They came with straight faces and in their summer attire, for it was a sad occasion on a perfect Canterbury day.
They dressed in red and black, sat in the sandy soil atop Hagley Park in Christchurch, sang along to New Zealand's favourite anthems and prayed for the dead, for the living, and for their city.
Tens of thousands of Cantabrians attended the memorial service at 12.30pm yesterday to honour the estimated 182 people who died in the 6.3-magnitude earthquake on February 22.
They were there for many reasons.
They sought acknowledgement of the trials they have faced and confirmation the people in charge intend to get them through.
They wanted to see that others cared and to show everyone that they cared, too.
The crowd wanted to thank those who had pulled them, their families and friends from the darkness of the rubble.
They wanted to see the devastation of the inner city for themselves and for 14 minutes they were still as stone, to a man, woman and child, eyes glued to big screens which showed disturbing image after disturbing image of a city brought to its knees.
They wanted to know they were not alone on this journey and they needed to be told they were being strong and that their city would rise again.
They were there to show that even though they had gone back to their normal lives, back to their jobs, their farms and their studies, they supported the thousands who could not.
Their homes were wrecked and they sought closure. They were not sure if this would deliver it, but it was part of the process.
As many reasons as there were for coming there, an equal number of moods seemed to flit through the crowd.
At first the atmosphere was almost festive, then it turned from sombre to light-hearted to hopeful, and back again.
It was often sad and mournful.
More than once the mood was grateful - applause was as warm for rescue workers as it was for Prince William, who offered encouragement to those still suffering the effects of the quake.
"Kia kaha. Be strong."
The emotion was not raw. Tears slipped quietly, privately, from under dark glasses, or were consumed in a hug before another round of appreciative cheers and clapping.
There was respect and there was calm.
By the time Dave Dobbyn burst into Welcome Home, the crowd seemed heartened by promises that their city would be beautiful again.
Prime Minister John Key spoke about the loss of lives, but also about the city's resilience.
"Here in the beautiful Hagley Park today we see the face of a city that is broken but not beaten," he said.
"Let us today re-commit ourselves to the resolve to rise again."
As they filed out in a quiet, orderly fashion, it did not seem a particularly cheery prospect, but it was something, nonetheless.
