The niece of Major Paul Harding who died in Basra in 2007 has paid tribute to her uncle at a memorial service in Walton-on-Hill.

As the rain trickled down my window, I woke up with a sudden feeling in the pit of my stomach that something wasn’t right. I looked outside only to see a blanket of thick, black clouds surrounded by raindrops the size of pinheads, I rubbed my eyes hoping that I was dreaming, as I did so, I knew I wasn’t.

As little as I knew that this day was going to break so many innocent people’s hearts, I gently stretched and as I did so my Dad came into my room, he had a sympathetic look on his face and his eyes were awfully red and puffy. I comforted him and asked him unknowlingly what was wrong, he replied with a simple seven word sentence that made my heart sink to the very bottom of my stomach, and made my eyes fill up with salty tears. My heart started beating loud enough for me to hear as these seven words flashed through my head, “Uncle Paul has been killed in Iraq” I collapsed in a ball on my bed, hiding my crimson eyes as they leaked out streams of tears. I kept hearing a gunshot in my head, I felt like I was going to be sick, just imagining my Uncle, my own flesh and blood was shot that was so powerful enough to kill him sent a strange shiver down my spine. As I managed to get a breath of air, I spoke with a shivering voice asking how and when it had happened, I got a reply saying “this morning I got a call from your Mum from Gran Canaria saying that Uncle Paul got shot at and a fragment of something managed to hit his head which had killed him instantly.

At this I closed my eyes , looking round my colourful room but all I could see was grey, it was like my eyes had adapted to my thought in my head, I glanced another upset look at my Dad, I went to speak but the words just stayed at the tip of my tongue. My Dad said in a calm and unsettled voice, “I’m sorry, he was such a good Man, if I could I would swop positions with him, but truly Emma I’m so sorry. At this I broke down in tears, but more now as it dawned on me that it was reality.

The day seemed to just drag on, without any recollection of the time. My Mum ‘phoned, she seemed extremely tired and upset, she told me that Uncle Paul had been killed at 1 o’clock in the morning and was on the front Sangar, the most dangerous and exposed spot in order to help secure the route in for a re supply convoy. He got shot at and a fragment hit his head which killed him instantly.

These words kept repeating in my head throughout the day.

He died because he was in the most dangerous position in the centre of Basra, he was only out in Iraq for less than a month. He was there at the wrong time. I thought to myself if only he didn’t put his life at risk to help others he would still have been here today, but he died proving that he was the one for the job and he died proving that he was fighting for the right of his country.

The day of the funeral came finally after sixteen grieving days of waiting for the last chance to say our final goodbyes.

It was a long journey to Winchester Cathedral where his service was held, it seemed as if it took more than half a day to get there. I walked into the Cathedral with my Grandad, I looked around, I was amazed at the number of people who were in the Cathedral I would never have imagined that all the people who had filled that building had known and loved my Uncle.

I closely held my Grandad’s arm and gently looked over at him, I saw a tear trickle down his cheek, his face pale and he looked as though he had seen something with shocking powers. He kept his eyes on the Altar, it was as if someone had super glued him onto it. As my family walked the long distance to the front of the Cathedral, people turned and looked with sympathy and pity. I felt like every footstep was an effort, everything inside me felt heavy and tears welled up inside my eyes, my heart felt broken.

We took our seats and shortly after I saw the coffin being carried by six pallbearers with a union jack draped over it and his regimental sword and cap on top. It was almost too much to bear to think that my Uncle’s body, which had enjoyed so many sporting activities and life so much, was empty and lifeless, I cried so much, but felt that I must be strong for all my family, but it was impossible.

I remembered my Mum telling me a story of how he had helped her when they were on the Isle of Wight, He was the strong one, the invincible one, until now.

There was a picture of my Uncle by his coffin, I looked into his big, bright eyes, he looked so happy and proud in his uniform, I have not known a man who was so proud to fight for his Queen and Country, it made me feel extremely proud to be related to him.

In the final ten minutes of the service, Nick Haddock, a colleague and a friend of my Uncle gave an eulogy of Uncle Paul’s life, what he said will stay in my heart forever,”with a gentle manner and disarming honesty, he touched so many lives, and he died where he was always to be found , leading from the front.”

After all the prayers and hymns were sung, the Service was over. The family had to follow the coffin to the black funeral cars for a private Service for his family and closest friends. Words cannot describe how I felt when I had to walk down the, what seemed a floor of glass behind my Uncles coffin, all I could do was look at the beautifully designed stained glass window which was positioned at the back of the Cathedral. As the many people stared and gave sympathetic looks, my heart felt sore, and it felt as though it had turned jelly, like the rest of my body.

As I walked out of the large wooden doors of the Cathedral, I saw many fluorescent yellow jackets, it didn’t occur to me that the police were going to be patrolling there. My family and I got into the black funeral cars and prepared ourselves for the crematorium service.

Once we got there, we took our seats again, the coffin was roughly five meters away. My heart started racing as it did when I was walking down the aisle in the Cathedral. My two cousins went up first and read the poem, ”Footsteps in the Sand”, I will never ever be able to read or listen to this poem again, even the name of it brings a tear and a cold shiver down my spine. I watched and listened in silence, not knowing if this was all a dream, I thought to myself, this is something that happens in war films or soaps, not to me. It just felt so unreal, like my mind was playing tricks on me, but as I thought slow and hard, this isn’t a dream, this is real life .

After a twenty minute cremation service, the time I had most dreaded had come, the thick red curtains that were either side of the coffin started to close, I felt like jumping out of my seat and stopping the curtains as I knew this was the last time my Uncle’s body would be in one piece.

After the crematorium service my family went back to the Army Headquarters in Winchester to join everyone in having a toast to celebrate Uncle Paul’s magical life. This was very emotional as people who knew Uncle Paul were sharing their stories with every one, they were unbearably moving and spoke volumes of the love and respect Uncle Paul had inspired.

One very tall man who was a very good friend of my Uncle, spoke words which made me reduce down to tears, he said in a calm strong voice, “Paul was an outstanding sportsman, representing the Army at squash, swimming, athletics, football, basketball and water polo, he has inspired generations of young riflemen to extend their horizons and to take pleasure in a sporting life as much as their social and professional standards laid down a challenge to us all”

By being at that gathering made me feel proud of my Uncle, it suddenly dawned on me that not one person had anything bad to say about him, there were only good memories, not bad.

Once the gathering had finished we headed home, the car had a sense of tension inside. I had a very long think to myself about my Uncle and the traumatic day I had just experienced, Even now to this very day, I think about him and tears still well up inside me, I have a huge amount of pride for him that will last forever until I die. It matters less that most people failed to match him; the key is that he inspired me to try and never stop trying. It was a constant desire for self- improvement that was one of the most important and enduring aspects of his legacy.

Uncle Paul embodied a life based on service to others, duty and self-sacrifice- the life of a soldier. He chose this life and lived it with passion, he died prematurely, but he died doing what he loved.

The resilience, determination, professionalism, decency and compassion, pride, good humour and fighting spirit that I saw in my Uncle has made be believe that I could learn by example.

I am not bowed down or beaten by his loss instead I stand a little taller today than yesterday.