A giant C17 Globemaster ZZ171, the first transport
plane delivered for the RAF, brought the coffins, nine wrapped
in the Union flag, on their final journey direct from Basra
in Iraq. The plane circled the base once right on time, and
everything and everyone in Lyneham village stopped to watch
as the huge plane flew overhead.
Then it touched down on home soil and stopped in front of
a specially erected marquee, sheltering the grieving families
and dignitaries.
Starting with the only soldier on board that fateful flight,
Acting Lance Corporal Steven Jones, the ceremony continued
with the nine RAF personnel in order of rank. Second to be
repatriated was the most senior rank, Squadron Leader Patrick
Marshall, from Headquarters Strike Command in High Wycombe,
Buckinghamshire.
And then, one by one, came the eight from Lyneham, brought
home to the base they loved. Each coffin was afforded the
same ceremony, as they were carried off the back of the plane
and on to British soil in a way none of the men or their families
could have imagined.
One by one they came, each coffin carried by six men from
the RAF Regiment or the Royal Corps of Signals, with a seventh
bearer following behind. Off-loading was overseen by Sgt Major
Billy Mott, a garrison Sergeant Major for the London District.
They passed first Warrant Officer John Duff, from RAF Brize
Norton, who saluted each one as the feet of the leading bearer
made contact with the grey-brown concrete of Lyneham's vast
runway.
Then they passed the Venerable Air Vice Marshall Ron Hesketh
and RAF chaplain General David Wilkes, his flowing red and
white robes fluttering in the stiff breeze.
Both men bowed their heads in respect as each coffin moved
slowly in a wide arc in front of the marquee. Each bearer
laid his arm across the shoulder of his colleague, their white
gloves contrasting with the red of the cross of the St George
part of the Union flag.
And then, after their slow and solemn march past, they came
to a waiting hearse. The six turned inwards and carefully
moved sideways to edge each coffin into the back of the vehicle
- ready for one more journey.
After one hearse was slowly driven away, the ceremony paused
before the next brave serviceman was brought on to home soil.
The Central Band of the Royal Air Force, supplemented by
the RAF Regiment Band, played throughout the hour-long proceedings,
changing to a new mournful melody as each coffin was brought
out. Each time the ceremony was repeated, it signified an
individual tragedy for one family watching intently in the
marquee, each private grief-filled story as heartbreaking
as the last.
There was the coffin of the plane's pilot, Flt Lt David Stead,
his wife Michelle, a teacher at Lyneham's infants' school,
nursing their third child on maternity leave. There was the
coffin of Flt Lt Paul Pardoel, whose wife and three children
were expecting to return to their native Australia this summer
when he ended his RAF stint.
As a mark of respect for his loss, the back wall of the marquee
bore the Australian flag, as well as the British.
Then there was Flight Sgt Mark Gibson, 34, who had wanted
to be in the RAF for as long as he could remember, to follow
in his father's footsteps, and joined the force at the age
of just 18.
There was the only soldier killed on the flight - Acting
Lance Corporal Steven Jones, a 25-year-old with the Royal
Corps of Signals.
For some it was too much to bear, the 90minute ceremony ending
at 2.42pm, as the hearses began a slow journey to the Great
Western Hospital in Swindon for formal identification. Wing
Cmdr Trevor Field, a spokesman for the RAF, said: "This
was a very sombre and solemn occasion and it is poignant that,
particularly the air crews, are repatriated to their home
base.
"They were helping bring justice and freedom to Iraq,
and supporting their fellow servicemen through a very difficult
occupation."
The plane went down on a routine flight from Baghdad to Balad
air base north of the capital on January 30, the day of the
Iraqi elections. An RAF investigation team sent to the crash
site quickly recovered the bodies and began piecing together
what happened on board. Their findings are still awaited.
BUT yesterday was not a day for continued speculation, asking
questions or formulating theories. It was a day for private
grief, for honouring the brave men who risked their lives
and paid the ultimate price doing the job they loved for the
nation.
It was also a day to begin the grieving process, to end the
limbo which had threatened to overcome the families, the men's
colleagues and the community of Lyneham itself, when reports
that the bodies may never be recovered filtered back from
Iraq.
But, above all, it was a day of dignity and solemnity, to
complete the men's final journey together and to bring them
home. |
