I recently attended a repatriation procession in Wootton Bassett to gather some information for an article that my boss was writing about the war in Afghanistan. Dead soldiers from Afghanistan are brought from RAF Lyneham to the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. Members of the local British Legion started to salute the coffins as they came through Wootton Bassett. Locals and people connected with the dead soldiers later began to attend these memorial events. Then the media got wind of the story and now every procession is recorded by hoards of cameramen and journalists. It was quite an unsettling experience. I am not just referring to the sadness that one feels watching the coffins of five young men who died for a political cause with which they may or may not have agreed. It was something quite separate from that. The collection of people that gravitate towards the small Wiltshire town and their fraught interactions with one another are somehow darkly humorous. Unsettling situations breed comic characters, as some of the best sitcoms prove.
Firstly, there is a large contingent composed of the families and friends of the deceased. Perhaps these people have more right to be there than any of us. They are using the repatriation as an opportunity to say a final goodbye to their loved ones. But isn't that what a funeral is for? Then there are the veterans. It is they who started to salute passing coffins. Having experienced and survived the horrors of war, they feel a greater sense of duty than most to honour the war dead. Many veterans long for the days when the repatriations were 'quieter' affairs without the 'intrusive' media presence. But there is a permanent war memorial in Wootton Bassett and veterans are free to attend the individual memorial services of the war dead if they choose, so is there any point in saluting coffins as they happen to pass through the town?
The media are out in force (and I don't discount myself from this mob). They take pictures of the coffins, interview the bereaved and film tearful faces. Journalists can justify filming the processions by saying that their viewers should be allowed to participate in honouring dead soldiers even if they cannot make their way to Wootton Bassett. I am fully aware, however, that repatriation coverage is just a way for 24-hour news channels to fill broadcasting schedules cheaply and easily. There are others too. A hotpotch of hangers-on from surrounding towns who regularly come to watch the processions for reasons I cannot fathom. An excellent example was a middle-aged middle-class woman who approached me as I was waiting quietly for proceedings to begin. She was suspiciously au fait with journalistic terminology and I got the feeling that she had made it her mission to expose the inhumanity of journalists to the world at large. As if people needed this fact emphasizing. I call her the voyeuristic anti-voyeur.
VAV: God, you know, it's tragic.
Me: (not sure if this woman whom I have never met is talking to me or someone around me) Erm...Yes, it's terrible.
VAV: D'you know, I was here last summer and I never thought I'd be here again.
Me: (not sure whether her previous visit to this picture-book English town was for sightseeing purposes or to rubberneck at the passing hearses) Oh, you've been here before? Do you live in the area?
VAV: Yes, yes (irritated that I couldn't somehow have gleaned this fact from her enigmatic pronouncements) I'm from Bath (with a long 'a').
Me: (Figuring that, as she approached me, it would be polite to continue the conversation) So, are you connected to one of the soldiers who passed away?
VAV: (frowning) Well...not directly connected. It's sort of a friend of a friend of a friend.
Me: (getting the awkward sense that she probably didn't really know the deceased at all, I decide to move on.) And, er...why were you here before?
VAV: (incredulous at my inquiry that I felt obliged to make) Why do you think?! Because soldiers are getting killed (unwilling to specify which particular soldier's death made her drive the 30-odd miles from Bath today and on one day last summer, when soldiers have been continuously dying in Afghanistan since last summer and, indeed, since 2001).
Me: Yes, there are quite a few today. Five in all.
VAV: (venomous, now, as if this fact is somehow my fault) It's too many. It shouldn't be happening. (Noticing that I am holding a notebook) Oh, are you a reporter?
Me: Well, I work for a Japanese newspaper.
VAV: (dispensing with all politeness) Well, you shouldn't be here.
Me: (wondering who she is to judge who should and shouldn't be attending when she can't even name which dead soldier she is supposedly here to commemorate) Erm...well, we're writing a piece about how the war has dropped out of political debate, even though there are so many people pushing for us to withdraw.
VAV: (scoffs) Well, the Japanese haven't had any war dead since the forties.
Me: (unsure as to why she thought it relevant to mention this fact and too unconfident in my Japanese history knowledge to try and contradict her) Well, the war is something that our readers would be interested in.
VAV: There's no story here. There's no point in covering it. You watch this lot (pointing at a row of cameramen standing along the road where the coffins will pass). You watch where they point their lenses when the procession starts. It's disgusting.
Me: (wondering how a cameraman can make footage of a hearse disgusting) Oh really?
[Procession begins. There is complete silence and respectful bowing of heads. Camera bulbs begin to flash and tapes start rolling]
VAV: (in one of those loud stage whispers that is not really a whisper at all) Look at them (pointing at the cameramen). They're all over the families. Those people are just here to grieve. They don't want to be filmed (squeezing her face in between the cameramen's tripods to get a better look).
Me: (noting that there are tearful faces everywhere and that the cameramen cannot but capture this fact) Mmm.
VAV: (attempting to whisper again) Look! Look at them! Scum, the lot of them.
Me: (visibly reddening and wishing that I never took the conversation bait) Mmm.
The only genuine local that I met - as in someone who actually lived in Wootton Bassett itself - was the Mayor. He was an extremely affable chap. He was neither scathing of the media or sycophantic towards the bereaved families, as one might expect. He seemed weary but resolute, as many of the people of Wootton Bassett must be, not that they made a song and dance of their presence. In that sense, they have the best attitude out of all parties concerned. Grief should be a private matter. There are mechanisms in place for people to commemorate the dead privately and momentarily (i.e. funerals), as well as publically and lastingly (i.e. memorial statues and gravestones). Creating a shoddy compromise between the two mechanisms feels awkward and actually generates superfluous grief, which will not necessarily help anyone.
No one asked for any of this. Now, in Wootton Bassett, everyone watches and complains about being watched. Where is the sense in that?
