When I was 11 years old I was ‘Dux’ of my primary school.
I was then offered a scholarship: to attend the prestigious Knox Grammar school, free of charge, till graduation. My parents were elated.
But I had heard stories. I told these stories.
No-one believed me.
And THIS is what happened there. In the news today.
I fought hard. I told my parents I would not go to Knox if they put a gun to my head!
I did not go.
For decades afterwards I heard, over and over, about what I “could have become”, had I agreed to go to this prestigious and venerated school.
I am 53 years old.
I was saved by an 11 year old boy who fought alone for me.
That boy was me.
I am so grateful.
Perhaps I should be so grateful also to my parents, who had the heart to know when to stop pushing, to stop hectoring, even if they could not understand.
….and I’m so angry! for all the boys, who suffered horrors behind these walls. And for the many other boys whose pain and humiliation will never be heard by a Royal Commission, because their sufferings do not rate as legal abuses.
The lesson here is large, and it is global:
They might seem ‘mad’ to you.
They are not.