farewell to a briagolong boy - slide projector

IT WAS10.
At 30 yesterday morning, in the bright autumn sun.
A patriotic eye, the tall windboard wall of the Briagolong Institute of Mechanics shines with golden light and decorated with dark green bottles.
In the hall, a silver coffin hangs on the Australian flag, confirming the atmosphere of the national moment.
Here, in the last few hours over the earth-rich Brown of jeppsland, it was the body of Jacob Bruce "Jack" coffko in the late 3rd Battalion of the Royal Australian Legion.
This arrangement is a parallel of the simple and precise ordering of military ceremonies by a pious state.
The two chrysanthemums sit on the edge of the small stage in the hall, next to the three resolute red roses in the bathtub.
An electric guitar stands next to the empty platform.
A slide machine played a picture of a dead soldier wearing a camouflage suit for the Desert War, but flashing seemed to be all of him --but-
Smile like a boy.
PA buzzing later oncareer Nirvana.
Two soldiers in starch
The stiff gown makes a fuss over the coffin, arranging the paratrooper's chestnut beret with unlimited care and folding tape.
Finally, they let the bronze kangaroos, crowns and cross rifles of the Australian infantry badge shoot quickly at 90 degrees of rigid attention.
Next is a bayonet, cold-polished steel, eyes walking along the precise center line of bier to the two wreaths at the foot, one is a beautiful wreath, and the other is a strong discontent of Australian Aboriginal residents.
The hall is slowly filling up to the capacity of 200 people. By the time the formalities begin at 11, the crowd has gathered.
At two o'clock A. M. , about 300 of the milling will be left on the gravel outside.
Here, they shared a brief awkward conversation about funerals, dark suits, dark open-minded shirts, sunglasses and cigarettes.
Some people signed the condolence book hanging on the lace --
Placed on the trestle table next to the upright frame, filled with positions and garlands, small white cards open for inspection.
"You are in our hearts," wrote Uncle Barry and aunt Kerry.
"Deepest sympathy," wrote General Peter Leahy.
Private co is a member of Briagolong himself, but through his strange but still a special case of military death, the first victim of Australia's intervention in Iraq, he has become more important.
The prime minister will arrive in a few minutes, as will the defense minister.
Air Force Chief Marshal Angus Houston is on his way and Leahy has just arrived.
Some senators and other members have waited quietly in the hall.
It's not just a simple national mourning. And yet -
In the proud tears of Jack's widow Shirley, on the shoulder of his mother Judy --
That's it.
A fire crackcrackled in a brick fireplace in the small lobby leading to the lobby.
Through another door, a group of women held up the cups and teatos of ulles.
Above them, a roll of honor rolls of dark wood and gold foil recorded 62 people in the area who "added color to the war.
A man in CFA uniform straightened an ancient portrait of justice.
Crowned Queen on top of another crack fire.
Outside the city, across the main street of the town, two young men munched pies in the front yard of the GPO, the general store, and the garage.
Somewhere a dog screamed at the unusual but unseen fuss.
Now that the hall is full, national police minister Tim is only a little late to find an easy seat.
"Sorry, we don't have a room anymore," an officer explained to the public by the double doors in the lobby.
Judy and Martin coffko disappeared in the last episode of Nirvana. . .
Warm milk and laxative ", angry purring gives way to the sorrow of the country piano, your first breed is everything I have.
Judy snuggled up in Martin's arms in the front row, sitting in the hall with a mother's old, sad, silent outsider.
"There is a reason why I live. . .
The fire crack next door snapped and the dog kept screaming.
The side door was buzzing, and the slight frame of John Howard popped up in the hallway, deliberately moving slowly towards the coffin, and before stopping to bow his head stretched to almost a dramatic minute.
Brendan Nelson followed, paused for a moment, and the head suddenly tilted.
Angus Houston and Peter Leahy looked up and looked straight at the coffin.
They sat across the aisle.
After a minute or two of silence, the prime minister and his defense minister Ross walked across the aisle to the flank opposite the hall, shaking hands for Kovco's parents and holding firmly on their shoulders.
If there is any residual feeling in the body last week, then it is lost in simple, primitive, containing the emotions of the moment.
A minute later, the whole hall rises to Lieutenant 3RAR commander.
Colonel Mick Mumford cleared the way for Shirley coffko, who, along with the pastor Tim Buke camp, was in a state of a soul-exhausted trance against the coffin. Eleven-month-
Old Arana was at her hip when she was four years old. year-
Old telly held her mother's free hand, tripped over a toddler's hurried steps in camouflage pants, and boldly --
Printed chestnut T-
Read the "airborne" shirt.
"We mourn the death of a great young warrior," the priest began to say, keeping the rhythm of practice between the worldly comfort of masculinity and the pages of the Bible.
He turned to the Gospel of John, "Don't bother your heart. . .
Believe in God, believe in me.
Shirley had her turn to speak.
"I did write something, but I left it at home.
"Her left hand gently shook the dull chain of her husband's identity label.
Terry stood at her feet and pressed between his mother's legs and the podium.
"Terry is his little man. he has his little princess. I am his queen. . .
He is a great soldier. he is a great father.
"Slowly, Shirley lost a little of her composure as her words changed from a distracted third person to the one who directly awakened the coffin next to her.
"You will never be replaced.
I will look into the eyes of the children and see your smile.
Two of Jack coffko's companions followed, and the burly fighters lost in a war of tears.
Colonel Mumford then promised that coffko would join the other 273 names, which have been inscribed on the memorial stone at the camp's Holsworthy parade.
As more Nirvana rings, the slides flash to the screen.
"And I don't have a gun.
"We saw a grinning boy standing in front of his father's CFA truck proudly hugging a chain of family dogs, with David Bowie's hair, riding a horse, a deer hunter with prey, finally become Infantry: from baby-
On 2002, in the face of recruits, in the face of hardened weapons experts, in the face of professional fighters serving his country, his regiment and his family, overseas.
"God knows what it's like to lose a son," Padre said . " He may have implied a double meaning, perhaps not.
We quickly lined up on the road between the hall and the hearse, just as when the coffin arrived at the sales Cemetery, they were slowly transferred from the car to the gun rack and then led to the grave by the slow bass drum thwack of the Australian Army Band and funereal Chopin and our director corp's own march.
Outside the hall of Briagolong, the prime minister embraced Judy coffko and her almost intense passion.
Brendan Nelson cried.
"He's your dad's boss," said Shirley coffko's dad, holding little Terry to meet John Howard.
This is a moment that a boy may well remember, maybe the same life --
An hour later, when he stood by the grave of his father and put down the first blood, his mind was clear --
The Red Roses jingle on the tin below.
The shooter hit three intercepts, and three RAAF Roulettes slammed in the arrow above his head, and that's what it did.