PINS - Rule Fifty-one: Casualties and The Dead

(You would have been the middle child, you know.)

There is little if any talk of death, or even casualties in the rules for PINS. The only reference this writer can find is the sentence, “[a unit] could go on until all pins are gone - then they leave battle.”

For the completists amongst you, the sentence is written in neat brown felt-tipped pen on a lined (though not ruled) piece of A4 paper. The paper is from the mid-1970s and is yellowed and creased with age.

The absence in the notes is a strange thing, as death is constant, like tax, but there again there are many rum do’s in this life, and if we are going to die I hope we all die in your father’s car in a big crash. At least we’d all go together. 

You and your friend are standing on Accrington Broadway, just in front of where the old cinema was and where, a decade or so ago Shifters, a nitespot which was as violent as it was attractive, also stood. You are flanked by the covered market and the Arndale Shopping Centre, which opened to great fanfare in the late 1980s. It’s already in a state of decline, lots of units are up for rent. It once housed a mechanical clock of the world, which was a pull for many folk when out shopping. The clock would open on the hour, and a mechanical bicyclist would pop out. You once saw Don Estelle, wearing his trademark pith helmet, singing underneath it. The clock has been removed and, looking at the centre now, you wonder whether the old cinder track it was built on wasn’t the better bet in the long run. None of this matters at this particular moment in time, a blustery midday during that weird week between Christmas and New Year. Directly in front of you is a miniature merry-go-round, built for toddlers. Some kids, helped by their smiling parents, are purposefully clambering into antiquated miniature cars or onto multicoloured horses. This restful scene is soundtracked by a tannoy amplifying a programme on Radio Lancashire, one that takes its time in listing the famous people and many locals who have died during the year. The saturnine-looking bloke running the merry-go-round hasn’t noticed what is being broadcast, or if he has, he has a peculiar sense of humour. You both grimace with embarrassment and wander off to a pub near the station. You remember this memory nearly two decades later, when your friend is found dead in his house. You tell your friends at the wake; it’s better out than in.

I always read the Observer obituary section first. You learn so much from it, about folks’ lives in Acc. And I want to see if I know anyone who’s gone in the last week. Does your mother do the same? Anyway, you three go out and play on the fields.

Keep running up the beach through the screams and smoke. The tack-tack-tack of a  machine gun starts up to your right, and you see the bodies of those you are with literally disintegrating as the bullets hit them: gobbets of their flesh fly past you. There is smoke and a lot of screaming. You have to keep going; run, towards the raised ground past the cliff face. Then you wake up, on a Saturday morning, just as the milk’s being delivered, what in God’s name was all that about. As you roll over to get out of bed and wash off the cold sweat of the dream, you notice you brought last night’s chips to bed with you.

The dossier on me is as thick as my arm. I don't know what’s in it but I do know I had a heart attack when I was twelve.

Died of a broken heart.

[I have her hankie, here in my pocket, I always have it with me.]

I had to scrub up the blood. 

I hear the song thrush, I dreamt of it twice.

It was a blessing and a big relief as looking after her was killing me.

Disappeared in a puff of smoke.

I don't know where he is now, he’s probably dead. He was much older than he looked.

Shot in the back, by one of his own.

Hung himself in the garage. 

He just gave up, he’d had his disappointments.

He had a heart attack, had too many of those steroids.

Blown up on a bus.

Well she couldn’t get up and she lay there in the hallway and when she looked up at me her eyes seemed to say, “I’m going, old girl, it’s time.”

She died too young, TB - it runs in the family, you know.

Killed by a lorry, only seventeen.

Died of a broken heart.

They chopped him up and buried him in his back garden.

Fell down dead in the street; the bullet was still in his heart.

Couldn’t stop drinking, even with two beautiful daughters.

Laid out on the pub’s tables after the mining disaster. 

Poisoned by that heartless old curmudgeon up the road.

I think he’s dead, from an overdose. Being on the subs did his head in.

Survived the Great War and then was run over outside his house!

Lost his thumbs and his son, he cut a sorry figure after that; drank himself to death I heard.

She had cancer, her mother says you can go round and have her books.

Oh, he only went in the morning for a day visit and I was supposed to make his dinner but he never came back.

Killed by a car, only six years old.

She might of ended up in a pie filling. That’s what the paper suggests.

I won’t be around forever, I will die young so just you watch out and don’t be so rude. 

It doesn’t matter now, he’s in his rightful place. [She really thinks that’s where he is, and she’s happy about it. I don’t understand Catholics.]

My Dear Friend.

I am very sorry to learn of the sad and sudden death of your Husband under such circumstances. I quite realise what your personal feelings must be at present just entering on this New Year, with the hope of looking forward to a bright future after what you have passed through during these hard times of depression and difficulties ,But you must remember “Not Our Will ” to be done,We must our trust in “God and he will carry us through the dark clouds of domestic hardships,And some day you will see the Silver Linning of brighter days in store for you and your Children,My sole desire is that “God” will gave you Health and strenght to support yourself and Children to meet your daily wants of Life.I now take this opportunity of tendering to you and your my Deepest Sympathy in your sad bereavement.Keep a good heart my good friend for the sake of your Dear Children.

You can rest assured that myself and Mr Hiltton of Elton will do our very best for you onthe Pension question.

Right, first thing; ring the doctor to come round. We need to get that certificate. You make some toast.

An accompanying post to this Rule, with relevant illustrations, can be found in the Museum of Photocopies.