A good friend of mine, a dairy farmer, discovered that the valley between the two silos in his yard was leaking, so he decided to put a patch on it. To get to the roof of the sheds he got his apprentice to hoist him up in the safety frame on the loader with the telescopic arm. My friend was a very experienced roofer and was extremely careful. Heights were no problem to him, having previously worked as a builder.
When he had completed the repair job he gathered up his tools and was just about to step onto the safety frame when suddenly he fell through the perspex skylight, cutting his arms as he fell through it. He fell a distance of about fifteen feet, striking firstly his head, then his neck and back on the parlour feeder railings, which were about thirty inches apart. When he hit the concrete floor of the shed his body was in a u-shape, trapped in the railings.
The first thing that came into his mind as he lay on the floor, expecting to die, was the thought that there was no time. Everything had happened so quickly that there was no time. One minute he was on firm footing on the shed, but within seconds he was on the ground. As he lay there in excruciating pain, in a pool of his own blood, slipping in and out of consciousness, uppermost in his mind was the thought that there was no time. There was no time to save himself from falling through the roof. There was no time to try to protect his head as he fell. There was no time to avoid hitting the feeder railings. There was no time to cry for help. There was no time to say a prayer. Now there was no time to explain to his devastated wife what had happened. There was no time to say goodbye to his children. There was no time to put his affairs in order. He firmly believed he was moments away from death and there was no time left to do anything.
When he had completed the repair job he gathered up his tools and was just about to step onto the safety frame when suddenly he fell through the perspex skylight, cutting his arms as he fell through it. He fell a distance of about fifteen feet, striking firstly his head, then his neck and back on the parlour feeder railings, which were about thirty inches apart. When he hit the concrete floor of the shed his body was in a u-shape, trapped in the railings.
The first thing that came into his mind as he lay on the floor, expecting to die, was the thought that there was no time. Everything had happened so quickly that there was no time. One minute he was on firm footing on the shed, but within seconds he was on the ground. As he lay there in excruciating pain, in a pool of his own blood, slipping in and out of consciousness, uppermost in his mind was the thought that there was no time. There was no time to save himself from falling through the roof. There was no time to try to protect his head as he fell. There was no time to avoid hitting the feeder railings. There was no time to cry for help. There was no time to say a prayer. Now there was no time to explain to his devastated wife what had happened. There was no time to say goodbye to his children. There was no time to put his affairs in order. He firmly believed he was moments away from death and there was no time left to do anything.