I have a theory about memories. I am not convinced about what people remember. I think a lot of memories are planted information which become translated through oral history telling into fact. That's not to support the concept of False Memory Syndrome.
As an example, I was visiting my brother a year ago and I saw my niece watching herself in the television reflection. I looked at my brother quizzically and he said, "she wants to be famous" and "we did the same thing". He said that we had a band called Flame and we were going to be bigger than The Beatles. I have to say, I have absolutely no recollection of this. My niece was six at the time so I must have been about the same age, making my brothers 8 and 10. I'm not saying my brother made it up but that I really don't remember it.
My two earliest memories are of being in hospital (about 3 or 4) and of the time a man pushed me in the swimming pool and thinking I was going to die (4 or 5). Then again, these are the two stories about my childhood that were most often recounted to me. So here's my question, did they really happen? Was the detail as relayed? Was there any embellishment? What is fact?
The other interesting thing is that my brothers remember more facts about our childhood than I do. They are older but not by that much. My theory is that they remember more because they talk about it more or hear about it more. So does that mean that it's not a memory? I have often said, "yes I do remember her" or "hmn, I vaguely recall that" and to be honest, I haven't always been clear. This is a question more than a theory. How far back do children remember? Does that vary? Depending on what?
Dad died so our memories can't be acted out again (which happened once in The Simpsons when their family album was lost in a fire). So I thought I would write down a few childhood memories in the hope that the people I shared them with can look back as fondly and with as much clarity as I do and fill in a few gaps for me when we next meet up. Today's blog is dedicated to the family - my family.
Camping trips. I really vividly remember camping. We went camping until I was about 15. That summer myself and my oldest brother stayed home and played cricket and dossed about and my other brother went on holiday with my parents and family friends. We never all went on holiday together again after that.
I remember powdered soup in metal cups at the end of the night and telling stories. I remember that my brothers got their own tents before me but the joy when I did.
I remember flying kites in Wales and 1978 in Scotland when we pinned the Scotland Team to the inside of the tent so we could support them in Argentina. I remember the time Dad left the hand brake off his car and it went rolling down a hill through somebody else's (thankfully vacated) tent. I remember being sick ALWAYS on the way in the car, that was awful.
I remember fishing with nets (I have stolen this photograph from my brother's face book page - that's him and my Dad fishing with nets in Wales). I remember our trailer that we had that always had grease on the bit that connected with the car. I remember the camping anticipation building when we did the tent dry runs, checking for bent tent poles and going to the camping shop in Batley to get new ones and more calor gas. I loved the smell of that shop.I remember mishaps - one brother's tooth fell victim to a stray Frisbee and another's eye was blackened by a golf club. I remember waking up to the smell of wet grass and the morning call of a cuckoo. I remember the wind once in Scotland when we thought the tents would blow away, that was really exciting. I recall the brick game in Shell Island and that we would always be on holiday during the old Home Nations and I would always have a kick about with my Dad as a warm up.
Family visits - We all still have fond memories of visiting our family friends in Leeds. They met when my oldest brother was born. They had a house that seemed to me to go on for ever and an outside toilet. I remember a huge big table to fit us all on. Another family friend was an only child and that was brilliant (for us) as he had loads of toys and a chopper bike with real gears. I used to enjoy visiting my grandparents and auntie, uncle and cousins. I remember fur coats and watching the wrestling on a Saturday. They ran a pub and I vaguely recall us spending a fair amount of time outside eating crisps and presumably planning our escape through the vehicle of Flame.
My best memories of family visits were coming home. I used to like the falling asleep in the car and being carried upstairs. It was my first insight into 'putting in a shift.'
Christmas - Our family Christmas times bring fond memories for me. We used to get up about 7am and open up all our presents together. We would repast over a tin of Family Circle biscuits. Then we would go back to bed (after fighting over who got to play their new record first). We would eat at 3pm when the film started, right after sneering in a socialist type way at the Queen's speech. We got to drink wine and a bit of sherry at Christmas and I would always knock the wine over all over the Turkey. Every year, without fail. Then we would lay about and eat chocolates and have Christmas cake with cheese (it's a Yorkshire thing). Then I would fall asleep on the sofa insisting vehemently that my eyes were not in fact closing but that I was merely resting.
Other random memories -
- The intense satisfaction to be derived from setting fire to paper when you are a child - lost to me now. Now I worry about furniture and rugs and all the things that really don't matter when you are young.
- Losing things - general misplacement as opposed to I had and then I don't. It usually made me late for school. Check - still got. Some things never change.
- Mishaps - 1 broken leg, 2 knee cap dislocations and 1 knee cap fracture, several wasp stings (it all makes sense now eh? - hospital and sherbet) and getting stung by a bee whilst on the way to the hospital on crutches. That makes me multiply unfortunate in my book.
- Falling in the river at the Norfolk Broads. All these dead fish came up to greet me. My parents were trying to pull me out but they were laughing too much. My brothers found a little boat and came to rescue me. I have never forgotten their calmness under pressure.
Childhood songs -
- Two Little Boys by Rolf Harris - we used to act this out.
- Kung Fu Fighting by Carl Douglas. My brother's shared a bedroom throughout my childhood. In Yorkshire, my oldest brother spent a lot of time at my Auntie's house and I got to crash out in their pad. I used to absolutely love that. Anyway, my brother's room was a veritable cave of treasure for me (all siblings know what I mean). When my brothers were out I used to go into their room and borrow my older brother's red silk dressing gown which was Kung Fu themed and dance about to this song pretending I was Bruce Lee. D - Same for your denim waistcoat by the way with Ted embroidered on the back when we had non uniform day at schools and N - your collection of rockabilly inspired neck ties.
- Lilly The Pink - the brothers sang this to me in the bath. It's pretty offensive to people with a stammer which I notice now with my adult sensibilities all attuned but at the time, it would make me shriek and splash with joy.
Flirtations with the autistic spectrum (which by the way, I think all children have to some extent) - I once catalogued all my books. I made stickers for fiction and non fiction (different colours) and gave them all codes. Talking of libraries, I once removed all the cards from the library books in Cleckheaton Library (circa 8 or 9 years old). The librarian caught me and I had to put them all back with the steam coming out of my parent's bemused faces. We had that, "er, why did you do that?" conversation and to this day, I am sorry, I really do not know. Still. Myself and my best friend once decided to catalogue the various door bells in our street, later extending this exercise to other streets. This would involve ringing the bell, running away and then relaying the tone back to my friend who would transcribe it into a notebook we kept specifically for the purpose. I also don't know what that was about but I seem to remember there being some KGB anxieties that we had at the time and a theory that we could unmask local agents via their door bell tone. I imagine the conversation would go something like this in retrospect, "yep, that's The Internationale, that's them .. we should ... er ... call someone?"
Eagle eyed middle child. My younger (he's older than me but younger than the oldest) brother's capacity for spotting treasure which we had just walked by was really annoying. It was all pretty egalitarian though. Once he found a £1 on the floor and I recall we each got quite a loot, mine including a packet of Imps and one of them got Snuff. Whilst I'm on him, specific mention has to go to the time he threw a tantrum after it was suggested he wear Rupert Bear trousers at a party. At the time I remember being filled with awe at his daring. He still has style now ;-)
Clothes - my goodness me the 70s was chock full of awful clothes. I recall a silver jumpsuit which I loved. The first time I ever got upset at the prospect of getting into trouble (which rarely happened - pretty cool parents we had / have). I had spilt yellow paint over a red Bay City Rollers homage dress. I was so upset I persuaded my brother to phone my mum at work to break the news to her. I had these red trousers and I had fallen over and mum sewed a red velvet patch onto them. She then sewed an identical patch onto a pair of her trousers. I remember discovering the sailor look courtesy of one of those great big catalogues that you would use to cut out the pictures of heads that you would paste into a notebook, the people in this now forming the lead cast in the drama you are going to write and sell to the TV people (did anybody else do that incidentally?). I got a pair of sailor shoes from the said catalogue.
Specific memories of where I grew up in Yorkshire - we used to go rambling through Judy Woods. Dad made us really dangerous swings and sing us songs on our rambles. During the summer holidays me and my brothers would go wander on the moors which sounds a bit Wuthering Heights but it was more a patch of big land in our village which at the time seemed like a different country. Sometimes we would pick gooseberries and hide in one of the static caravans that would be left over at the static caravan shop and eat them, pulling faces at their bitterness. Bonfire nights in our street were legend and I spent many years in Scotland explaining what Parkin is. Birkenshaw where we grew up was famous for it's annual show and street parade. It was a great place to grow up, lots of places to explore. I remember the smell of Kevin's Hairdressers and I also remember that I loved to play with my mum's hair and do strange things to it like put lipstick in it (which she actually didn't seem to mind).
I absolutely remember being rubbish at a few things when I was young (most of which have continued into adulthood) - playing a musical instrument (although I did write an original composition on my guitar once about a dog that got run down), dancing (apart from my ankle ligament stretching Shakin' Stevens dance which I always pulled out at parties when my personality didn't shine through), meeting people and talking to people (much better at that now, having accumulated knowledge and stories to share) and finally, cultivating a very big group of friends. I had one very close friend up to the age of ten and I often wonder what would have come of me had I married Craig Patrickson as I was supposed to.
I am still very good at some things that I was good at as a child which I am not supposed to be good at. One in particular is making myself laugh at random thoughts that intrude into my head when they shouldn't. They would usually involve self aggrandisement. The scene would go like this, "Joanna, would you like your warm milk before Mrs Thatcher steals it? .. what was that? .. ... sorry, I was stuck in some revelry that involved me scoring a goal to complete a perfect hat trick which has just secured us the World Cup, the day after I became Prime Minister.. yes, off milk please." I was at the theatre myself a year or so ago (long story, short version - went to New York, blew me away, realised I am wasting my life, wrote a diary, decided on a plan of action to improve life, one part of which was going to the theatre myself, went). So, I'm in the theatre and the following is an excerpt from my diary of the night,
"The other thing that I want to share about my night at the theatre is this. I worry that I am the only person who thinks about running (I can't run anymore so more, half limping / half power walking) up to the stage, pushing everybody else off and jumping (I can't jump so crawling) about? It's the same as I get on roads, rivers and on train and tube stations - "I could just jump". It's not a desire to jump but a knowledge that it is possible but inadvisable. I had the stage invasion thought three times tonight. Knowing me though, I would trip up on the way and have to pretend that I had taken a wrong turn on the way to the toilets, skulk back to my seat, my dreams of stardom dashed by the curse of clumsy f**kerness."
I still get that voice that says, "Do it!!!" As I get older it is more prominent at things like the Doctors, supermarkets, buses or when dealing with any form of soul crushing and unnecessary bureaucracy.
The clumsiness is still with me and my current state of incapacitation has facilitated a longer than usual indulgence of retrospect. A few final memories to share - the first time we voted, the first time we fell out and then back in again with somebody, coveting over people's food and remembering feeling that when I am older I will be able to buy myself all the food I want, pets coming and going, Avon Ladies, the man from the Pru, thinking school work was far too much of an imposition on childhood and TV, hurting your fingers playing with conkers, losing physical fights with older siblings, getting your tea made for you and thinking life would get better. It did in some ways but I had a good start I seem to recall, now. I hope this has helped others to remember a few too.
I haven't really come to any conclusions about the memory / oral history conundrum but I have come to one conclusion which is about making the most of the time we have etc. Sorry but this is the bit where I get a bit soppy. Recently my brother and I shared hard drives and I was going through his again and came across The Living Years. It sums up quite a bit about some thoughts I have (brought on strangely by deciding to do something at my work which I think would honour my Dad). I've posted it here. It fits what I meant to achieve by this particular blog. Jolly nonsense will return soon.
