Memoir sits with them for a gentle chat, asks the next warm question, and turns each conversation into a story your family can read, hear, and keep.
Nothing is shared without your approval. Their recordings are kept so your family can preserve and revisit their stories.
A story from Nan · 12 March · sample
Hear it in Nan's voice
0:00 / 2:42
Betty sewed her own dress the week before the 1962 Camperdown dance, working at night so no one would see. She wore it with her sister's good shoes, a size too small. Tom asked her to dance twice — she said yes both times.
“I didn't tell my mother — she'd have said it was too much fabric for one girl.”
People & places
Just a conversation
The iPad shows one calm screen with one big button. They tap it and talk, the way they always have — every word appears in large print as they speak. If they’re not up for it today, that’s fine too; they can stop any time, mid-sentence.
A gentle ritual: one sitting, one warm voice, one new story.
Put Memoir on the iPad, choose the first question, and hand it over. Five minutes, once — after that, one tap opens their story session.
A warm, unhurried voice asks one question at a time and listens properly. Every word appears in large print on the screen, and they can stop whenever they like.
Each conversation becomes a memory card — their words, their voice. You read it first, fix any names, and nothing reaches the family until you say so.
This is a promise to your family, in plain words. Your recordings are kept so your family can preserve and revisit your stories — and you stay in charge of every one.
You see every story first. The family only ever sees what you have approved — that rule is built in, not a setting.
If there is a topic they would rather leave alone, it is never raised again. Not reworded, not revisited. Never.
We keep the recording exactly as they told it — the pauses, the laugh, the phrasing. We frame it; we never dress it up.