In remembrance of people who have given their lives in the armed forces, for all men and women but, in this case, my story is about the loss of a father.
The story is about a town in England called Wooten Bassett, an RAF base which accepted service personnel who had died on active duty, the town, its people and all involved took their responsibility very seriously and appointed one senior officer who had the role of organising the proceedings for the return of deceased military personnel from overseas service into the UK.
The officer was once asked in an interview if he was ever affected by the great sadness of it all. He said that he accepted that for many people these occasions were understandably difficult because they were a very sad experience. It was his job to make sure that the military did all it could to support the family and to recognize and honour the individual, he had no choice but to take it all in his stride as it was his job and all part of his training.. His role was to set the standard, to be an example for the many who would be taking part, the bandsmen, the coffin bearers, the other officers, the townspeople and everyone else involved.
More than anyone else, he owed the day to the bereaved family.
That was until the 105th burial proceedings. The organising officer made an exception and on this occasion his training failed him, he broke down.
An English soldier had been killed in battle in Afghanistan, his body was to be returned from the battlefield to Wooten Bassett by army plane. Tragically, the soldier had left behind a wife and four very young daughters, all of them under 10 years old.
A few days before the plane was due the officer went to see the family to make sure that they were aware as to what was going to happen on the day, where they would be standing and what would be expected of them. He explained that a car would be sent for them and they would be taken to the airfield. Soon after, the plane would arrive, the soldiers and everyone there would salute as the coffin was unloaded and a hearse would take the body to the cemetery. He explained that there would be silence from the time that the plane landed apart from a single bugler playing The Last Post, no one would speak.
The officer talked to the four daughters, he said how sorry he was and that the Army would do everything that they could, he suggested that the girls all wore their best clothes and to be as brave as possible. The youngest was three years old, the next just 5, the other two were 8 and 9, Mum had said to her children. ‘be strong girls, do this for your father’.
The plane was already on approach as the family arrived, the army band started playing, quite quietly, rows of officers stood waiting, all at attention.
Mum and the girls lined up as the plane taxied towards them and came to a halt. The band stopped playing, the soldiers all saluted, maintaining their composure. As the coffin was lowered to the ground, there was silence, that was until the little 5 year old girl dropped to the floor on her knees and said 'Daddy'.
Everyone on that airfield broke down. This was the reality of a man lost to War, not procedure, not protocol, not maintaining dignity. A child lost a father who cannot be replaced.