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…Next came the years of unwillingly wearing a school cap of the old-fashioned British type. Firstly, the dark blue cap, with an embroidered badge, of Barnby Road Primary School and then the garish red, green and yellow cap, with a coat of arms and "Sicut Deus Vult" (As God Will), of the Magnus Grammar School. ..

Brian Barratt marvels at the extraordinary electro-chemical network comprising the human brain, which, among its tasks, enables us to record and recall the caps we wore long ago.

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Hats In My Head
Brian Barratt

The human brain has a hundred billion neurons which are connected in an extraordinary electro-chemical network by a hundred trillion synapses. Recording and recalling memories are among their tasks. Or, to put it another way:
Next came the years of unwillingly wearing a school cap of the old-fashioned British type. Firstly, the dark blue cap, with an embroidered badge, of Barnby Road Primary School and then the garish red, green and yellow cap, with a coat of arms and "Sicut Deus Vult" (As God Will), of the Magnus Grammar School.

"It is strange that the Mind will forget so much, and yet hold a picture of flowers that have been dead for thirty years or more. I remember the flowers that were on our window-sill when my mother was talking that morning..."

Those are the poetic and profound words of Richard Llewellyn, near the end of his unforgettable novel "How Green Was My Valley". It was published in 1939. My copy is of the thirty-first reprint, published in 1948. It must be one of the best selling novels ever published.

I, too, remember flowers, the flowers my mother put on the sideboard next to my bed when I had measles. Nothing grand, but simply a small upright fish-paste jar containing rich violet and deep saffron coloured crocuses fresh from the garden. And that was about 65 years ago.

My mother's domestic diary records that on 8 October 1938 she bought "Wee Willie Winkie leggings, Brian, navy corded velvet, size 7, Randalls, 12/11 [twelve shillings and eleven-pence]". I don't know if Randalls clothing shop still exists in Newark but I remember those leggings. As a rather plump tiny person, how I struggled to do up the very small buttons on the straps that went round my shoes!

Last week, I was watching (again) "My Family and Other Animals", the BBC's 10-episode version of Gerald Durrell's beautiful and very funny recollections of his childhood. Although our family was not as eccentric and idiosyncratic as his, and we never lived on the glorious island of Corfu, there was something in this film version which struck a chord in my memory. It was a hat.

Darren Redmayne, ideally cast to play the role of Durrell as a young boy in the 1930s, wore a child's felt hat with a rounded crown and a wide brim. I checked through the family photographs. Yes, there I am, walking along a street with one of my brothers, in the small seaside resort of Mablethorpe on the Lincolnshire coast. In about 1939, I was wearing the same sort of hat.

The next hat came about three years later. On 1 November 1941, my mother's diary records "Brian, blue tweed overcoat, Randalls, size 1, 25"–26", £2.9.6. [two pounds, nine shillings and sixpence]. Cap to match." It was a blue tweed flat cap with a peak. There are photos of me looking appropriately pleased with myself, wearing the new outfit.

Next came the years of unwillingly wearing a school cap of the old-fashioned British type. Firstly, the dark blue cap, with an embroidered badge, of Barnby Road Primary School and then the garish red, green and yellow cap, with a coat of arms and "Sicut Deus Vult" (As God Will), of the Magnus Grammar School.

When we moved to Africa, I had to buy a proper hat to protect my hairy head from the hot sun. For some odd reason, I chose a white trilby of the sort now worn by aged players of lawn bowls. I was about 17 at the time and the hat ended its working life about three years later. Two of us painted our faces, dressed up in silly clothes, and fooled around as clowns at a church fête. I brought my hat out of the changing room, filled it with water, and emptied it over my clowning partner's head. This fun-filled activity was repeated several times, and signalled the end of the white trilby, over 50 years ago.

The hats have long since gone but I'm so glad that the billions of nifty neurons and trillions of sparking synapses in my head still hold the pictures.

© Copyright Brian Barratt 2009