Recognising these ten old-school favourites proves your recall outshines most people in their seventies
In a world where digital memory aids are everywhere, the value of human memory still holds firm — not because it’s flawless, but because it keeps us present. Memory isn’t a formal test; it’s a string of informal recollections that shape who we are and tie us to treasured moments. As the narrator puts it, “The point isn’t perfection. It’s presence.” The little details we keep, however trivial they seem, help define us.
Little rituals that spark memory
Everyday bits of life often carry unexpected meaning, popping up as small, comforting reminders. A few images stick: milk bottles left on a porch with cream floating like a little crown, or a driver waving cheerfully from the curb. Stop-offs at petrol stations — where the gas was “cheap” and the attendant wiped the windscreen in a quick, friendly rhythm — become mental snapshots of another time. The ritual of Movie Saturdays, with queues “down the block” and popcorn described as a “salty roar,” adds texture and smell to those recollections. These tiny routines help you score a “quiet pass on a memory test,” keeping rhythms in your head like coins in a pocket.
When colour brought the future into focus
The arrival of colour television felt seismic: “Colour finally washed over the TV,” changing the way shows like Bonanza and Disney looked. The glow of a neighbour’s TV seen through a shopfront window at night, and the feel of rotary-dial telephones, are the kinds of textures memory holds on to. The dial’s “soft, stubborn whirr” and the “weight of the receiver” tie you back to a time that required patience and attention. Photography worked the same way — film rolls containing ‘twenty-four chances’ made each shot count. The squeak of a photo counter and the thrill of getting prints in a “glossy envelope” are parts of that tactile memory.
Songs, steps and the hush we shared
Music weaves its own thread through memory. The first record players and albums launched family rituals and personal discoveries. Details like a scuffed wood cabinet or a “needle, tiny and daring” meant records were handled with “two careful fingers.” A song could drop you straight back into a particular room or onto a particular carpet. When families gathered around small TVs, the moon landing became a shared moment: the broadcast of the moon described as “white and brittle,” the “collective breath” as the first boot touched lunar dust, and the exact places where people sat all carved into memory.
Ink, chalk and small economies at school
School life mixed with small personal economies that mattered. Report cards carried with sweaty palms, the smell of chalk dust clapping out behind schools, and the nerves of spelling bees were part of growing up. Collecting stamps in green booklets felt like a slow but sure march towards small rewards — maybe a toaster ordered from a catalogue. Those rituals came with the “taste of glue” and the “rasp of catalogue pages,” each detail a tiny ceremony on the route of remembering.
Putting memory to the test
Memory’s beauty shows up in an old photo from 1966: a bunch of “lanky kids” tagged as “the jokester” and “the new driver.” Names come back easily, not because you force them, but because they’re tied to events and feelings. The narrator’s tales of absent-mindedness and the physical signs of getting older suggest that memory, nudged by a familiar smell or song, paints a “recognisable version of self.” As the narrator reassures, “You’re not slipping. You’re sorting. And that’s okay.”
Memory isn’t about perfect recall. It’s about spotting the “stuff that shaped you” and letting those warm moments confirm who you are. “Still sharp, still connected, still you,” the narrator concludes, capturing memory as something active and always with you.