I remember, quite vividly, the first time I saw a corpse - or rather, I should specify, what was once a corpse. The biomass that was that corpse in question likely only existed as a corpse for a brief few seconds, nudged between 40 years of life and 40 hours of drying goo. You see, that biomass existed as a corpse with a velocity hovering somewhere around eighty miles per hour. It was that same velocity that converted the corpse into a red streak stretching down a local road. That’s what I actually saw, when I saw it - littered with bits of brain and bone.
I was probably somewhere of the age of 10, and that streak along a road remains as vividly red in my mind, as the day I saw it. I’ve had a great fear of motorcycles since.
However, this experience scarred my mind in a rather odd way. The photograph in the news report showed him wearing his biker outfit, with a collared jacket. For whatever reason, seeing the collar jacket, and knowing he died in this rough approximation of a suit of sorts, forever made me sensitive to the outfits men wear in work, and death.
Around the same time, the film Saving Private Ryan came out. I couldn’t help but notice the outfits the actors wore, on both sides of the conflict: Something approaching business attire with collars and button shirts. Apparently, some wore ties too.
How odd, is it not? To where the appearance of business in the time of war. How strange to die little different than if you dressed for a hearty laborer’s job. Something about it felt unsettling in my youth, and especially after seeing a corpse wearing just that - biker’s outfits, after all, often ring a similar rhyme to that of the military.
The oldest use of the necktie, incidentally, was not for civilian use. It was first used by Balkan mercenaries. The color indicated either which side they were on, or their Balkan origins. It was quite the popular flare and Europeans who saw them wearing it quickly adopted it for their everyday use.
This does bring to thought about the fashion of war and peace, and what we choose to decorate our body with. Much has been said about the various high-fashion warriors of the late medieval through early Renaissance. However, ultimately it has to be understood, these fashion statements were what people choose to wear when they face the risk of death. Perhaps it was a statement of bravery? Or perhaps it was just empty bravado in the face of possible death.
Elsewhere, examples like the Turks are curious. The large egg-like headwear were actually mortuary sheets, and the fallen soldier essentially wore what they would be buried in on their head perpetually. This was to make ease of the middle-eastern belief that one should be buried the day they die. Imagine wearing what you would be buried in every day? Knowing that the clothing on your head would be with your body forever, until the resurrection.
It is worth noting one thing, that casualties in pre-modern war were far lower. Without gunpowder, automatic weapons, and cannons, the chances of getting killed were remarkably low. Nathan Rosenstein, author of Rome at War, estimates that the death rate of soldiers in the Classical era averaged somewhere around 3%. 97% of soldiers would survive a battle to fight another day. Annually, about 5% of soldiers would die from battle, disease, injuries, etc, all taken as a total. The Medieval proved somewhat more lethal, with mortality of soldiers hovering around 10%-25%, according to L. Reitzer over at Neutral History For myself, I’ve noted that in the 500 years of Crusader and Jihadi history, fewer than 1 million died - all these figures being far lower than the deaths of modern war from World War One and Two through today. The United States’ wars on Terrorism killed more in just two decades than five centuries of religious squabbles over the fate of Jerusalem.
All this is to say, perhaps it is incorrect to view these pre-modern outfits as men thinking of what they want to look like when they face death. Rather, what they want to look like to prove their honor and strength in what amounted to a large-scale wrestling match - once the stronger was clear, why fight on?
Regardless, it appears the loss of flare and style among soldiers seems to have correlated with ever-rising mortality rates. Why dress nice for death?
Since that fateful day I saw the red streak on the road, I’ve often thought about what I dress, and if it’s going to look right if I should die that day. Will I look like I was ready to meet death, or was I just another nobody not expecting it.
Do you think about such things? How would you want to be dressed on the day you die? Should it speak to your faith? Your honor? Your strength? How would you want to look?
What impression would you want to leave in the mind of someone who stumbles upon your disheveled mortal coil?
I was a Staff Nurse in A&E for nearly 20 years.
In that time I saw an uncountable many, many hundreds of dead people ranging from babies to centenarians.
Some with illnesses where death was expected and some who went to school or work in the morning and never went home again by teatime.
Shamefully I cannot remember a single face anymore - however I do remember the sounds of the loved ones who were left behind to grieve.
Before A&E the word 'bloodcurdling'was something that described a scary but highly entertaining horror film.
However after commencing in A&E I experienced the visceral reality of what bloodcurdling truly meant.
When I heard the first primal, animalistic howl of a mum who had just lost her child my spine turned to icewater and the hairs on my neck crackled. I had never experienced a feeling that before in my life and it scared me.
I realised this was the deepest pit of despair and hopelessness that any human being could ever fall into and not a person on this planet could ever take that pain and sadness away.
The best thing I could take from so many dead people is that no matter how bad things may be going in my life I still have not had to experience the horror that so many other people have experienced.
It is a blessing that I give my thanks daily for.
I've seen corpses before, but I only just this weekend first witnessed a soul leave a corpse behind. It belonged to my fiancée's grandma, and was dressed in what was little more than a hospital gown.