I know what you mean, Adrian. When we were children we were the same but with
photographs. We used to love opening the
big brown drawers and remove the Kodak yellow and the Boots black envelopes,
each filled with a film’s worth. Or the
large school photographs. Or the album
with the couple walking on a beach at sunset.
We had seen every single one before, always knew what was
coming up, whether it be baby photos, family holidays or back garden
snaps. We would sit in a line on the
sofa, the initiator at one end removing each set of photographs and passing them
down, followed by the envelope for their safe return. And we would marvel at whatever was in each
picture- remarking, maybe, on me in a pink coat at Hastings, or Sarah (possibly
David) dressed as Mr Sneeze, or Rachel in David’s arms with me and Sarah all
sat on the bed (on which I was born) or Dad’s long hair or the bell bottoms Mum
cursed every time- almost as if viewing them for the first time.
Long afternoons in school holidays ran in this way (and
occasional bonus sessions when relatives were around). Even then there was a need for memory and
nostalgia, to look backwards at what once was to ensure it was real and not a
dream or false memory.
So, yeah Adrian, forty years may have passed between our
childhoods but not a great deal changes in the lives of children.
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