The story that came with the pic: 1934 Before the Second World War antibiotics were not readily available. The boy in the coffin was my fathers neighbour’s boy, a few years younger than he. One of the boys sisters recalled: "My brother was 16 years at the time and had a small infection on his nose. He worked as a farmers’ hand in our village. One morning when he was ready to go to work he felt unwell, and my mother told him to return to bed. In the evening two other farmers came to chat with my father. My brother always loved to join these talks at the fire in the hearth. But soon he was sitting with his head on his arms, and said: “I am returning to bed.” The second week of his illness he got little sores on his lips and around his eyes, and the doctor was getting increasingly worried, because the infection was turning inside the boys body. On Friday he advised to give the boy the Last Sacraments. The boys throath was full of pus. That afternoon he was floating in and out of consciousness. He was swinging one leg out of the box bed. We put that leg back. That night he made terrible sounds. We were all awake. My mother said: “His end is coming near”. Slowly his movements and sounds became less and at dawn he passed away. Afterwards my mother removed all the chaff and straw out of the box bed and throw it on the dungheap, it was completely soaked. Under the box bed there was a big wet spot. We did not have a picture of our brother, that is why the parish sacristan, who had a camera, made a picture of my brother n the coffin.” And there he lies, the poor boy, just 16 years old.
