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I was a boat person who immigrated to Australia in 1952. I wasn't called a boat person then, I was called a wop, dago, spick and wog and not all that welcome by the average Australian - seems I was a threat, in that I was here to steal their jobs and their women, a hard task at age 6. I came home from my first day at a Newcastle school with bruises on arms, legs and buttocks, compliments of the teacher who was angry that I did not know the words to GOD SAVE THE QUEEN. Fifteen years later, I found myself in a hole in the ground, in the middle of a war, in the middle of South Vietnam. I had my life on the line, protecting the country which did not want me. I was now an Australian soldier - and I reckoned Australia was worth fighting for. One doesn't need true-blue blood to be an ANZAC.