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Memory holes in personal history.

Brummie a long time ago

master brummie
I spent my primary school years living in Fazeley Street, and have a lot of memories of both the house and school. I can shut my eyes, and walk round the house easily. Lots of events at the primary school are still fresh.

Just after I started at Saltley Grammar, we moved to Shard End. I have lots of Saltley memories, good and not so much, but the house in Shard End, and pretty much the whole area is a big hole in my memories. I can remember, just about, the Crescent, and catching the bus to school. I remember the address, but would need a map to find it.

I left Brum for further education, and have not lived there since. I returned lots of times at weekends, but no memories have stuck. I brought my girlfriend ( now wife ) back there several times, and can remember the trips back to there with her on the back of the motorbike, but nothing about being there.

I am sure nothing bad happened there to cause a memory wipeout. I have loads of memories from my further education, so the memory banks were / are still working. I read on here about Shard End, and some place and street names sound familiar, but no matching memories get triggered. I am sure Shard End in itself is not to blame for this, it is a perfectly good place to be.

Anyone else have memory holes in their history ? Perhaps these memories are password protected, and I have forgotten it.
 
That's an interesting question, especially for a history forum. I think we all have holes in our memory, wholly blanked out and probably for no good reason. Also of other things, often quite trivial, which again. for no good reason, HAVE survived.

I walked to school, every day, for three-and-a-half years, about a mile each way and across a main road. 1941-1944. I was between nearly five and finally a bit more than eight. So it must have happened on many hundreds of occasions. What do I remember? A snow drift way over my head; a dead dog in the ditch; a tank. But crossing that road, the first day I was allowed to do it all on my own, which friends I might have walked with? Zilch!

Just brief snapshots. The one time of my life which is perhaps the biggest blank is my children's growing up period, after they were no longer toddlers. I would have thought that I might have retained more than the odd snapshot of that long (and important) period. And regret that I don't. Perhaps I haven't ever tried to think about it hard enough. Of course, these days, everyone has thousands of images to prompt their memory. It wasn't always the case.

I think you have to really work at it. That's my experience, especially about the earliest parts of my life. There are flashes which hit you and you can work out when and in what circumstances an image of an experience fits into your own known history. (And where on earth does it come from, all of a sudden? And why now?) Keep thinking, and thinking hard, and see if it sparks off anything else. I'm certain that we all have far more tucked away, just awaiting a prod or other stimulus, than we can ever imagine. And what a nice surprise when it comes tumbling out. I hear people saying that they can't remember anything about x or y in their lives. I'm sure we are all different; but even so I think that often it really is there, somewhere, waiting to be retrieved, like a lost file on a hard disk. Or bits of it, at least. Writing down what you DO remember is sometimes a stimulus.

The danger, of course, is always false memory, something you were told about rather than your own experience; or something imagined; or even something that you experienced in a dream at some stage in your life. Be aware of all that, but think hard and deep and claw out what is lurking there, even if you don't really believe that it is.

Chris
 
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I've always wondered why we remember certain things and not others.

Also wonder if our earliest (or any) memories alter, almost imperceptibly, each time we recall them. The cumulative effect being that things we think remember become more and more wrong as time passes.
 
I've always wondered why we remember certain things and not others.

Also wonder if our earliest (or any) memories alter, almost imperceptibly, each time we recall them. The cumulative effect being that things we think remember become more and more wrong as time passes.
I'm sure you are right, MWS. Memory is a treacherous thing and it's sensible always to be conscious of that.

Chris.
 
You make an important point ChrisM about photos. The period for me was not very well photographed. Before times was well recorded in B&W, and after times also in colour, and then digital. When girls seriously came on the scene, lots of pictures were taken. My wife is very photographically oriented, and she can name place and date going back to when we met. That will often trigger joint memories.
Your point MWS about variability is well made. I often wonder if personal memories drift towards maximum comfort, so they are how you want them to be.
Pedrocut, do memories become infinitely stretched out at the horizon, so they cannot be escaped, and become reality?
Thanks for the comments.
Andrew.
 
One of my earliest memories is walking across the frozen lake in Brookvale park. It was so cold with freezing fog. I can remember walking half way, but can`t remember getting to the other side. In my late teens i became homeless. Can`t remember why, but let me tell you sleeping rough is not much fun. Then i joined the army, one big happy family ( most of the time ) I can`t remember my parents funerals at all, yet i can remember my lovely Westie dying in my arms & having him cremated. His ashes are buried under a cherry tree & i speak to him every day. So strange what we remember or forget.
 
I've always wondered why we remember certain things and not others.

Also wonder if our earliest (or any) memories alter, almost imperceptibly, each time we recall them. The cumulative effect being that things we think remember become more and more wrong as time passes.
Goodness MWS, that is really deep and may be more accurate that we think!
 
One of my earliest memories is walking across the frozen lake in Brookvale park. It was so cold with freezing fog. I can remember walking half way, but can`t remember getting to the other side. In my late teens i became homeless. Can`t remember why, but let me tell you sleeping rough is not much fun. Then i joined the army, one big happy family ( most of the time ) I can`t remember my parents funerals at all, yet i can remember my lovely Westie dying in my arms & having him cremated. His ashes are buried under a cherry tree & i speak to him every day. So strange what we remember or forget.
Great reflections Smudger! Fortunately, I was not homeless but I have similar memory spikes (my word) which I am sure has some significance that escapes my comprehension!
 
Like Smudger I remember vividly walking across the lake at Brookvale park when it was frozen. And things like going there for buckets of water from a standpipe during the war when the mains had been broken by bombing. I have also been stirred to remember seeing an Uncle in London just after the war by someone who has just joined us and saw an entry I had made yonks ago about my father and gun barrel browning.
Yet, like Smudger again, cannot remember details of parents funerals. I can also remember details about minor matters, but the more important things have no recollection. The way the mind works is difficult to fathom out. But I just thank the Lord that at ninety I can get up in the morning and go about my daily business without too much hassle
 
Like Smudger I remember vividly walking on the ice in Brookvale park, as well as taking a bucket to get water from the standpipe there when the mains had been damaged during the war. There are many other, what might be called, minor things such as Lily of the valley breaking through the tarmac of the pavements on Doige Road. Yet again like Smudger remember little of my parents funerals. I had an Email from someone yesterday who has only just joined the site and had seen a contribution I made yonks ago talking about an uncle [his grandfather], who I remember seeing in London just after the war.
As a ninety year old, when looking in the mirror each morning I have to query who that good looking guy is that I see staring at me.
Memories are indeed precious so keep them alive as long as you can
 
I am starting to think about writing a personal history including favourite stories to relate to family and friends .

I want to thank everybody involved in their contributions to the various forums because they have started to help me focus on specific times and places in early childhood and teenage years in Handsworth between 1943 and 1966 as back ground information for my eventual narrative text.
 
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