A Memory of Keys
Do you ever pause and consider keys and locks? There’s a strange mystery and magic to these, enhanced by a rich and long history of fairy tale and folklore surrounding both, a tradition which only continues to grow.
When I was little, I never had a house key. I never needed one, I was either with my parents, or one of them (Mum, usually, always) would be at home. My Dad had a giant bundled bunch of keys, despite many of them apparently being for locks he either no longer had access to or had forgotten their use. I found this strange, until I met others who had the same habit, keeping keys forever, despite no longer knowing what they did. One friend had a bundle of thirty or more, shards of his home history carved out in metal, the latest rental marked with a piece of sticky duck tape, his leather jacket pocket misshapen and weighed down.