The Trouble With Memories.

The trouble with memories is that there are really 3 kinds. There are those little scenarios which you can picture, which you can remember in a visceral way, your feelings alongside the pictures. Then, there are those things which you can't really remember but that you know about because you have been told about them by others, for example your parents. These tend to give your memories a basis and a time line into which you can fit your own personal memories. And finally, there are those embellishments, added by yourself or others, which make the memories more worthwhile, or special, or simply exaggerations like those of the Marseille fishermen. Sorting out which are which becomes increasingly difficult as time passes and the bank of memories grows and one's actual capacity to remember weakens.

The last tram to run in Croydon arrives in Thornton Heath where we lived : my dad took me on this tram as a 'reward' for going to hospital.

I'll give some examples. My earliest visual memory is of lying in a bed, half awake, as two large figures appear out of a mist and approach with something quite large in their hands which I gradually recognise to be some sort of steam engine, in fact, a steam roller. I later learnt from my parents that I was actually in the Mayday Road Hospital, Croydon, and had just been circumcised, an operation that my parents felt was necessary, being as they were fundamental evangelical Christians, those who took a literal view of the Bible as the Word of God, to be followed as closely as one could. An embellishment, which may or may not be true, is that I reacted badly to the anaesthetic and had to be put in an oxygen tent which was a frightening experience for both me and them. I can't remember this myself, I was only 3 at the time, and my mother couldn't even remember me being circumcised when I talked about it to her in her later life. But I was: I have the physical proof.

By Photographer: Photobra|Adam Bielawski

Here’s a more recent and more complex example. In 1978, during Hawkwind’s tour of the USA, of which much more later, we had dinner with David Bowie in the famous Rainbow Rooms. I think he had come by way of an apology for pinching Simon House from Hawkwind to play violin in his live band for his ‘Heroes’ tour. I had replaced Simon and through that connection had got free, excellent tickets to see Bowie’s show in LA’s huge basketball stadium. All I have said up till now I know is the truth and is totally verifiable. I have always said that, at that dinner, I was sat close to David Bowie and that when he looked at me, all I could find to say was, “We were born in the same hospital, Stone Park in Beckenham”. To which he replied, “Really, and so was Peter Frampton. Small world, ain’t it.’ End of conversation. Now, this was towards the end of our tour and I was pretty wasted.

Partying night after night had had its effect. When I look back at this incident I find myself
asking whether this conversation took place, whether Bowie was even born in that hospital? Were these later embellishments? I try to sort out what my memory really contains, what was added later, the fact from the fiction. And if my life depended on it, all I could definitely say was that we had this dinner, Bowie was there – I can picture how small he seemed, particularly next to his massive bodyguard – and I was there.