It’s an old rule of politics: never waste a disaster.

Bob Hawke is dead but his tribe gathered at the Opera House today to give his successors – both the prime minister and the leader of the opposition – a little advice: that change is possible, that policy matters and a better Australia is waiting.

All we need is a leader who knows how to lead.

So many of Hawke’s ministers and advisers lining up at the microphone to give their advice – Kim Beazley AC, Ross Garnaut AC, Bill Kelty AC - looked so untouched by time they seemed ready to get back to work.

Paul Keating was showing his age. He was near the end of the list. Many of us sat through the ceremony in the Concert Hall in the shadow of what Keating might say. What last barbs, what unforgettable lines would he deliver?

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But he showed superb tact. No dancing on this grave. He was cool, discreet and even official. The hard rule of delivering a great eulogy is to never talk about yourself. Keating almost – almost - got there.

Ceremonies like this are, by their nature, little truces in political warfare. Faction enemies nattered in the foyers. Putting on a suit maybe helps. Everyone is better behaved. And for this day at least, they were all on a unity ticket: still alive.

Many took the stairs one at a time. Few in this crowd seemed to know their way round the Opera House. Max Gillies was there, representing that band of Hawke impersonators of whom he was, without doubt, the cruelest and the best.

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We learnt a couple of things today about modern Australia. We’re shy of the old word widow and no one stands anymore when the Governor-General comes into the room.

For an hour and half, praise was heaped on Hawke’s achievements. But right at the top – after Linda Burney’s superb welcome to country – we faced one of the worst decisions of the 23rd prime minister: Advance Australia Fair.

Couldn’t Hawke have found something, anything, better than this? All these years on, we’re still praising the continent-girting sea and the golden plains we’re less than enthusiastic to share. If we can’t fix the tune, can we fix the words?

So how did the 30th PM go in farewelling Hawke? Not bad at all. Scott Morrison’s speech was far better than OK and all his own work. He had an odd confession to make: he had barely met his famous predecessor.

“Bob Hawke loved our country,” he said. “We are a better country for it.”

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We wait at great events like these for ovations that come out of the blue. They came for Medicare, for letting 40,000 Chinese stay here after Tiananmen Square, and for Nelson Mandela’s gratitude for Hawke’s role in ending apartheid.

But the first outburst from the crowd came as Anthony Albanese recalled his leader saying of himself one day: “Why do I have credibility? Because I don’t exude morality.”

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The praise kept coming: for knowing this country so profoundly, for running a cabinet of talents, for his powers of persuasion, for weathering the storms when things were not going so well. But from speaker after speaker, there was also this hint: Hawke up close could be terrifying.

“It was not always easy,” said Kelty. “It was not always kind.”

If, as Beazley hopes, Bob Hawke is now “in the arms of a loving God”, then the choice of music at this farewell was edging on blasphemy: The Hallelujah Chorus played by the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, sung by a chorus of hundreds and for a time up on the big screen conducted by Hawke himself.

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Looked at through political eyes, this anthem celebrates the hopes of any democratic leader: “And he shall reign forever and ever, forever and ever, etc., Hallelujah!”

After the politicians came the family. In a beautiful and steely eulogy, his granddaughter, Sophie Taylor-Price, dedicated herself to the task Hawke had set her on almost as a child: saving the climate. It was a last, pitiless piece of advice for the 30th prime minister sitting in the front row.

And then Blanche d’Alpuget, the widow, stole the show. After doing all the polite chores, thanking everyone under the sun, at the point when this fine writer might have been expected to deliver some eloquent reflections, she lifted her arms and delivered a single line: “Long live love.”

• David Marr is a Guardian Australia columnist