SOMETHING TO REMEMBER ME BY

My Nanny Joy wanted us to have something to hold onto once she was gone. My cousins chose jewellery, but I felt there had to be a truer way to preserve her character and memory. I decided to make a short film to capture her life.

On a grey February day, I took my camera kit to record an interview with her and film what mattered most—the items she kept close, the quiet rituals, the principles that shaped her.

Light was whatever the day offered. The aim was to be truthful, not polished. We sat in her lounge and talked. She told some stories I’d heard many times and several I hadn’t. The conversation wandered in the way the best ones do. Between answers I filmed the small things that anchor my memory: a portrait of the family, the Rington’s tea tin, fridge magnets the family collected for her from around the world.

The filming was simple by design. I shot handheld on a RED Dragon X, suspended from an Easyrig. A lens with in‑built stabilisation kept movement gentle and present without becoming distracting. That choice let the camera follow naturally, catching the moment rather than staging scenes.

In the edit, the structure emerged on its own. I cut the interview so that her voice led, with pictures used to accompany rather than explain. A restrained grade in DaVinci Resolve stayed true to winter’s colours, and licensed music from Musicbed sat beneath her words without pushing them along.

The film ends without ceremony. It stops at the right moment and leaves space to sit with what you’ve heard.

Legacy

After we filmed, Ted—Nanny’s partner, who appears in the piece—died a few months later. My Nanny Joy passed away in February 2025.

The film has become what I hoped it would be: a small legacy made with love. It feels like her and preserves her memory for the future. Even those who will never meet her—great‑grandchildren and great‑great‑grandchildren—will be able to watch it.

It is not grand and it is not perfect, but it is true.

That’s what I wanted to keep.