“Memories at 78 RPM”

By P.S. Gifford

I always find it odd when an old deep forgotten memory surfaces unexpected. I had a remarkable experience with that last night. In fact the impact is still being felt today.

Last weekend while out dutifully Christmas shopping I spied it in our local discount store. At first glance I simply knew that I must have it, despite it costing $100.00 A modern record player, CD player combo. Styled as if it was designed in the fifties. Now, the trick was to convince my wife that I was deserving of an early Christmas present. Somehow fate was on my side. She was happy, well, she was shopping, and that always brings my wife happiness. She gave in; I proudly put it in the cart. We could have spent the next twelve hours shopping now, I had my prize.

That night I eagerly brought it into the house and set it up in our bedroom. I then raced downstairs into the garage. Where hidden in storage containers under the Christmas decoration lays my old record collection. Clearing off the cobwebs I collected several records from the late 1970's and raced enthusiastically back upstairs to play them. It's a funny thing, despite all of the new technology and enhanced sound reproduction, there is something magical about a record.

As I played, danced and smiled, I noticed that my eleven year old son was looking curiously at the "contraption". Then it occurred to me he had never seen a record player before. He hasn't even seen a cassette tape. He looked at amazement as I delicately removed the twelve inch black disc from its sleeve and placed it onto the turntable, then shook his head in disbelief as I proceed to make it spin, and put the needle onto it. As my records have been well played over the years they crackled and snackled until the music began.

Over the last week, I have been dutifully cleaning and playing a wide range of records, each one conjuring up its own memory. A lot of these songs I had not heard in fifteen or twenty years.

It was yesterday, that investigating further into our storage facility known as the garage I stumbled upon a smaller storage container. I pulled it into the center of the garage, and with my dog Chester cautiously sniffing at it, pulled the lid of. My eyes opened wide in amazement at what I saw. The records I had owned as a child. I examined each record cover with loving eyes. I was the youngest of the three of us, my brother is ten years my senior, and my sister arrived three years after he did. As a result there were lots of children's records from the fifties, which I sort of inherited. Now, these records were mainly 78's. Now, I have not had a player that I could play these on in twenty five years. In fact the last time these were played was in the 70's, an old radiogram, which was one of those massive, hi-tech pieces of equipment, fashionable at that time.

Last night I sped up with much haste and played them. Some where just people reading nursery rhymes, others were silly ditties. Each one made me cry, as each one evoked memories. I was suddenly three years old lying on my mothers lap as she sang along to the melodies. Or I was five years old dancing in our living room on a sunny day as my mother worked the front garden. Yet, another I was four singing along as I helped my mother bake. I cannot fully express how jubilant I felt. Despite my mother being in heaven for over ten years, for those moments she was there again

with me.

Those cracked old pieces of vinyl forty and fifty years old are now amongst me most treasured of possessions, In fact I think I shall bake some strawberry jam tarts and have a pot of tea, and play a few more.