When I was a Sailor.

Pam and Peter, gushing over old memories.

Peter, who was a sailor for many years, displays his old sailing maps, proudly modelling the cap and pipe which never left his side when on the water. “When I was a sailor…” he says, as each item he picks up washes him back into oceanic memories.

He speaks of fond memories sailing with his crew, and how he was the best at his job. “I was the map reader”, he declares proudly, spreading his navigation tools across the table. Then, disappearing, he returns with whiskey tumblers and pipes — “the sailing essentials”.

Pam, who stayed at home, speaks mostly of family. She produces a well-loved box and exposes its insides. In the box are hundreds of letters and photographs which she has preserved for decades, each neatly protected in envelopes and loose newspaper pages. She talks of her life at home raising their children and points to smiling faces in well looked after black and white photographs.

Her face freezes as she pulls a hand written page of writing from the bottom of the box. A poem. She reads the first few lines, “ladies here and ladies there, ladies about and everywhere, ladies short and ladies tall, ladies around and over all…” 

When finished, she pauses before closing the lid, as if needing a moment longer in the past.

With every item shown, story told, and quote recalled, momentary eye contact and brief hand touches communicate words only the other can translate. It’s in these moments that memories have become a time machine to a life once lived, only to be fully understood by those who experienced it.