Something sacred in the sock drawer

A little over a hundred years ago, my grandfather’s brother was killed on the Western Front.  He was painfully young.  His record will tell you his personal effects included a teddy bear.  My grandfather, younger still, made it home.  Like lots of people, he kept sacred things in a dresser drawer.  This is what one corner of it looked like.

Pip squeak and Wilfred final

The Cherrypicker

Almost everyone who wears a hard hat to work has my respect.  Exceptions to this rule include male strippers, members of Village People tribute bands and politicians visiting coal-fired power stations.  If you have to wear something to work that is designed to stave off potentially grievous head injuries, then you, madam or sir, have more courage than most of us.  Not only do you have the courage required to get out of bed in the morning; you also have the courage to risk a fractured skull every working day.  Hats off to you.

Most paintings of cherrypickers are of simple but happy peasant folk, plucking the fruits of the warm South.  Not a hard hat in sight.  My picture of a cherrypicker is different.