When I was a child, my grandmother came to live with us. Born and bred in Yorkshire, she still had a strong Yorkshire accent after half a century of living in Surrey, where she and her husband moved after their first child was born. Here's a photo of her with me and our dog Bumble (a long time ago, obviously).
One of Grandma's favourite sayings was "I've that many stories to tell, I should write a book!" In fact her stories were almost on a tape loop, consisting entirely of things she wanted to remember, and many that made her laugh, As a teenager, I'd bring my friend Gina home for tea sometimes after school, and buy jam donuts on the way - just so we could hear her jam donut story. It went like this:
"Our Pauline once had a job int' donut factory, but she got t'sack for putting too much jam int' donuts!"
She'd laugh at the memory, and being mean teens, we'd laugh too, but only because we'd set her up to tell the same old tale. Of course I'd love to hear her tell it again now. To this day I miss my grandma and her collection of stories, and regret not asking more about the rest of her life outside the golden moments. Things my mother told me later, that grandma never mentioned.
Like how Grandma was the one who found her father after he'd slit his throat in the bath, the year before she was due to be married. About her child, Bessie May, she'd loved so much, who died of pneumonia when only two years old. The tragic side of the life of a woman who was the thirteenth of fourteen children, had knitted socks for a brother fighting in the Boer War (she told me about that herself, though the story was about learning to knit socks, not what happened to the brother). She'd survived two world wars and a lot of harrowing experiences. But the stories were always about holiday larks, and pranks her Percy (my grandfather) had played, and fireside tales of her family life back in Yorkshire. The first car that drove through her village, the first aeroplane she saw. Things of joy and wonder. And I admire her for having such a wonderfully selective memory. Seeing the best in life.
Of course, many people want to relate the sad, or tragic elements of their lives, and their stories are equally valid. I'm currently on a memoir writing course - not because I want to write my own memoir, but because remembering forgotten aspects of your own life is a fascinating exercise, and I'm really interested in how everyone tells their stories.
The course is held by writer Jenny Alexander, who holds inspirational workshops on various aspects of writing (see https://jennyalexander.co.uk/) for anyone of any writing ability. In the memoir writing workshops, I'm learning that by focusing in on something small - a favourite object or perhaps one seemingly insignificant experience - you can suddenly bring back memories of an entire era in your life.
Whether you're interested in memoir writing or not, focussing on detail is an important key to any story. I see an element of truth in what my grandmother said all those years ago. You don't have to write a book about it, but we all have interesting life stories to tell. AI just steals stories from us. If nothing else, writing about your own life reminds you that you have something AI can never have - lived experience.
by Lu Hersey
PS Here's my grandma's Yorkshire parkin recipe, hand written by her. One of my favourite memories is the smell and taste of her wonderful parkin...
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