Longtime Ago people

Tag: family-history

  • Dreams Made Real in Spain

    The bonds between parents and children often reveal themselves in the most unexpected ways, sometimes only becoming clear years after they’ve passed on. During a recent conversation I recorded with my brother-in-law, John, on the Mediterranean coast of Spain, a quietly profound revelation emerged: sometimes we find ourselves living the dreams our parents once had, without even realising it.

    The story centred around a son who discovered that his life by the coast quite likely fulfilled his late father’s deepest wish—to live by the sea. “I just found out the day before yesterday from my sister that I’m probably living his dream,” he told me, visibly moved. This realisation wove an emotional thread through the episode, connecting generations in a way neither could have predicted. Even when his father lived inland, he found solace in the hum of the M25 motorway, which “sounds like the sea”—a poetic detail that speaks to the persistence of our deepest yearnings.

    Music came through as another powerful bond between father and son. From Johnny Cash and Elvis Presley spinning on the family record player, to him introducing his dad to bands like Madness in the ’80s, it became a shared language. His current love for alternative country music traces back to the country melodies his father played. That focus on lyrics and musical meaning shaped his own approach to music—a musical inheritance that outlives absence.

    Above all, what struck me was the portrait of a remarkably inventive man. From hand-sewn wetsuits to early tennis ball machines and eco-friendly burning blocks, he embraced life with boundless curiosity and ingenuity. His workshop turned out satin lampshades and imaginative contraptions, though never patented—they were gifts of the moment. Through these stories, the adventurous spirit of a man who loved golf, and motorcycles came vividly to life.

    When we considered how he might respond to modern technology—mobile phones, AI, and digital photography—John believed he’d embrace it all, grounded by his DIY spirit and authentic taste. That reflection ushered in a poignant truth: “When people are no longer there, everything they ever thought or believed just disappears.” And yet, these conversations hold something precious—they preserve more than memory. They capture the essence of someone who shaped not just one life, but maybe a geographical legacy.

  • Family Memories from Post-War Britain: The Isle of Wight, Seaside Hotels, and Life After London

    This oral history captures a vivid snapshot of British life from the 1940s through the 1960s, told through my conversations with my Aunt Chrissie about her parents, Thomas Augustine Miles and Helen Gladys Reygate known as Rae. Their story begins dramatically in London, where Thomas and Helen—unaware she was pregnant—welcomed a daughter born four weeks premature, weighing only four pounds. In those days before modern neonatal care, that was a dangerously low birth weight. When doctors advised them to leave polluted London for their daughter’s health, they made the significant decision to relocate to the Isle of Wight, where Helen’s sister lived.

    That move was a turning point that shaped their lives forever. They initially rented a small house before acquiring Rose Court Hotel in Sandown. The hotel soon became central to their world, with the whole family involved—Thomas waiting tables, Helen cooking, and their children helping in the dining room and bedrooms. As the hotel operated seasonally, most of its income was generated between May and September. Careful financial planning was essential—whatever they earned in the summer had to sustain them through the winter.

    Chrissie’s recollections offer fascinating insights into post-war British holiday culture. Their guests were mostly working-class families from industrial areas like the Potteries, visiting during annual factory closures. These weren’t the package holidays to Spain that would later dominate British tourism—back then, a trip to the Isle of Wight, involving a train journey and ferry crossing, felt exotic for many working families from the Midlands. The hotel built strong relationships with regular guests, even ensuring their preferred newspapers were waiting for them upon arrival.

    Life revolved around simple pleasures. The local Catholic church was both a religious and social hub, hosting whist drives, dances, and other gatherings. Cinema outings were hugely popular in an era before television, with films changing frequently enough that locals could visit multiple times a week. Managing resources carefully was a necessity—worn bedsheets were cut and resewn to extend their use, and nothing was discarded if it could be mended.

    Later in life, Thomas and Helen moved to Steyning, West Sussex, purchasing a derelict house for around £4,000-£5,000 in 1969. Thomas, who had worked in construction, put his carpentry skills to good use renovating the property. He also worked as a steward at a Foreign Office estate, managing the bar despite being teetotal himself. Helen, meanwhile, volunteered for the hospital car service, reflecting their continued commitment to community life even in retirement.

    Talking with Chrissie also brought up stark reminders of healthcare before the NHS. She recalled waiting in long charity clinic queues, where doctors saw patients on a charitable basis until time ran out. When she needed treatment, her parents had to trek to clinics, hoping she’d be seen before the doctor finished for the day. It’s a striking contrast to universal healthcare, which would later transform life for families like hers.

    Some of the most touching moments are the insights into Thomas and Helen’s relationship. While Helen was the strong organiser, Thomas was the quiet pillar of wisdom. One memory stands out—Chrissie once found them having a cuddle, her mother saying she “still laughed at his jokes.” Another speaks to Thomas’s gentle encouragement—when Chrissie doubted whether she should complete her nursing training, he reassured her, telling her that the qualification would serve her for life rather than forcing the decision upon her.

    These recollections paint a rich portrait of post-war British family life—from economic struggles and the rhythm of tourism to simple entertainments and the adaptability required to keep moving forward. They remind me how much Britain has changed, but also how enduring family support and resilience have always been.

  • “Longtime Ago People” – Preserving Family History Through Storytelling

    When my father was nearing the end of his life, we spent hours talking about his experiences—ordinary moments, extraordinary events, and everything in between. Those conversations revealed a profound truth: once our elders pass, their stories can vanish with them. This realisation became the spark that ignited my podcast journey, Longtime Ago People.

    The podcast’s unusual name stems from a charming family expression. When my children were young, they referred to their grandparents as “the longtime ago people”—a delightful childish phrase that perfectly captured the generational gap and the treasure trove of history that older family members represent. Little did I know then how poignant that innocent nickname would become, eventually inspiring a dedicated effort to preserve these generational connections.

    What truly motivated this project was a startling question that occurred to me one day: do my children even know my grandparents’ names? This simple yet profound thought highlighted the vulnerability of family history. Each generation further removed increases the likelihood that names, personalities, and stories will fade into obscurity. Our ancestors—people who shaped our families and indirectly influenced who we are today—risk becoming forgotten footnotes in our family narrative unless we actively work to preserve their memory.

    The inaugural episode features my Aunt Chrissie from the picturesque village of Steyning in West Sussex. The setting itself carries significance—we’re recording in a house where my grandparents once lived, adding another layer of connection to our conversation. We explore when they moved there, their life on the Isle of Wight before that, and the countless small moments that made them who they were. Through these conversations, I’m creating audio monuments to people my children never had the chance to meet.

    This podcast represents new territory for me—from microphone techniques to editing skills (apparently, I say “um” too frequently). But the learning curve feels worthwhile when balanced against what’s at stake: preserving the heartwarming, funny, and inspirational moments of special individuals who have touched our lives. These recordings become time capsules of memory, allowing future generations to connect with their roots through authentic voices and genuine stories.

    Longtime Ago People isn’t just about nostalgia; it’s about creating bridges between generations and ensuring that family wisdom and experiences aren’t lost to time. In our rapidly changing world, these connections to our past become increasingly precious. I invite listeners to join me on this journey—not just to hear my family’s stories, but perhaps to inspire them to capture their own family histories before those opportunities slip away. After all, we will all eventually become someone else’s “longtime ago people,” and our stories deserve to be remembered too.