The auction of memories

When my father died we auctioned off his memories to help towards the funeral fees.

There was some initial interest from historians in his war memories, but there were no serious bids, because he was never in the front line. He spent two years in the army workshops whilst waiting to be trained as a flight engineer, eventually he was sent to India, where he spent six months in jungle training, then another six months sitting around waiting for the powers that be to decide where he was needed. The war ended before he had fought anything more deadly that the various fevers and bugs that attacked him in India. Three years of military service and nothing of historical importance to show for it. We managed to sell a few picture postcard memories of the Taj Mahal and the Himalays, but that was all.

My biographer purchased a few memories from my childhood, though I kept most of these for myself. My dad’s employer bought a few confidential memories to stop them falling into the hands of a rival firm, others were bought by friends and a smattering of memories went to collectors, museums and schools.

In all an entire life’s memory raised less than £1,000, almost nothing.