Oxford Blind Writers
Gerald Quilty
My Memories Are All in a Song
‘My Lady D’Arbanville, you look so cold tonight. Your legs seem like
winter and your skin has turned to white.’
These were the opening lines to a vinyl record that was the first LP
bought by my very elder sister when I was a mere twelve years old. This
remains my best memory of her, and it still brings a smile to my face,
which I’m sure is the way she wants to be remembered. That record meant
so much to her because it was the first she had bought with her very own
money. This was the wages from her Saturday job and must have taken
several weeks to earn.
She began with being totally obsessed with the singer Cat Stevens,
because as soon as she came into the house, it was up to her room, and
put the record on. Not too long after she had bombarded the family with
the tunes from this record, it became the turn of my second eldest
sister to be a fanatic of this singer, and it was her turn to keep
playing the record at every opportunity. Then not long after her playing
‘the one song that she really adored’ the very first scratch or two
started to become noticeable.
Long after she had grown up and become less fond of the singer, it was
my turn to be the owner of this prized possession, and just like the
others, I had my favourite tracks that I attempted to pinpoint with the
needle each time I put it on. Then it wasn’t long before the scratches
became very, very noticeable and in certain spots the needle refused to
go any further and just played the same word again and again.
My poor younger sister complained very loudly and bitterly of the
mistreatment of this precious record, not long to be hers.
I’m sure this seems a very unusual way of recalling somebody so close
and dear to you. But I’m certain that she knows my reason why, and I
hope to God it can still put a smile on her face.