What is your earliest memory?

Toots

Toots

New Member
Location
UK
Apologies if this has already been discussed...I'm hopeless but harmless. Please make allowances for me

My earliest memory is of when I was a toddler, or even a bit less. My granny coming into my bedroom, picking me up (she was only 5ft tall and slightly built, so I couldn't have been very big) and taking me to the window to see my first snow. We lived in mid wales and snow was common every winter. I can remember as clear as day, looking across the garden and over the fields to the nearest farm which had a light on the corner of a stone barn. I was fascinated by the curtain of snow falling in front of the light. To this day, I still love snow
 

I remember being in the maternity hospital in a canvas sided cot, looking up at the nurse who was standing over it.
 
I remember being held in the arms of a strange woman and my mother waving to me from the back of a Taxi...I learned years later I was 14 months old and being left with my very first foster parent!!
 
Justme, I was born at home which wasn't unusual in those days.
I have always had a vague memory from my very early life of a doctor and nurse standing over me and examining my chest round the left nipple. I often wondered why I had a small scar there and it was only many years later that mother told me that I was born with a cyst at that point and it was thought best to remove it. Over the years I developed the odd cyst and when I mentioned this to my GP, she said that now they would just leave it alone.

I also have a memory from one day in the pram (about 1 year old) when my elder brother went to push it and mother told him not to "cowp" it. Cowp - Scottish vernacular - to overturn , spill etc..

Some people think that you don't have memories from very early life.. but you do.
 
I was born in a public house run by my parents, my earliest memory is standing up in my cot with my father not too far away and me asking for my whisky bot bot...............................my father was a Scotsman.:)
 
Capt Lightning said:
Justme, I was born at home which wasn't unusual in those days.
I have always had a vague memory from my very early life of a doctor and nurse standing over me and examining my chest round the left nipple. I often wondered why I had a small scar there and it was only many years later that mother told me that I was born with a cyst at that point and it was thought best to remove it. Over the years I developed the odd cyst and when I mentioned this to my GP, she said that now they would just leave it alone.

I also have a memory from one day in the pram (about 1 year old) when my elder brother went to push it and mother told him not to "cowp" it. Cowp - Scottish vernacular - to overturn , spill etc..

Some people think that you don't have memories from very early life.. but you do.
Click to expand...


OK, so here's a story, supposedly true, if you can believe my Mother's version, which I would like to.

I was four years old and my sister was pulling me in my red wagon. MY Mother was watching this event transpire from our front porch and although I have memories of it, I don't remember it quite like my Mother's version. Anyway, like I said, my sister was pulling me in the red wagon and all of a sudden she started to run with the wagon and then let go of the handle. The wagon, with me in it, rolled out into the middle of a very busy highway with a big tractor trailer coming at the wagon. Now, here is where my Mother's story and mine differ; she said she saw a big hand come down and turn the wagon over as the tractor trailer went rolling by. The driver stopped up the street, got out of the truck, ran back to the wagon and then asked my Mother, who had ran down through the yard while screaming until she got to the wagon, "How did I miss not hitting that wagon?" My Mother said she was crying so hard that she grabbed me and my sister and took us to the house while the red wagon laid in the gutter at the location where this hand that had come down and over-turned it.

That's the story that she always told and never wavered from it. If it was divine intervention, great, but maybe it was only seeing what she wanted to see. It's like someone once said, "Sometimes things happen that we can't explain." Maybe this story fits that theory.
 
My earliest memory is from when I think I was about two. I was sitting in my highchair and my two older
brothers came home from school for lunch and brought another little boy with them.
It seemed to stay in my memory because it was unusual for another little boy to be there for lunch.

After that I can't remember much until I was about six years old.
 
I remember my 3rd birthday party [it was the only birthday party I had ever had and would be the only one ever!]I felt very important and was stood on a table to sing a song. I sang the Guy Mitchell song that was always on our radio 'She wears red feathers', anyone remember that song?
 
I remember at five years old climbing up on a box next to a fire alarm on the corner where I lived and pulling the lever which set off the alarm that dispatched several big fire trucks. My older sister was aghast and took me home post haste and hid me under my bed. She was supposed to be baby sitting me.
 
I remember standing on tippy toes to see over the windowsill of our front room. It seemed very high up, and I could see a large grassy area surrounded by tall trees. In the center of the yard I could see a little boy playing on swing set. I remember turning around, and trying to get someone's attention, and I kept point down at the yard. I guess I couldn't talk yet, but I defiantly remember that I was wearing a saggy diaper.
One day not long before my mother's death we were talking about first memories, and I told her mine. She was surprised, and told me that I couldn't have been more than eleven months old, because I was describing where we had lived in San Francisco. We moved to Texas when I was eleven months.
:magnify:
 
This has been a good thread. I really enjoyed reading all of the stories. I find life sure can be interesting, even at a very young age.
 
My first clear memory was in 1942 at the cemetary in my home town. A cousin was killed in Europe in WW II when his plane was heavily damaged, but they made it back to England. He was a tail gunner and was dead on arrival. They brought him home to Tupelo, Mississippi for burial. I was impressed by the firing salute and scurried about picking up the brass. The soldiers took it all and explained we needed the brass for the war.
 

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