Books and our memories …

I think we all know that memories stir powerful emotions, I know I’ve blogged about memories before. Most memories are generated by things like a thought or a comment; it could be a smell; or a photograph but recently for me I came across one of my old books published by Paul Hamlyn titled Horses Horses Horses Horses. Immediately, I was taken back to one of my favourite photographs. A picture of Mrs Brenda Williams riding Little Model, who according to the caption below the photo, represented Great Britain in the Dressage Event at the Olympic Games. For years later all I ever wanted was a grey mare that resembled Little Model.

The book also conjured an even more vivid memory, taking me back to the summer when I was 12 and my father hired a horse from a Riding School near the Latrobe University in Melbourne, for the weekend, as my Christmas present. I remember that this horse was determined to defoliate all my fathers beautiful plants in the back yard. In fact I can see my furious father pulling several, very long, well chewed sticks of bamboo from the horses mouth and chasing the horse away with them. Which of course, had as all in stitches laughing.

I’m also reminded of some of my fondest reading memories. I was married when I discovered Gone with the Wind re-released in about 1973. I was fascinated by everything to do with Georgia and it’s red clay soil. I became totally infatuated with a town called Atlanta and that feisty, determined belle of the county called Scarlett. I make a point of re-reading Gone with the Wind regularly, and every time I hold my tatty copy in my hands, a part of me is transported back to the first time I read Gone with the Wind. I worked at a Dental Surgery and between patients I would race into the staff room to read a couple of pages. Later at a different Dental Surgery we (the staff) held watch Gone with the Wind movie nights and annoyed the dentists by reciting lines from the movie and speaking in a Southern accent for at least a week after each viewing.

Books have always been my friends, my comfort, even the reason for my existence through good times and bad. They still are. Most of the memories produced by my books are pleasant ones, however, there are some reading memories which evoke reminders of more challenging times in my life. I remember reading I can jump Puddles by Alan Marshall when I was about 9 years old during a ten month stay in hospital culminating in major surgery. Reading about Alan Marshall and the obstacles he faced as a child after contracting polio made me realise at an early age that we all have some sort of obstacles to overcome in life.

To be honest I read just about anything I believe all reading is good reading, as long as the reader enjoys the experience. So I’ll read one type of author one week then even a Mills and Boon and remain quite happy to read chick lit or a mystery the next. When I read I don’t think of my troubles at all. I live in the book, in the moment or the time in which it’s set and in a way it’s probably why I ended up writing the books that I write. Basically, I write about what I love and I guess what I know. I also attempt to write the way, the books I personally love to read are written.

So when you think about it, books are more than mere stories, they evoke our feelings and develop our senses. I feel my job as as author writing about Arabian horses is to make people reflect, and to remember why they became involved with this amazing breed in first first place. As with all good memories a favourite reading experience always stays with us. I’m sure all of you reading this blog have a special book sitting on your book shelves, ready to be re-visited and re-lived some time soon. This summer, I’ll be revisiting a few on mine so now I’m wondering if I should revisit Scarlett O’Hara. The only trouble is that every time I finish the book Rhett still doesn’t give a damn.