Rupert

Today we burred my cousin Rupert Bowers. He was a Captain serving in Afghanistan when he was killed by an improvised explosive device. His parents handled today well, better than I could if I were in their shoes. His sister Juliet said a few words, words that showed just how much she loved her big brother. His wife of not quite 2 years, Vicky, had somebody else read the words she had written. They both seemed to cope far better than I would if it were my brother or husband. His son, Hugo, of around about 2 months old slept through most of the hymns, but did make us all aware of his presents when he awoke. I'll hand it to him, the kid has lungs, but he reminded us all that there is still a part of Rupert left in this world.

Rupert was an incredible young man. He had a great sense of adventure, the true heart of a lion, and was a beloved friend to his brother officers. He was a hero. He always put the greater need of others before his own, so much so he gave his rifle to a fellow soldier who needed it more, and carried an injured soldier on his back under fire. His bravery got a mention in Dispatches, the TV show. Rupert was 24 years old. He was too young.

This is where I could go off on one about how we should have never gotten involved with Iraq and, eventually, Afghanistan.

I don't even know how we ended up in Afghanistan.

Here, I could blame the government.

I don't. I do blame Tony Blair, to some extent, for sending us there because he was all to keen to kiss George Bush's backside. However, they didn't make Rupert join the army, they didn't plant the bomb. Rupert wanted to be there.

Now, I could curse God. I could question him as to why he took Rupert away from us? I could ask what is the point of any of this if we are so disposable, so fragile, so inexplicably smite-able?

If I were religious I might, but most probably I would pray for his safekeeping in eternal peace. If I were an atheist I would use this as one more point in my argument against his existence when faced by my ignorant friends clutching their crosses and their rosary beads. I, however, am undecided when it comes to faith, but Rupert's death doesn't sway me either way, it just has me as stuck in the middle more than I ever was.


This, however, is what I do know. Rupert was my cousin. My Grandfather adored him, something which he wouldn't have done without just cause. Most of the things I know about Rupert I have been told through stories, including those at the funeral. In fact, when I think of it, I didn't know Rupert that well. All I know is that he was a great man who I wish, so dearly, that I could have spent more time with.

I may not have known him as well as I could have, but I know this... I loved him, despite the little time I had a chance to speak to him, to get to know him. Yet I cannot help but think that, even though I have so few memories of a man whom it was an honor to know, Hugo should have had my time with him. No child should have to grow up knowing nothing but the stories they are told about their father, yet that is all Hugo will ever have.

Rest in peace Rupert. You will be missed by all who knew you, no matter how well they knew you, you will be missed.