Continued from last week
“Of course, we’re the only Tim Hortons where the majority of customers come in fully armed. But by now I’m used to the sight of a soldier with a rifle in one hand and a coffee in the other. We’re also prone to rocket attacks on the base, and when the alarm sounds, we have to get all customers out of the store and sit in the back until the all clear sounds. There’s a heavy thud, a feeling of impact and then the eerie wail of an old air-raid siren. That’s the signal to get to a bunker, or to the back of the store, if I’m working.
“The first time I experienced this I wasn’t really scared, but it gave a note of seriousness to my job that hadn’t been there before. We sat on the floor and waited until the all-clear alarm went off like a British police siren.
“Because of the hot weather, we make a lot of iced cappuccinos, and I often dance a little when I make them. I sway back and forth, moving my hips to the sound of the mixer. I tell the customers it tastes better that way. It never fails to get a smile.
“There are days when it’s hard to be upbeat, though. We’ve had six ramp ceremonies since I’ve been here. A ramp ceremony means we send soldiers home in the very way we don’t want to – in a coffin. It’s a very formal event, with the troops marching out in formation. Those of us with the Canadian Forces Personnel Support Agency are put in our ranks. We march behind our troops and take our place on the tarmac in front of the plane that will fly the bodies home. Other than the sound of marching feet, all is silent.
“A brief service is usually conducted by the padre, a military minister. We pray; then the troops salute the caskets draped in Canadian flags, which are carried high on the shoulders of other soldiers. A bagpiper follows behind. I don’t think I’ll ever hear the sound of bagpipes again without remembering these ceremonies.
“Sometimes I cry, a little – for lives lost, and for families I’ve never met. When we get back to work the mood is sombre; soldiers come in with grief on their faces. They give their order quietly, avoiding eye contact. I can sense that tears are close for them. It can be hard to speak in those moments. Yet most of the soldiers appreciate our smiles and jokes. When we celebrate life, it helps us all deal with death a little easier.
“I applied for this job in August 2006. I was wrapping up a contract job with an arts festival in Niagara-on-the-Lake, processing donations and sending out membership packages. I was looking for something different to do with my life; something that would feel like I was helping out a larger cause. I didn’t think I would get the job.
“I’m 35 and although I’m not married and don’t have children, I assumed I’d be bypassed in favour of younger adventurers. But I found a range of ages and experiences when I was accepted into the two-week training course. One of my co-workers, Chantal, 24, from Timmins, signed up because her husband is a soldier here and she wanted to support him and their friends who are serving in this mission.
“We work long hours and there are no days off. By the end of a shift, I’m tired as I walk back to the tent. My little room is home, for now, and though it’s only the size of a small car garage, it’s comfortable. I have a bed-sheet door and a curving tent wall above my head. When it rains hard, as it sometimes does, the tent often leaks.
“I miss simple things, like having a bathroom in the same building as my bedroom and walls that go all the way up to the ceiling. I miss picking berries and making pies and jam. I have a friend who recently died of cancer, and I wish I could have visited her, or at least called her more easily and frequently. I have even missed winter. But at night in Kandahar, I look up and I see the same familiar constellations that hang over my home town of Thunder Bay and I know I’ll be back there before long. I rest easy, knowing that my home is where roadside bombings and landmines are unheard of. I have a huge appreciation for Canada – I always did – but this experience is magnifying it.
“This job has given me more patience and shown that I can live through difficult circumstances with a smile on my face. I came here with very little understanding of the military culture and I will leave knowing that our soldiers are proud to serve us this far from home; they want to make the world better for their own families and their country.
“For the soldiers, being able to feel normal by ordering ‘the usual’ helps make their tour more bearable. Just the other day, a soldier told me, “If it weren’t for this place, I’d have gone crazy by now.” So when a young soldier comes in and gives me a thankful grin because he can finally get an iced cappuccino after six weeks out in the desert, I feel that, even by just serving a coffee, I can make a difference.”
So their you have it folks, in words that can no better paint a verbal picture than Jennifer Jones just has.
And if you think I didn’t have tears cloud my eyes while typing parts of this, you are wrong, wrong, wrong.
Take care, ’cause we care.
Barrie@barriehopkins.ca 519-843-4544