As the hundreds who gathered at the communal meeting place at the heart of the village centre came to know - it was Paul who spent hours painstakingly restoring the hall to its former glory.

The 36-year-old lad, without a doubt a larrikin in everyone’s eye, died as the result of a single motor vehicle accident on January 5. His death a shock to the local community but his life, evidently, touched many and varied.

There they were on a cool, overcast Wednesday morning; the elderly, the young, cardiganed women, others tattooed, farmers, graziers, children, babies, businessmen, bikers in leather, bikers in blue - elegant suits and elegant shoes - dusty boots and even a dog or two.

But the Uniting Church service, presided over by Pastor Adrian Single, reminded every person seated or standing, inside and outside that despite the brevity of his life, the gregarious and high-spirited Paul West lived life fast and large. And nobody who met him was left untouched.

A parade of children - two of them Paul’s sons Jack and Charlie - all dressed smartly in crisp blue and white shirts commenced proceedings with a candle ceremony, laying ribboned stalks of wheat on the casket accompanied by music.

And then a piece from his son Charlie:

“Our daddy Mr Strong you taught us so much... God please give our dad a cuddle and tell him how much we love him and miss him. We love you dad.”

It was Paul’s Aunt Alanna Rolfe who provided the central theme reciting the poem The Dash by Linda Ellis, referring to the dates on a tombstone from beginning to end: “He noted that first came the date of birth and spoke the following date with tears, but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years.”

Peter Yates, a long time and very eloquent friend, delivered a eulogy that silenced the room. For some 20 minutes he spoke of a larger-than-life character who lived his life at 100 miles an hour and of the bright shiny star now lost to the world.

The day he was born Paul West already bore a legendary name. The doctors and staff had nicknamed him Richard the Lionheart, so strong was the beat of his heart as he entered the world.

But strong he might have been of heart, tender he was of soul for as a little boy he was content to allow his brother Tom to play with a Matchbox car, while he happily sucked on the box.

Perhaps the most foreseeable quality was the boy who, at age three, was out driving trucks for his grandfather. Or who Caterpillar Boots finally denied a fifth pair of boots - because they’d already dispensed four earlier pairs - to the man who, rough on his boots, was determined to have them honour their lifetime guarantee.

This was a boy of the land who, as most of them do, learn to use their hands and grow things. Here he excelled. When Paul planted a vegetable garden, he yielded 101 pumpkins and 16 kilogram watermelons.

During his time spent at Bribbaree Public School he was distinguished by his gardening, his ability to fix things in the classroom and smoking with friend Henry under the big classroom. Also a cheeky grin and infectious laugh that left girls brokenhearted when in Year 6 he moved to Young Public School.

Finding a foothold in woodwork and metalwork at Young Technology High School provided Paul with a springboard to a carpentry apprenticeship in Queanbeyan, which he began straight out of Year 10, no holiday, and one day after his 16th birthday.

Machinery was also his thing - whether swapping or selling, restoring or repairing - he was noted for his ability to push whatever he was driving or riding to the limit - a perfect circle on tar and a 470 metre burnout in a one tonne ute among his achievements. Not so much for him - he was aiming for 500 metres.

“Paul did everything flat out - he had a great passion for life. When he worked, he worked harder than any man, and when he partied, he partied the hardest,” Peter said. 

“He could build a kitchen, build a house, build a shed, weld, spray paint a truck - anything Paul wanted to do, he could do. He had clever fingers.”

Those clever fingers took him all over Australia and finally home to Young in 2014, a time he spent with his parents. 

Here he helped father Bill and brother Tom on the farm and with their contract harvesting business. His last job was at Goulburn where he managed to bog the header eight times for four boxfuls of oats. The header was still waiting to be picked up and brought home. 

Stories, unexaggerated, abounded of this 21st century wanderer, all of them the stuff of legends lost before their time. 

As Pastor Single said - “Life might be summed up by a dash but Paul West went out with a dash leaving an indelible impression on all.”

Doors laid wide open along the length of that little cream hall allowed cool breezes to play across people’s heads, ruffling across a room silent - but for quietly spoken words, a child’s voice - before settling into the eucalypts, currajong and pine trees outside. In the distance a dog barked. Then, as the pastor spoke of storms and Noah the breeze more boisterous and cheeky. As if Paul was there.

Paul was laid to rest at Bimbi cemetery - his passage to that quiet spot led by his blue Harley Screaming Eagle and a cluster of roaring bikes.

Paul loved that bike, and more so, “the flick, flick, flick of light on the chrome as he road along the road.”

Paul’s mother Anne told The Witness when the Bribbaree pub closed its doors on Wednesday after the wake, not a drop of beer remained. She said Paul would have loved the fact his friends drank the pub dry.

“The pub with no beer,” she said, “he would have loved that.”