Timmies at KAF, from one who was there

Wow - touching wood here - but today seems to be the day for good news stories.

Here's a two-part article in The Wellington Adviser about working at the Tim Horton's at KAF. It's written largely by Jennifer Jones, who spent six months working in that cheerful little trailer on the busiest corner of the boardwalk:

I enjoy seeing our regulars as well as the new faces that arrive all the time.

‘Good mornin,’ m’love! And how’re you today?’ one of the older soldiers from Newfoundland lilts. His face is tanned and his blue eyes sparkle as he smiles. I return his smile and say, ‘Just great! And you?’

‘Oh, livin’ the dream,’ he laughs and orders his morning coffee. I know he’ll be back three or four more times before the day’s end.

The Tim Hortons caps we wear are perhaps the most in demand.

‘Can I have six double-doubles and a hat?’

‘How much for your hat, darlin’?’

We hear these questions all day long. Conversation is mostly casual and lighthearted.

‘Make my coffee better than his,’ one soldier jokes, pointing to his friend. ‘Give him the old stuff.’

‘Are you still here? I thought you’d be home by now! When do they let you out?’ ”

...

“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.

Good on writer Barrie Hopkins for passing it along verbatim.