Peeling Potatoes

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Yesterday, I took the bus down to Sutton Forest to visit my son. It was a lovely journey, with the countryside looking particularly green after all the rain we’ve had recently. The bus dropped me off at a small park near my son’s house, and as I stepped off, I noticed a memorial nestled quietly among the trees. It was a tribute to the National Servicemen, and just seeing it there took me back to 1958 when I was an 18-year-old, fresh-faced and a little apprehensive, spending three months in an army camp at Puckapunyal.

Back then, National Service was something almost every young man had to go through. Between 1951 and 1972, the government had introduced compulsory training schemes to ensure the country had a ready and able defence force. I was part of that generation, called up to do my bit. I still remember the day those papers arrived, making it all feel so real. Suddenly, my carefree teenage years were over, and I was packing my bags for Puckapunyal.

Those three months at the army camp were a whirlwind of new experiences and lessons. I learned how to make a bed properly, not just throwing the sheets together, but with tight corners and everything perfectly in place. We were taught how to clean our boots until they shone, a task that required a surprising amount of elbow grease. And, of course, we learned to obey orders—no questions asked, just getting on with it. It was all about discipline, and while it was tough, it was the kind of toughness that shapes you for life.

Respect was drilled into us as well. Respect for our elders, for the chain of command, and for the process we were going through. It’s a kind of respect that seems a bit lost in today’s world, where everyone’s glued to their smartphones, constantly flicking through TikTok or sending mindless messages. Back then, there were no such distractions. We were focused, present, and living in the moment, even if that moment involved peeling potatoes or scrubbing floors.

As I stood by that memorial in Sutton Forest, those memories came flooding back. It was a different time, and while it wasn’t always easy, it was a time that taught me invaluable lessons. Visiting my son that day felt special, knowing that the discipline and values I learned all those years ago had played a part in the person I became—and, in turn, the father he knows today.