The malleability of memory or, the biter bit

In a previous blog about a year ago (scroll down) I recalled the story of my history teacher playing us a taped interview with Kerensky, the Russian Prime Minister from 1917, who ended his days in Blackpool. Today I had the delightful experience of meeting said history teacher for the first time in over 30 years. Her name then was Gwynneth Saunders (now its Littleton; before that it was Kneebone). Like a good teacher, she put my memory straight. It wasn't Mr Kerensky she interviewed, it was Mrs Kerensky (still pretty good), and it wasn't Blackpool but Southport. Somehow my memory had mangled the whole thing. None of this matters much, but it was amusing given that in this week's Times Literary Supplement I wrote a review of four books about the British Special Operations Executive in WW2, which dealt, among other things, with the problems of relying on oral history and individuals' memories of what happened. In this minor issue, my memory proved particularly malleable or, to be less pretentious, wrong.