Condolences to Gerry's family and my apoligies for e-mailing him last November not being aware that he had passed away. I only met Gerry once, at his book launch in Sydney, although he was kind enough to review my novel for a very modest fee. But I was so impressed by him and so saddened to learn that such a fine man was afflicted by such a debilitating illness that I felt compelled to put my feeling down on paper. It is probably a little crass, and no doubt very poor literature, but I hope that my words go some way to expressing my feeling for our now absent friend and his ilk: Hero What does a hero look like? We think we know. We see him (it is usually a he but not necessarily so – in fact, often not so) usually with a chest full of medals and a hat full of braid, uniformed, rank displayed (although not always of exulted status), deeds proclaimed in multi-coloured ribbons. And the hero is usually surrounded by fawning adulators proclaiming his fame. And pressing, ever pressing, to accompany him and bathe in his glow. Or so we think. So it seems. But all that is superfluity, garish show, the exercise of ego and awkwardness at our own ordinariness, our own ineptitude. And our self-conscious hero, feigning appreciation, politely acquiescing to the flattering attention, silently screams for release, for solitude, for time to quietly reminisce, to reflect, to escape, to forget. Heroes know that it is not heroic to be a hero. It is terrifying. It is traumatic. It is everything other than what any rational, sensible human being would want to be. He knows. He alone knows. He craves to be nothing less than to be a hero - because to be a hero does not mean fame. It does not mean joy. It does not mean satisfaction. It means pain. It means suffering. It means trial. Where do we find heroes? In the veterans’ homes and the cenotaphs, to be sure – many there have strived and suffered – but not all bathe in glory. Some do – but few, precious few. But most heroes are not found here. Most dwell in more obscure places – where no-one would think to look – where no-one would even recognize them even if they saw them. What does a hero look like? Is he filled with radiance, glowing with pride and magnanimity? Some are, but again, few – very few. Most heroes have a sullen look, sunken cheeks, sallow skin, bedraggled look, pathetic in countenance and stature, less in image than most ordinary mortals, not glowing, not imposing, not at all impressive. So how do you know they are heroes? Look into their eyes. Look deep into their eyes. Look into their very souls. And there you will see a fire, a sparkle of defiance that refuses to surrender - beyond the grimace, beyond the wince, beyond the brave face and the false joke - there you will see, in tiny neon letters writ on pulsating background, a message scrawled and blazing brightly. “I will not yield”, it says. “I will not yield. I will not yield”.

I am only learning now of Gerry's passing and I pass my thoughts to Christine and Family. Christine, you might remember me as I lived next to you and Gerry in Waratah Road Berowra. Remember when Gerry and I repaired the Fence - with great skill and modesty (& thirst) too I recall!!!!!!!!???? Lost track of you over the years but at Church on Sunday (St Matthias Paddington) I met a nice Gentleman and Officer of the RAN Reinier Jessurun and we were talking and Gerry's name popped up. I now live in PNG. Thinking of you Christine and Family and recallling lots of happy Memories of when we all lived in Berowra. Sincerely, David Olley (now of Port Moresby PNG)

I was saddened to learn of Gerry’s untimely death earlier this month and regret that I was unable to pay my respects or offer condolences to Christine and the family at the Funeral. I had just finished reading Gerry’s book “Life in a Blue Suit” and was trying to track him down when sadly I came across this tribute site. Like Col Davidson I too served with Gerry in HMAS Adelaide (1985/86) when he was Captain but lost track of him when he resigned to take up a new career in a "grey suit!" I can only echo Col’s comments and add that Gerry was a great mentor, a true gentleman and an excellent seaman, skipper and leader. It was a pleasure to serve with him and to know him. Again my deepest condolences for your sad loss. Pay

I had hoped to attend the Funeral, but a heavy head cold on Thursday prevented me from getting on the plane. I served with Gerry 3 times. Firstly, I was in the year behind him at the Naval College. He was a very good Chief Cadet Captain, admired and respected by all - no mean feat when we are talkng about over one hundred 15-18 year-olds. Much later we served together as shipmates in HMAS Brisbane in 1979-81. Gerry was the Gunnery Officer. A more loyal, good-humoured, even-tempered, competent and level-headed colleague would be hard to find. He was a wonderful shipmate, admired throughout the ship for his fairness, integrity and calmness in difficult circumstances. Finally, Gerry was my Captain aboard HMAS Adelaide, in 1985/86. I never saw him get angry (no doubt he did, but he always kept anger to himself), was an enthusiastic, considerate and very competent captain whom it was a pleasure and privilege to serve. Our paths crossed once or twice in the late '80s, after we had both left the Navy, but I lost touch thereafter. I wish I could have paid my respects, but this short note will have to do. My deepest condolences to Christine and the family - Gerry was an outstanding person, and a sad loss.