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Vadim’s family have flown 22 hours from Brussels. He was a public order response officer. Every available member of that unit will be there. Solidarity, sympathy and sorrow.
For every operational member, there is an unspoken thought: It could have been me.
Vadim was days away from returning to Melbourne and Neal was counting down the days to retirement. If the arrest team had travelled to Porepunkah a week or so later, they would be alive, but two of their colleagues would have taken their place. Sliding doors.
Recruits from Squad 17 will graduate next week, but they have taken time out this week to learn the slow march. As the senior Academy squad, they have been given the honour as funeral escort.
Squad 16 graduated last week. There were 25 of them: eight from England, Wales, Sudan, India, Zimbabwe and Saudi Arabia.
There was a minute’s silence. As the squad marched off, the thin sun broke through the grey clouds causing a giant rainbow to illuminate the Academy. On the parade ground was an empty chair with a police cap to represent absent colleagues.
The catafalque that holds the coffin in the chapel will be in position. The casket will be draped in the national flag and the police officer’s cap.
The rainbow on the hill as Squad 16 graduates from the Academy.
To the right is the Memorial Chapel with a light that is never extinguished. There is a board that lists 137 police who have died on duty.
Then there are two more boards listing 34 police murdered on duty, the first in 1856.
The Police Academy Chapel.Credit: John Silvester
Mourners will start arriving an hour before the 11am service, driving along Mick Miller Crescent past four flags on the left (Australian, Victorian, Aboriginal and Victoria Police), all at half-mast, and a massive gum on the right.
The front pews on the left will be reserved for senior police and dignitaries. The right is for the family. Boxes of tissues are placed at either end of the first three pews for grieving relatives.
Beneath is a crypt that is now a locker room for recruits. To the right is the chaplains’ office. They have been busy dealing with the families of police worried about the dangers of the job.
A senior chaplain will travel from Geelong to preside over Friday’s service.
To enter the chapel, you walk through the white arch with the police insignia above, take three steps flanked by polished banisters and walk a further 22 strides to the open solid wooden doors that draw you to the altar.
Mates will gather in clusters, PORT will move as a unit while strangers will squeeze together in pews, holding the funeral booklet that lists the order of service, a picture of the fallen officer on the front.
There are hundreds who won’t be there – such as those still hunting the man suspected of killing Vadim and Neal in an ambush.
The mourning is not restricted to the chapel beneath the tower on the hill. The public have been arriving at suburban police stations unannounced, bringing flowers, chocolates and homemade cakes – needing to do something to show support.
Sometimes we need to see evil to appreciate the decent.
The first part of the service is guided by the family, the second by police protocol.
Chief Commissioner Mike Bush will speak. An officer will read the fallen member’s service record.
A colleague will recite the Police Ode, which reads in part:
And we that are left,
Shall never forget,
Rest in peace friend and colleague,
For the sun has now set.
At the end of the service, the mourners spill to the forecourt, the white iron gates will be open. Serving and former members will turn right at number one View Mount Road to form an honour guard. Those in uniform will salute and those who are not will hold their hearts as the hearse passes.
The Academy drill sergeant will call the escort to attention, the pipe band will begin. There will be drum horses and a motorbike escort as they set off on the last journey.
From the Academy gates, you won’t be able to see the end of the honour guard. A police helicopter will sweep at low level along the road, the same type that has been looking for the alleged police killer in dense scrub.
I have been to the Academy many times, as a reporter, a lecturer, a mourner, a wedding guest, a father, and a son.
I have seen both ends of the journey. I was there for my father’s funeral and for my son’s graduation – always guided there by the tower on the hill. I couldn’t have been prouder of them both.
When I went to see my young bloke graduate, it was the week before Christmas 2019. He was the 500th to complete the course since Vadim.
Most were given their badges by then deputy commissioner Rick Nugent. But in another police tradition, if a family member was a serving or former member, they are given that honour.
There was one guy given his “Freddy” by his brother, Alex, a serving officer. There was a handshake and a man hug. The new police officer was Josh Prestney, 28.
Four months later, along with colleagues Glen Humphris, Kevin King and Lynette Taylor, he was killed on the Eastern Freeway. Their names are now in the Memorial Chapel.
I delivered one of the eulogies from the chapel altar for former chief commissioner Mick Miller, someone I had known all my life. He was the best police leader this country has produced.
The rainbow at Eastern Freeway victim Lynette Taylor’s COVID funeral at the police academy.
I was there for Mick’s wife Beverley’s funeral. She was the one who suggested I should try to become a journalist.
Most old police buildings get a smell, not of decay but of weariness. Not the Academy. It is constantly renewed by the recruits, yet to be beaten down by the burden of conflict and tragedy.
Silvester speaking at Chief Commissioner Mick Miller’s funeral.Credit: Joe Armao
There are about 430 recruits in 20 squads, the newest arriving last week, another 230 doing other courses and nearly 400 staff.
More than 30,000 police, protective service officers and custody officers have been trained and graduated there. Unlike tertiary colleges the students attend every day, there are no online options, with many living in the Academy. No one dawdles here.
Sergeant Gary Silk could see the chapel tower from the family home just down the hill. They had his funeral there after he and Rod Miller were in 1998 murdered on duty.
Like Neal in 1988 and Vadim 31 years later, they left the Academy with their careers in front of them. They move to spots around the state but come together for reunions and, like on Friday and Monday, for funerals.
In each squad, one recruit is selected as Dux. The award is named after Angela Taylor who in 1984 graduated top of her class.
In March 1986, she was killed in the Russell Street Bombing. She was 21 years old. Her name is on the plaque in the Memorial Chapel.
Now there are two more.
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