“The fighting was fiercest just outside Leamington. Harrow…Kingsville…yes, they were bad, but nothing like L’ton…
“If I close my eyes, I can still smell the acrid stench of burning tomatoes and melted plastic squeeze bottles, making their own frontal assault on my nostrils, even as I drew nearer the old factory. Was there a chance Gerald was still alive? Who knew, but I did know one thing - I owed it to him to find out. He’d have done the same for me.
“Suddenly, there I was, just outside the old employee entrance…an entrance Gerald and I had used for years, churning out bottle after bottle of ‘the red stuff’ as we called it - Gerald in charge of sticking the labels on, and me screwing on the caps. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was good honest work…while it lasted…
“That’s when I saw him, just inside the door, covered in blood from god knows how many wounds.
“Gerald, how bad is it?” I asked, not really wanting to know. I cradled his head and joked, “Is that your blood or the other guy’s?” Lame, but I was lost.
“It’s worse than that, Gordie,” he said, “It’s not blood…it’s HEINZ!!! NOOOOOO!!!!”
