We are at the end of two days of dramatically choreographed ceremony. Yesterday the king’s body came back to Tonga. At the airport, Queen Salote College girls sat on the tarmac, ready to form a pathway for the coffin when it arrived. Most of the road from the airport to Nuku’alofa is lined in the same way; some communities even cover the road with ngatu (tapa cloth) for the length of the village. I waited nearby with the students from St Andrew’s High School (where Sr Fehoko teaches). Poor kids! Hour after hour they waited in the full sun. Information is hard to come by; it’s almost as if the government wants to keep everyone on edge. Eventually the cortege arrives. Protocol dictates that everyone has to sit down, their eyes fixed on the ground. After the hours of waiting, it is gone in a moment.
Throughout the night, churches take it in turns to hold vigil services by the Royal Palace. Winston asked me to take photos of the rehearsal for the Anglican service. He is resplendent in a cassock with cape and purple piping – another inheritance from his father. I’m given a lift by my new friend, his brother Stephen. He drives an ancient Land Rover Discovery that once belonged to the last British High Commissioner in Tonga. The singing is wonderful. Halfway through the practice a group arrive from the northern islands of Vava’u, fresh off the ferry after a long voyage. Nobody knows much about the funeral service – including details like the time it will happen.
Having come all this way I certainly didn’t want to miss anything, so by 9.00 am this morning I was at the Free Wesleyan Church office to find out what was happening. It was soon clear that no one knew much more than I did. I met a number of people I knew long ago. Some recognise me instantly (a surprise), with others it takes us a while to realise that we know each other. I was already hot in my clerical shirt and suit. This would have been a great day for my frock coat (in spite of the heat)! As it is, I have to make do with my Rohan travel suit; ‘technology disguised as clothing’ it says on the label, but it’s no match for some of the outfits around me.
The best policy seems to be to hang around the entrance to the pangai malai and see what happens. The girls from Queen Salote College march in, the pleats in their uniforms immaculately starched and pressed. They have another day in the sun, their two rows forming the pathway along which will come the main dignitaries and the great catafalque. In one part of the ground anyone (as long as they’re suitably dressed ) can come and find a space. Quite a few do - though with the air of families on a day’s outing rather than people in deep mourning. Eventually I can see cars with foreign flags approach another entrance and I stroll in there. I’m seated with the ‘B list’ dignitaries – diplomats, politicians, assorted military and ecclesiastical folk, etc. Next to me is the head of the Salvation Army in Tonga.
The new king and queen arrive (claim to fame: she sat next to me at a party on the night of my ordination and accidentally put her heel through my certificate – with hindsight I should have kept it instead of having it replaced!). With them are the Duke of Gloucester, a royal Japanese Couple, the Governor General of Australia and a few other heads of state.
Following them come the massed ranks of Tongan nobles and their families, wrapped in the largest mats you can imagine. They occupy the other half of the tent in which I'm sitting. I was rather shocked at the number of them taking mobile phone calls during the service!
The funeral itself is fairly simple and led by ‘Ahio, Church President, royal chaplain and (because he has a high chiefly title) organiser of the king’s royal kava ceremony – quite a collection of jobs. Readings, prayers, hymns (surprisingly poorly sung) and an oration my Tongan wasn’t good enough to follow. The visitors don't know the protocol of sitting in the presence of someone higher, so keep standing for hymns, etc. Tongans are torn between being polite to their ignorant visitors and standing up, or sticking to their own culture and sitting down. The vote seems pretty evenly split.
Eventually, the coffin is taken to its tomb and handed over to the ha'atufunga who have hereditary responsbility for burying the king and watching over his tomb. There's an interesting interaction between the Christian funeral service and the very traditional rites and customs that go with Tongan nobility.
Once the king and queen leave, the event breaks up rather chaotically. I spend a bit of time chatting (a former student from 30 years ago has arrived from Auckland) and then go in search of water before dehydration sets in.
No comments:
Post a Comment