies.

Tom Stephenson said...

We remember the good things and the bad things, but not much in between. I used to day-dream a lot when I was a kid. I remember sitting at bus stops in my school uniform, watching the bus go off without me. Also sitting at the same bus stop wondering why all the other kids were not in uniform, then realising that term had not yet started. The walk of shame going home...

thelma said...

Such a lot of memories jostle for attention from childhood. Happy times were spent on a farm on Cannock Chase. A friend and our two horses came as well one year. We would round up the cows for milking, but more often or not, it was chasing our animals through the lanes as one of the sons used to leave the gate open deliberately. I remember as we set off to get our two and trudged for what seemed like miles, a hand pushed dustcart blocked the lane. Sweet revenge as the horses turned to face us.

stephanie said...

My son told me that when an old man loses his hat he says 'Oh dear, I must be getting old'and when a young man loses his hat he says 'Oh dear, I have lost my hat'.

The Weaver of Grass said...

Thelma - I have so many memories of Cannock Chase - spending years living in Lichfield and then Wolverhamppton we went there so often.
Good point John.

I can't comment on all your replies but rest assured I have read them all. They have given me much pleasure. Thank you. The brain is a strange thing isn't it?

Anonymous said...

Your paragraph about your brother's phone call prompted by family intervention in your married life made me gasp Pat.
It certainly was overstepping boundaries that I doubt would be considered today, particularly when IVF rounds and infertility are such an issue.
My mother's take on personal lives is that it 'doesn't hurt to ask', and there are many over the years who've thought she doesn't respect boundaries and is far too nosy in her quest to quench her curiosity about something, or impose her views. It astounds me at times and my 40 year old daughter also.
My mother also used my brother as a prompt.
I wanted a simple wedding ... long hair garlanded with flowers, cheesecloth flowing gown, holding daisies - we were in a hippy era at the time, and I loved it.
She got my brother to 'talk sense to me' (hers), and my mother ended up with what SHE wanted on the day, which I can't begin to describe, especially the dress and the veil, a style that wasn't me. My hair was styled and teased by her hairdresser, and the garland idea thrown out the window. She was ecstatic and to this day insists it was my brother's 'prompt' that saved the day., Ursula's right, some people actually steal what should be the best moments of your life.
Sorry for the rant, but boy, did that paragraph push some buttons! I don't have hugely good memories of my home life in those days to be honest, but I remember other people's kindnesses in it, and know I've learned from it... not to impose upon others, lead my life in a kind way, and to live and let live if people are happy, doing well, and not hurting others.- Pam.

Anonymous said...

I see I am late to the party. Thanks for taking the time to read the above Pat- appreciated. -Pam.

Traveller said...

II spent part of my childhood in Cyprus. For 45 plus years I had a memory of eating preserved oranges in syrup. I looked for them for many years, always excited if I saw a jar in a Levant shop that looked promising. Always disappointed. About 15 years ago I was visiting friends in Lebanon. At a restaurant by the sea dessert included what my friends told me was “bus’fair” It was the same! After one bite I had to excuse myself and go for a walk on the beach. The taste brought on a tsunami of memory of my mother. Not a specific memory of an incident but the most powerful sense of her. It was quite overwhelming.

Victoria said...

From the time I was about 2 until I was 4 or so we lived with my grandparents. It was in Colorado where the winters are very cold and snowy and I guess the house we lived in was not real air tight and so not too warm. I would get up in the mornings and go into the kitchen. My grandmother would be sitting at the counter on a tall yellow chair that had steps attached to it with hinges so that you could use it as a tall chair or pull the steps out and use it as a step stool. She usually had on a long maroon wool dressing gown and would be sitting there drinking her morning coffee. I would climb up into her lap and she would open up her robe and wrap it around me and hold me tight and I can remember how wonderful it felt to be warm and safe and with someone that you loved.