Photos: Sir Ed's state funeral
Video: Sir Ed's funeral (TVNZ)KEY POINTS:
For all its grandness and international circumstance, all the military shoeshine and recitation of honours, Sir Edmund Hillary's funeral was, more than anything, intimate.
As the most famous and beloved of New Zealanders went to his final rest, he was hailed as an icon, a hero, a colossus - but more importantly as Dad, Grandpa, Ed.
Inside the pretty wooden church of St Mary's, Parnell, with ice axes stacked by the door, the dignitaries in their suits gathered with the mountain-climbers in their sandals, the Sherpas, the little old ladies in a service broadcast across New Zealand and the world.
They listened - as did mourners from Antarctica to Nepal - as Sir Ed's children and grandchildren gave us a series of insights into their man. For so many years they have shared Ed, the adventurer and philanthropist, with the world; now, they shared Ed, the sweet, soft, idiosyncratic toughie.
He was the holiday planner from hell, zipping his kids across the atlas on ambitious family jaunts in the Morris Minor; the snuggled-up All Blacks fan with a glass of whisky in his hand on a winter night; the fryer of lamb chops and boiler of spuds. He was the grandpa waiting with a glass of Ribena; the dad gently teaching his son how to climb; the loquacious bloke singing badly and telling stories - rude ones - into the night by a campfire; the grieving widower sobbing in a Kathmandu back-alley for the wife and daughter he'd lost.
In a long, funny, sad tribute, Sir Ed's son Peter reflected upon how his perceptions of the father he emulated, battled and loved were shaped by that 1975 plane crash, which killed wife Louise and 16-year-old daughter Belinda.
"Despite all of Dad's incredible strength, he was frail too. He was human. That was one of the most endearing and wonderful parts of what Ed Hillary was," Peter said.
"I look back on it now and see it as the long, dark tragedy in our family story. But despite that, Dad's irrepressible energy and restlessness led to more amazing adventures."
Peter Hillary's address set the tone of the day - remembering with equal humour Sir Ed's triumphs, flaws and, most of all, his great devotion to the people of Nepal, for whom he gave a life's hands-on philanthropy.
"My father was the only person I ever met who regularly travelled overseas with a prefabricated building in his baggage," said Hillary of his father, who built by hand schools, hospitals, clinics, roads and bridges to transform the lives of the Sherpas.
"Adventure was compulsory in the curriculum of the Hillary family," he said, relating summer holidays motoring, rafting and always climbing - attaching little Peter to his waist with a rope in case he fell, as he did on one ascent in New Zealand, only to be yanked back to safety with "the world's first bungy."
"Dad as a parent - I can sense some shuddering here, because he never thought he was the greatest parent in the world - but that time, that shared adventure, was one of the most incredible gifts. I think of it the Hillary 'Shared Adventure' approach as a great way for we men to be parents. And if you don't do it now, it's possible you might suddenly lose the opportunity."
Sharing endless cups of tea - usually in silence - was another typical dimension to their bond, he said, relating one occasion where "after three cups of tea ... Dad broke the silence and said 'Would you like to go to the North Pole?"' Three weeks later, they set off.
Fellow adventurer Jim Wilson recalled Sir Ed loved his friends not for their prowess, but their willingness to throw everything at a task - although, said daughter Sarah Hillary, "lacking a sense of humour was a major disadvantage, as Ed loved to laugh, and his dry wit was irresistible".
To Sam Mulgrew, Lady June's grandson, Sir Ed was the ever-patient, funny grandfather, always keen to share a fruit juice or a whisky. Even in his last weeks in hospital, where he was treated under the alias Vincent Stardust, Sir Ed "had a glint in his eye that showed the only thing that mattered was the contact between him and me".
Layered through all the private memories were the deeds and accomplishments. Everest with an oxygen-mask, the Ganges on a jetboat, the South Pole in a tractor, and innumerable adventures with nothing but what he called "my clumsy boots".
Prime Minister Helen Clark reminded the congregation that climbing Everest in 1953 was one hell of an achievement. "He went to a height and a place no man had gone before. He went with 1950s, not 21st century, technology. Above all, he went there with attitude; with a clear goal; with courage and with a determination to succeed."
"Sir Edmund described himself as a person of modest ability; in reality he was a colossus," she said. "As individuals, we may not be able to match Sir Ed's abilities and strength, but surely we can all strive to match his values and compassion for others. His values were strong, they are timeless, and they will endure."
Ang Rita Tsering Sherpa, who runs Sir Ed's Himalayan Trust, described him as "our true guardian and our second father", and said his life showed "how a single man can change the quality of life for the people. Even the most tragic part of his life, in 1975, could not defeat the commitment and determination of his work. We all will miss him".
His love for the Sherpas "was like that of a parent towards a child; it was absolutely unconditional", said Norbu Tenzing Norgay, son of Sir Ed's 1953 Everest partner Tenzing Norgay. "We all see today not only as his passing but the opportunity to continue and expand the work he achieved so much with."
As his coffin left the church for the funeral cortege to Purewa Cemetery, where Sir Ed was cremated privately, schoolchildren of Sir Edmund Hillary Collegiate, aged six to 18, performed a specially composed haka.
"Haere ra, haere ra, haere ra," they said in unison as the hearse's engine started and their namesake began his last journey.
