By Dave Wilde, Co-Founder of En-dash
A single note. The way a word is sung. That’s all it takes to kickstart an earworm inside you, leading you into an entire song when that particular tune couldn’t have been further from your mind. The power of old photos can evoke memories and feelings that words alone cannot express.
If you’re a thirty-something reading this, the first two seconds of Phil Collins’ ‘In the Air Tonight’ may transport you back to the famous Cadbury’s drumming gorilla, grinning ear to ear at the telly as the giant beast breathed deeply for the big moment. Or even to Mike Tyson hilariously hushing the cast of The Hangover and drumming along to the solo before knocking out Alan in time with the beat.
However, if you were a twenty-something in 1981, it’s possible that this intro takes you back to a moment entirely more meaningful. A car journey on the way to a first date, nervous and anxious for the night ahead, which later turned out to be a successful first evening with the girl who became your future wife. Or perhaps, it was the New Year’s party where you and several of your friends drunkenly drummed along on upturned saucepans in the kitchen whilst belting out the lyrics at the top of your lungs, one finger in the air, gesturing to one another to ‘hold on’.
Perhaps it takes you back to a moment of quiet reflection as you sat at the back door looking up at a clear night sky following the loss of a loved one; wondering if there is more to this life than we know and desperately hoping that there is for the sake of those lost.
What begins as a couple of beats from a Roland CR-78 drum machine leads us to something far more personal and deeply meaningful.
Over the past few months whilst developing what we do at En-dash, it has dawned on me how all types of media have the power to do this for us. And as I sit here late in the evening downloading my thoughts onto paper, it makes me feel immensely proud and privileged to be creating a company that helps so many people revisit the melodies that make up the music of their own lives.
To many, this may sound like a late-night whimsical pondering. ‘How can a picture frame make a difference to people’s lives?’
And so I’ll try to explain in the best way I can.
Let’s begin with my Aunty Dawn. Aunty Dawn was an incredible lady, who was profoundly and increasingly disabled since her teenage years due to a rare type of arthritis, osteoporosis, and multiple other medical conditions that left her wheelchair-bound and in tremendous pain for most of her adult years.
Despite this, she would always welcome you with a smile.
She was an infectious chatterbox with sharp wit and a dark sense of humour; resilient and brave to the nth degree. A huge cat lover and a keen sports fan, despite never being able to play many of her favourite games herself. She was a genuine soul and the most resilient person I have ever met.
During her final months in hospital following years of dialysis and battling through more scares than a cat with nine lives could have beaten, I visited her to find her uncharacteristically low and struggling to put on a brave face against the unrelenting illnesses she faced. It was clear that she would not be with us for long.
We tried to make polite conversation with one another despite her obvious discomfort, and despite having a fantastic relationship with my aunty, I was lost for words. The usual ‘how are you feeling today?’, ‘what you been up to?’ and ‘I hope you feel better soon’ seemed redundant and inappropriate considering her situation. Her short, single-word answers made it clear she just didn’t feel up to the normal chit-chat whilst fighting her own battles.
Her only son had recently broken his fib and tib in a football accident and could not drive in to visit without a lift, meaning she had fewer visitors than usual. It was clear that she was finally losing the will to keep the inevitable at bay as she bravely fought against the odds towards a recovery that this time just seemed too far out of reach.
That seemed true, until I showed her some photos I had found whilst putting together an album for an En-dash Memory Frame for my Nan.
‘I’ve got some old photos to show you if you’d like to see them, Aunty Dawn,’ I said, half expecting her to reply with a thanks but no thanks.
Instead, holding my phone where she could see the screen without needing to turn her head, I showed her photographs of her and her late husband Chris, both dressed in double denim, sat together on a white plastic patio chair in a garden somewhere I did not recognise.
‘Can you remember where you were here?’ I asked.
She thought for a minute and replied quietly, “Oh wow, yes that’s Uncle Austin’s house. We’d ridden over on Chris’s motorbike to say hello and this was taken in his garden.” A small smile crossed her lips which had previously been pursed in pain.
‘I’ve got some more,’ I said, and held the phone out so that she could see photos of her and her Dad on her wedding day, smiling ear to ear and squinting into the sun outside of the church where she was wed. Pictures of her, husband Chris, and her son Michael sat on the train ride at Pecorama; a place they always visited every year because of Michael’s love for steam trains and Dawn and Chris’s love for a decent cafe.
Before long, Aunty Dawn was asking if I could adjust the bed and help her to sit up so she could ‘see properly’. And almost miraculously, the lady of whom I genuinely believed I would not likely have the chance to see again had perked up beyond belief and was asking if I had any more photos.
I know that it sounds dramatic, but the photos brought a spark of life back into her being. It was clear to see that the spark had stoked something inside of her, and before long she was recounting how her and Chris had met, how they and Grandad had gone to Land’s End with Michael, and how somewhere at home there was a picture of the giant cat ‘Tigger’ that she had owned for years that showed just how enormous he was. And how he had such a temper that when he got mad he would try and pin you into a corner. And so on.
It would be no exaggeration to say that looking at the photos brought her back to life again when she was at a point where she looked like she was ready to give up.
We sat and reminisced for over an hour. One story led to another, and I can honestly say that I learned more about my Aunty in that one visit than I did in all the years that I knew her. Simply because of a handful of photos that instantly took her back to a place where she was happy and young and able.
In those photos she was no longer a patient, hoping for a change in the tide. She was a student in one, a mother in another, a smiling twenty-something woman out with friends in another.
You couldn’t just see the joy it brought her. You could feel it.
Her mind was transported elsewhere and gave her the power to sit up and chat away the day when two minutes prior it already seemed too late to have a meaningful conversation, possibly ever again.
On that day, those photos created a moment that I am so grateful I got to share with her. And they were the only thing that could have created that energy at that time.
As fate would have it, this was the last time I saw my Aunty Dawn before her passing. A series of coughs and colds meant it was too dangerous for us to visit her again before she slipped away. But there is no denying that those photos gave her strength to carry on a little longer. I know this because before I left, she asked if I could bring some more in next time.
And boy, do I wish I could have done just that.
It’s times like these that make me certain that the simplicity of our Memory Frames is going to have a real positive impact on people’s lives.
Having instant access to a digital memory portal with photo, video, and audio content that is special to you and the ones you love will ignite many conversations between generations. Grandchildren will gain insight into the lives of the people they call Granny and Grandad. Parents will look back at their first moments of a life they created with their partner, as younger, bleary-eyed versions of themselves stare back at them through the screen, bringing back memories of happy, sleep-deprived years raising children together all those years ago.
Hours and hours of stories will be told as families tap the frame and are transported back to the moments that matter most.
These are the ‘En-dash moments’ that make life worth living; and are always so easily forgotten when carried away by the current of a busy life.
The En-dash Forever Frames make it so easy to access a private digital portal with every type of media to nudge your memory of what matters most. In my opinion, it is the closest we can get to bottling up a moment so that you can live it again and again.
If one day you decide to purchase one, I hope that your frame brings you moments like it did for me and my Aunty Dawn. I only wish we’d created En-dash Memories sooner so that there was more time to share more happy memories.
Finally, please take my advice and take a moment to look back once in a while. If you’re seeing someone you love this weekend, get the kettle on and get the photo albums out.
I’m sure you’ll learn something you never knew before, if you only take the time to ask the questions.
Dave Wide is the co-founder of En-Dash Memories, a project built around a simple belief: the small moments in life are often the ones that matter most.
Inspired by the dash between the two dates on a headstone, Dave created En-Dash to help people capture stories, memories, and messages that might otherwise be lost to time. Through thoughtful keepsakes, memory frames, and digital storytelling, his work encourages people to slow down, connect with loved ones, and preserve the moments that truly define a life.
Alongside En-Dash, Dave is passionate about heritage, storytelling, and uncovering the human stories behind places, families, and communities.
