23/12/2025
Thought for today… we can all be kind .. we just have to take a breath before we speak or act ❤️ Sharing this story… what a wonderful man ❤️
https://www.facebook.com/share/1FUzTGSgQ1/?mibextid=wwXIfr
For 50 years, he lived across from a su***de cliff. Every morning, he watched for lonely figures at the edge. Then he'd walk over, smile, and say: "Would you like a cup of tea?" He saved at least 160 lives. Probably closer to 500.
The Gap sits at the entrance to Sydney Harbour, a stunning stretch of jagged cliffs plunging 100 meters into churning ocean below.
Tourists come for the breathtaking views. The rock formations. The crashing waves.
But locals know The Gap for something else: it's one of the most notorious su***de locations in the world.
And for nearly 50 years, one man lived directly across the street—not to admire the view, but to save lives.
His name was Don Ritchie. And he became known as the Angel of The Gap.
Don wasn't a therapist. He had no training in crisis intervention. He was just a life insurance salesman who happened to move to 1 Old South Head Road in 1964 with his wife Moya and their three daughters.
Their house overlooked The Gap. Every morning, Don would look out his window at the cliffs.
And he started noticing a pattern.
"We'd been here only a short time before I realized that a lot of people were coming over here and looking at the view," he later said in an interview. "And the next thing I find, they disappeared!"
Most people would look away. Most people would think it's none of their business. Most people would move.
Don Ritchie stayed. And he watched.
He'd served in the Royal Australian Navy during World War II aboard HMAS Hobart, where one of his jobs was standing watch on the bridge, scanning the horizon for danger. He'd witnessed the Japanese surrender in Tokyo Bay in 1945.
That skill—observation, vigilance, knowing what to look for—never left him.
At The Gap, he learned to recognize the signs. Someone alone. Standing too close to the edge. Not moving. Not engaging with the surroundings. Staring at the water below.
And when he saw those signs, Don didn't hesitate.
He'd walk across the street, approach the person with his palms up—non-threatening, open—and say in his gentle voice: "Can I help you in some way?"
Or sometimes: "Why don't you come over and have a cup of tea?"
That's it. No grand speeches. No lectures on the value of life. Just a simple human invitation.
And it worked. Again and again and again.
He'd bring them back to his house. Moya would make tea. They'd sit and talk. Sometimes for hours. Don would listen, ask questions, help them see options they couldn't see when they were standing on that cliff.
When Don's wife was asked what he said to these people, she replied with a knowing smile: "He tells me he goes over there and sells them life."
Because that's what he'd done for decades—sell life insurance. He knew how to talk to people about their futures. About the value of tomorrow. About the people who would miss them.
And he applied that skill to the edge of a cliff.
Officially, Don Ritchie is credited with saving 160 lives. The actual number is probably much higher—his family estimates it's closer to 400 or even 500.
Some of those people returned years later to thank him. They'd send Christmas cards. Letters describing the lives they'd gone on to live—marriages, children, careers, moments of joy they would have missed.
One man Don saved became a police negotiator who ended up back at The Gap, using Don's techniques to save others.
But Don didn't save everyone.
He once spoke to a young man for half an hour, thinking he was making progress. Don offered him tea, offered him beer, offered him company.
The man said no. And stepped off the edge.
Don caught his hat as it blew upward in the wind.
That haunted him. But it didn't stop him.
"You can't just sit there and watch them," Don said. "You gotta try and save them. It's pretty simple."
In his earlier years, when he was younger and stronger, Don would sometimes physically restrain people. He'd climb over the fence, grab them, hold them back while Moya called police.
Once, a woman tried to launch herself over with Don holding her. He was the only thing between her and the abyss. He nearly went over with her.
But as he got older, his approach changed. He relied less on physical intervention and more on human connection. A smile. A kind word. An invitation to tea.
"I always act in a friendly manner," he explained. "I smile. I say, 'What are you doing over here? Please come and talk to me.'"
He continued this work into his 80s. Every single day, watching. Waiting. Ready.
Most people would have moved away. Living across from a su***de cliff—watching person after person come to end their lives just meters from your front door—would break most people.
Not Don.
"I think, 'Isn't it wonderful that we live here and we can help people?'" he said.
In 2006, Don was awarded the Medal of the Order of Australia for "service to the community through programs to prevent su***de."
In 2010, he and Moya were named Citizens of the Year by Woollahra Council.
In 2011, he received Australia's Local Hero Award.
The National Australia Day Council wrote: "In a situation where most would turn a blind eye, Don has taken action. With such simple actions, Don has saved an extraordinary number of lives."
Don Ritchie died on May 13, 2012, at age 85, surrounded by his wife, daughters, and grandchildren. He'd been battling cancer.
After his death, the community created Don Ritchie Grove—a peaceful memorial space at The Gap with his words inscribed on a stone wall:
"Always remember the power of the simple smile, a helping hand, a listening ear, and a kind word."
That's his legacy. Not heroic rescues or dramatic interventions. Just simple human kindness, repeated thousands of times over 50 years.
A cup of tea. A smile. A conversation.
Think about that. Don Ritchie saved up to 500 lives without a degree in psychology, without training in crisis intervention, without any special tools or resources.
He just paid attention. And he cared.
How many of us walk past people in crisis every day without noticing? How many times do we see someone struggling and look away because it's uncomfortable, because we don't know what to say, because we assume someone else will help?
Don Ritchie never looked away. For 50 years, he never stopped watching. Never stopped caring. Never stopped offering that simple invitation: "Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"
And hundreds of people—people who were seconds away from death—said yes.
They came in. They talked. They lived.
Some of them are grandparents now. Some are parents. Some are teachers, nurses, artists, engineers. They're living full lives because one man took the time to notice them, to cross the street, to smile, and to offer them tea.
Don Ritchie proved that heroism doesn't require superpowers or special training.
Sometimes it just requires showing up. Paying attention. And remembering that everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.
Sometimes the difference between life and death is as simple as: "Can I help you?"
Or: "Would you like a cup of tea?"
Don Ritchie asked that question at least 160 times.
Probably closer to 500.
And every time someone said yes, the world became a little brighter.
