Summer 1946, I’ve just arrived in England from Australia. Cousin Mark back row left; Vincent back row rightSummer 1955: Vincent in Greenhayes garden1884 approx: my grandfather Vincent1892 approx: my grandmother with her grandmother
I’ve been loaned a set of family photos and it’s a voyage of discovery, reminding me of aspects of my childhood and introducing me to the childhood of my own grandparents.
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7 thoughts on “Old photos”
Fade photographs. The sorrow called the past. The sorrow of losing and remembering. Only time can erase the memories.
bittersweet fills me when I dip into one of the boxes of photos I inherited. watching the faces change with age, wondering. remembering, those I can. curious about those I can't.
it does seem that a bit of soul is trapped on the page…
Yes, Hayden, with me it is more than bittersweet – arouses memories and new understandings of what was going on that take a great deal of absorbing. I am not even sure, having ventured in a little, that I want to go much further, in writing about the more personal things that these photos evoke.
Victor, yes, I don't know if time does erase the memories. Sometimes it is possible to travel back and relive them, enough to suck from them all their juice as if they were sweet or poisonous fruit; and then discard the useless skins.
Intentionally because I don't want to jabber about the past. Anyhow, let me introduce myself. My mother named me after King Edward VIII; my father wanted to call me Victor as in Hugo. But there was already a Victoria in the family, my eldest sister. So my mother prevailed. The past called sorrow is made up of relationships, beliefs, memories, pictures, habits, conditioning, etc. And it is extrordinarily interesting.
a wayfarer’s notes 
Fade photographs. The sorrow called the past. The sorrow of losing and remembering. Only time can erase the memories.
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bittersweet fills me when I dip into one of the boxes of photos I inherited. watching the faces change with age, wondering. remembering, those I can. curious about those I can't.
it does seem that a bit of soul is trapped on the page…
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Yes, Hayden, with me it is more than bittersweet – arouses memories and new understandings of what was going on that take a great deal of absorbing. I am not even sure, having ventured in a little, that I want to go much further, in writing about the more personal things that these photos evoke.
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Victor, yes, I don't know if time does erase the memories. Sometimes it is possible to travel back and relive them, enough to suck from them all their juice as if they were sweet or poisonous fruit; and then discard the useless skins.
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Victor, I note that your blogs don't allow comments, so any dialog we might have together would take place here!
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Intentionally because I don't want to jabber about the past.
Anyhow, let me introduce myself. My mother named me after King Edward VIII; my father wanted to call me Victor as in Hugo. But there was already a Victoria in the family, my eldest sister. So my mother prevailed.
The past called sorrow is made up of relationships, beliefs, memories, pictures, habits, conditioning, etc. And it is extrordinarily interesting.
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good
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