I am on a plane returning from a business meeting in Melbourne. High above the clouds, I am reflecting on the life of Pelopidas The Great - my recently deceased father.

Whilst I am not a writer in the same category as a Nicholas Gage and his poignant, tribute to his mother Eleni, the Greek in me is compelled to write this story about my father Pelopidas, a proud Greek immigrant to Australia.

He was born on 31 May 1929 in Ramia, a small village in Epirus, Greece. The Tzoumerka mountains (altitude 2393m) are the majestic backdrop to this village. They are jagged, wild mountains and the people of this land are hardy, self sufficient and resourceful.

A fiercely proud and principled man, my father had strong values and took after his father Marko.

Pelopidas was born into a generation of stonemasons and was the eldest of three children. He grew up in difficult times and experienced significant hardships at a young age. At 12 he survived a bout of Malaria. When he was 15, he had a threatening encounter with the Greek Guerrillas during the Civil War in 1944. All of this served to shape and mould his strong character and resilience.

He was a self-educated and learned man having made the most of limited educational opportunities during harsh economic times and periods of war. He was not able to complete his senior, but this did not stop him.

When he was 24 he attended military school and graduated as an officer - rank of Lieutenant with the L.O.K. (the Green Berets). This experience had a major influence in defining him. The man dealing with the elements, the sense of responsibility for others in his charge be they soldiers or his children, his posture - proud and upright, and his respect for law and order.

The pinnacle of his career was being a Green Beret. His army stories were recounted many times to family, friends and people he would meet for the first time. Without being prompted, he would show you photos of himself and his soldiers.

He personally identified with the L.O.K. motto of "O Tolmon Nika" (Who Dares Win) and carried this through his life. He was driven to be the best and make his family proud. He became Secretary of the municipality (Ramia) and held a position of para-legal secretary in a law firm.

At age 27, he found himself at a crossroad - to remain in Greece or to immigrate to Australia? In reality, there wasn't a choice given the economic climate in Greece at the time.

Along with his best friend Ilias, they prepared to set off together for this long journey. Ilias was not able to join him due to limited places on the boat. Suddenly, Pelopidas found himself having to travel to a distant land without his best friend and no family.

My father immigrated to Australia in 1956. Australia was not as multi-cultural or welcoming in those days.

From the cold outposts of Bonegilla, Victoria to the sugar cane farms of Tully, Queensland, he traversed his way through what was at times an inhospitable land. He recounted how he was ridiculed when he suggested olive oil be added to food dishes. Crude comeback comments such as "What add grease oil?" were not uncommon. Nor was name calling references such as, the now politically incorrect, Dago.

My father naturally assumed the role of leader. He took it upon himself to protect and guide other migrants to make the transition to their new home.

Self-taught to read, write and speak English, Pelopidas would often read encyclopaedias to develop his language skills and vocabulary. He felt a strong sense of duty and obligation to speak the language of his newly, adopted home. He saw this as a befitting act of respect.

In 1958, Georgia arrived in Australia as his betrothed wife. Theirs was a traditional, arranged marriage. They had not met before. My mother came from a nearby village 13 kilometres away called Fteri. Pelopidas knew her father, and carried a photo of her.

As my mother died when I was 13, I can only imagine how she must have felt. To think she had to leave her family behind to migrate to Australia and marry a 'stranger'. I marvel at her courage.

Against the odds, they were very happy in their marriage and produced two children. Mark is my big brother and we are closer than close.
After her death in 1977, my father shared with me how they had become best friends. The impact of her death was even more profound.

She died in a car accident in Australia. All of us were in the car except Mark. One of those one-in-a-million freak accidents, it happened at a train line overpass. An image that will remain with me forever is holding her in my arms and watching my father doing his stavro (cross). In Greek, he was saying "Please God save my wife" over and over again.

With the assistance of friends, my father took my mother's body to Greece for burial in Ramia. I feel totally at peace to know she is in this beautiful setting.

One night many years later, my father and I were talking about how life circumstances had brought them together. That's when I found out they actually became best friends first and, then, fell in love. I vividly recall how he used the expression - "I lost a treasure" - to describe his loss. It was a double blow.

After they married, they settled in a town north of Brisbane, Queensland. With his farming business partner, a fellow horiano (villager) from Epirus, they set out to grow tobacco and small crops on a large, uncleared property. Their task was made even more challenging, as money was scarce.

My father and his partner had their work cut out to clear the land and make a living. They were at the mercy of Mother Nature and its elements. One thunderstorm with hail or cyclone could easily wipe out their produce in a fell swoop. They were susceptible to the elements and with it came the never-ending worries.

My father had the foresight to insist we speak Greek as our first language. This was not to snub his second home. He wanted to make sure we kept connected to our Greek heritage and knew that when we went to school we would, as a matter of course, learn to speak English. His other compatriots felt the pressure to down play their Greek heritage. Some now lament the fact they did not teach their children Greek and about the customs.

Growing up, we were encouraged by our parents to be proud of our heritage. Our schooling experience was largely pleasant and we were not unduly singled out. Perhaps, it was the loaf of Greek bread my mother would give us to take to school and share with our classmates.

And what a treat it was to eat freshly baked bread straight from the oven with butter and Vegemite. Talk about a fusion of the cultures.

Where financially possible, Pelopidas would send us to visit our relatives and see Greece through our own eyes to forge the ties with our cultural heritage.

For a traditionalist he was quite strategic. He did not force Greece and its customs upon us. Rather he set out to influence us. Through regular travel and our own personal experiences, we now regard Greece as our second home and a special place.

Before my mother's death, my father had returned to Australia when a business venture to set up base in Greece was unsuccessful. He injected a considerable amount of cash into this venture only to lose it all. This in itself is another story to tell.

Suddenly, he found himself having to re-build his life with no family support whatsoever in Australia. It was just the three of us now - my father, my brother and I.

He had to start all over again with enormous responsibilities as a single parent. It was very difficult and, for a while, we lived in two small rooms with shared bathroom facilities. He was both mother and father and fiercely protective of his children - as a lion is to its cubs.

When my mother died, I thought it was a foregone conclusion I would have to stay at home to look after my father and brother. I didn't think that I would go beyond junior (grade 10).

Growing up in a Greek household I had been "domesticated" - to cook and clean - at a young age. I was taught to wash clothes, even sheets, by hand. When I asked my mother why I had to do this when we had a washing machine she replied, "Because you never know where you will find yourself one day". The logic in this statement was hard to refute.

As a struggling widower, he did not hold me back when he could have. I would have understood and respected his decision had he done so.

He supported me to finish senior and attend university if I wanted to. This opportunity was a gift and I embraced it. I am indebted to my brother who made university a reality for me. He sacrificed his own studies to work to earn extra money for his family. I am eternally grateful for these kind acts.

Although not Rhodes scholar material, I graduated from university and went on to start my career in the field of human resource management. Like my father, I wanted to succeed and make my family proud. I rapidly progressed through key career roles and was fortunate enough to have great mentors and bosses. They guided me and accelerated my professional development through challenging opportunities.

At age 29, I attained the position of Director, Human Resources with one of Australia's largest financial services organisations and appointed to its senior executive team. This was a rare opportunity for a young female executive in Australia and I felt humbled to have achieved this career milestone. My father was supremely proud, as was my brother.

With the job came huge expectations, demands and long hours. My father was very understanding of these commitments. He would greet me with his beaming smile and a nostimo (tasty) cooked meal. He would want to hear about my day and tell me about his.

My father was my best friend. I would regularly take him out for cappuccinos and outings to his favourite seafood shop, Morgans, to buy him oysters. He is renowned for having eaten up to 3-dozen to increase his iron intake before going to the doctor.

Our relationship was rock solid. Like all families, we had our feisty moments when we would debate wide-ranging topics and views. What we had was unabashedly honest and I would always confide in him.

He was a strict disciplinarian and quite clear about expectations and consequences. At times, he could be unrelenting. He was fastidiously neat and everything was in its place. His life as a former Green Beret and sense of order remained with him to the very end.

Pelopidas was a very expressive person. He had a highly caring and sensitive nature - he would readily cry at some child's misfortune. He was also very playful with his children. I see these same qualities in my brother today watching him play with his two children.

Mark was extremely close to him. It was important to our father that we saw him as a good friend (filo) and someone we could turn to no matter what.

When my brother married Kristina in 1996, dad was immensely proud. This pride amplified when along came his first granddaughter Georgia. She brought him a new lease of life and sense of purpose in his old age. He was her Pappou (grandfather) and "She loved him up to the moon and stars", as she would say.

As a widower, my father would enjoy his drinks (poto) with his delicacies (mezedes). This was his pastime to combat the loneliness and memories that kept him awake at night.

He fell ill in February of last year. Up to this point he enjoyed a relatively healthy life. A combination of thalassemia (the Mediterranean form of anaemia) and liver degeneration condition (later diagnosed as cirrhosis) led to his eventual death.

He was distrustful of the medical profession and it related to his father's death from prostate cancer in the mid 70's. He formed a view doctors were somehow to blame and made his condition worse.

When illness set in, Mark asked his close friend and family doctor, Costa, to take dad on as a patient. Because of the relationship between Mark and Costa, dad agreed to go through the necessary tests. Sometimes, it was an uphill battle to get him to co-operate.

The last 12 months of his life are a blur of blood transfusions, hospital visits, and taking care of him. As best we could, we tried to make the most of the situation - we even sent him to Greece one last time.

True to form, he made friends with the nursing staff in the Oncology unit and they fussed over him. My father was the type of person who would chat to anyone. He was open and friendly. He resonated towards people who had the smile from the heart, as he put it.

Every day he would drive his trusted Barina to the shops. His car meant the world to him because it gave him independence. He needed to go out - to be around people and buy special food treats for his son who he loved to spoil. The shopping centres were his social network and community; the closest he would get to a horio (village).

When we would go out for coffee he would introduce me to his friends and acquaintances. They were people he had met on the benches when he stopped to rest or familiar faces he would stroll past.

Even the supermarket staff knew him. He had this habit of complimenting people when they provided friendly service. Equally, he would be vocal when the service was poor.

It was the Greek in him to embrace people, talk to them and befriend them.

On the 14th of March this year, Dr Costa examined him at home. Mark and I were both present. Somehow we knew it would not be good. The prognosis looked like a couple of months or thereabouts. It is at this point that our grieving process commenced, but we couldn't tell him. Dr Costa helped us to prepare for this eventuality - our father's death.

He lived for another eight days. It seemed like an eternity and going through this was hard on all of us.

We got him a new sofa so he could be more comfortable as he didn't want to stay in bed. In the end, the sofa was more than a just sofa. From it, he could look out to the garden and have a semblance of normality especially now that he could no longer drive his beloved Barina.

I recall how one night I helped him shuffle from the sofa to the bedroom. Wobbly on his legs, he leant on me for strength and support. Inside I felt overwhelmed by what was quickly unfolding.

He ended up spending four days in hospital and couldn't wait to be released. In effect, he discharged himself four days prior to dying.

When I collected him from hospital I was so scared. He was highly anxious to get out that I thought he would bring on a heart attack. To compound matters, he did not want to come home in an ambulance. His phobo (fear) rose to the fore.

Back home we cared for him - this was physically, mentally and emotionally taxing. We didn't really know what to expect.

I will not forget his expression of delight when I bathed him one day. It was outdoors on the patio wearing his bathers. He told me how proud he was that his children looked after him and how he had succeeded as a father.

Bless his soul, Mark would bring the kids to visit their Pappou and give him kouragio (inner strength). Dad shared with me a deep regret that he would not be able to play with his second granddaughter, Alexis, in the same way he had with Georgia. At no stage did he or I acknowledge that he was likely to be dying.

Pelopidas passed away at home on Saturday 22 March at 6.10pm.

Leading up to this, was a night of pain that started in the early hours of the morning. He called out for me to help him to walk from his bed to the sofa. I was frightened he would fall in his frail state, but he insisted. This was the Green Beret issuing the orders and I had to obey.

As he lay on the sofa, I held his hand and tears slipped down my cheeks. He lovingly patted my head. It was as if his pain for me was greater than his.

He steadfastly refused for the ambulance to be called. He wanted to wait and see the doctor in the morning. I felt like a pressure cooker - what to do? In the end, I had to respect my father's right to live life on his own terms. By no means was this an easy decision.

So where did the expression Pelopidas The Great come from? He actually penned it himself in reference to Alexander the Great. Whilst my father did not conquer the lands, he conquered the hearts of the people he loved.

As a Greek immigrant who became an Australian Citizen, my father's legacy is the two children he raised as proud Greek Australians. If he were here today, he would say this was his greatest contribution.

In honour of my father Pelopidas, I, too, have lost a treasure.

Poppy Paparouna

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