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This is a question Have you ever seen a dead body?

How did you feel?
Upset? Traumatised? Relieved? Like poking it with a stick?

(, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 9:34)
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This question is now closed.

Athletic finish.
In a period of my teens, a group of us would often hang around outside a friends house which happened to be by a busy 'B' road.

(I'll save the story of our public rendition of YMCA displayed there for another question)

One night, our attention had been caught by a stray dog on the other side of the road. It seemed keen to join / visit our group and stood on the verge, tentatively watching for a sign of encouragement. I couldn't be sure, but doubt that any encouragement or sign of welcoming was apparent due to the other notable event of an ambulance doing the full-on blues & twos up the road.

Why the fuck do animals have absolutely no road sense? Dogs and cats are reasonably intelligent creatures and have had long enough to get used to the idea! Predictably, the dog chose the wrong moment to cross the road. It was hit by the ambulance at (estimated) 60 to 70 mph and oddly 'flicked' up from the rear to perform what seemed to be a triple somersault with half turn before landing in a heap on the tarmac.

Of course the ambulance didn't stop, presumably for the human emergency taking precidence. We carried the dog to the side of the road and I stroked its head until it finally closed its terrified eyes. A call was made and an hour or so later, someone came to collect it - a streetsweeper. The ladies in our group, deeply emotional through a cocktail of sympathy and cheap cider, needed to be consoled after the the bungling binman picked the poor animal up by the hind legs and literally flung it into the back of his bin wagon, grinning.

The grin may have been due to the fact that I was warming my hands in the trousers of a certain young lady of poor reputation. Yes, the same ones I'd just been stroking a dead dog with. Her reputation didn't improve.
(, Thu 6 Mar 2008, 9:48, Reply)
Cleanliness is next to deadliness
Archaeologists see dead people. Mostly they're a bit on the boney side, although any basic textbook on forensic archaeology will provide plenty of pictures of advanced putrification and the suchlike.

While working on a medieval excavation (the site dated to the medieval period - I didn't travel back in time in my DeLorean to go digging) we began to uncover quite a few graves. This wasn't unexpected; we were near a churchyard. It's a pain in the ass though, especially since the laws have changed and a Home Office licence is needed to remove remains.

There we were, trowels in hand, carefully cleaning back the soil to expose the coffin staining. Gently, millimetre by careful millimetre, we scraped away the earth from the white bones. We photographed, we drew and we measured. Bone by bone we lifted them from the ground. We passed them carefully over to the site assistants to be bagged and tagged. As I handed over the skull I noticed what was probably some brain tissue clinging to the inside.

Now, archaeological sites are not known for their facilities. We tend to have a lorry container to store tools and a container of water - if we're lucky - and a rancid portaloo. Still I had expected that some basic hygiene would be in place, which is why I found it difficult to finish my lunch when I noticed the site assistant, who had been poking at the fleshy inside of the skull, was merrily tucking into his sandwiches with filthy hands that he hadn't washed all day...
(, Thu 6 Mar 2008, 9:37, 3 replies)
I do so wish.....
that Fauntleroy would post that story he's already had on here 4 times just once more, it could be funny this time round. It's been ages since it came up on here, he has been quiet.

Ooh, heavens, d'you think he's dead?
(, Thu 6 Mar 2008, 7:21, 5 replies)
My nephew
Not his body, but the one he saw. Flowers' story reminded me.

My nephew is 22, a very smart, kind, funny guy but one of the long-haired-keeps-to-himself-black-trench-coat wearing crowd, so of course people take one look at him and think "Mad Columbine shooter". It was much worse when he was in high school and that's when this happened.

He was with his brother, one of the tight-white-T-shirt-with-cigarettes-rolled-in-the-sleeve crowd, out running errands for their grandmother. They had picked up her dry cleaning, library books, dropped off her packages and were on the way home when they hit a deer. Really hard. Eldest Nephew skidded all over the road and came to rest, nose down in the ditch. He got out and looked at the damage--the deer was killed instantly. The front of the van took a hit, but was drivable. The front light was broken and the bonnet was festooned with deer parts.

"God, what a mess," Eldest thought. "We'd better clean this up before we bring the van back to Grandma. The two of them went to a hand car wash and were industriously scrubbing away when the manager ran out of the office to stare in horror at them.

Reality? Two nice kids trying to spare Grandma the sight of deer guts in her grill.

What the manager saw? Two dangerous psycho teenage hoodlums obviously trying to conceal evidence of their gruesome crime, washing the brains, blood and hair of their hapless victim off the hood of their grim death van!

He kept them there by hinting he had a gun until the cops arrived. Eldest had to explain what the hell he was doing. Both of the cops were hunters (everyone around there is) and recognized deer hair or I think the boys would have been arrested.

That's the Great American Midwest for ya. I guess I should be glad the manager didn't decide to perpetrate some vigilante justice and shoot them both.
(, Thu 6 Mar 2008, 5:24, Reply)
i wish
i saw my own dead body splattered on the floor covered in blood, but it was only a dream *sigh*. but excitingly ive now moved onto family members and exes. theyre alot more fun to visualise.
(, Thu 6 Mar 2008, 3:53, Reply)
Long story coming up, I know its too late to get many clicks but I thought id tell it anyway and ive been wondering all week whether to post it or not.

Its about the Bali bombings back in 2002.

Me and 2 mates went over for a nice long 3 week holiday to Bali back in 02í We were having a great time, doing sod all but lazing on the beach and getting sloshed every night, it was ace. Then came that Saturday night.

Earlier in the week a mate from back home had emailed me and said his new missus was out there visiting friends at the same time we were and we should meet for a drink. So that Saturday morning we got in contact with her and we arranged to meet for drink that night. I had only met her once before and the other lads had never met her.

We did what we always did, got way to drunk way to early so we were typical tourists and walking down the street pissed as. We stopped for some grub on the walk to Paddys Pub where we were meeting her, we must have been 200 meters away when we heard the first bomb, to be honest I donít remember the noise as such, just like a loud ďpopĒ and then silence, then a few screams, we didnít move from our spot. Then the car bomb went off, I heard and felt that, knocked me onto my back and put a fair amount of glass into my left hand side. But I was ok. Again silence for what seemed like forever and then the screams started again but this time it was so much worse, quick check of mates and we were all cut but mostly fine.

To be honest I donít remember the next 10 mins or so, we just stumbled around confused, then we remembered ďJĒ. Again I donít remember what happened but went towards the pub and it was just chaos, but very quiet which I still cant get out of my head.

Ended up at the hospital searching for J as we knew she was in that pub when they went off. We couldnít find her anywhere so we went back to our room all in shock, we sat up all night drinking and none of us saying anything, we all had a few cuts but nothing serious and most of the glass wasnít deep and we all sat there picking it out of our legs/arms.

Next morning went back to the hospital, took about 4 hours but I found out that J was there. Only she didnít make it. I donít know what my feeling was to be honest, I didnít know this girl at all but I knew my mate was madly in love with her (they had been together about a year but I was living in Canada for most of that time). Going to cut this short as im waffling.

Went to identify her at the hospital as she had no ID with her, as I said id only met her once and I was smashed. It was horrible, they warned me it was grim but went into this tiny room and they pulled the cover back, she was a mess but it was her and I was sure it was her, but she was missing a very large piece of the back of her head and various other parts. I left the hospital and cried, I knew I had to call our mate back in the UK and tell him that the love of his life was gone.

That was the hardest phone call ive ever had, he didnít believe us and cried a lot.

He got on the next flight out and we met him at the airport, it was horrible.

None of us are really good mates anymore, im not sure what happened but it affected us all badly and differently. I ended up moving to Aus a few years ago and donít really speak to them anymore.

Christ that was long, thanks if you made it this far.
(, Thu 6 Mar 2008, 3:11, 2 replies)
this one time...
I did some summer work a few times as a housekeeper at a hospital down in Sussex. Part of the work involved doing tea rounds.

One morning I was up on the 4th floor (where they keep all the oldies), and I did the tea rounds as usual. Went into one of the private rooms to offer an old biddy a cuppa. No response. Ignorant or deaf, I figured.

A few hours later, I did another tea round. Went into the same room. Again, no response. Then a nurse came and told me the old woman was dead.

Yeah, thanks.

Wasn't too horrified. Just wondered why they let me offer her two cups of tea after she'd snuffed it. Must have left her in there a good few hours, too.
(, Thu 6 Mar 2008, 2:35, Reply)
One lovely summers Sunday
I'd been working the usual Sunday shift at the pub, there were usually at least a hundred or so octogenarians who came in, sit in the back, listen to a group of semi-talented hacks play Jazz for a few hours and bitched about the price of mild increasing in price.

Somewhat amazingly, this story does not involve one of the also octogenarian band members blowing a little hard on his trumpet and dying ala Tommy Cooper, more what was happening when cleaning up after the unusually busy Dinner Shift.

Terry was a lovely guy, one of those people who would genuinely do anything to help anyone, even if it meant pushing himself beyond his own limits that had been set by his doctor on numerous occasions on account of his failing heart.

He took a job cleaning with us, being a sizable pub there were always two cleaners who doubled up as kitchen hands and to make ends meet at home it seemed like his best option. Running the cellar as I did, I always made sure he was never overly exerting himself, especially as he was quite open about his problems and always strived to do absolutely fucking everything there was to be done.

Anyway, I digress...

The band had finished, the kitchen was closed and we were finishing off ready for an afternoon closure. As it was a relatively pleasant day and we lacked any form of a beer garden most people had fucked off, we were getting straight and I was stocking the fridges up ready for the expectedly busy evening shift when the call came.

Terry was finishing the last sink load of washing and had collapsed, the restaurant manger, Michelle, was fortunately fully versed in what to do and went straight to his aid, Alex the duty manager was immediately on the phone to the emergency services, I never felt so fucking hopeless in my life, especially as I'd received the call from the chef about what had happened and his wife had just sat down to wait for his momentary arrival.

The range of emotions experienced at this point were too varied to recall precisely, panic, shock, pity, all mixed in there with an overwhelming sense of uselessness.

It all happened rather quickly from here, the paramedics were fortunately there in mere minutes and had gone up-stairs and Terry's wife had no fucking idea what had gone on, fortunately realising she was there, Alex dove down, say with her and explained what had happened.

This was dutifully relayed to the paramedic via another member of staff while I made the rounds and told the rest of the staff what the situation was.

I've never known that bunch of fuckers to be so quiet.

I went back through to ensure all exits were cleared for the paramedics who I had been informed were getting him onto a stretcher to take him out. A strange sense of relief was felt at this time, if they were taking him on a stretcher then surely all was well for now?

He was carried down on the stretcher, oxygen mask placed over his face, a strange blue tinge on most of his body and eyes limply closed.

A taxi was arranged for his wife and upon leaving, the whole story unfolded.

It appears that he had a heart attack and by the time the paramedics arrived it was too late and he had already passed away. They learned of his wifes presence and to prevent any distress to her, had decided to take him out in this manner and declare him dead on arrival at hospital.

I saw a corpse and never fucking realised it.

Top paras though, one hell of a gesture towards the aggrieved's wife.
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 23:50, 2 replies)
On holiday in Cuba..
I was walking along the coast line with a mate ... when I noticed something on the floor. Looked abit like a rock but was oddly shaped.

Picked it up.

It was the head of a turtle.

Eyes had gone and it was full of ants.. Safe to say I dropped it and jumped about 6 foot backwards.

Length? It was about 6 inches long...and thats just the head ;D

EDIT: i think it was one of these :
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 23:46, Reply)
only a few hours ago
I can't tell now if I was aware of it before it happened or if the noise of the impact drew my attention very quickly to it.

I could tell that its back had been either broken or crushed. The rear legs were dragged behind it as it tried to get to cover as quickly as possible. I'm guessing it's last instinct was that it had been attacked and needed to find shelter from the predator.

Someone ran over to look for it but we all knew there wasn't any hope. It's last action was to hide under a car, the very thing that had just hit it.

It was a cat.

I didn't bother going to see the body, there was nothing that could have been done.

I felt a little numb.
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 23:24, Reply)
long time lurker..
first time poster.

I went to see Bodyworlds yesterday. I'm sure everyone knows what it is, but if you don't: this guy 'acquired' a whole load of bodies, skinned em and then arranged them in poses.

So i have seen intimately a lot of dead bodies. It was good, but tbh there are only so many skinned people arranged in poses that one can look at before it just becomes boring.

So there you go, if you look at enough dead bodies, you don't become upset, traumatised or anything else, just bored.

PS, there was one called the exploding man, who was completely dissected and had all his various parts suspended around him like a crazy puppet. That was pretty gross.
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 22:51, Reply)
Just the one...
...I was 11. It's a long story, bear with me, for this is my first post.

Growing up I was treated to the regular sight of my mum being slapped, kicked, punched, pushed, throttled, humiliated and just generally treated like shite.

That's unfortunate, you're probably thinking, and the general b3tan level of cynicism leads me to believe that the general consensus is that this isn't particularly uncommon. Sad, but true.

Bit of teh background father (when I say that, it's only in the sense of the man responsible for half my genetic makeup, parenting's been a bit thin on the ground) was (still is, technically at least) a minister in the Church of Scotland. He's also a good six inches shorter than me (mother was 4 foot 9 or thereabouts).

Fuck, where am I going with this...catharsis I guess.

From growing up in a Baptist, middle class Edinburgh family, my mum had the misfortune to meet my dad at uni in the 60s. I don't know how they met, or what they were like as 20somethings, but she had every right to think she'd graduate, get married, and enjoy a similar lifestyle to the one she'd had growing up (isn't that why the middle class remain successful though- that they expect financial success, so it come naturally? but I digress).
My dad was a minister for a good 15 years- probably keeping a lid on his real self for a good portion of that. Fast forward to the early 80s (the time at which my memories start, being 28 now) and the violence, addiction to porn and general beastliness is in full swing. He had to resign from the church in '86 (don't know why, though I've heard rumours and can imagine reasons- anyone who knows why, please tell me) and we ended up in the north east of Scotland- my dad permanently unemployed for the next twenty years and my mum unable to hold down a teaching job- black eyes don't look good in the classroom.

Cut to 89/90. I'm in primary 6. My mum's been collapsing in agony and unable to move during these attacks for a while. The doctors, God love 'em, diagnosed 'stress headaches'. Fuck knows what kind of euphemism that is, but that is what they said. Again and again. Eventually, a brain scain at ARI was booked. Brain tumour. She was 42.

Chemo and radiotherapy followed. Hair gone. Tracheotomy at some point. Using a zimmer frame to walk. Lost a lot of weight that she didn't have. All through this, the beatings continued. My dad, behind the back of his gravely ill wife, thinks it'll be a good idea to sign up with some dating agencies (apparently this was nothing new, just more socially acceptable than the prostitutes he'd reputedly used in the early years of their marriage) to meet some new meat. My mum was dying, her children were watching this. Living in squalor, unable to do a single thing about it, she got worse. Much worse.

It all reached a head in summer 1991- I think that it must have been clear to all that she was dying, so me and my little brother were packed off to our aunt & uncle's house to visit for the summer- my sisters remained in Scotland.

One night, I was in the top bunk in my cousin's room where Colin and I were sleeping (I can still picture that room) and I knew. Something hit me, and I knew. I told my brother our mother was dead. He was 9 and I was 11. I knew. I know that sounds cheesy and you'll mock, I don't know how it happened, but I knew. He cried for a bit and told me to shut up.

We went to sleep.

In the morning, our aunt Pauline told us to come for a chat and sit down. She told us our mum had died the previous night. Colin wept as only a nine year old can. I was numb. She asked us how we felt. I couldn't answer. Colin was bawling.

She's a good woman and shouldn't have been put in that situation.

We went back home for the funeral. We went to the chapel of rest (my dad came out with some pish about saying goodbye- when had he said his? in the letters to women he wrote when my mum was dying? when he punched her in the face when she couldn't stand up, let alone try to dodge the blows?) and she lay there in the coffin- waxy, pale and still looked ill. No respite, even in death.

I just looked until I couldn't any more and turned away. Colin, 9 years old, jovially said 'Bye mum' and that was that. My first dead body.

The funeral was a couple of days later. We'd been an unpopular family (due to my dad), but one of my strongest recollections of that day was looking round and seeing the graveyard full of people. It's quite a big graveyard (Kemnay, if you know it) and the back part was full.

I didn't cry.

I stood there, a little boy, with my gran, my grandpa, my brother, my sisters, two uncles (including my mum's brother) and watched my mum's coffin go into the ground.

My dad, I think, led some kind of prayers. The hypocrite.

After that is a different story. My jaw's hurting now, I'm keeping back the tears I didn't cry then, and I'm almost done with my story.

I think about my mum and the horrible death she endured (in some ways, it took 20 odd years for her to die) every day of my life and in many ways I'm still just the numb little boy I was that summer day. A part of me died that day, a part that I'll never regain.

I don't see my family much, but if you're reading this:

I love and respect:

Uncles Kevin and Alasdair
My sisters and brother
My aunt Pauline
My gran & grandpa (both dearly, dearly missed)
Everyone who made an effort that day.

Thanks for reading.
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 22:47, 5 replies)
the M1
I used to hurtle up and down the M1 from Sheffield to Leeds in my fast italian sportscar (red of course) communting to my shitty sales job. I pretty much did the run for about 18 months, rain, snow, sleet, ice storms etc, I was up and down that motorway. One day I'm heading up to the junction where the M1 peels off to become the M62 and the police have just closed the road. me and the other two cars in each lane roll to a stop, and as we roll to a halt we see they've cleared the motorway for the air ambulance to land. As it lands we see the paramedics get out and pick up the body of the stricken motorcyclist. Thats right his body gets picked up,and his head still ensconsed in its helmet rolls down the road. Not the best start to the day for that poor biker, and it wasn't too much longer before I found a job that didn't involve driving 80 odd miles a day.
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 21:51, Reply)
When I was in the army...
I saw many Corps.

ho ho ho.
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 20:29, Reply)
Well...It's late in the week...(and Frankspencer started it!)

I couldn't believe my eyes as the fuzzy-haired, tax-dodging fuckwit sprawled down before me and invited me to spend the night laying on a combination of himself, his tickling sticks and a few diddy men...


On that day I saw a bed Doddy.


"How tickled I am!"

*Apologises for Britishness of crap pun*
*Apologises even more for immense shitness*
*Considers leaving coat on permanently*
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 20:09, Reply)
In my yoof, I worked as a bluecoat in an over 50's holiday center. As the majority of our 'guests' were of advanced years the odd death was not uncommon.
So common in fact that we had a special screen we had in case one of the old dears died in our main ballroom, if someone snuffed it we'd come charging out and surround the dead crumbly with the screen until an ambulance could arrive.

After a year or so I got used to it but on my second night this happened, and I've never seen anything so surreal as a room full of codgers playing bingo as 'Doris' rapidly cooled behind a pair of curtains.

8 and 9 end of the line 89.

Length....erm about 5 foot and navy blue?
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 17:46, Reply)
I was in Harrods the other day
And I saw that al Fayed had fashioned a memorial to his son from baked products.

It was a bread Dodi.
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 17:30, 5 replies)
i went past a dead body on saturday
on the m6. this one

i felt releaved. because we were clearly passing about 10 minutes after it had happened, the other side of the road was almost shut, and they were working on shutting our side. 10 mins later and we'd have been sat on the m6 for 5 hours waiting for them to clean up (wasn't even that messy).

to hull? no, i was headed southbound, tward brighton :)

(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 17:10, 1 reply)
My Uncle
Eddache's post below has just reminded me of a story about my own Uncle.

This story takes place in the Sixties. My Uncle was driving his car through Shrewsbury late at night when he was pulled over by a police officer. The officer got out of his car, came round to my Uncle's window and started talking to him. I forget what the offense was - speeding, reckless, drunk, whatever. Doesn't matter.

As the policeman is standing there talking to my Uncle: BANG. He wasn't standing there any more. In fact he was nowhere to be seen. This is because a car, driven by a drunk, had passed too close to my Uncle's car, hitting the policeman head-on at 30 MPH and partially dragging him down the road.

My Uncle got out to see if he was ok, but of course the poor bugger was dead before he hit the ground. Imagine that - you're talking to someone one moment, then the next moment they're dead. You're sharing a person's last moments on Earth, listening to their last words. Then BANG . . . and they're gone.

Don't know about you but that would mess me up. Mess me right up.
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 16:48, 3 replies)
On my way to work
I found a dead giraffe. Yes, GIRAFFE. I was amazed at how big these things are... you never really get close to them when they're alive.

No idea what it died of - not a predator, it seemed untouched - but it smelt terrible. Also didn't feel it sensible to get out of the 4x4 as lots of fierce, hungry things were around.

I should probably mention that this was in Africa, on a game reserve.
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 16:43, Reply)
I have been lucky...
I have never seen a real, dead human body, I've only ever seen them on the telly.
But i did give myself an accidental dead leg this morning on the corner of a desk, does that partially count?
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 16:34, Reply)
Went out on my motorbike one lovely day, with my girlfriend on the back. Stopped off at a popular bikers cafe. Had a coffee. Saw a large group of bikers come in a bit after us. All on nice, new sportsbikes. We left, and went up the M1, and was overtaken by the same group we had seen come to the cafe. They were really going some. I ride fast, and tried to stick with the group, but couldn't. So I throttled back a bit, my girlfriend probably quite pleased. The group went out of view, and when I rounded a bend, I saw cars slamming the brakes on. I rode between the cars, and got to the front. A guy was in the middle of the road, face down. The road had a bit of camber, so all the blood ran in towards the armco in the middle. And as the cars started crawling past, they dragged the blood up the road in two stripes. Heard later he had died instantly, hitting the back of a car.
(, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 15:04, Reply)

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