What is your earliest memory?

When do we start remembering people, places, experiences? I have a good memory of family life from the age of two onwards – but there are glimpses of earlier times.

When do we start remembering people, places, experiences? Picture: istock

What is the earliest memory you can recall? Indeed, when do we start remembering people, places, experiences? I have a pretty good memory of family life from the age of two onwards, which I will come to later. But there are also other memories, just glimpses perhaps, of even earlier times.

I think I can recall being bathed by my mother in the kitchen sink as maybe an 18-month old. (Not sure about the hygiene of this practice, though clearly I survived.) It may be that I have simply commandeered a family story into my memory bank. I can’t be sure.

But I do know that I have a memory from the age of two. In December 1958 my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, and given a few months to live. My parents planned a trip to Melbourne to visit her at the Alfred Hospital. I was to be left behind together with my younger sister in the care of family friends.

I was distraught. I possibly had a kind of separation anxiety; I was, after all, only two. The issue wasn’t so much that my grandmother was ill – rather it was that my four older siblings were also going to Melbourne. Indeed, after visiting the hospital there was a plan to visit the Melbourne zoo. I desperately wanted to go to the zoo too. I think I put on a bit of a tantrum.

The couple with whom my sister and I stayed were friends of mum and dad. Their family was similar: lots of kids, nothing fancy about their home. I quickly discovered they were the loveliest of people. The mum, Moira, was warm and happy, and so too was the dad, Mick. All the kids were welcoming and, as we would say today, they were inclusive too.

The reason why I can remember this experience in detail is because of their warmth, the sunniness of the weekend, and the fun of being part of another large family. Plus, and this is the reason why my stay was memorable, they had a pet tortoise I found fascinating.

My uncle came down from Sydney a month later for my grandmother’s funeral. He took a colour photo of me with my older sister. That photo signals the start, I think, of my lifelong capacity to remember things, to form an impression, to hold a view. In that weekend with family friends I witnessed love and happiness in another family. I was growing up.

The reason why I am curious about the age at which it is possible to remember things is that I now have two grandchildren, the latest arriving a month ago. And while grandkids are (or should be) loved at any age, there is a sense with grandparents that a slowly closing window of time and fate shapes their ability to interact with, and to leave an impression upon, those who will carry their DNA forward.

I never really knew my grandmother who died in January 1959, because fate (and cancer) predetermined that our lives would cross for barely two years. And much of that time I cannot remember. However, even though our earliest memories might start somewhere around two years of age, grandparents are able to find reward in simply giving affection and love to their family’s newest generation.

It’s a bit like that family I stayed with; giving love and support to friends in a time of need, and to kids especially, is of itself a rich and rewarding human experience that can reverberate through the decades.