
Momento memori : The book of the dead
It was customary in Victorian times, especially in the middle and upper classes, to take photos of those who passed over. The photo was thought to house the soul of the deceased, before they moved on to wherever departed souls go. Momento mori, literally translated “remember that you have to die”, were usually treasured items. These books were kept as heirlooms and the Victorians recognised that we humans were transient. We were expendable. Death was natural and inevitable.
It was very common for babies to die, and to have photos taken with their siblings, loving grandparents cradling children lovingly in their arms as they would in life.
Somehow taking photos of their nearest and dearest before they went cold kept them alive and well in their memories. I often think if people browsed through these photo albums which in this day and age seem macabre and horrific. Maybe referring to old uncle Albert who died of the flu, and keeping their memories alive in the memories of their children. Some of whom might listen attentively to stories of people they’d never met, but stared ardently at their last remaining black and white stills. I had one very strange encounter with one of these books. Sit back and relax, and I shall tell you a little story. Now I love a bit of creepy, but it isn’t so nice when it happens to be happening to you. There is nothing wrong with spooking yourself out reading a bit of creepypasta and who knows, this story is true. But you might want to leave the light on to read it!

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hush little baby don’t say a word…
I had a very rudimentary camera phone at the time, and tried to send my mother a photo of the pages. None of these would turn out. They wouldn’t be sent, the MMS refused to send, the photo would be too blurry, or my mother would receive a black square on her mobile phone, or a download link saying so and so have tried to send you a photo please download from the internet. So I tried my quite expensive SLR. Same. Black photo, big blur. It was really strange, the book just didn’t want to be photographed.
So, I decided to place it in my bag and take it up there. Every time I arrived at my mothers’ having packed the book safely in my bag, it was gone. Three times I tried, and each time, the book would be back on the sofa where I had left it. I started to feel like I was losing it. Seriously I’d make sure the book was in my bag and voila after a ten minute drive, it was gone.
I never worked out why the book didn’t want to leave. Maybe our house was its resting place. But it didn’t want to come with me when I left in 2010 either. It stayed right where it was, back in the attic. I think it felt like it belonged there. We had many happy years in that small house. But even terraced houses have their secrets. And that gorgeous leather bound book, wanted to remain just where it was found. At home.
Mum to 3, journalist, blogger and passionate Welsh girl. Well travelled and powered by caffine
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What a great coincidence that house being in your family before. And I think you did the right thing by leaving the book. How fascinating these photos are!
I was really spooky I must admin it had more more than a little bit rattled!
It was really strange to be told this after the fact to be fair!
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