Earliest memories: Part 1

I wrote the following some while ago and thought I had published it, but either I hadn't or else I had accidentally unpublished it. So here it is, but as I now have more material I want to share it will have to be renamed with "Part 1" in the title.

Possibly my earliest memory is sharing a bath with my older sister and somehow slithering around so that I was face down in the water, at which I made such a commotion that I was quickly rescued. This occurred more than once so that taking a bath became a dangerous mission. For me to remember this at such an early age, it must have been very traumatic and may well be why I still easily panic when out of my depth in water.

I've noted elsewhere how I distinctly remember posing for this photo, feeling the coarse sand-dune grass scratching my body. I like to think the location was our favourite holiday haunt Brea Hill, Daymer Bay but I cannot be sure.

I remember, pre-school, standing, legs apart, on the dining room fireplace hearth and swaying from one foot to the other whilst enquiring of my older sister what was school like, and then years later asking her what senior school was like ("Physics" - 'what's that?', "oh ever so boring, all about light and speed and weight and stuff" - 'sounds very interesting to me!')

Pose for annual official photo at APS

Of course I remember my first day at Alresford Preparatory School ('APS', a dame school), at least I remember being introduced by my older sister. My older sister comes into many of these tales. I can remember not wanting this cheap toy telephone to be in my official photograph but being told to pose like this. Back then the government provided all pupils with a third pint bottle of milk every day and this we consumed via a straw. In the winter it was sometimes frozen and I remember the disgust I felt at the teacher saying it was "just like ice cream". Adults sometimes say ridiculous things to children and expect them not to be taken in. On one occasion I tried blowing instead of sucking through the straw, with disastrous results. But it was only an experiment - how else does one learn? 

My mother and me

That's my mother, just how I remember her: this picture still gives me a lump in my throat. Memory is so frustrating: I feel like I ought to be able to recall, oh, so much more but in fact I remember so little about my parents, good as they were. She loved flowers, that much I can remember - and her signature meal was roast lamb with all the trimmings (which would include Yorkshire pudding even with lamb).

We aggravate the world by first being born then, in order to stay alive, by consuming its bounty until we die and rot in our graves leaving behind no more than an aroma and a feint but gradually vanishing memory in the minds of those we came in contact with.  Such is life and what is achieved?  All is vanity!