Prime Ministers past and present gathered at the Sydney Opera House on Tuesday to celebrate the life of a great Australian
An air of truce hangs over memorial services. Old enemies find themselves sitting cheek by jowl. They chat. They make do. But the truce at Hazel Hawke's memorial service in the Concert Hall of the Opera House didn't extent to Julia Gillard and Kevin Rudd.
Gillard was given a round of applause as she entered the packed hall. This was, after all, a Labor crowd. She and Rudd sat nine seats apart. Between them was a human wall of politicians including Barry O'Farrell and the Howards.
The prime ministers in the stalls – with a late addition of Paul Keating – represented an unbroken run of three decades of power. Old prime ministers live a long time in this country but they grow so old. Under that magnificent head of hair, Bob Hawke has shrunk. Keating is disappearing inside his suits. John Howard has become a benign version of the plugger he was.
None of them spoke. Nor did the Governor General. The speeches were left to family and friends. "Hazel had a special relationship with the Australian people," said one of her oldest friends Wendy McCarthy.
"They felt they knew her, that somehow she would understand their stories and concerns. That she was one of them. That they shared a common narrative about being Australian and about the things that mattered: love, marriage, children, community, social justice and fairness."
Hazel Hawke who died in May at the age of 83 loved every minute of her time as wife of the prime minister. But their marriage ended soon after Hawke left office and a decade later she noticed the first signs of Alzheimer's.
"She grew to love her new independence," said McCarthy. "Her voice was heard and valued. So Alzheimer's was a doubly cruel blow and many times she wept with rage at the way it curtailed her new autonomy. She so hated having it. But courageously she decided if it might do some good she would use her voice and speak out as indeed she always did."
This was one of the long memorial services, pushing two hours. Not a word of religion was spoken. No hymns. More music than speeches: Bach from the organ and Mozart from 'Hazel favourite band' the Sydney Symphony Orchestra.
The Mozart triple piano concerto was, I think it's fair to say, an unexpected half hour in the lives of many of the politicians past and present in the concert hall. But Hazel Hawke loved music. Indeed she played this concerto once with the SSO.
Rudd stared abstractly upwards as the music unfolded, apparently lost in thought, his finger on his chin. Gillard looked dead ahead. She has mastered the art of sitting absolutely still. A world away, question time was beginning.
Everyone spoke about Hazel Hawke's laugh. The notices were poor but the critics forgiving. "Shockingly loud" said McCarthy. "An unusual cackle," said former Hawke government minister Ralph Willis. "There was never any trouble finding Mum in a room," said her daughter Sue Pieters-Hawke.
She also said: "Mum had this instinctive, uncontrived tendency to pull always towards good, towards the best and most positive view of people and situations. She very rarely hit a false note."
What began as a state occasion ended as a family funeral: tender, proud words from a daughter, a poem from a weeping grandson and Danny Boy played, this time only, by the best orchestra in the country.
Then it was over except for managing Gillard's exit. Rudd was at the far end of the row near the door shaking hand after hand as the official party went past. No one escaped his hand. Hawke shook. O'Farrell shook. But when Gillard drew level, a gulf seemed to open between them. The contenders weren't in the same space. They didn't shake. She moved on.