Sad to say, but there were no dashing GI Joes or ex-Biggles moonlighting at our school. We did have an old cleaner who shuffled about the school in a world of his own. Easily in his late 60's, we mostly assumed he was some kind of village idiot, because of the almost total lack of teeth and resulting speech impediment made it quite hard for bright young 13 year olds to understand even a word he said, and the wild wispy hair barely covered the misshapen depression in the side of his skull. The fact that he had one leg much shorter than the other and that shoe was built up like something that Elton John might wear was uproariously funny to smart young boys. Despite the mocking and tittering, he would patiently walk around the schoolyard picking up rubbish we would be too lazy to place in the bins. One day, this tomfoolery was overheard by one of the Teachers, who simply exploded. Not because we stupid boys were making fun of of someone with a disability (which was of course, totally inexcusable), but because this brave man was actually an ex-student of the school who had gone to war. It was simply all too much beyond our comprehension to guess that this old gent was a Veteran. During the evacuation of Greece, he had protected and helped wounded men in his unit until they were hit in an Artillery barrage. While many of his mates were killed, some survived. They managed to find a small boat and several of them sailed down the coast to Athens, but by the time they neared the the city, it was plain that events had overtaken their escape, and they continued to Crete. The small craft was harassed by German aircraft for over a week. When he arrived on Crete, it was feared that the head wound would eventually kill him, and the shattered bone in his leg might become gangrenous. Despite the odds he survived, and escaped, but would never be the same man again. Upon return to Sydney, he was given much help from another school Old Boy and Syrian campaign veteran, (later Sir) Roden Cutler VC, and found employment in the school grounds. They met in a hospital in Egypt, where
Sir Roden was recovering from an amputated leg.
The true measure of the man is not what he endured in Greece, but the fact he endured at least 40 years of sniggering from snotty brats who didn't know any better. As we progressed through our school years, we observed the stoic way he continued on, while each year a new batch of students would treat him the same way, until reprimanded by a teacher or senior students (and God help you if it were a Cadet doing the reprimanding). If school taught me nothing else, it was the moment of enlightenment you get when you realise what a complete immature wanker you've been
, and how you could be made to feel like the smallest piece of insignificant s***.
On occaisions, Sir Roden Cutler returned to the school as a VIP. Not only was he one of the most stellar Old Boys about (VC, Knighthood and Governor of NSW!), but he was also fond of his old school and a patron of the Cadet unit. When he would talk in an address about courage, bravery and excellence, he would say that not himself, but his old pal, our school cleaner was amongst the most bravest, couragest men he had ever known (And Sir Roden had a VC!!). As impressionable young youths, this had quite an emotionally proud effect on the Seniors, while he Junior boys were gobsmacked.Who needs six years of school, when the greatest lesson you could learn hits you from out of left field in less than a minute?
