Chapter 8

Adrift in the Abyss

Chris Bald

They say drowning can be one of the more peaceful ways for a life to end, if indeed death can ever be at all peaceful. Some people who have experienced near deaths by drowning often describe a sense of serenity descending on them, enveloping them in a quiet brightly lit cocoon.

Sometimes friendly voices call and beautiful shimmering beings appear as they welcome you through the half-open doors into their spiritual world of the afterlife. Scenes from your past are replayed in vivid detail in front of you. Serenity certainly seems possible; after all there are usually no horrific injuries so no physical trauma or pain to endure as might occur in other accidents.

But up to that point, that final moment as the last molecules of the body’s oxygen are depleted, surely all the raw human responses to impending death are there: anxiety, panic, regret, terror even, all surfacing and made worse by the fact the victim is all too aware of the fate that awaits them.

First comes the shock of crossing over; from being safe and in a familiar environment one minute to being in a strange and hostile situation the next. Then the bilious taste of panic rising in the throat, and as time goes on the growing fatigue and weakness, flailing limbs losing their power to keep the body afloat and head above water; then the first slip below the surface, the struggle to re-emerge, spluttering gobfuls of water.

It is hard to imagine a sense of serenity among the stark and naked truth that you are about to die and questioning how could it come to this? And it is hard to imagine a lonelier and less serene place than a cold inky Southern Ocean, its sickening swells threatening to swamp you at each passing,

But that was the situation Austrian tourist Hannas Pechmann found himself in on the afternoon of Sunday 11 February 1996. As he floundered around in heaving seas off the coast of Kangaroo Island, limbs becoming weaker, the swells starting to pass over him rather than under, a state of serenity must have seemed still a long way off.

Thirty kilometres away, 28-year-old park ranger Chris Bald was settling in for a quiet Sunday afternoon at home with plans to work on his new kitchen cupboards in his shed out the back of his house. Chris, having lived on Kangaroo Island all his life, worked at the Flinders Chase National Park at the western end of the island and was off duty. But at about 3 pm the phone shattered the afternoon quiet, demanding to be answered.

It was Carol Ellis, one of the staff at the Flinders Chase visitor centre, telling Chris someone was in the water off Remarkable Rocks.

 

It is a breathtakingly beautiful place, Remarkable Rocks, jutting out into the deep blue Southern Ocean at the southernmost point of the island. The late afternoon sun throws the landscape into spectacular relief, softening the distinctive red-brown hue of these huge granite boulders.

A long sandy beach to the west gives way to the cliffs that lead round to Admiral’s Arch and its colony of New Zealand fur seals which attract hundreds of tourists a week. But when the crowds are all gone and the sun sinks towards the horizon, this place has a splendid feel of isolation and a contemplative spirit quietly overtakes you.

Chris comes here often to reflect, and his thoughts often turn to the day he saved Hannas from a watery grave. On that day though, a cold overcast Sunday afternoon in February, the wind blowing at 15 to 20 knots whipping up white caps to don the swells of black water, it was a more foreboding and hostile place. Even on a good day with its surging swells, rips and currents, no one goes into these waters; not even the normally gung-ho brotherhood of surfers. But on more than one occasion unsuspecting tourists have unintentionally ended up in

these waters.

Not that there are no warnings. You cannot miss the signs telling visitors to stay behind the barriers. At one stage they even displayed the latest tally of drownings on the park noticeboards to warn of the danger.

The main rock where the tourists gather is shaped like the dome of a cathedral. The curvature of the rock prevents you seeing the point, some 60 metres or so below, where the Southern Ocean swell finally explodes in a maelstrom of spray and froth. Despite the warning signs you feel strangely drawn to the edge, to keep moving down the smooth-faced rock to the point where sea and rock meet.

That is how Hannas found himself that day, beyond the safety signs, well down the rock face close to the water’s edge. But there were no real problem as far as he could see. The slope was steep but not a cliff, and he had a good grip on the rock.

But as he stood transfixed by the view, enjoying the wind in his face and staring out to a sea where the next landfall is Antarctica, a swell was building a few hundred metres off shore. It built higher than the others did; imperceptibly so. It surged ever closer to the rock, finally breaking up high and fast and running up the face like a flash flood in a dry gully. Where there had been metres of rock separating Hannas from the sea there was now nothing but water. But even so the wave did not threaten to sweep over him. It reached up just enough to slosh over his shoes. As it receded though it left the slope like ice. As Hannas turned to reclaim his steps he lost his footing and slid rapidly down the face, catching up to the receding water.

In a flash he was in the water, carried along by the wave’s backwash away from the rocks.

Hannas’s risks were twofold now. He risked being smashed against the rocks by the incoming waves if he tried to get back onto the rock. If he paddled away from it he was at risk of being carried out to sea. Seeing that the threat of being smashed was greater, he opted to push away.

Within minutes he was out of immediate danger. But the sight that would have met his eyes would have made his heart sink and the nauseating taste of panic rise in his throat. He looked desperately for a way back in but for as far as he could see there was nothing but rocks and smashing waves. There appeared no clear water or beach in any direction.

If he had been more familiar with the landmarks he would have known the rocks eventually gave way to beach some 400 metres or so to the west. But from where he was, he could see no way in.

High above him on the rocks, the friends Hannas had been travelling with stood shocked and bewildered. They had watched with horror as the great briny monster sucked him from the rock.

And now, having raised the alarm on a mobile phone, they and clusters of other tourists watched helplessly as Hannas bobbed about like a lost buoy. The call was relayed to national park headquarters and then onto Chris.

Kangaroo Island is very isolated, separated from the mainland by a 20-minute ferry ride. Remarkable Rocks, which is right at the far south-western tip of the island, is as far from the mainland as you can get in these parts. National Park staff is the first call in an emergency but there are no specialised search and rescue or lifesaving facilities on the island. They must come from Victor Harbour on the mainland about 100 kilometres away. There were no vessels in the area to help. Whoever was going to help would have to do it with little or no back-up.

Chris was a member of the park staff and his role did often call on him to be involved in search and rescue often lost bushwalkers where the danger is limited. He was also a trained firefighter and an integral part of the park’s firefighting effort. So while he was no stranger to emergency services, he had never been called upon to do a rescue at sea.

He is a strong swimmer and an avid snorkeller and had begun to take up surfing at the time of the rescue so he was comfortable in the water. But he did not have training in lifesaving and being new to surfing was still a novice when it came to handling himself on a surfboard.

Chris put the phone down and ran around grabbing his surfboard, wetsuit, goggles and flippers and trying to stay calm and focused. He jumped into the car and realising he had not grabbed the lifejackets went back to find them.

He set off on the 30-kilometre trip, his mind racing, wondering what he would find. It would be at least half an hour and knowing the conditions there on a day like this he seriously wondered if there would be anyone to rescue.

A flat tyre in the last kilometre of the journey did not help either and so when he arrived at the Rocks at about 4 pm, Hannas had been in the water about an hour. Chris’s colleague Bob Furner was relaying communications from his vehicle while another ranger, Robert Ellis, and two others stood on the rock near the water’s edge, keeping an eye on Hannas who was still alive and treading water some 100 to 150 metres away. One of the men had some ropes, but he spent most of the time fretting and darting about like a lost ferret, not sure what to do next.

Bob had decided to wait until Chris arrived and to see what equipment he had bought with him before deciding on a plan of action. To have attempted a rescue without some equipment would probably have ended with two tragedies rather than one. Chris wasn’t sure whether to snorkel or paddle on his board. Being an experienced diver and relatively new to surfing he was leaning towards the snorkel, but the decision was made for him as he discovered the strap on his goggles had fallen off somewhere between home and the rocks. Surfboard it was then. Now all he had to do was find a safe way in.

In some ways the job fell to Chris almost by default because he arrived prepared with board and fins. Nevertheless, Chris makes it clear he was under no instruction to do anything. While staffers are on call to help with emergencies and provide help where possible, there was no protocol that compelled them to take risks. It was purely Chris’s decision and his alone.

Chris said that from the moment he arrived he felt it was up to him to attempt Hannas’s rescue. ‘Robert said to me “Do you think you can get in?” meaning get to Hannas without being smashed on the rocks. I said “I don’t know. I’ll have a look”.’ Robert was adamant that he not try if he believed it to be too dangerous.

Chris scrambled down to a spot that was the best of a bad lot, a relatively flat shelf to the east of where Hannas went in, where he could launch from. But even in the 15 to 20 knot winds, the swells charged up the rocks and broke savagely, falling back down leaving a fall of two metres or so to the water’s surface … and a pile of exposed jagged rocks. This was the point where the risk became crystal clear. Getting the timing right for a launch onto the water would be critical. Too early and he risked being dumped back on the rocks, too late and a heart-in-the-mouth fall perhaps onto the exposed rocks below.

‘There’s a big rock and the water is sucking underneath. If I get sucked in there I’m dead meat.’ Chris said. ‘All of a sudden you’re thinking if I get this wrong it is going to kill me. It takes on a whole new dimension.’

The trick would be to enter the water just before it receded so he could kick away on the retreating backwash. Chris didn’t have long to think. Hannas had been in the water a long time now. ‘I thought I have two choices. I either stand here and watch him die or I have a go. I thought if I don’t go can I live with myself having got this far? If I turn my back now and watch that guy die can I sleep tonight? And at that point I knew I could not do that. If I don’t do something I will never be able to live with myself. That question would always be there why didn’t I try? The risks to me are greater but I’ve got to live with myself for the rest of my life if I don’t have a go. And I don’t think I’d ever be the same again if I had have turned my back and walked away.’

There was no back-up; the nearest appropriate rescue helicopter was way back on the mainland and no vessels were in the area. And Hannas was now virtually at the end of his tether. Chris was Hannas’s only hope. It was down to him alone as to whether Hannas would survive. The choice was quite stark, quite clear and an enormous responsibility. ‘It is purely and simply your decision as to whether that person lives or dies. That is an awesome and mind-blowing experience to have.’

With his wife Kelly expecting their first child, Chris was risking more than just his own life; it was his family’s fate as well.

Having spelled out the stark choice Chris then quickly went through the risks. There was the danger of entering the water and being killed on the rocks. But he was reasonably confident he could get the timing right and be away safely. Having done that the risk would diminish enormously, Chris said. He had his board, he knew there was a way in further down and he could paddle round and come in on the beach. Regardless of what happened to Hannas he would be relatively safe.

In one sense it was really not difficult making the decision. ‘I thought if I go and I muck it up or Hannas does drown, I can still go to bed that night and sleep well. I would have given it my best shot.’

But there were other fears too some too chilling to even think about. About a month before this, Chris and a colleague had stood on a cliff near Admiral’s Arch not far away from the Rocks watching the seals play. While they watched, Chris saw a huge white shape rising like a submarine up behind a young seal. It was a white pointer and with mouth agape, broke the surface and snapped its jaws around the seal in one smooth swift movement and dragged it underneath.

Chris and his colleague couldn’t believe their eyes. They were witnessing a rare awesome sight. Big sharks are a feature of the southern Australian coast and this scene only reminded them both of who really ruled these waters.

That vision was still fresh in his mind as he prepared himself for the rescue. That, more than the fear of being dashed on the rocks or swept out to sea, was what scared him the most. But now there was no time to lose. Hannas was struggling and no longer floating over the swells. Closing his mind to the awful thought of white pointers Chris wriggled into his wetsuit, tied a lifejacket to his leg rope and yelled to let Robert know he

was going.

He gripped his board to his chest and watching the next wave rise up to him, took a deep breath and jumped. ‘I remember the point vividly. It’s now or never. And the adrenaline rush was incredible.’

An instant later he was in the water and paddling. But now he had to get beyond the white water and the next swells that could grab him and toss him back onto the rocks like a piece of flotsam.

His most overwhelming feeling was one of strength, Chris said. Pumped with adrenaline he felt like Superman, strong and powerful as he paddled furiously through the white water to the almost black depths beyond. ‘I remember hitting the water and I just felt bullet-proof.’

He was quickly beyond the white water and his first danger. His body relaxed a little with relief. But then he looked down and below him lay the black abyss that is the Southern Ocean. The thought of sharks surfaced like a bubble and with it gut-wrenching fear. ‘I just said to myself don’t do that again. Don’t look down.’

Now in the water, the next challenge was to find Hannas. He could see him all right from the rocks but in the water his field of view was very restricted, so he paddled furiously in the direction he thought Hannas lay. As he breached the top of a swell he could see where he was.

By this time though a helicopter had arrived on the scene. It was a civilian helicopter based on the island but it was not equipped or manned for rescue and unable to do much except create an enormous wash that blinded Chris and Hannas with spray. The occupants tried to drop a lifejacket to Hannas but the wash from the blades sent the lifejacket flying away from his grasp.

Chris, as well as being blinded, was being blown away. ‘I couldn’t paddle or open my eyes and they wouldn’t go away. I knew where Hannas was but I couldn’t get there.’

In the end he caught the eye of one of the occupants who turned out to be a colleague and signalled to him to fly off, which they did. Now all clear, with Hannas in view, Chris paddled towards him. Hannas was really struggling by now, flailing as the swells passed over him.

Hannas said later that when he saw the helicopter disappear, he thought so had his final chance of rescue. At this point he had still not seen Chris and so he was about to give up his struggle. He was just a minute from going under, he told reporters later.

‘The waves were getting bigger and bigger. I was getting less and less strong and I blacked out,’ Hannas said. When he did catch sight of Chris he couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘He was like an angel. It is a new life for me. I am lucky to live.’

For the first hour of his ordeal as he grimly faced an impossible task, Hannas had prayed and recited the alphabet to keep himself going. ‘Praying really helped me. I said the Lord’s Prayer three times and after that I had enough energy to think I would get out of it.’

As he looked at Hannas, now about five metres away, he could hear his screams of anguish and see the look of terror etched on his face. Chris remembered his swimming rescue code and that someone who is drowning can become so panicked that they can sink their rescuer.

So Chris approached slowly, pushing the board ahead of him and throwing the lifejacket towards Hannas so he could grab that instead of Chris. Hannas lunged at the jacket, putting his arm through the head hole in his panic. Chris yelled at him to grab the board and after a couple of goes he managed to grab it, although he flipped the board so it was the wrong way up.

Chris tried to right the board but Hannas was terrified and wouldn’t release his grip. Worried they were drifting too close to the rocks Chris decided to tow him out to sea a bit to give them both a chance to rest before trying it again. As he did Hannas panicked again, thinking Chris was leaving him. Chris swam back and reassured him before trying again. He towed Hannas a few metres away till they reached deeper water. Chris had to get Hannas off the board so he could right it if they were to have a decent chance of making it in safely. Chris tried to ease Hannas off the board but he wouldn’t let go so he had to tip him off. Hannas lunged at Chris’s wrist, grabbing it like a vice until Chris prised him off.

‘I almost felt I would have to physically break his fingers to make him let go of me,’ Chris said.

He managed to flip the board over but in his desperation to get back on Hannas ended up back to front. He decided to leave him as Hannas was by now shivering violently and time was running out.

Chris started towing Hannas towards the beach to the east holding the board and Hannas in one arm and side-stroking with the other. Battling the swells and mounting exhaustion, Chris slowly edged the board and Hannas eastwards towards a small beach he knew. Gradually the beach appeared in between the breakers that were heaving and dumping themselves on the sand some hundred metres or so away. Chris stared at the backs of these waves that were the height of a house. Twice he thought the moment was right but a big swell would rush up and threaten to bury them.

For the first time Chris was unsure of what to do next. He had got him this far on a plan of sorts but now had no idea how to approach the waves. Chris was not even sure he alone could get through the waves on the board, let alone while helping someone who could barely move. With Hannas completely spent and in the first stages of hypothermia, and Chris starting to feel the exertion, they had their biggest test in front of them.

Chris faced a real risk that Hannas might not survive in the waves. With only room for one on the board, Chris would attempt to hold Hannas on while keeping himself upright beside him in the water. If they were separated it could be all over. Hannas would be too weak to survive, being dumped and spat out of a monster wave before Chris was able to locate him.

But the only alternative was to wait and hope a boat or a proper rescue helicopter would arrive. It was too risky to wait, Chris decided. It would have to be the breakers.

He paused for a breath. If he was going to get through this he would need to rest. So he lay on his back and gathered his strength and thoughts. He looked around and despite the grim situation he couldn’t help but marvel at how impressive the Remarkable Rocks looked from this angle.

As he rested he noticed Robert and Bob on the beach and then someone carrying a boogie board and wetsuit making their way down to them. At least he might have a helper, if and when they got through the threshing machine in front of them. But first he had to get Hannas the right way round on the board. He tipped him off again into the water, turned the board around and hauled Hannas back on. He then took the leg rope off his leg and fastened it to Hannas’s wrist. If the worst happened and Hannas was washed off and drowned at least if he was attached to the board his body would be easily located. Chris conceded it was a morbid thought but felt it would be important to his family to have his body to bury.

Chris watched the sets, waiting for the lull that inevitably occurs between them to launch his push for the beach. Soon enough it came and he paddled like a madman, yelling at Hannas to hang on as the next swell racing to shore caught up with them, erupting like a volcano underneath them.

It took them to the peak before breaking, catapulting them down the face like a carriage on a rollercoaster. By that time the next set had caught up and engulfed them in an avalanche of white water. ‘I don’t know how but we managed to stay together and in the right direction.’

A second wave hit them, pushing them closer to the shore, and then a third, which tumbled them around like corks until they reached water about waist deep. But the ocean was not about to let them go easily. Chris was standing up by this point but a sharp little wave rose up and slapped them both down hard into the water. As he re-surfaced, Chris no longer had hold of Hannas and couldn’t see him.

But just as he began to panic, he could feel something banging around his legs. Reaching down he felt Hannas’s body, his arms still gripping the board like an oyster to a rock. He grabbed him and heaved him up out of the water, the board still firmly in his grip.

By that time, the man Chris had seen coming down the beach a little earlier appeared at his side. It was Chris Beckwith, his neighbour, who was an accomplished swimmer and was now standing ready to help.

Supporting Hannas on their shoulders they hauled him the last 30 or 40 metres onto the beach. As his feet touched the sand, Hannas smiled ever so briefly and then lapsed into unconsciousness, still grasping the board.

The pair laid him out on the beach while Bob and Robert gave him some oxygen. While unconscious he was breathing so did not require mouth to mouth. His two friends, who had now arrived, huddled with him under a blanket in an effort to keep him warm while the ambulance arrived.

Chris meanwhile caught his breath and the magnitude of what he had done began to sink in. In all he had survived a perilous jump into the sea, swum and paddled about 1200 metres and brought Hannas to safety through back-breaking surf. He trooped back up the beach and the dunes to his car but before he could go anywhere had to change his flat tyre. Not even heroes are spared these mundane realities.

Chris’s wife Kelly said she doesn’t remember what Chris said to her when he arrived back. She just remembers Bob Furnar ringing her and saying to her, ‘Your husband is a hero.’

The only dominant thought that night as Chris contemplated his extraordinary day was the image of a 10-metre white pointer barrelling up from the dark abyss below him. Having managed to suppress the image during his rescue, it refused now to go away. ‘It really brought home to me how fragile life is and that there is only one breath between life and death,’ Chris said.

Chris said it was tremendously satisfying personally to have done what he did, not in any egotistical way but in the sense of having been able to rise to an awesome challenge and to have done the right thing.

 

Chris Bald is seated at a magnificent handcrafted dining table in the family room of his house at Kingscote on Kangaroo Island. Outside the electric blue waters of this island just off the South Australian coast shimmer in the November sunshine.

There is only one word to describe this piece of furniture that looks slightly at odds in the modest timber bungalow: monumental. The traditional Austrian table is a beautiful piece of craftsmanship made to last several lifetimes and must weigh a tonne ‘great structural integrity’ as Chris describes it. It arrived some months later in a crate which was so heavy he had to organise a fork lift and truck to get it home. When he opened the crate he realised who and where it was from: Hannas, of course. The table was a token of his deep gratitude and appreciation for what Chris did for him.

How does one repay someone who has saved his or her life? Is a wonderful handcrafted table enough? This was the difficult question Hannas faced after Chris pulled him gasping and choking from the surf that day. For the time being anyway it would have to be.

It was two to three days before Hannas and Chris had a chance to meet away from the glare of the media. It was quite a strange experience, Chris said. It was a struggle in some way to communicate. And it was not because of the language barrier Hannas spoke English quite well.

‘What do you say, what does he say,’ he wonders, shrugging his shoulders.

Some people told Chris he could justifiably feel anger towards Hannas for putting him through such an ordeal. And putting both their lives at risk. But Chris never thought that, never felt anything but sympathy for Hannas being in such a terrifying position. ‘He made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes, it just so happens it was one that could have cost him his life.’

The event had no less a profound effect on Hannas and the pair have formed a strong bond since the rescue. He comes out regularly, usually once a year, to visit Chris and they talk often on the phone. Hannas has been keen to find a way of repaying Chris for saving his life. The table is a tangible symbol of gratitude but he would like to also make life much better for Chris and his family.

Hannas’s desire to repay Chris sits a little uncomfortably with him. Chris said he never expected anything in return. The fact someone may want to reward you for a heroic act plays no part in the motivation to do it, he believes. ‘To give something and not expect anything in return is the greatest gift of all.’ That said, Chris understands it was important for Hannas to give some tangible token of appreciation for Chris’s gift. And so Chris accepted the table.

But Hannas was not satisfied with that, he wanted to do more. ‘He rang up one night out of the blue and said, Chris, what do you want to do with your life? I thought wow, this is a big question.’

Hannas knew Chris wanted to get into professional fishing and he wanted to buy him a cray-fishing licence. But to set up a cray-fishing operation would be at least $1 million and Chris was just not comfortable with that.

Hannas was insistent but after discussing it they came to a compromise. Chris was himself now at a bit of a crossroads, having finished with national parks but not yet decided whether to go back to his father’s building business or find another job. Hannas’s offer prompted Chris to suggest they buy a hooking licence and a boat which would be a good business and an investment for them both and would be substantially less than the cray licence. Hannas transferred the money to Chris’s account within days and not long after Chris had his licence and a boat.

Chris said he wanted Hannas eventually to get back his rightful share but said Hannas would accept his initial outlay only.

For a while Chris continued to feel uneasy about the arrangement, but now he is relaxed about it as Hannas has insisted he do as he sees fit.

Chris is amazed at the differences in how people may respond to their rescue. Hannas is what you would expect from a survivor, having an enormous appreciation and feeling of indebtedness for what was done for him. But Chris contrasts that with another rescue he was involved with a few months later.

He and his park colleague were searching for a couple of bushwalkers lost for a day and a night in the National Park. Chris and his search partner were about to turn back along a track that had been searched when Chris decided to stop for a call of nature. While he stood there he cooeed and thought he heard the faintest cooee back. After driving to the end of the track to turn around, he stopped again at the same spot and cooeed again. Sure enough the cooee came back.

They had found them. Chris called in the rescue chopper, which promptly found them and picked them up. Chris said they were very lucky, as it was unlikely that they would have covered that area again. Yet the bushwalkers never bothered to seek them out to thank them for finding them. ‘After chatting and smiling for the TV cameras, they just got in their car and drove off. So I have had both ends of the spectrum when it comes to gratitude from the rescued.’

Chris is not sure why he was the one to rescue Hannas. Born and raised on Kangaroo Island his childhood and youth were no more remarkable than any other kid’s growing up during the 1970s and ’80s. He went to school, played sport and enjoyed the outdoors, swimming and snorkelling as any kid would growing up on an island of beaches. He trained as a builder in his father’s business but joined national parks because of the variety of the work and his love of outdoors.

But he has always had a sense of leadership, even at school, and that is a major factor in the behaviour of people who do these things. Leadership, compassion and a strong sense of empathy are all ingredients that go into the recipe that is bravery.

Chris’s desire to make a difference has continued to manifest itself, whether it is his relationship with his family or his work colleagues. Not long after the event Chris was inspired to spend some time in the Northern Territory leading an Aboriginal youth work programme set up by the Olympics committee.

He was surprised at how profound an effect the rescue had on him, his thinking and his philosophy on life. The way Chris talks is of someone who has had some sort of peak experience, an epiphany. But it is not in any way religious if anything the experience tossed out any lingering doubts about the existence of greater beings. It confirmed his belief that there is no higher being, no spiritual guiding hand determining the outcome of life on earth. What happens no one has control over. The only thing we can control is our own reactions to what happens around us. There is no divine plan is Chris’s firm belief.

Chris, who was awarded the Clarke silver medal and the Bravery Medal, has thought a lot about the nature of bravery and what it means to society. He thinks there are some inconsistencies in the way medals are awarded and how we ultimately treat these people.

He believes some people have received awards for acts that are often reckless and stupid. He cites the example of a man who was awarded for chasing an armed bank robber down a street. Chris believes that was an act of stupidity, not heroism, which put his life and possibly that of others in danger for no apparent good reason other than making a hero of himself. ‘What was he protecting? Money in someone’s bank account? That is not worth risking your life for in my view. It made me so angry that I felt like packing up my medals and sending them back. To give him a Star of Courage (one of the highest accolades) I was deeply offended by that.’

‘What sort of message are we sending when we value people who chase a bank robber more highly than someone who saves another’s life?

‘What sort of society do we live in?’ Chris said.

He admits he has been lucky in that financially he is reasonably comfortable, thanks to Hannas, but points out that there are many other people who have performed brave acts who are abandoned, in some cases left to struggle financially and sometimes even personally, due to injury or trauma.

‘Society puts them up on a pedestal for five minutes, pats them on the back but then after we finish with them we’ll put them back in their box and forget about them.’

Chris believes bravery award winners could be used more in public life as positive role models, for example by talking to school students or being involved in leadership training and so on, and that their recognition shouldn’t just end with the medal ceremony.