Nostalgia

 

 

Nostalgia

L.P. Hartley opened his 1953 novel, ‘The Go-Between’ with the words, ‘The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.’ Set in the late Edwardian period, the book explored the differences in moral, class, and sexual attitudes and those of the mid-20^th century.

The past may indeed be a different country, for the memories we hold are not always accurate. They are coloured by what has happened in the time since, and sometimes they are not personal memories but acquired from others through their repetition of recollections.

Recently, I have found several blog writers exploring and remembering the past. Whether it was books, or food, or friends, or games, each memory was recounted with pleasure, with nostalgia.

Nostalgia is usually defined as a longing for the past. It is compiled from two Greek words, nóstos meaning homecoming, and álgos meaning grief. It was first used in 1688 to describe the intense homesickness afflicting Swiss mercenaries fighting far from home. So seriously was it taken that it was regarded as an illness requiring treatment.

It has since developed into a description of the emotion many experience as a wistful affection for the past. The reminiscences may be melancholic, but often they are pleasant. Nostalgia is mistakenly believed to be the province solely of older generations, but I have heard young children saying, ‘Do you remember?’ and recounting events inspired by a song, a film, a photograph.

The past was a different country, a different time, when the future beckoned and life was an unknown mystery to be unravelled. It was not always a golden time, and for some it may have been painful, but in retrospect it seemed simpler and more enjoyable. Pleasurable experiences overcome and overwhelm those which are sadder, I find.

My infant school days are hazy. Mainly I remember learning to read, looking at the final pages of a book and wondering if I would ever be able to read them, and the older boys in the playground peeing over the wall, vying with each other to reach the greatest height.

At Junior school, I remember playing two balls against the wall, skipping games, collecting things, ‘pax,’ chase, a tin of cocoa powder and sugar to dip a finger into. I remember a teacher who had a clear favourite (and it wasn’t me!) and another gentle teacher who had time for everyone. I remember the outside lavatories, which for some unknown reason were called ‘the offices’ and they seem wrapped in a hazy mist of fond memory though in reality they were freezing cold in the winter and smelly in the summer. Older girls (only girls in this school) were allowed to make tea for the teachers. Health and Safety would be appalled at the thought now.

Books were precious gifts to be devoured, ears deaf to the outside world. On reaching the end, I would start again at the beginning – Black Beauty, What Katy Did, Anne of Green Gables, Heidi, My Friend Flicka, The Wind in the Willows, The Water Babies, Winnie-the-Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, The Little Prince, and so many more – they opened my eyes and my heart to a wider world. Today’s children’s classics would be rather different, I think and would include authors like Michael Morpurgo, Lynne Reid Banks, Jacqueline Wilson, Joan Aiken, Roald Dahl, Jill Murphy, among others.

Food was important, of course. Roast on Sunday, mince on Monday, cottage pie on Tuesday, semolina pudding, sometimes with jam, crumpets on a toasting fork in front of the fire, chicken once a year at Christmas (and later, at Easter), to be pulled and plucked before cooking.

Cold sheets in winter, shivering with my feet tucked up in my nightdress, to wake to Jack Frost’s artistry on the inside of the window. Hot, sticky summer nights, shoulders sore from a day at the beach. Long days walking in the countryside on my own, picking wild strawberries or damsons, or swimming at the open-air baths, eating bread and butter sandwiches with crisps when I was hungry.

Grammar school brought different experiences and the dawning realisation that not everyone was pleasant and kindly disposed. Dealing with spiteful pubescent girls, finding my way through friendships, learning who to trust. Adolescence is a lonely time for most young people, I think.

 I would not go back, even if that were possible. I look at the younger people I know and wish them strength of will, persistence, self-belief, and happiness.

L.P. Hartley's friend Lord David Cecil used the phrase, ‘The past is a foreign country’ in 1949 in his introductory lecture as Goldsmith's Professor of English Literature at Oxford. That may have been the inspiration for the title of his book.