#Strongwomen. "I write about the power of trying, because I want to be okay with failing. I write about generosity because I battle selfishness. I write about joy because I know sorrow. I write about faith because I almost lost mine, and I know what it is to be broken and in need of redemption. I write about gratitude because I am thankful – for all of it." Kristin Armstrong
Kevin Richardson reminisces about driving milk tankers through the flood waters on the Terragong Swamp to make sure Australians could get the best quality butter ever made in this country
Kevin Richardson was destined to spend his life under the cranes and furnaces of Port Kembla. His apprenticeship papers were lined up, his grandfather had vouched for him, and the general manager of the steelworks had smoothed the way. Then the rules intervened. He was fifteen, not sixteen, and too young to start. “Go back to school for a year,” they told him. He didn’t.
Instead, he walked next door. Kevin’s family lived right beside the Jamberoo Dairy Factory. Fifty metres down the road lived the Boxsells, with Geoff already set on a dairy technologist’s path. Kevin asked manager Wally Boxsell for twelve months’ “gap year” work. One year on the floor, then he would head to the steelworks. That was the plan.
He stayed forty-three years.
Kevin’s working life began in milk reception, the most basic job in the place. But he had mentors everywhere he turned. His father, Bill Richardson, was the foreman and passed on the value of hard, careful work. In the test room, Ned Roach spotted talent early and lobbied for Kevin to be trained properly so the factory would have someone ready when he retired. And in the churn room, the first butter maker, Steve Dare, taught him the craft. Steve was sharp, funny, a bit unpredictable, and utterly brilliant at butter. Kevin learned to trust both the science and the instincts that Steve had honed over decades.
By the time Kevin became the factory’s first laboratory manager, he already understood the principle that shaped everything Jamberoo produced: you cannot make great butter from average milk. The farmers carried the quality first. The factory carried it next.
It was Kevin who helped shape the butter that went on to win Supreme Champion Dairy Product of Australia in 1976. And when Geoff returned from Hawkesbury College and a scholarship to New Zealand with new ideas and the confidence to try them, Kevin was the partner in crime who made the impossible work batch after batch. Together they cultured cream before anyone else did, and together they created the trial product locals, with Jamberoo bluntness, called Stuff. It was spreadable butter long before spreadable butter was legal.
Kevin Richardson in the lab at Jamberoo Dairy Factory in the 1970’s
Come to Jamberoo where Stuff happens. Come to Jamberoo the home of Stuff. Jamberoo where Stuff was invented.
Geoff Boxsell in the laboratory at Jamberoo Dairy Factory in the 1970’s. Geoff with his “partner in crime” Kevin Richardson invented spreadable butter. At that time the NSW Department of Agriculture declared it an illegal activity. They weren’t allowed to call it butter so they called it Stuff
Or perhaps something even better, because the story now sweeping across the country is turning our quiet valley into the unlikely star of Australian dairy innovation.
Geoff Boxsell pictured here with his daughter Kate was presented with the 2025 Dairy Research Foundation Dairy Science Award
Geoff Boxsell’s award win has set off a media chain reaction that feels part documentary, part folklore, and entirely Jamberoo. Reporters are calling, film crews are circling, and everyone wants to know how a little factory on the edge of the village managed to stir up the national industry long before spreadable butter became a supermarket staple.
Geoff and Kevin Richardson on ABC Illawarra talking to Mel James
And of course, the answer is simple. This is Jamberoo. Things happen here that no one expects but everyone remembers.
Stuff was created in a shed where people used their brains, their hands and a dash of cheek. The regulators tried to shut it down, the locals kept making it, and the valley quietly perfected a formula that would one day become part of everyday Australia. Not bad for a place better known for cows, cricket, football and committee meetings. You can read the backstory here
Geoff always gives full credit to his team of innovators. People like Kevin Richardson (top left ) Ron Oke and Ron Parker ( bottom L to R )
That’s why the sudden media fascination feels oddly fitting. Geoff’s story has always been bigger than the boundaries of the valley. It’s the tale of a kid who grew up near the factory gates, learnt from his father, outsmarted a few bureaucrats along the way, and ended up shaping the dairy sector with equal parts intelligence and mischief.
So if Jamberoo wants to ride this wave and reclaim its rightful place on the map, I say embrace it. Paint it on a sign. Put it on a tea towel. Give the tourists something to chuckle about as they pass the fig trees and the paddocks.
Come to Jamberoo where Stuff happens. It has a certain truth to it. In this valley, it always has.
Geoff Boxsell is also a well known ditty writer so we had this one written for him
They say a valley keeps its heroes
in places most folk overlook,
in a churn, in a lab, in a quiet man’s hands,
not in speeches or in books.
They say a scholar crossed the Tasman,
came home with a scientist’s eye,
turned sugar, cream and culture
into butter you couldn’t deny.
He stirred up the Jamberoo factory,
no fuss, no chase for applause,
proved science lives in a dairy
as much as in lecture halls.
Fifteen years of “Choicest” butter,
not once did the graders frown,
and one bright year that champion box
made the whole valley proud.
He tinkered with spreads before their time,
(sent samples to ministers too),
got told to “pull his head in”
but kept thinking the way thinkers do.
So raise a glass for the scientist
whose footprints shaped this land,
for the butter he made, the people he taught,
and the work done by his hand.
The valley keeps its legends,
some sung and some held in trust
and if you ask who earned their place,
Jamberoo answers: “Geoff Boxsell.
Honourable. Clever. Just.”
Photos in this story have been sourced from Jamberoo Factory archives and the contributors to the Remembering Jamberoo History Facebook page
Julia Child famously said “With enough butter, anything is good”.
It is one of those delicious footnotes in Australian dairy history. While the margarine world rolled out Mrs Jones (see footnote images), the fictional housewife who campaigned against margarine quotas in Australia, the men at the Jamberoo Dairy Factory were quietly proving that rural ingenuity could beat any marketing campaign, no matter how determined her smile.
Mrs Jones objected loudly to restrictions on vegetable oils. Jamberoo’s dairy men responded in the most Jamberoo way possible: they made butter that tasted so good even the margarine companies secretly kept an eye on them. It was a win win born from stubbornness, pride and a deep belief that butter should never apologise for being butter.
They knew the margarine firms wanted to get vegetable oils into every kitchen. So Geoff Boxsell and Kevin Richardson and their Jamberoo Dairy Factory team simply did the unexpected.
Mrs Jones, the fictional housewife claimed Australians deserved choice, Geoff and Kevin quietly made a different kind of choice available
They worked out how to blend cream with safflower and sunflower oils to create the first spreadable butter, long before anyone in a city boardroom saw it coming. They faced threats that their factory licence would be revoked and even received a stern letter from the NSW Department of Agriculture telling them “to pull their heads in.” The men kept going.
Jamberoo Dairy Factory had the best butter in the state for 15 yrs in a row and in 1976 won Supreme Dairy Product in Australia.
The result was a product so successful that it immediately found a local black market of farmers who refused to hand it back once the Department of Agriculture paused its release. If anything, Mrs Jones proved useful; the louder she complained about margarine quotas, the more the Jamberoo team doubled down on better butter.
In the end, both sides claimed victory. Mrs Jones rallied the nation’s housewives. Jamberoo’s dairy men created a spreadable butter that reshaped breakfasts for ever. A fictional housewife and a group of practical innovators from a small valley accidentally created the same outcome: more choice for everyone at the table.
A win for Mrs Jones, a win for Jamberoo, and a very big win for anyone who has ever tried to spread cold butter on toast.
The Backstory
The long battle between butter and margarine
Timeline of the Mrs Jones campaign, the margarine quotas, and what Jamberoo did differently
Early 1900s to 1950s
Regulation of margarine begins
State governments introduce strict limits on margarine manufacture to protect the dairy industry.
Some states impose colour bans so margarine cannot resemble butter.
Quotas are applied to table margarine production.
The dairy industry is politically powerful and deeply connected to rural communities.
1950s
The protectionist system tightens
Margarine producers must apply for manufacturing quotas.
The dairy industry defends quotas as essential to farm incomes.
Vegetable oil processors, including peanut, safflower and sunflower growers, begin pushing back.
1962
The Mrs Jones campaign begins
Marrickville Margarine launches an advertising campaign built around a fictional consumer known as Mrs Jones.
Mrs Jones is framed as the reasonable Australian housewife who wants freedom of choice and who finds production caps ridiculous.
1963 to 1966
The campaign escalates
Full page advertisements and pamphlets appear.
Mrs Jones asks why Australian families should be denied affordable spreads.
The dairy lobby hits back hard and brands the campaign misleading.
Hansard records members saying the campaign is “scurrilous”. Source: Qld Hansard 1966.
Mid 1960s
Supreme Court cases
Major litigation unfolds between State regulators and Marrickville Margarine.
Cases such as Beal v Marrickville Margarine Pty Ltd become landmarks in food regulation.
Late 1960s to early 1970s
Public sympathy grows
Mrs Jones becomes a household name across Australia.
The campaign becomes one of the country’s most successful long form consumer advertising efforts.
Pressure builds for reform as people question why a spread made from Australian-grown oils is so heavily restricted.
1974 to 1977
Quotas begin to collapse
State by state, restrictions start to fall.
NSW formally withdraws its quota system in 1977.
Australia moves into a period of deregulation.
1980s to 1990s
The aftermath
Margarine becomes mainstream.
The original Mrs Jones ads are remembered as a turning point in food regulation.
Key players
Marrickville Margarine Pty Ltd
The company behind the campaign. They produced margarine using Australian vegetable oils. Their survival depended on challenging quotas.
Richard Charles (Dick) Crebbin
Managing Director and later Chairman of Marrickville.
Determined to break the quota system.
Green-lighted the Mrs Jones campaign. Source: Australian Dictionary of Biography.
Ben Dawson
Head of the campaign’s early direction. Source: Australian Oilseeds Federation history.
Solomon (Sim) Rubensohn
Advertising strategist from Hansen Rubensohn McCann Erickson.
Designed the tone and personality of Mrs Jones.
Known as a pioneer of persuasive political and retail advertising. Source: ADB biography.
State Agriculture Ministers and Dairy Boards
Defenders of the quota regime.
Kept strict licensing in place for decades.
Believed margarine posed an existential threat to dairy incomes.
Vegetable oil farmers
Indirect stakeholders.
Their industries (safflower, sunflower, peanuts, cottonseed) carried the potential to expand if margarine limits were removed.
And then there was Jamberoo
Where innovators quietly solved the problem in a completely different way
While Mrs Jones and Marrickville Margarine ran a national political battle, the men at the Jamberoo Dairy Factory took a different path.
They did not fight margarine. They reinvented butter.
1970s, Jamberoo Dairy Factory, staffed by innovators who refused to accept limits
And here is the twist that makes the Jamberoo story a perfect counterpoint to Mrs Jones:
They achieved the win win that Sydney advertisers only dreamed of.
What Jamberoo did
They blended cultured cream with safflower and sunflower oils, using local farmers’ milk as the anchor ingredient.
They spent 18 months convincing authorities the product was safe and legal.
They received a stern warning that their licence could be revoked if they continued.
They kept going anyway.
Their early batches developed a black market among local farmers who refused to hand them back once the department pressed pause.
They created a product so successful that it became the forerunner to modern spreadable butter.
This was innovation delivered not through advertising or political lobbying but through talent, persistence and hands-on dairy science.
The real win win
Mrs Jones argued for choice. Jamberoo delivered it.
Consumers gained a new kind of butter. Vegetable oil growers saw demand rise. The dairy industry kept its identity intact. Farmers in a small valley became accidental trailblazers.
Jamberoo did not need a fictional housewife. They had something more powerful. They had a factory full of people who believed that innovation was part of the job.
And let’s not forget the dairy industry had Julia Childs -if only the Jamberoo factory team had sent their sample to Julia!!!!!
Top photo: In the 1890s, the men who built the district’s dairy co-operatives would have looked much like this: sleeves rolled up, buckets in hand, and ready to turn milk into a thriving local industry Source . Bottom Image: Jamberoo dairy farmer Vaughn Fleming
Long before Silicon Valley had garages, Jamberoo had cow sheds and the people inside them were doing the same thing: turning a good idea into something that could change the world.
Back in the late 1800s, local farmers were the original founders. They didn’t have angel investors; they had actual angels in the paddock, Australia’s first true blue breed of dairy cattle – the Illawarra Shorthorns with glossy red coats and milk so rich it could launch a thousand scones.
Illawarra Dairy Cows at Kiama Show in 1954
But these “founders” had a problem every modern start-up would recognise: scaling. Sure, you could hand-churn your butter at home, but when Sydney wanted more, you couldn’t just “increase output”, your churn was powered by elbow grease, not electricity.
Jamberoo’s 19th-century farmers were the original start-up founders—innovators who pivoted from failed wheat “product lines” and short-lived sugar cane experiments to pool resources, embrace new technology, and scale their “product” from hand-churned butter in cow sheds to a bold, co-operative dairy industry with world-class practices that proved Australian butter could compete with Europe’s best and disrupted the dairy game.
In 1884, the Pioneer Factory near Kiama opened. It was like building the first app store, one place where everyone could bring their “product” (milk), run it through shared technology (mechanical separators), and ship it to customers far beyond the valley.
Then Jamberoo farmers said, Why should Kiama have all the fun? In 1888, they launched the Jamberoo Co-operative Factory, pooling their cash like an early Kickstarter campaign, only their backers didn’t get T-shirts; they got dividends and better milk prices.
Jamberoo Dairy Co-op c 1950
Soon, micro-startups popped up everywhere:
Waughope Co-op – specialising in high-quality butter, tight-knit supplier network.
Woodstock Co-op – the “fast-scaler,” onboarding more than 50 suppliers in no time.
Druewalla Co-op – the hyper-local player, serving southern valley farms.
Woodstock and Waughope Butter Factories – Photo supplied by Dick Oke
Each was an MVP (Minimum Viable Plant), proving you could make dairying faster, cleaner, and more profitable if you shared tools and knowledge.
Jamberoo dairy farmer Vaughn Fleming carting milk to the factory
Before trucks and refrigeration, local “delivery systems” were powered by horsepower in the most literal sense. Every churn, every can of milk made its way to the factory on drays and carts, navigating country lanes that were often more mud than road. This wasn’t just logistics, it was a lifeline connecting small family farms to the co-operative network that kept the district’s economy thriving.
These farmers weren’t slow to innovate, they were tech-forward before the term existed. By the mid-1880s they were importing the latest De Laval cream separators from Sweden. In the 1940s they were installing milk powdering equipment – basically, creating the dairy equivalent of cloud storage: lighter, easier to move, and lasting longer.
Over time, improved transport and refrigeration meant fewer, bigger factories could handle more milk. Co-ops merged, not as hostile takeovers, but as strategic partnerships to boost market reach. By the 1960s, Jamberoo’s co-op was a serious industry leader, with 74 suppliers producing over 5 million gallons a year.
These were start-up founders with mud on their boots instead of MacBooks, but their mindset was pure innovation:
Spot the inefficiency
Build the tech
Share the risk
Scale the output
They didn’t call it “disruption,” but they did exactly that, transforming a valley of small family dairies into one of the most efficient, collaborative dairy regions in the country.
Read how Jamberoo, legends Kevin Richardson and Geoff Boxsell reshaped how Australians enjoy their morning toast. If you’ve ever spread a creamy, soft blend on your bread without tearing it to bits, you have these two, and their team to thank.
Shoutout to everyone on the Remembering Jamberoo History Facebook page for the photos extracted for this blog. Special mention to Kevin Richardson and Ron Oke
Kevin’s story isn’t just about career success, it’s about the power of mentorship, the strength of family ties, and the joy of watching a new generation step into an industry he has loved for a lifetime.
Kevin Richardson’s pride in his career and in the people he worked with at Jamberoo Dairy Factory is palpable. Now in his 80s, Kevin reflects on his time at the factory with a deep appreciation for the skilled team he was part of people he calls “the backbone of Jamberoo Dairy.” Kevin’s influence and expertise took him far; when the Jamberoo and Nowra cooperatives merged to form Shoalhaven Dairy Cooperative, Kevin was selected to lead the laboratory and later became head of the control room. Many of Jamberoo’s staff were also chosen to join the newly merged cooperative, and Kevin speaks warmly of how it felt to see his colleagues’ talent recognised in the new venture.
Geoff Boxsell, Kevin’s long-time collaborator and friend, was appointed manager of the Shoalhaven cooperative. Kevin recalls an early conversation with a Nowra employee who hadn’t worked with Geoff before. “He’s smart, that Geoff,” the colleague said admiringly. “They’ll be wanting him up in Sydney soon.” Sure enough, not long after, Geoff was called to Sydney, where he was made joint company secretary of the newly formed Australian Cooperative Foods, which became the second-largest cooperative in Australia. Kevin smiles as he tells this story, taking pride not only in Geoff’s achievements but in the fact that so much talent emerged from their small factory in Jamberoo.
Kevin was also part of one of Jamberoo Dairy’s boldest moves—the creation of “Stuff.” In an era when margarine posed a growing challenge, Kevin and Geoff began experimenting with a new product, blending their premium butter made with cultured cream with sunflower and safflower oil to make it spreadable straight from the fridge. Their cultured butter already had a unique, rich flavour, but “Stuff” was something entirely new. Knowing they couldn’t legally call it butter, they used the affectionate nickname “Stuff” while refining the product. With characteristic mischief, they even sent a tub of “Stuff” to the Minister for Agriculture. The response from the Department of Agriculture was swift: “You pull your bloody head in.” The department head, who controlled factory licensing, warned that continuing production could cost Jamberoo its butter license. Kevin laughs at the memory, recalling the thrill of pushing boundaries in an industry they loved. Eventually, consumer demand for spreadable dairy finally outweighed the restrictions and Jamberoo Dairy was invited to produce it on a larger scale. However, the Jamberoo Factory declined, citing production costs and a commitment to maintaining the quality of their product.
Kevin’s pride in his work doesn’t end with his own generation. His grandson, Billy, is now following in his footsteps, spending weekends on a local dairy farm. Under the guidance of mentors like Michael Cole, Billy is learning the skills of dairy farming, from milking cows to caring for livestock, and Kevin’s face lights up when he talks about it. “Billy loves it,” he says, his pride unmistakable. Kevin knows that with the rising cost of land around Jamberoo, owning a farm here may be out of reach for Billy. But his son has managed to buy a few acres in the Warrumbungles, where they raise beef cattle and nurture Billy’s passion for agriculture, giving him a taste of farm life that, Kevin hopes, will carry on the family tradition.
Looking back, Kevin’s journey in dairy began almost by accident. His father, Bill Richardson, was the foreman at Jamberoo Dairy Factory, but young Kevin initially had other plans. When he decided to leave school at 15, his father arranged an apprenticeship for him at the steelworks, where Kevin was interested in technical drawing. But when he arrived, he learned he was too young to start—16 was the minimum age. “Come back in a year,” they told him. Until then, Bill suggested he speak to Wally Boxsell, Geoff’s father and manager at Jamberoo Dairy. Wally offered him a job, and Kevin soon found himself not just working at the factory but thriving in it. He was mentored, promoted, and eventually drawn into the lab, where he discovered his love for dairy technology.
From those early days in the lab to pioneering products like spreadable dairy, Kevin has always held his work, his team, and his family close to his heart. His pride in the Jamberoo factory and the legacy he leaves behind is matched only by his pride in Billy and the hope that his grandson will carry on the family’s love for dairying in his own way.
Kevin’s story isn’t just about career success—it’s about the power of mentorship, the strength of family ties, and the joy of watching a new generation step into an industry he has loved for a lifetime.
Despite the relentless challenges—the physical labour, the long hours, and the emotional toll of sustaining a legacy—the passion for dairying persists. For the Irvine sisters, Clover Hill is more than just land; it is a testament to resilience, a beacon of heritage, and a promise of continuity in the face of adversity.
Molly and Olwyn Irvine Photo Sylvia Liber Illawarra Mercury
As in McLeod’s Daughters, the Irvine women of Jamberoo have dedicated their lives to keep Clover Hill Dairies in the family.
Olwyn Irvine, 83 sparks up the combustion stove in the old Jamberoo farmhouse – it will cook the nightly meal and heat water for their daily shower. Her sister Molly, 81 carts in the firewood as she has done since she was a girl. The stove is solid and reliable – a reminder of a simpler life.
“We’ve had this stove for 50 years and never thought to get a new one,” says Olwyn.
Step outside the Irvine’s front door and 30m away is some of the most advanced computerised technology known to the dairy industry. Along with farming partners Michael and Lynne Strong, the four sisters, including Valma and Nola, have helped transform Clover Hill Dairies into one of the most productive dairy farms in the country. Deregulation forced their hand. The sisters, accustomed to sacrifice and hard times, didn’t blink when in 2000 the Strong’s put forward a daring proposal to keep the farm afloat.
Nick Strong continues the Irvine Sisters’ legacy
Clover Hill has been a bit like the television series McLeod’s Daughters. After their father died in 1949, the girls stayed on the land to help their mother run the farm – finishing their schooling by correspondence. They never married or had children and they’ve always lived in the farmhouse, enjoying each others company around the old kitchen table.
Nola, Valma, Olwyn and Molly ( Myra) Irvine with their mother Ivy and father Robert Irvine
In 1939 a battery run wireless was their only link to the outside world, but today a television positioned in the kitchen keeps the women informed.
Valma, Molly and Olwyn continued to play and active role in the dairy into their 80s
In the last two years Valma, 83, and Nola, 78, have died leaving Olwyn and Molly to make the tough decisions. But dairying is in their blood and the women have shown the same resilience their forefathers did 150 years ago.
The original Clover Hill homestead and dairy
The farm has been in their family since 1851, when their great great grandfather James Irvine and his son purchased the land naming it Clover Hill. With 180 degree views of the ocean, the Irish settlers cleared the rainforest and forged a new life for themselves in a strange environment.
Molly and Olwyn’s grandfather James and his wife Sarah ( nee Purnell ) on their wedding day
There have now been four generations of Irvine’s farming on the side of Saddleback Mountain. When the sister’s were young there were 300 dairy farms in the Kiama area – today there are just 30. In the six years since deregulation 50 per cent of dairy farms in NSW and Queensland have disappeared.
Deregulation has halved the farm-gate price of milk, but the drought has been the tipping-point for many asset rich, cash poor farmers who’ve made the agonising decision to walk away from their land.
Those who survived were forced to change. More milk had to be produced to make the same amount of money. A decision was made at Clover Hill to “ramp-up” the operation and to pour hundreds of thousands of dollars back into the farm. It was a defining moment for the Strong’s.
Lynne, a pharmacist for 25 years, gave up her career to return to the land full-time, so too did their only son Nick, who had just completed his HSC.
“Most people sold their cows, but we did the opposite,” says Lynne. “We’re now running four times the amount of cows per hectare than we did before deregulation.”
To finance the move the Strong’s and the sisters sold a 280ha joint investment property out west. With the money they built a state-of-the-art $300,000 milking shed which has the capacity to milk 28 cows at a time. Now instead of 80 cows a day, they milk 300.
It was 28 years ago when Michael, then 23, began share farming at Clover Hill. The women took a chance delegating responsibility of their livelihood to someone so young – but it wasn’t to be their last leap of faith in him.
The sisters had grown up with Australian Illawarra Shorthorn cows (AIS), but Michael was keen to swap the herd for Holsteins, a breed which produces more milk. Just before deregulation they reluctantly agreed.
Each cow is now considered a potential elite athlete and the farm hires a full-time nutritionist to feed them a combination of pellets, vitamins, grain and corn.
“If you change a cows diet overnight and you get it right there’s more milk in the vat the next day, but if you stuff it up you get less milk,” explains Lynne. “The results are instant, it’s just so dramatic. There’s a huge amount of research into the science of this industry.”
Hard work and clever decisions have paid off and now Clover Hill Dairies is regarded as one of the most productive farms in the country, with four of its cows this year becoming Australian record holders.
In the show ring too they’ve had success winning the All Australian Three-Year-Old, the first time the farm has ever taken out the award.
“This farm would be up there with the best in the country,” says Lynne. “But people are out there doing it equally as well.”
The view from Clover Hill is spectacular, but Michael Strong isn’t taking in the scenery. Instead he casts a critical eye over his herd of Holsteins. Despite having some of the best and most productive cows in the country he’s still not content. He’d like all of his cows to reach an elite level.
“When you win at the shows you think well I’ve done an alright job,” says Michael. “But when I stand there and look at the herd, I’m pretty critical, I want them all to look wonderful every day of the week.”
Every 12 months the Strong’s and the Irvine’s reinvent the farm. This year they made another decision to increase milking from two to three times a day -starting at 4am and ending at 10pm.
Nick’s decision to follow in his father’s footsteps, although celebrated by both families, also increased the pressure to produce more milk.
“You’ve got to produce a million litres a year to support one family, so obviously we had to double that,” says Lynne. “Now we produce 21/2 million litres and we’re now heading towards three million.”
Before machinery the sisters would have to milk 50 cows by hand twice a day.
“I was very good at milking,” says Olwyn proudly. “‘I used to milk eight cows in one hour and that was good going. It’s hard to deal with all the progress, but we’ve just accepted everything as it’s come, you’ve got to move into the modern world.”
The farm has always been the centre of their lives and they never had any desire to travel overseas or have a family of their own. They still have their jobs around the farm to do, Olwyn mops up the buckets after each milking and Molly teaches the calves to feed.
“We grew up in the war years so I suppose we just stayed on the farm and worked,” says Molly. “I did have some admirers though.” “So did I,” chimes in Olwyn. “But none I wanted to marry.”
Olwyn admits that as a girl she never imagined that the farm would always be her whole life.
“It’s been a hard life I suppose in a way, it’s the same thing over and over, but there’s been lots of pleasures.”
The farm house has always been full of children, either relatives or the offspring of the share farmers working on the farm.
Nick spent his afternoons after school sitting around the Irvine’s kitchen table playing with toy farm animals waiting for his father to finish the milking. Clover Hill has always been his home and the sisters consider him part of their family.
Lynne doesn’t fit the farmer mould and happily admits to never having milked a cow in her life. But having grown up on farms she’s not scared to get dirty and it’s her job to look after the calves. She’s also in charge of the never-ending bookwork and data-entry with each cow having a record since birth.
Since deregulation the dairy is run more like a business. “In one way deregulation was good for us,” says Lynne. “We’ve made wise choices and we’ve become more efficient.”
But it’s been a risk and at times they’ve wondered if it will work – particularly as the drought begins to squeeze.
“The drought is tough, it’s really tough and because the animals are so important to us we don’t downgrade the amount of feed we use, we take the view that the cows are number one in our operation and they have to be looked after. I think though if it goes on for another year all dairy farmers will have to review their situation.”
Grain has doubled in price in the last month and 2007 is already shaping up to be a bleak year for many farms. Thanks to Lynne’s bargaining skills the farm was lucky to have locked in grain at the old price until the next harvest.
The drought has turned cows into a valuable commodity and there are now plans to diversify the business. In the future they hope to sell 30 high pedigree cows a year on the international market – so the dairy won’t be so dependent on the farm-gate price of milk. But first they need to improve their progeny. Twice a year a specialist vet from Victoria transforms a section of the farm into a mini fertility hospital. In August 14 cows of high genetic merit were chosen as donors and were super-ovulated. A week later the embryos were flushed out of the cow’s uterus and viewed under a microscope with the live embryos then being either frozen or implanted into surrogate cows.
“Each year there’s a new development in the research,” says Lynne. “It’s like the dairy industry is the frontier of IVF and I imagine that a lot of the success on dairy farms actually goes back into the human research.”
There have also been massive changes to the farm’s physical boundaries and a road now runs through the middle of the property. To ensure a sustainable and viable dairy long-term, in 1998 they swapped two parcels of non-farmable land for 40 farmable hectares. Today there are seven Torrens Title lots on the 120ha property, of which two-thirds is rainforest, creating a rural hamlet within the working farm.
With the sale of each lot came a list of covenants to ensure Clover Hill Dairies always had the right to farm. There are never any complaints about the odour, the lights or noise and there are strict rules about pets and priority water for the farm.
“It’s a fairly unique situation,” says Lynne. “We have urban and rural co-existing together. “The sub-division has been developed around the dairy and the sizes of the blocks haven’t impacted on the farm at all – most of the lots are rainforest and allow for only a small section of land to be built on.”
But even with close neighbours dairying can be a harsh and isolating life.
“It’s not so much hard work, but hard hours, you get tired of course and you get your down moments when you wish you’d done something else with your life,” says Michael. “But it doesn’t last long, the cows are my passion and that’s what keeps me going.” “I’m always thinking about the heritage of the farm, it’s been such a privilege to live here. The sisters have made a lot of sacrifices to keep the farm going and I’d like to think that there will be a dairy farm on Clover Hill for many years to come.”
This blog post is a reprint of a story by Jodie Duffy in the Illawarra Mercury Weekender 21 October 2006 and is part of the Irvine Family history series
Kevin Richardson reminisces about driving milk tankers through the flood waters on the Terragong Swamp to make sure Australians could get the best quality butter ever made in this country
Kevin Richardson in the lab at Jamberoo Dairy Factory in the 1970’s
The flood water can get very high at Terragong Swamp – confident the tankers kept away when it got this high
Source 
And this from The Australian in 1966
Top photo: In the 1890s, the men who built the district’s dairy co-operatives would have looked much like this: sleeves rolled up, buckets in hand, and ready to turn milk into a thriving local industry 
Illawarra Dairy Cows at Kiama Show in 1954
Jamberoo dairy farmer Vaughn Fleming carting milk to the factory 
