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A grim milestone in Canada's war in Afghanistan resulted in more spectators at CFB Trenton
yesterday during the repatriation of three more soldiers.
The deaths of Cpl. Mark Robert McLaren of Peterborough, Warrant Officer Robert John Wilson,
of Keswick -- whose children, Emily, 9, and Owen, 7, live in Peterborough and attended
yesterday's repatriation with their mother, Ann Pritchard -- and Pte. Demetrios Diplaros of
Toronto Friday brought to 100 the number of Canadian troops killed since 2002 in Afghanistan.
The trio was on patrol with Afghan colleagues about 15 kilo-metres west of Kandahar city when
an improvised explosive device detonated.
Const. Jonathon Peacock saluted as yesterday's motorcade passed him.
The officer from North Grenville OPP in Kemptville, Ont., who had been directing traffic with
his fellow officers, served in Afghanistan with Cpl. McLaren in 2006-07.
He said Cpl. McLaren -- then a reservist with the Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment -- was
wounded by shrapnel from a mistaken American air attack.
"From what I knew of him he was a fantastic guy," Peacock said. "I feel terrible for his family."
An estimated 250 to 300 people -- slightly more than the usual crowd -- gathered along Highway
2 to watch what little they could see of the 2 p. m. ceremony.
Insp. Earl Johns of Quinte West OPP said the first reporters and photographers had arrived at 10
a. m., with spectators arriving at noon. Many repatriations haven't drawn crowds until about half
an hour in advance.
Tracey McLean of Brighton came with her daughter, Kaitlyn Killby. McLean's stepson, Cpl.
Kevin Foster, escorted Cpl. McLaren's body from Afghanistan until the conclusion of his funeral.
Both had served with the Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment.
McLean said she was worried about her stepson's state of mind. He and Cpl. McLaren were close
friends, she said, and within a few days he'll return to Afghanistan. "They go over there and they
get in a mindset, and now that mindset is broken," she said.
The procession made its way from CFB Trenton and along the Highway of Heroes. Lining the
bridges of Port Hope were emergency services from the Peterborough Fire Department and
police service.

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Thane Burnett Toronto Sun

This afternoon, on a cold tarmac at CFB Trenton, Canadians are expected to welcome home our
most recent sons, lost to Afghanistan.
As the bodies of Pte. Demetrios Diplaros, 25, Cpl. Mark McLaren, 23, and Warrant Officer
Robert Wilson, 27, are scheduled to return on a 2 p.m. military flight, they will be met by an
honour guard, their families and a wall of media attention. Because the soldiers, together, mark
the 100th Canadian casualty in the war.
And while the media and pundits tend to grab onto the importance of these numerical and
symbolic milestones, average Canadians, from our first casualties in February 2002, have been
the ones to recognize the weight of every lost soul.
They have realized, the 100th is important. But so was the first, second and everyone in between
and those who may follow.
Each time, something remarkable and heartfelt takes place, soon after their remains touch down
in this country. It's a pause in the rhythm. An acknowledgment.
We've all seen the pictures of flag-waving mourners on overpasses above Ontario's Hwy. 401;
the largest part of the repatriation route which runs from CBF Trenton to, eventually, the
coroner's building in the heart of downtown Toronto. But now, on a day when three more
soldiers will follow the route, see the entire remarkable 173-km journey along the Highway of
Heroes from within the funeral procession itself.
This, from inside those cars, is what it looks like to see a nation mourn.
On a clear afternoon, a large OPP SUV moves with purpose out of the guarded gates which lead
onto the tarmac at the central Ontario military airport.
Again the sounds of a bagpiper, that funeral car now follows behind the lead police car and
several black limos. Behind the hearse, other Cadillacs filled with the family of the lost soldier,
add to the line of stark black. An honour guard of emergency vehicles, complete an unstoppable
and very moving convoy.
The first street has been cordoned off to traffic. All others to follow, before the ride is over, will
also either be closed off to all other vehicles, or will be cleared.
The soldier's procession will not be stopped or even really pause. The line of cars make their way
onto a road nick-named 'Repatriation Row'. No matter the time of year or time of day, there are
people who wait outside. They've included people like Doug Robinson, who, on this day, sits in a
wheelchair by the fence, and holds the hand of his wife, Eleanor. Doug, a 71-year-old veteran
who joined the Canadian military at age 17, has come: "Just because we wanted to say 'Thank
you'."
As the convoy passes, the family of the fallen can see Doug and Eleanor -- and so many other
strangers -- lining the road.
Onward the procession moves, past Trenton homes, where owners -- as if called to prayer -- exit
their front doors and walk to the side of the road.
At every intersection now, there are emergency vehicles as sentries.
You are rolling onto the onramp to the westbound lanes of Hwy. 401, past the large Saputo dairy
factory. A few workers are standing on the other side of the fence -- hygenic nets on their heads,
in ankle-deep grass, paying their quiet respects before returning to their afternoon shift.
The line takes over the two, far right lanes of the highway now. A gauntlet of OPP vehicles clear
ahead and form a buffer behind.
A few large transport trucks in the far right lane which continue, blow their horns like war ships
coming into port.
The police -- the OPP for much of the journey and the Toronto Police Service when it gets to the
city -- stop cars from exiting onramps to the highway.
You are part of a ghost armada that's allowed safe passage into Canada's largest city.
Behind you is a wall of police cars and flashing lights. They are keeping a traffic jam at bay.
You're passing by the vigils on the many overpasses now. Not one span will be empty. Flags
drape over the sides and float high from poles.
Against a backdrop of trees, during more remote sections of the route, a single car may sit idling,
with a single person, standing outside -- pausing to offer a salute to a family they can't see behind
darkened windows.
The fallen soldier is close now. The thunder of a unit of Toronto Police motorcycle police move
ahead and behind the convoy in a well timed manoeuvre. The black line -- well into rush hour --
exits the 401 and toward downtown.
Along nearby bike paths, people stop to watch. Entering the core, sirens echo off of the tall
buildings, heralding the final few kilometres.
And along the sidewalks, and at every corner, people stand as if in prayer. Children hold hand-
made signs -- "Welcome Home," and "We will remember you."
Sudden applause breaks out along the sidewalks. Even from inside the vehicles, you can hear the
sound.
A few corners later now, and the black line is pulling into Grosvenor St., a short lane where the
coroner's building is located.
The emergency vehicles pull to the curb or return to duty. Most times, you can find Harry
Carrigan among them. Now retired after 30 years as a cop, the former OPP sergeant made it his
mission to help escort almost all of the soldiers back home. His retirement can't stop that.
From down the street, a uniformed soldier, panting, runs up to ask Carrigan: "Have I missed
him? Am I too late?"
Yes, he's told. It's happened. The soldier is home. But, says Carrigan, there were plenty of others
to acknowledge the moment -- just as there will be this afternoon, when the three brothers-in-
arms are carried home.