Category: Jamberoo – The farmers who changed Australian dairying

The farmers who changed Australian dairying

The remarkable story of cooperation, innovation and conflict on the NSW South Coast

How the dairy wars turned inward and somehow worked themselves out

We ask people to buy Australian to support farmers, while farming itself depends on a world far beyond our shores. Image source unknown

For decades, the Australian dairy industry knew exactly who the enemy was. Margarine. Yellow, slippery, and forever pretending it belonged on the same plate as butter. Farmers, factories, and marketers were united. Then deregulation arrived in 2000 and, with impressive efficiency, we stopped fighting margarine and started fighting each other.

Overnight, Victorian milk could flow straight into the New South Wales market. The theory was competition would make everyone better. For those of us at the coal face, the reality was messier. Deregulation was followed by ten years of drought, which felt less like reform and more like endurance training.

Much of this story is told best by Geoff Boxsell, who lived it from inside the industry and later recounted it in an amusing speech to Probus in 2003. With impeccable timing, Geoff described how we went from battling margarine to waging war on ourselves, explaining complex industry shifts with humour, clarity, and more than a few knowing laughs from the room. It is the kind of storytelling that only works when the speaker has earned the right to tell it.

At the centre of it all was DAIRY FARMERS COOPERATIVE  It was the second largest dairy co-operative in Australia, farmer owned and powerful. That is very different from dairy farmers, the people milking cows every day. When DAIRY FARMERS was sold in the late 2000s to National Foods, the co-operative disappeared. What remained were brands, and even those did not stay together for long.

National Foods, a Japanese owned company, sold off the Dairy Farmers brands, including white milk, to other processors.  The result was a dairy shell game. Brands moved, ownership blurred, and consumers were left squinting at cartons trying to work out who was behind the milk. Canadian owned players entered the market as well, just to keep things interesting. See note at the bottom that does its best to explain the confusion.

Then consumers pushed back. NSW shoppers wanted milk produced in New South Wales. That preference mattered. Victorian dairy companies were forced to move into NSW, to process milk here and source milk here, so they could truthfully say their milk came from NSW.

And just like that, the marketplace opened up again. In our region, several companies began offering farmers different supply options. Choice returned. Competition followed. Milk companies now had to compete on price, contracts, incentives, and relationships, not just brand recognition. After years of consolidation, the power pendulum swung back towards farmers.

And here is the quiet punchline. Mrs Jones, the fictional character from the old margarine ads, once assured Australians they deserved choice. She was not kidding.

From a farmer’s perspective, there was one unexpected bonus. Productivity lifted dramatically. Cows today produce three to eight times the milk they did fifty years ago. In 1975, Jamberoo had 74 dairy farms. Today, there are nine. Those nine farms produce the same amount of milk, about 20 million litres a year, as the entire valley did in 1975.

BUT this story does not end with choice returning to the farm gate.
What followed was another battle entirely. Once farmers regained options and consumers exercised their voice, both groups found themselves up against a far more powerful force, the supermarkets. In this series of posts I wrote in 2013,  I looked at how dairy farmers and consumers went to war with the major retailers, particularly Coles, how the balance of power in the supply chain tipped again, and what happened when suppliers finally began to speak out. It is a story of intimidation, courage, and the slow unravelling of a system that had gone too far, and it starts with a Background Briefing investigation that still sends shudders down my spine.

So where does that leave us now? With a simple message that cuts through the noise.

Buy milk. Buy dairy products. By doing so, you support the Australian dairy industry.

Some processed dairy products, excluding fresh white milk, come from New Zealand, but the overwhelming majority of dairy products sold here are produced on Australian dairy farms.

The war with margarine fizzled out, the industry survived a family feud, and Australian dairy is still here, filling fridges and keeping regional communities alive.

A very short timeline that explains the confusion 🤔- I was at the coal face and I am very confused

  • 2007
    National Foods is acquired by Kirin, a Japanese beverage and food company.

  • 2008
    National Foods (owned by Kirin) buys DAIRY FARMERS, then the second largest dairy co-operative in Australia.
    This ends DAIRY FARMERS as a farmer-owned co-operative.

  • 2008–2009 ACCC conditions
    To allow the purchase, the ACCC required National Foods to sell off other dairy brands and assets so it would not hold too much market power.
    Brands such as Ski yoghurt and other assets were divested and ended up with different companies.

  • 2009
    Kirin merges National Foods with its Australian alcohol and dairy business Lion Nathan, creating Lion Nathan National Foods, later known as Lion Dairy & Drinks.
    Some Dairy Farmers brands still sit inside Lion.

  • 2010s
    Dairy Farmers branding is split, licensed, sold, or used across different regions and products.
    Brand ownership, milk sourcing, and processing locations no longer neatly align.

  • 2020
    Bega Cheese acquires Lion Dairy & Drinks, bringing Dairy Farmers brands owned by Lion back under Australian listed ownership, though no longer as a co-operative and with a complex shareholder base.

Bottom line:
Between Kirin, National Foods, Lion, ACCC-mandated divestments, brand sell-offs, and later acquisition by Bega, the ownership trail became almost impossible for consumers to follow. That confusion is not accidental, it is the legacy of consolidation, competition law, and global capital moving through what used to be farmer-owned institutions.

BTW If anyone with more expertise than me knows something that should be tweaked in this story feel free to leave a comment. 

#AustralianDairy #DairyDeregulation #SupportAussieFarmers #MilkIndustry #DairyFarmers #NSWDairy #FoodSupplyChain #AgricultureAustralia #BuyAustralian #FarmGateToFridge #RuralCommunities #AustralianFarming #SupermarketPower #ColesAndWoolworths

Condensed milk, skim powder, and the innovators behind Jamberoo’s world class dairy cooperative

Teamwork makes the dream work, right? This photo proves it. Everything the Jamberoo Co-operative Dairy Society achieved came from people working together, sharing responsibility, and holding the same high standard. The awards tell part of the story, the teamwork tells the rest.

This post is part of a series honouring the people behind the extraordinary innovation at Jamberoo Dairy Factory in the 1960’s and 70’s You can find the series here

Back row: Ron Oke, Keith Trapp, Mick Tate, Carol McIntrye, Betty Chttick, Marea Walsh, John Parker, Dennis Brennan, Sid Reeves. Middle Row Joe Smith, Bill Ryan, Kevin Richardson, Geoff Boxsell, Wal Boxsell, Steve Dare, Vaughn Fleming, Bill Fredericks, Sandy Rutledge. Front Row: Bruce Oke, Darky Hogan, Ron Parker, Paul Brennan

The Jamberoo Cooperative Dairy Factory produced world class dairy products. Day in, day out, twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.

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In 1976 Jamberoo Dairy Factory won the Supreme Champion Dairy product in Australia with a box of their butter. In these pictures are Geoff Boxsell now aged 86 with the trophy, the box 25 kgs of Jamberoo Butter was packed in for transport and Steve Dare and Russell Fredericks unloading the butter 

That standard came from people who understood milk, machinery, and risk, and who trusted one another to keep improving the system they were part of. Today’s story shares how that happened, through condensed milk, skim milk powder, and the network of innovators whose judgement and care delivered premium product as the baseline, never the exception.

Kevin Richardson is clear about why these processes mattered. Fresh milk is mostly water, around 87 per cent. The challenge for dairy factories was simple to describe and not so easy to master: how do you remove water without losing food value or quality?

Condensed milk was a high value option. By carefully evaporating water and, in the case of sweetened condensed milk, adding sugar as a preservative, Jamberoo could turn roughly 4.7 kilograms of milk into about 1.76 kilograms of condensed milk. The benefit was obvious. Condensed milk could be stored without refrigeration and transported long distances. It stabilised production, protected quality, and reduced risk during warm periods.

Ron Parker worked in condensed operations  

Getting that process right depended on control. Kevin explains that consistency was everything. Heat, vacuum, and timing had to be managed precisely, or a batch would be lost.

That is why Dennis Brennan’s innovation mattered so much. By working out how to run condensed milk production as a continuous process, rather than stopping and starting in batches, Dennis kept product moving and quality reliable.

Later, Dennis worked with Kevin Richardson and Ian Boxsell on something that still makes Kevin smile when he tells it. Instead of operators standing around doing long calculations by hand, they created a simple computer program. Push a button, and it told you exactly how much sugar, fat, and solids were needed for that batch. No guesswork. No crossed fingers. Just consistency, locked in, years before computerised batching became standard practice. (BTW the program was developed on a Commodore 64)

Skim milk powder solved a different but equally important problem. When whole milk was separated, cream went to butter making and skim milk remained. By evaporating water and drying it, Jamberoo could turn about 4.8 kilograms of skim milk into 450 grams of powder.

Ron Oak was the skim milk power guru

As skim powder could be stored for long periods and surplus milk stopped being a liability and became security against seasonal swings and market shocks. It also meant the factory could absorb milk when others could not.

This is where connections mattered. One of those connections was Bruce Parker, a Jamberoo local who went on to manage the Dairy Farmers Wollongong factory. Dairy Farmers was the largest cooperative in New South Wales and one of the biggest in Australia. When its Wollongong plant was directed to handle all Christmas cream production, it was left with a skim milk problem it could not manage.

Bruce knew Jamberoo’s capacity. He reached out, and Jamberoo absorbed the surplus skim because it already had the evaporators, powder plant, storage, and people to keep everything moving. A small cooperative solved a big problem simply by being prepared.

None of this worked unless milk arrived cleanly and efficiently. Kevin explains why intake systems were critical. Milk arrived in ten-gallon cans, each weighing around fifty to sixty kilograms when full. Repeated lifting was slow, exhausting, and risky.

Wally Boxsell, working with boiler engineer Sandy Rutledge, redesigned the intake system entirely. Conveyors delivered full cans straight to the vat. Empty cans moved automatically through washing, hot rinse, and steam before returning clean to farmers. The system reduced physical strain, lifted hygiene standards, and allowed the factory to handle peak volumes without bottlenecks.

Quality was protected at every stage. Ron Oak and Bill Fredericks kept the powder room running through long shifts and Christmas peaks. Ned Roach, Kevin’s mentor, worked in the test room. Ned taught him to trust his judgement, to hold the line on standards, and to stand his ground when someone interfered with a process they did not fully understand. Ron Parker worked in condensed milk operations. Paul Brennan supported butter and processing work alongside Kevin. Geoff Boxsell backed practical innovation when it made sense on the floor, trusting experience over theory.

Kevin’s message stays consistent throughout. Each process existed for a reason. Remove water, keep nutrition, protect quality, and keep milk moving. What looks technical today was, at the time, sound judgement shaped by people who did the work.

Jamberoo’s success rested on systems, skills, and relationships. Local knowledge travelled. Trust mattered. Networks carried solutions faster than bureaucracy ever could.

Together, these processes created a closed loop system,

A closed loop system means every output has a purpose. Nothing useful is discarded. Materials either stay within the system, are reused in another process, or move to a partner who can use them as input.

At Jamberoo, milk entered the factory and left in multiple forms, butter, condensed milk, skim milk powder, and buttermilk. Water was removed to reduce bulk. Buttermilk flowed to Streets Ice Cream for premium products. Skim milk became powder. Cream became butter. Value circulated rather than leaking away.

Nothing went out as waste. What left the factory did so because it had a use.

In the next post, Kevin explains why what many people think of as “left over” milk was never waste at all, and why those by products were the engine room of the entire dairy system.

#JamberooDairyFactory #JamberooHistory #AustralianDairy #DairyInnovation #CooperativeHistory #RegionalAustralia #FoodManufacturing #ButterMaking #DairyHeritage #AustralianAgriculture #LocalIndustry #FactoryLife #InnovationInAgriculture #TeamworkInAction #FoodSecurity #RuralInnovation #NSWHistory

When the Jamberoo factory was part workplace, part meeting place

The Jamberoo Dairy Factory in the 1960s, when it was both a processing plant and a daily meeting place for farmers across the valley.

This post is part of an ongoing series looking at the Jamberoo Dairy Factory in the 1960s and 70s, when it operated as an innovation hub for the New South Wales dairy industry.

Through photographs, memories, and conversations, I’m trying to capture what that period actually felt like on the ground, the work, the relationships, and the changes that reshaped farming life. Lived experience, at a time when regional factories were driving some of the most significant shifts in the industry.

What follows sits inside that story.

Vaughn Fleming – Milk to market before engines took over.

A full ten gallon milk can could weigh up to 60 kilograms.

That’s about the weight of an average adult human.

In the 21st century a ten gallon milk can on our farm holds nostalgia and umbrellas

By the 50s and 60s, an ordinary Jamberoo farm might arrive with six or eight cans a milking. Six or eight human-weight loads lifted off a truck by hand, morning and afternoon. That effort forced people together in the factory yard.

And while those cans were coming off, people talked.

The yard was busy, loud, familiar. More like a pub than a workplace. Gossip, opinions, news, complaints. Whose cows were milking well. Whose weren’t. Who might be selling up. Who was under pressure. You didn’t need to ask questions. You could see half of it in the number of cans on the tray.

That daily interaction mattered more than anyone probably realised at the time.

Old and new working side by side. Horse and cart alongside motor trucks, showing how change arrived in layers rather than all at once.

Trevor and Leonie Swan hitch a ride to the Jamberoo Dairy Factory.  For many Jamberoo families, dairying was a whole of life enterprise, not a job you left behind at the gate.

Because when milk collection changed, first with co-op trucks and then with bulk tankers from the late 60s, the lifting stopped and the visits to the factory stopped too. By 1970, Jamberoo had full tanker collection and many farmers no longer saw another farmer in the course of their working day.

Farming didn’t suddenly become lonely, it always had that edge. But the small social breaks built into the routine disappeared.

And I remember this clearly, many farmers looked forward to the tanker driver arriving. Yes it was the “money truck” but it was also a chance to talk to someone who wasn’t family. A conversation at the milk vat. A few minutes of human contact in a job that can be long and inward.

So those photos are doing two things at once.

They show us the sheer physical load of dairying, cans that weighed as much as a person. And they show us how that hard work created a social space, one that vanished as efficiency took over.

Once you see that, you understand that progress didn’t just change how milk moved. It changed how farmers connected, and how they coped with the isolation that has always been part of the job.

That’s the story sitting inside those images.

Russell Fredericks tells me his first job at the Jamberoo factory was unloading cans. Before management, before responsibility, before leadership, he started where many did, hands on steel, lifting the weight that kept the place running.

That matters.

Because when you trace this period properly, you see the line running through it. Geoff Boxsell, Kevin Richardson, Russell Fredericks, and the generations of Jamberoo families who passed through that yard, farm kids, apprentices, factory hands, managers. Knowledge moved the same way milk did, person to person, day after day.

The Jamberoo Dairy Factory wasn’t only processing milk in the 60s and 70s. It was training people, shaping judgement, building confidence, and creating pathways for those who could not all stay on the land but still carried farming in their bones.

That’s what an innovation hub looks like when you zoom out.

New products, new systems and a place where hard work, conversation, and opportunity sat side by side, and where one generation prepared the next.

And once you understand that, those photos stop being about the past. They become part of a much longer story that is still unfolding.

Massive shout out to the contributors of the Remembering Jamberoo History Facebook page and families sharing their photos directly with me 

#JamberooHistory #DairyHeritage #AustralianDairy #MilkCans #FarmingLife #RuralAustralia #AgriculturalInnovation #JamberooDairyFactory #IllawarraHistory #RegionalIndustry

The story behind Jamberoo’s butter makers

Steve Dare (L) Butter Maker Guru and his apprentice Russell Fredericks (R)

There is a wonderful moment captured in this photo, taken long before automation took over dairy factories. On the left is Steve Dare, Jamberoo’s master butter maker, a man who could read a churn the way others read a newspaper. Next to him is apprentice Russell Fredericks, paddles ready, learning the craft

You can see the strain in the stance, the weight of the paddles, the deliberate rhythm of easing butter onto the scissor-lift trolley. Even the trolley had to be wound up by hand, inch by inch. Strength, coordination, and care were all part of the job.

Russell went on with Geoff Boxsell to become one of the most influential figures driving change in the NSW dairy industry during the 1970s and 80s.

The local connection runs even deeper. Russell and Geoff Boxsell are cousins, born exactly twelve months apart on Independence Day, living next door to one another and growing up between the dairy factory and the paddocks. Two boys who could wander between houses without crossing a road, who later wandered into the same factory, and who would go on to influence decades of industry innovation.

Butter making was brutally physical. In the photos above Steve and Russell are unloading a full batch of butter from a giant drum churn. A single batch could weigh hundreds of kilograms, and every bit of it had to be coaxed out by hand. There were no hydraulic arms, no automated scrapers, just paddles, teamwork, and strength built over years.

Butter Paddles 

Kevin Richardson later reflected that during peak summer production Jamberoo could be making around ten tonnes of butter a week. Because each block had to be handled multiple times before it reached the freezer, that meant the equivalent of forty tonnes of butter was being lifted, cut, shifted, and shaped by hand.

Winter and summer were two different jobs. In winter, the churn room could be bitterly cold. Butter came out hard and resistant, and cutting it with wooden paddles took enormous wrist strength.

In summer, the problem reversed. Butter softened quickly, so crews often started as early as three in the morning to get a second batch finished before heat made it too soft to handle. Timing was everything, and experience was the difference between success and failure.

Butter changed with temperature, movement, and time. If the churn ran a few minutes too long, the texture shifted. If the room warmed, the butter softened too quickly. The men working here relied on instinct developed over years: listening for the sound of the churn, reading texture by eye, adjusting with a few firm strokes of the paddles.

Factories like Jamberoo were producing butter that would go on to win national awards. That level of quality did not happen by accident. The spotless churn room, the white uniforms, the careful manual work all point to the same thing: this was skilled craft, not a simple production line.

Steve Dare was not only a butter maker, he was the master of the printing and wrapping process. Once a week, he would bring butter out of the freezer and carefully bring it back to the right working temperature. The printing machine was entirely manual, demanding patience and precision. Kevin often remarked that it was a pity there were no photographs of Steve at that machine, because it was one of the most skilled jobs in the factory, and Steve was exceptionally good at it.

This was the world in which Geoff Boxsell and Russell Fredericks learned their trade. It gave them a foundation of practical skill, problem solving, and respect for process that shaped the direction of dairy manufacturing across NSW.

And then, years later, came STUFF.

If Elon Musk had walked through the Jamberoo Co operative Dairy Factory in its working years, he would have been gobsmacked by the system.

In the next story, Kevin Richardson steps back from individual products and explains the thinking that sat underneath everything Jamberoo did. A production system where nothing useful was wasted, every by product had a purpose, and each decision was made with the whole picture in mind. Today we would call it a circular economy. Jamberoo was living it around fifty years before the language caught up.

This was not a single flash of brilliance. It was built by a group of practical innovators who understood milk, machinery, labour, and quality because they worked with them every day. Butter, condensed milk, skim powder, buttermilk, even the handling and washing of cans all formed part of one closed loop.

Kevin’s account shows how that system delivered premium product, held together under pressure, and quietly solved problems that much larger organisations struggled to manage.

The next story is about the system that made everything else possible, and the people who built it.

#Jamberoo #DairyHistory #CircularEconomy #AustralianManufacturing #ButterMakers #LocalInnovation #SkillsAndCraft #NothingWasted #FoodSystems #RegionalExcellence

Community Legend Bob Young has a farm that grows farmers as well as grass

 

Over seventy family members and friends recently gathered at Kiama Leagues Club to celebrate Robert (Bob) Young’s 90th birthday. It was a milestone that said as much about the man as it did about the community that has grown up around him.

Robert John Young was born on 30 October 1935 at Lindfield, the youngest son of Eric and Ruby Young and younger brother to Owen and Ron. In 1948 he moved to his mother’s family dairy farm on Riversdale Road, Jamberoo. Apart from a short stint at Westons, the farm became his life’s work. It later became known as Merley Friesian Stud and remains an active dairy farm today.

Bob married Annette in 1962. They raised three children, David, Colleen and Neil, and now have eight grandchildren, Zac, Dylan, Sarah, Callum, Byron, Lachlan, Aiden and Ellis. In 2018 Bob and Annette moved to Blue Haven on Terralong Street, closing a long chapter on the farm but not on community life.

At the celebration, speeches from family and long-time friends returned to the same themes, Bob’s commitment to faith, family and the wider Jamberoo and Kiama communities. His service includes Kiama Rotary, Kiama Show Society, the Jamberoo Golf Club, the Jamberoo Quartet, Jamberoo Rugby League, Jamberoo Tennis, Kiama Anglican and Kiama Men’s and Mixed Probus. In 2011 he received Kiama Council’s Citizen of the Year Award.

The family story of succession began close to home. David returned to the farm as a young man and took up dual careers, dairy farming alongside a growing building business. He kept the farm running during a period when extra hands were needed. When building work picked up and a young family followed, Bob encouraged him to choose the life that made sense. David went on to a successful career across several sectors and later into senior leadership roles with Anglicare, with the full support of his parents.

That choice opened the way for a different form of succession, one centred on opportunity rather than inheritance. The first share farmer was John Deen, who stepped in when Bob was around sixty. The farm then passed to the Grant brothers, early risers and very capable farmers. They were followed by the Honeys, who stepped in at a time when a major equipment failure could have ended the operation altogether.

Today the farm is run by Mat and Sarah Parker. They represent a new generation of dairy farmers locked out of land ownership by soaring prices yet determined to stay in the industry. The Young family’s approach gives them a pathway, a future, and room to grow.

That is Bob’s quiet gift to the valley. A farm that does more than grow grass. A farm that grows farmers. A farm that continues to reflect the values of the man who turned ninety, surrounded by people who carry those values forward.

#JamberooHistory #KiamaHistory #DairyFarming #IllawarraDairying #JamberooValley #FarmingSuccession #YoungFamilyJamberoo #MerleyFriesianStud #LocalFarmingStories #BobYoung90th #KiamaCommunity #FarmSuccession #GrowingFarmers #RegionalHeritage #IllawarraFarmers

The accident that changed everything, the day Kevin Richardson stayed and Stuff was born

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

Kevin remembers the valley in its working days, the swamp full of dairies, the quiet local knowledge that kept trucks moving through floodwater, and the afternoons when neighbours caught up at the pub rather than through tourism menus. He also remembers the characters, the mishaps, and the farmers who handed down wisdom along with their milk.

The flood water can get very high at Terragong Swamp – confident the tankers kept away when it got this high

He never set foot in the steelworks. The factory claimed him instead.
And Jamberoo is better for it.

You can listen to Kevin and Geoff Boxsell reminisce about Stuff here with Mel James on ABC Illawarra

Kevin tells great tales read some of them here  

#KevinRichardson #JamberooHistory #JamberooFactory #DairyInnovation #SpreadableButter #StuffButter #IllawarraHistory #SouthCoastStories #AustralianDairy #LocalLegends #HeritageStories #ForgottenHistory #DairyPioneers #ButterMakers #FoodInnovation #RegionalNSW #IllawarraVoices #JamberooValley #LegacyStories

Jamberoo where Stuff happens

Once upon a town, Jamberoo was known as the place where we control the action.

These days, it may need a new tagline.

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.

https://www.abc.net.au/listen/programs/radionational-breakfast/spreadable-butter-geoff-boxsell-dairy-science-award/106088818?utm_content=link&utm_medium=content_shared

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.

Tune into WIN News to see Geoff tell the story 

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

#Jamberoo #WhereStuffHappens #GeoffBoxsell #DairyHistory #SouthCoastStories #SmallTownInnovation #Kevinrichardson

When Jamberoo’s dairy men outsmarted Mrs Jones.

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

Under the leadership of Geoff Boxsell, Kevin Richardson and team, Jamberoo created the first successful spreadable butter in Australia.

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!!!!!

Source 

Footnote:

A little bit of history from The Bulletin

And this from The Australian in 1966

#ButterVsMargarine #MrsJonesCampaign #FoodRegulationHistory #JamberooInnovation #DairyScience #AgriculturalReform #AustralianFoodHistory #SpreadableButterStory #VegetableOils #SafflowerAndSunflower #InnovationInTheValley #RuralIngenuity #DairyIndustryLegacy

From Cow Sheds to Start-Up Success. How Jamberoo Farmers Hacked the Dairy Game

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 

#JamberooHistory #DairyPioneers #IllawarraHeritage #AustralianFarming #CooperativeSpirit #StartupMindset #LocalLegends #FarmInnovation #HeritageFarming #RuralHistory

Pride, Passion, and “Stuff” Kevin Richardson’s Dairy Story

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.

 

#KevinRichardson #DairyHistory #JamberooDairy #SpreadableInnovation #FamilyFarmLegacy #AustralianDairy #DairyPioneers #MentorshipMatters #GenerationalFarming #ProudDairyman #FarmTradition