Until recently, Joe Curry was a PC riding president in Toronto Centre.
A few weeks ago his unit was deployed to Kandahar.  On Wednesday he sent
this poignant email concerning the most recent death of a Canadian
soldier.  Joe has an incredible gift for capturing and describing an
event.

This morning, the most sobering event in my life took place as we said
goodbye to Petty Officer Blake on the tarmac of Kandahar Air Field. 

I did not know him. He arrived here just about a week before I did, as
part of the same rotation (roto 9). While we came here prepared to face
tragedy, it does not subtract from the sheer sobering reality you face
as you stand here holding your salute with a thousand brothers-in-arms
as one of our fallen begins his final journey home. 

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach the other night as I realized
first that the internet was not working, then my cell phone. I went to
the trailer filled with small booths, each containing a phone, provided
for us to call home. No dial tone. Comms lockdown! We lost someone I
realized. (This, as you know, is done until the next-of-kin are
notified). As I walked back to my tent I overheard a civilian contractor
complaining to his friend that he couldn't get online to book his
vacation which he plans to take in September. They don't know. In the
morning, the maple leaf over Old Canada House flew at half mast.

Later in the day (being called upon to assist with the Viewing and Ramp
Ceremony) I stood in the mortuary adjacent to the runway where the
bodies of Canadian, American and British sons and daughters are lovingly
prepared to begin their journey home. In a place where one can seemingly
never escape the dust and putrid odour which hangs in the air, this room
is cold and sterile. I never want to come here again. A small ante room
off the side contains a large table where the flags to cover the
transfer cases are meticulously pressed and prepared. Off to the side
hang several flags which have been rejected due to small imperfections.
"See here?" Sgt Mullen points to where a small portion of red dye has
run over into the white part of the flag (only noticeable upon close
inspection). "Would you want that for your child? No one would." She
answers herself. "You can take one if you like, we have to burn them and
I don't like to burn a Canadian flag if I don't have to." I decline.

The Military Police then arrived to break the seal on the refrigerator so we could move his body to the Afghan War Memorial for the Viewing.
Nestled in the Task Force Kandahar compound, the memorial is a
beautiful, peaceful place. Matching white marble walls rise from a base
of black marble, which is also used to cap the walls. On these are
mounted black marble plaques, each etched with the face of a fallen
soldier along with his name and unit. The memorial is shaded by several
large drooping trees which resemble willows and add to the serenity of
the place. Workers finished polishing the memorial just moments before
we placed the flag draped transfer case on it, next to a photograph of
PO 2nd Class Blake and his General Campaign Star. I decided not to stay
for the viewing - it is a time for those who knew him to grieve
together.

I emerged from my tent at 0500 hrs this morning into a thick soup of
what can best be described as viscous fog mixed with dust. It is
something you may have difficulty imagining. There was a dust storm last
night (as we frequently experience) which then mixed with a thick fog.
It seemed that the moisture particles bound to the dust particles and
kept them afloat. At the end of the ceremony our berets, eyebrows,
eyelashes, hair etc. were "frosted" with dust. If one didn't know
better, they would think to see it that we all frozen in place.

This cloud insulated the ramp ceremony, making it almost surreal. No
outside sound penetrated. From where I stood at the side of the LAV III
from which PO Blake's body was carried, only the open tail of the
Hercules could be seen on the other side of the formed body of Canadian,
American, British, Australian, and Slovakian troops - the body of the
aircraft vanishing into the cloud. It was quite an insular ceremony. As
the boots of a thousand soldiers marched on, I felt privileged to be a
part of this national - and international - tribute to a fallen Canadian
hero. Yes, there was a swell of emotion as we held the salute to our
fallen brother as he made his way feet first onto the aircraft -
departing the way he had arrived. I thought of the caution I had
received from MCpl Lee before going out onto the tarmac: "whatever you
start to feel out there, lock it away. We can't afford to get emotional
here; there will be plenty of time for that when we get home."

As I type this now I can feel the cold steel of the transfer case, the
weight of the handle pressing into my palm. We have more to carry now:
the torch of PO Craig Blake. We cannot stop to feel the emotion fully
yet because his work here needs to carry on through us who remain. 

God rest his soul; and may we never forget.

Sincerely,

Joe

P.S. Sgt. Mullen asked me to take over from her (as she is leaving)
responsibility for the Memorial Books which are currently being built.
These are large wooden books made from the same wood that holds the
plaques on the memorial. When next of kin have come here to visit the
memorial they leave behind mementoes. These of course cannot stay on the
memorial as they quickly succumb to the elements. These will be put into
a proper collection in these books and it will be my responsibility to
do so. So far the covers for the books have been made and I will soon
undertake to put together the contents. When the memorial is moved to
Canada at the end of the war, these books will go into the National War
Museum in Ottawa. What a privilege to be part of such a tribute.