Tragic events show us how fragile life is

Sir
An informal get-together at the Curry Parlour in memory of WO Juggan, Molly and Ashok this weekend showed a collection of friends and colleagues that showed up from afar, particularly, police colleague Joey Singh, who came in from Greytown.
The strength and power of the feeling among that eclectic group of people were aptly ventilated when many individuals stood up and paid their respects to Jakes, Molly and our great friend, Ashok. This police officer left a hole in this town that will not be promptly filled.
When Jakes Juggan went missing that day, I was not unduly surprised, or even worried. He was Farm Watch, which meant that he was out and about, in the countryside. He was a veteran policeman and he carried the medals when he participated in the Remembrances at the Cenotaph.
The tragic events of the past two weeks have shown how fragile life is – life can be spun and rendered asunder by a careless, or unfeeling hand.
I never knew Jakes closely, but we bonded with the mutual knowledge that we stood on the same parade grounds, wore the same uniforms, drank the same beer, talked the same talk, and walked the same walk. It is that silent, unspoken kinship that makes a man move up one space next to a bar counter, point to a fresh beer, offer an unasked light or smoke, or just knew when to keep your mouth shut. It is a bond earned under all kinds of duress, achievement, fear, blinding frustration, mindboggling fatigue and murderous rages. It is a Band of Brothers.

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We are not perfect. Far from it. Perfidious Albion strides among us with measured steps and his disguises are murderously familiar. Our only too human weaknesses are often displayed with a chilling finality on the merciless soundboard of the watching masses, and we do fail, sometimes. Was this chilling event such a failure..? We do not know, and we may never know.
The Watchers in Blue, or Black, depending on what side of the ocean you have the watch, too often fight a silent, vicious struggle with the demons of human life, striving to keep the good ones at home and the evil ones at bay. You never complain, you never admit defeat, you never show weakness, and you always report for duty.
We are the Dogs of Democracy, and we do its dirty work in the dark, or in the glaring light of the media, in the townships or the shopping centres. We are never supposed to fail, and we are never supposed to buckle under the strain. You can mothball the uniform, but your spirit will never step down. It is simply not possible. If you have joined the fray in the Halls of Valhalla, brother, be at peace, for there will be others to continue the watch. The last beer round was not on you, but about you. Goeie pad, ou Jakes.
Johann Hamman and friends.