My Job

You want to know about my job?

Well, despite appearances, it’s actually pretty run of the mill. I mean, there aren’t many people who would want to do it, but it helps pay the bills, and allows me to take the Mrs on holiday every year- Bournemouth is our favourite. Every year we stay in the same hotel, just up from the beach. 20 years now we’ve been going there. Lovely veal of a Wednesday night.

Anyway, I’m digressing. Where was I? Oh yes, the job. Well, usually I need to be at work for half six in the morning, which can be quite a task during the winter, I tell you. The mornings are damned cold (excuse my French) riding to the office. Never bothered getting my drivers license you see, I never go very far, and there’s a train to Bournemouth, so I jump on the trusty old pushbike.

So yes, I get to work for about half six (I like to be prompt. A prompt man is a proud man you see), that gives me time to make a brew and see what the score is for that day’s work. The gaffer gives me the file, which I look through for the relevant information- height, weight, occupation- that kind of thing, you know. It’s all very important to understand how the client is going to act in order to perform the best possible service.

At around seven, my assistant Ted normally comes in, so we have another brew and a spot of breakfast knocked up by the kitchen. They do a wonderful fry up- the bacon is just right, and the sausages are never too greasy.

Well, after we’ve finished our breakfast, we need to check the equipment. A good craftsman takes pride in his tools doesn’t he? Granted, I don’t really create anything, but pride is paramount in my line of work. If the equipment isn’t in working order, the end result could be sloppy, and that’s the last thing we want. We check that everything is done up tight, and oiled where it needs oiling, then we test that it’s in working order with a couple of sandbags. To be honest, I believe in the idea of proper maintenance negating a fix, and so in the 20 years I’ve been doing this, it’s never needed more than a few spare parts. You see, it’s all about pride- something that some of the youngsters coming into it could do well to consider.

While we’re doing that the client is taken to a room just down the hallway so he (and sometimes she) can be prepared- if you know what I mean- something to eat, a chat, that kind of thing. Well, me and Ted have usually finished our checks by now, so we go down there to receive him. None of the clients know what to expect, so they always have a frightful look in their eyes. I have to say, despite everything, I do feel sorry for some of them, but it was their choice to be here, so I put that to one side and get on with the task at hand.

I show them down the hall to where the procedure is going to take place, and lead them into the room. It’s pretty sparsely decorated in there- well, some would call it functional, I suppose, and tends to be a little chilly. Of course, that’s not the only reason that the client is shivering, but like I said, it was their choice, and no business of mine, so it never goes mentioned.

So far, so good. It’s surprising how many clients make it to this point without saying anything. I suppose they’ve accepted the situation by this point. Maybe they know that it’s all for the best, you know, something they need to do. Anyway, this is Ted’s bit, he’s gets the cloth bag and puts it over their face- got to protect them, you see- and then it’s back to me. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do this bit- it all goes back to the pride you see- not that Ted isn’t a good lad, but I think I’m probably just a bit of a controlling type. I’ll be retiring soon enough, so I suppose Ted will be taking on the job anyway. Maybe I’ll let him do the next one? He’s a good kid, is Ted. Just turned 21, and engaged to be married to Alice- lovely girl, is Alice. Her and my Mary get on like mother and daughter.

Anyway, I’m going off the topic again, aren’t I? Where was I? Oh yes, Ted has just done his bit, so I’m back up there. This is the most important bit, if I’ve miscalculated, then it could all be very messy indeed, and that’s the last thing I want. I put the rope around the client’s neck, pull up the slack, step back and pull the lever. He (and sometimes she) drops through the trapdoor, and that’s that.

People ask how I sleep, doing what I do. The way I see it, it’s not for me to pass judgement, and I’m not murdering them. I’m just doing my job. Someone needs to do it, you see. The government wants these people hanged, and they pay me to do it. I take no particular pleasure from taking their lives, but they understand why they’re there, and respect that I have a job to do. One or two have begged me for mercy, and that’s where it gets a little bit harder. I can’t offer them mercy, only their God can do that now, so I have to shut myself off.

Respect is one of the key points of my job. After the client is dead (which, I’m proud to say is instant with my hangings), they’ve paid for their sins. What we have is an empty vessel, while their soul is up there discussing terms of entry to heaven, as it were, so we treat it with respect. We wash them down (you wouldn’t believe what happens to a human body as it’s hanged- well, I suppose you would, and trust me, it’s not very pleasant), and dress them in their funeral clothes, before placing them in a coffin, and taking them to the chapel for a rudimentary service. I never attend the services- I didn’t know them, and it would be a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?

Then it’s back home, where hopefully Mary has started to cook tea. I must say, she bakes a very good steak and mushroom pie indeed. We have that of a Thursday, so I always look forward to that.

Of course, the hangings aren’t every day, and the ones I do don’t pay enough to live on, so for the rest of the week, I’m a drayman for a local brewery. Those barrels are playing havoc with my old back though.