“I’ll never forget him. When I close my eyes I can still see him,” Mr Ryrie says.

“I could count every bone on his body. We were transporting them to the hospitals but we were too scared to pick them up in case we broke something.”

When war broke out in 1939, Mr Brown was still schoolboy at Scots College.

Although he had previously attended Double Bay Public School, an inheritance from his grandmother meant he was able to continue his education at the prestigious college paying 10 guineas a term to attend despite the great depression.

However, when he was just 16 the money ran out and so he was sent to a station in the south west of the state to work as a jackaroo.

He worked the land for two years until his 18th birthday rolled around and he could no longer ignore the perilous predicament of Australia nor the stories of courage on which he had been raised.

Chief among them was the illustrious history of his distant cousin Major General Sir Granville Ryrie.

A Boer War veteran and Anzac, the famed light horseman’s unit also lead the legendary charge at Beersheba which was considered one of Australia’s greatest victories of the First World War.

Then there was his father George and his uncle Clem Ryrie, both of them WWI veterans.

With his uncle’s achievements in the 4th Squadron Australian Flying Corps swirling in his head, Mr Ryrie decided to enlist in the air force.

“I’d been thinking about it for a while but we were supposed to stay working on the station to help the country’s food production,” Mr Ryrie says.

“But I decided I was having none of it. I packed my bag and went to enlist.

“Then of course they tested me and I was colour blind and so they wouldn’t let me fly.”

He moved back to Darlinghurst and enlisted on February 16, 1943 Mr Ryrie was posted to No. 107 Squadron where he helped patrol the Australian coast for Japanese submarines.

“My uniform was issued at Woolloomooloo,” Mr Ryrie says.

“They were saying, ‘Hurry up boys, find one that fits and move on’.

“The one I ended up receiving had brass buttons whereas everyone else I knew got plastic. The boys were so jealous.”

Mr Ryrie was trained up to specialise in airframes and was deployed to Papua New Guinea with 47 Operational Base Unit where he worked with the US air force to keep the airstrip working.

With the war now largely concentrated in the Pacific it was crucial to the Allied effort that it should remain operational.

After being promoted to the rank of Leading Aircraftsman, Mr Ryrie was posted to Morotai Island with No. 82 Squadron where he worked with Curtiss P-40 Kittyhawks and later North American P-51 Mustangs.

His final mission took him to the small island of Labuan off Borneo where he flew in Catalinas to help emancipate the stricken POWs from the Japanese.

He landed on the 90 square kilometre island on July 12, 1945 in what was believed to be one of the last aircraft landings of Australian troops during the war.

“After the war ended we had a war criminals compound on Labuan,” Mr Ryrie says.

“They brought in the Japanese officers responsible for the Sandakan Death March. They were tried and hanged.”

For the third year running, Mr Ryrie will recite the ode at the Rose Bay RSL sub branch dawn service.

The 93-year-old Vaucluse resident also helps run the Anzac commemorations at his old school in Bellevue Hill.

Despite his contribution, this is the first time Mr Ryrie has spoken at length to the media about his war service.

Like many a veteran, the 93-year-old is humble about the part he played in serving his country.

“On Anzac Day I think back to the many people who were lost and suffered,” Mr Ryrie says

“And I think about how terrible the war was in some places compared to where I was based.

“We got bombed occasionally but we had it a lot easier than a lot of people.”

Mr Ryrie was discharged from the RAAF on March 14, 1946 after helping in the war’s aftermath with the British Commonwealth Occupation Force.

His post war career was as a wool broker and he has lived in the same Vaucluse home for the past 50 years with his beloved wife Jan.

Together they have two sons and six grandchildren.

Even though he finds himself thinking back on the horrors he witnessed, neither he nor his mates were offered any formal counselling in the years after their service.

“We were young I suppose,” Mr Ryrie says.

“We just had to soldier on with life.”

Although he used to catch up with his old friends from 82 Squadron from time to time, he sadly hasn’t heard from anyone in years.

“About four years ago I had a ring from one of the boys and he said, ‘That’s it John. There’s only six of us left. We’re not marching together anymore’,” Mr Ryrie says.

“I haven’t heard from them for some time now. I think I’m the only one left.”