Boxed Past

Curled up, away from the light, are the Family's memories. Those pictures we took in 1941 on the sea front at Blackpool of Aunt what's-her-name and Cousin thingy.

We didn't write their names on the back, why bother? We know who they are, it seems like stating the obvious.

Now we are older, a new generation and their children come along and look through the box of memories. They ask us who these people are, but it's so long ago and we no longer remember. We don't remember because we didn't write their names on the back of the picture.

The faces look at us across the years in silent disapproval. How could we have forgotten?



These images are forty to seventy years old now, and they are the only copies. No-one kept negatives. 

These faces and places are preserved only as molecules of silver salts on a paper backing, yet they have survived all those years. What are the chances your digital images will still be there stored as precarious patterns of electrons in a memory stick, or a trail of dots on a DVD disk.

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