Boudica's Roar

I have a memory of a cool banister, under my hand. The ridges of wallpaper, at the top of the stair. The tiled sills, cool to touch. The good sofa, smooth with piped edges. The stones in the box, inlaid with shell. The click of the light – on / off.

I am awake-dreaming. I am recalling the memory of a red brick house which was once my home. This remembrance is not just in my head – its trace flows to the tips of my fingers.

What magic is this? How can I recall these nooks of a place, 12 years on? It seems our sense of touch or haptic memory is more enduring than first realised.

Studies suggest that, moments of touch – the memory of an object – it’s dimensions and texture, can last long after that point of contact.

This fascinates me. As humans we hold onto certain memories like a raft sometimes. Whilst remembrance can be selective, looking back can help us understand our past and face our futures.

In a year when we’ve been kept from loved ones, it makes sense for us to hark back. Covid has raised our present and past senses. At times, a flood of feeling has knocked us sideways. Maybe this is catharsis of sorts? Out of control, we’re anchored by memory points; our nostalgia soothes us.

Then I get to thinking, what of those fallen by dementia? The loss of memory in times like these is all the more cruel. The half familiar faces crowding at the door way, unable to come close.

Whilst true, haptic memory is more elusive in dementia patients, scientists have found peripheral tactile stimulation impacts visual and verbal memory. It seems that ‘touch’ remains a powerful, enriching sense.

So, my retracing of steps makes all the more sense right now. Whatever our state of health or mind, the anchors of memory can hold us.

I have a memory of a cool banister, under my hand. The ridges of wallpaper, at the top of the stair. I visit there from time to time, it reminds me of where I come from.