I Buried the Dead

Observation Post, Volume 1, Issue 5, 19 June 1942, Page 2

I Buried the Dead

(By The Gadfly.”) GOD SAVE THE KING” . . .1 had brought the Press to a standstill after running off the first edition, and , had sent the back pages to the comp, 1 room for later additions, and was spending a minute or two' reading the j Old Man editorial, which commenced with the words calling a blessing on i His Majesty. There was no question, I the Old Man ; could write when the j spirit moved him, and on this occasion - he had excelled himself. Meanwhile, there was.the usual back- : chat, and growling and bustling going ! on in the press-room, but this, as usual, , grew less as the time came near for the j second edition to come to light. Pinhead Suddenly the door opened and “Pinhead” the secretary came in, and immediately there was a resentful silence. He was an unlikeable fellow, small in stature and mind, with the skin drawn tightly over his face, giving it a skulllike, appearance, and his thin lips were always compressed in an irritating sneer. Those lips seldom opened, except to say something nasty. In fact,

I and this noise seemed to be almost ! blasphemously raucous, and jarred on i the taut nerves of everybody present. Wreaths were piled high on the coffin, reflecting the grief of friends and. the regrets of acquaintances, and a j following carriage was further filled j with similar tributes. The cortege moved slowly to the cemetery where the huge crowd was made larger still • by those who had gone direct thereto. The parson read the service, and as he i did so I looked around and noted that i there was not a section of the * comI munity that was not represented. , His | family, his friends, his business associates, members of his lodges and of I the various sports bodies, representatives of the political party to which he had given allegiance, and which he had served so 'well; were all there as were hundreds upon hundreds of the folk from the town and countryside. As the casket was lowered into the grave the silence was broken by a woman sobbing. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked and the sound cut dead across the ceremonies with something of a shock. A Work of Charity

taken all in all ne was a nasty piece • of goods, : having few friends, and de-1 ■ serving less. He passed the various hands at their jobs and none lifted an eye to give him a passing greeting. He went on to the foreman and stayed there a while conversing, his mouth opening as little as possible, as if, in response to the natural meanness of the fellow it regretted having to part with the words he uttered. He then passed ; back to his office, and the glowering ■■ gloom was dispelled. The foreman 1 came over and I asked what special portion of unpleasantness “Pinhead” had dug up, this time, but to my ■ surprise, there was not the usual expletive response. Instead, he looked at me quietly and said, ‘ ‘ The Old Man fell dead at home an hour ago.” “The Old Man” Passes So that was it. Old George had gone out suddenly. I felt a sense of .loss, for though not a chummy fellow, he had at least been fair and courteous, two traits that “Pinhead” had ; never known, and could never experience. The second edition was delayed and it bore the news of the tragedy. It may be voicing a cliche detested of all newspapermen to write “a gloom was cast over the town and district,” but in this case it has the virtue of being true, for the Old Man was widely known and, though not extensively popular, was certainly respected. A few days later the funeral took place and certain of the staff acted as pall-bearers, afad I, with the others attended. There was a large concourse of the public and the immediate vicinity of his home from which the cortege was to start was crowded, while a long line of cars were parked in adjacent streets. As the time grew nearer for us to leave, the low hum of suppressed conversation died awav and when the door of the house opened there was a startling silence. Slowly the pall-bearers came down the few front stens. the brilliant summer sun scintillating on the highlypolished surface of the casket with its ornate plated ornamentals glinting and gleaming, as they turned and placed it in the hearse. Heads were bared, and the silence became even more intense. It was rudely broken by the squeaking of an unoiled roller in the hearse floor

Ill' I.V.AU UWV VVXJ TT W, and with that remarkable faculty for quick changes for which the district was noted, very cold as well. I had hardly started my day’s work when the ’phone bell,went, and I was told that the local parish priest was wanting me. 1 went to the office, not feeling too pleased, for early interruptions meant hurry and bustle later, and I had always been an easiful sinner and abhored rush. The priest told me that he wanted me over at the Presbytery at 10.30 that morning, and when I mildly demurred, told me that my presence was imperative, as there was a work of charity that had to be done . . . the burial of .the dead!', The body of an old swagger had been found in a gully near the town, and a hurried Coroner ’a inquiry having been held the previous night, the funeral was fixed for 10.30 that morning. I went across and met five other men who were to be pallbearers, and together we attended the preliminary service in the morgue. As the priest intoned the prayers, I gazed at the coffin. No highly-polished casket this. Just a plain square box, daubed all over with an evil-smelling black coating of some creosote preparation which dripped in slow blobs on to the concrete floor. A mean enough box in all conscience. , Depressingly black, the only relief being given by a dazzlingly white crucifix which reposed on the lid. There was something else on that lid as well ... it was a square piece of tin, on which was painted, in an amateurish hand, the dead man’s name, and the date, with the consoling letters, R.I.P. Time came to plaice this box into the closed-in lorry which was to serve as hearse, and the undertaker gave us pieces of sacking so that our hands would be protected from the creosote. He told us on no account to attempt to use the handles. I looked at them. They were just pieces of dull tin, punched out into the shape of handles, and I noticed that one of the nails had bent over and that the board itself was slightly eracked. A Well-worn Tobaccp Tin • We started for the cemetery with the rain teeming down and the Wind blowing cold. On arrival, the crude coffin was placed at the graveside while the priest read the burial service, tlnj