Worst first day at work.

[vernon]

Yesterday I visited pensioner pal of mine in Darlington. I was telling him about the tiny Commonwealth Graves Commission cemetery in the corner of the main cemetery at Bray-et-Lu that I visited last week while cycling the Avenue Verte and how shocked I was at the ages of the combatants: 17, 19 and 21.

"I remember my first day of work." He said. "I left school on the Friday and I started working for the Post Office on the Saturday morning. It was 1942."

"Where's this going?" I thought.

He continued: "I was given a bicycle and a dozen or so telegrams to deliver." He continued. "Every one of them was a notification of the death of a member of the armed forces and I had to hand them to the next of kin. Sometimes a delivery took half an hour because I had to pick up the collapsed recipient, drag them into the sitting room, see that they were OK, make them a cup of tea and try to offer some form of comfort. It was a bloody difficult thing to do for a fourteen year old. When I got home after work, my mother asked how the first day had gone. I warned her that I was going to swear and told her that it was bloody awful and explained why. She suggested that on Monday instead of going direct to the address on the telegram, that I should knock next door and get a neighbour to accompany me so that they could deliver the bad news instead of a total stranger and that they could offer support leaving me to go to the next home."

I was rendered speechless.

 

[stephec]

I finished a book not long ago about children's involvement in WWII, from cabin boys who were torpedoed, kids who joined up underage, ones in the home guard, to stories like the above, it's a really good read if you like that sort of thing.

 

[ScotiaLass]

Yesterday I visited pensioner pal of mine in Darlington. I was telling him about the tiny Commonwealth Graves Commission cemetery in the corner of the main cemetery at Bray-et-Lu that I visited last week while cycling the Avenue Verte and how shocked I was at the ages of the combatants: 17, 19 and 21.

"I remember my first day of work." He said. "I left school on the Friday and I started working for the Post Office on the Saturday morning. It was 1942."

"Where's this going?" I thought.

He continued: "I was given a bicycle and a dozen or so telegrams to deliver." He continued. "Every one of them was a notification of the death of a member of the armed forces and I had to hand them to the next of kin. Sometimes a delivery took half an hour because I had to pick up the collapsed recipient, drag them into the sitting room, see that they were OK, make them a cup of tea and try to offer some form of comfort. It was a bloody difficult thing to do for a fourteen year old. When I got home after work, my mother asked how the first day had gone. I warned her that I was going to swear and told her that it was bloody awful and explained why. She suggested that on Monday instead of going direct to the address on the telegram, that I should knock next door and get a neighbour to accompany me so that they could deliver the bad news instead of a total stranger and that they could offer support leaving me to go to the next home."

I was rendered speechless.

Bl**dy hell!
That must have been truly awful for a young lad.

 

[Cycling Dan]

One hell of a first day. Giving the time period I doubt day two, three and so on were any better.

 

[Archie_tect]

Thanks for posting that Vern.... what a sad memory to keep all your life!