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Authors: Michelle Williams
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for the hospital for a long time; first as a porter, and then
he’d stumbled across the job in the mortuary, initially helping Clive out when he needed it, then ending up as a permanent fixture. He also loved his job, but was not interested in furthering
his career. Now, what mortuary technicians do is a recognized profession and you are able to sit exams which, once you have passed them, will allow you to climb the ladder in the technician world.
It will also allow you to work with national disasters if you choose; Clive had taken these exams, but all Graham wanted out of life was to do his job to the best of his ability, go home in the
evening, enjoy his whisky without being disturbed, and collect his wages at the end of the month.
Graham also had a habit of sometimes using the wrong words. He would say ‘defiantly’ when he meant ‘definitely’, and ‘poignant’ when he meant
‘pertinent’, both of which I could understand, but not when he swapped ‘skellington’ for ‘skeleton’. Still, it just made him all the more human as far as I was
concerned.
He was divorced, and had been for a long time. He told me about the many times he had had to climb out of the window at the nurses’ residence at some silly time in the morning, because the
Sister was doing the rounds and he had been spending the evening with whichever nurse he was seeing at the time. It appeared that he had had liaisons with a large number of nurses – certainly
lots of them spoke to him when we were out having a cigarette. He came across as a simple man, uncomplicated, who said exactly what he thought and knew what he liked and what he didn’t like,
and nothing was ever going to change that. He would have his breakfast at the same time every morning – two rashers of bacon, fried eggs and toast (always the same) – and revelled in
talking about what he was having for tea each evening, proud of the fact that he cooked it himself. Every morning Clive and I would have a running commentary on how good it had been and how he had
cooked it. I found this both boring and intriguing: boring because I know how to cook, but intriguing because of the passion he displayed when telling me about it and the type of food he ate. No
animal organ was safe from the frying pan in Graham’s kitchen. You name it, he had tried it, right down to sheep brains, which are very nice (or so he assured me). He offered to get me some
next time he went to see his old mates at the abattoir, but I refused politely.
Graham also told me about his love of shooting, and I tried my best not to look shocked. I don’t think I did this very well, though.
‘I never shoot anything I don’t eat,’ he said quickly when he saw the reaction on my face. ‘Apart from when the farmer asks me to sort out any “mixies” I see
when I walk his land; I don’t eat those buggers.’ I knew from this he was talking about rabbits with myxomatosis. ‘I just put the poor bleeders out of their misery; the foxes have
those.’
I warmed to Graham; not because I agreed with some of the stuff he enjoyed doing – I didn’t at all – but because he was so straightforward and you knew where you stood with
him. He also taught me a lot. Clive was a knowledgeable man, but his patience with me could be pushed sometimes. I am a very inquisitive person and have an annoying tendency to ask
‘Why?’ a lot. I like to have things explained to me, reasons given and what the end result is expected to be. I also like to know why I am asked to do something, but I am quite aware
that this can really annoy people; I know this because people like me can annoy me ! Graham, though, was always ready and willing to give me an answer or a reason. He was never flustered or
agitated, but always gave a reply that was straight to the point, given in the language we both spoke, and without trying to impress or baffle me with long medical words that he knew I
wouldn’t understand. We worked well
he’d stumbled across the job in the mortuary, initially helping Clive out when he needed it, then ending up as a permanent fixture. He also loved his job, but was not interested in furthering
his career. Now, what mortuary technicians do is a recognized profession and you are able to sit exams which, once you have passed them, will allow you to climb the ladder in the technician world.
It will also allow you to work with national disasters if you choose; Clive had taken these exams, but all Graham wanted out of life was to do his job to the best of his ability, go home in the
evening, enjoy his whisky without being disturbed, and collect his wages at the end of the month.
Graham also had a habit of sometimes using the wrong words. He would say ‘defiantly’ when he meant ‘definitely’, and ‘poignant’ when he meant
‘pertinent’, both of which I could understand, but not when he swapped ‘skellington’ for ‘skeleton’. Still, it just made him all the more human as far as I was
concerned.
He was divorced, and had been for a long time. He told me about the many times he had had to climb out of the window at the nurses’ residence at some silly time in the morning, because the
Sister was doing the rounds and he had been spending the evening with whichever nurse he was seeing at the time. It appeared that he had had liaisons with a large number of nurses – certainly
lots of them spoke to him when we were out having a cigarette. He came across as a simple man, uncomplicated, who said exactly what he thought and knew what he liked and what he didn’t like,
and nothing was ever going to change that. He would have his breakfast at the same time every morning – two rashers of bacon, fried eggs and toast (always the same) – and revelled in
talking about what he was having for tea each evening, proud of the fact that he cooked it himself. Every morning Clive and I would have a running commentary on how good it had been and how he had
cooked it. I found this both boring and intriguing: boring because I know how to cook, but intriguing because of the passion he displayed when telling me about it and the type of food he ate. No
animal organ was safe from the frying pan in Graham’s kitchen. You name it, he had tried it, right down to sheep brains, which are very nice (or so he assured me). He offered to get me some
next time he went to see his old mates at the abattoir, but I refused politely.
Graham also told me about his love of shooting, and I tried my best not to look shocked. I don’t think I did this very well, though.
‘I never shoot anything I don’t eat,’ he said quickly when he saw the reaction on my face. ‘Apart from when the farmer asks me to sort out any “mixies” I see
when I walk his land; I don’t eat those buggers.’ I knew from this he was talking about rabbits with myxomatosis. ‘I just put the poor bleeders out of their misery; the foxes have
those.’
I warmed to Graham; not because I agreed with some of the stuff he enjoyed doing – I didn’t at all – but because he was so straightforward and you knew where you stood with
him. He also taught me a lot. Clive was a knowledgeable man, but his patience with me could be pushed sometimes. I am a very inquisitive person and have an annoying tendency to ask
‘Why?’ a lot. I like to have things explained to me, reasons given and what the end result is expected to be. I also like to know why I am asked to do something, but I am quite aware
that this can really annoy people; I know this because people like me can annoy me ! Graham, though, was always ready and willing to give me an answer or a reason. He was never flustered or
agitated, but always gave a reply that was straight to the point, given in the language we both spoke, and without trying to impress or baffle me with long medical words that he knew I
wouldn’t understand. We worked well
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