Category: Kiama, Jamberoo, Gerringong LGA

Sue Eggins receives the Kiama Electorate Woman of the Year award

There are awards that recognise a moment. Then there are awards that recognise a lifetime of turning up.

Sue Eggins has been named Kiama Electorate Woman of the Year for 2026, a well deserved recognition for someone whose dedicated persistence to heritage has shaped this community for decades.

Last weekend I had the pleasure of interviewing Sue for my Stories written so they can be found series, the project where I sit down with women across our district to record their life stories so they are not lost to time.

Sue’s story is highly entertaining.

It begins with insistence on hospital facility sterilisation standards in an ambulance heading toward Camperdown in 1948 when her mother refused a roadside delivery. It moves through science teaching, travelling the world in her twenties, a period Sue cheerfully describes as following a musician boyfriend around the country like “a brazen hussy”, and eventually lands in Kiama where her energy has been poured into protecting the history and heritage of this district.

Along the way she trained as a school counsellor, worked for decades supporting young people through some of the most complicated years of their lives, and became one of the driving forces behind the Kiama Historical Society.

Her younger years also included a stint at boarding school under a strict Catholic regime. Sundays involved Mass, Benediction, Rosary and several other services all in one day. Bread for school lunches arrived once a week and by Friday it was often mouldy. The nuns toasted fresh bread for themselves and tipped the leftovers into a bucket for the chooks, a bucket the permanently hungry girls often raided. Dormitories opened onto verandahs where winter wind snapped the canvas blinds and Sue remembers piling eleven army blankets onto her bed to keep warm.

Boarding school also came with a formidable rule book about modesty. Talcum powder was sprinkled across the bath water so the girls could not see their reflection while bathing. Even school dances were tightly managed. Boys were required to place a handkerchief between their hand and a girl’s back so skin never touched skin.  Sue remembers those years as very character forming. A decade travelling overseas and following a boyfriend and his band around the country looked positively wholesome by comparison.

If you have attended a heritage talk, heard the story of Orry-Kelly, visited the museum, or followed one of the long running campaigns to protect historic buildings such as Barroul House or the Pilot’s Cottage, chances are Sue has been somewhere either guiding a tour or behind the scenes reading the documents, asking the questions and turning up to the meetings.

And when Sue turns up, people listen.

They know she has done her homework. She understands the history, the planning rules, the legislation and the process. By the time she walks into a room she is ready to get the best outcomes for the cause.

Her approach to community life is simple. Know your subject. Make your case carefully. And never walk away simply because it looks too difficult.

Great leaders do their homework. They listen carefully. They build a case that stands up to scrutiny. They keep showing up, even when the process is slow or the outcome uncertain. Over time, people learn that when they speak, it is worth paying attention. Sue Eggins has practised that art for decades.

This award recognises exactly that kind of contribution.

And if you want to hear the full story, from ambulance drama to international travel to heritage picket lines, keep an eye out for the full Sue Eggins life story coming soon in the series.

Milk and men (no women) and the archive we inherit

I am writing the history of the Jamberoo dairy factory.

The minutes are thorough. Motions moved. Votes carried. Chairmen thanked. Directors named.

The record is male because in that era authority was male.

That is the structure the archive preserves.

From the 1940s through to the 1970s the dairy industry ran on family labour. Women rose for early milking. They fed calves. They sterilised equipment. They kept the production books and the household accounts. They stretched the milk cheque across machinery payments and grocery bills. They managed rationing in drought years. They hosted meetings. They sustained community networks. They carried the emotional load when prices dipped or disease struck.

None of of that appears in the official file.

Board minutes record motions. Newspapers quote chairmen. Legislation names directors. The kitchens and calf sheds rarely make print. Even our local retrospectives, rich in civic detail, move through institutions and office holders.  In the Kiama Independent Our History Supplement the pattern is consistent. Public life is recorded through public roles.

The tragedy sits elsewhere. The women who carried half the enterprise are now largely gone, and their voices were rarely recorded in their own words.

Oral history could have balanced the record. Time has narrowed that opportunity. It is archival reality.

When I read through factory reports and industry correspondence, I can trace leadership decisions with precision. I can follow drought policy, milk zones, compensation debates. I can name the men who chaired meetings and negotiated with ministers.

I cannot hear the conversation at the kitchen table when the milk price fell.
I cannot see the private calculations made after a vet bill arrived.
I cannot read the words of a woman who rose at 4 am and went to bed after the books were balanced.

Half the enterprise sits between the lines.

Wanting to change that makes sense. It shifts the lens forward rather than back. It asks who is documenting women’s lived experience now, while those voices are still present. It asks whose work is counted as leadership.

If we are serious about industry history, we record the boardroom and the calf shed. We record the motion and the margin. We record the lived experience

Interviews, recorded conversations, written reflections. These are not embellishments. They are structural repair.

An industry history written only through formal office leaves half the story implied.

I am writing “Milk and men (and no women.)”

The next chapter needs different sources. I hope those voices can be found

A night at the museum when the captain ran a tight ship

 

Dr Tony Gilmour ( Vice President) and Sue Eggins ( President) who led the conversation on the history of the Pilot’s Cottage which houses the Kiama’s Maritime Museum – Composite photo

If you are going to host a Night at the Museum, it helps when your historian arrives dressed to command the harbour.

Dr Tony Gilmour stepped forward in full captain’s cap, gold braid catching the light, shirt crisp, microphone steady in hand. He arrives on time, every time. History may roam across centuries. Tony keeps the schedule.

As Vice President of the Kiama and District Historical Society, he knows his brief. And he knows his audience.

We began outside at the Pilot’s Cottage. Basalt. Blue metal. The same stone that built fortunes and fuelled arguments. The same stone hauled down Terralong Street on a tramway that managed to become famous for all the wrong reasons.

Tony retold the story with relish.

During the 1880s Kiama Council built its own tramway to move blue metal from the quarries to the harbour. A bold civic enterprise. Public ownership. Local pride. A locomotive ordered from England. Vacuum brakes admired. Aldermen impressed.

There was one small problem.

The gauge.

The line proved too narrow for sensible interchange and too awkward for the engine that was meant to run on it. The blue metal still travelled. The logic did not. Within a few years, the rails came up and the engine found another home. It also sent the council into debt.

Ambition in iron and basalt. Standing beside the Pilot’s Cottage, Tony pointed out that this sturdy building rose from that same volcanic rock. Basalt blocks that once left Kiama by ship now hold firm against the sea air.

The local press, in its day, had strong opinions. The Kiama Independent described the cottage as “a building which has otherwise no architectural pretension,” condemning its exposed black rubble as “a flagrant violation of all the principles of good design.” Rendering would have made it respectable. Raw basalt did not meet the aesthetic brief of the 1880s.

Even architectural taste carries a timestamp.

Tony then turned our attention to the Robertson Basin.

Opened in 1876, the Basin changed everything. Before it, vessels moored to a heavy chain stretched across the harbour. After it, proper ships could berth, load blue metal efficiently, and leave with dignity intact. The harbour shifted from hopeful to operational.

From the verandah of the Pilot’s Cottage, the pilot managed that transformation. He recorded arrivals, issued weather reports, raised signals, coordinated rescues and kept order in a working port that was loud, dusty and lucrative. This small basalt building once oversaw a busy stretch of coastline and the industry that shaped Kiama’s identity. It was operational authority, grounded in experience.

The story stretches into living memory. The last pilot lived in the cottage until the early 1980s. This was a functioning government residence on Crown land. When the pilot and his family moved out, the future of the building entered a new chapter.

One proposal from the state government involved demolition, another converting the building into a fast food outlet. Harbour views. Prime land. Commercial logic.

The community formed a different view. Through careful advocacy, persistence and steady engagement with council and government, local voices made their case. The cottage became a museum rather than a takeaway counter.

That history remains important today. The Kiama Historical Society currently operates under a one-year licence. Council has offered no long-term guarantee that the cottage will remain a maritime museum. For a building of state and national significance, that uncertainty is of grave concern.

The Society understands long campaigns. It holds one of the largest membership of any historical society in New South Wales. It has defended heritage before. It knows how to assemble evidence, cultivate allies and return to the table until the outcome reflects community best interest.

Kiama Historical Society President Sue Eggins

From there, we moved inside where Sue Eggins, President of the Historical Society, kept the room thoroughly entertained. Sue draws out character and colour with ease. Where Tony charts the terrain, Sue brings the people into the room.

Between them, the evening flowed. We heard of councils arguing over sewerage with missionary zeal. Of hospital roofs surrendering to coastal storms. Of electricity arriving with ceremony and consequence. Of ratepayers scrutinising every loan and levy with familiar intensity.

And then there were the hosts. The Kiama Historical Society did itself proud. Wine flowed. Nibbles circulated with impressive efficiency. Conversation hummed. This is a society that preserves archives by day and knows how to throw a party by night.

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By the end of the evening, the museum felt less like a building and more like a conversation across time.

History stood before us in a captain’s hat, precisely on schedule, anchored in basalt, overlooking the Robertson Basin, and entirely alive.

And inside, under Sue’s watchful guidance, it continued to sparkle.

Exciting News

Given the popularity of the sold-out ‘night at the museum’ last week the Kiama History Society is rolling it out again on 31 March 2026. This event will be open to everyone. Book your ticket here 

 

 

 

Jamberoo history humour and the joy of taking ourselves seriously

Jamberoo has a lot to be proud of and it certainly never lacked confidence.

According to the local correspondent for the Kiama Independent in the late 1800’s what it sometimes lacked was musical ability, favourable weather patterns, and a shared view on how to handle young men with too much energy and not enough supervision. The local newspaper shared his views with a straight face.

In 1887, the colony entertained the idea of calling itself “Australia”. Jamberoo mulled over the proposal and showed little enthusiasm.

The local correspondent described the idea as one of those foolish notions the colonial government picked up from time to time. The idea raised eyebrows, conversations carried on at the pub, in the butcher and baker’s shops, and through sewing groups, while the paper moved on. Readers kept pace or fell behind.

In 1890, Jamberoo floated the idea of forming a local band. The correspondent attended the meeting, listened carefully, then reached for the claws. He reported that a gathering of half a dozen Jamberoo cats produced sounds more pleasing than those scraped from the dead fellow creatures used to make catgut strings.

Visitors received a public service announcement. Arrive during band practice and you would understand immediately what the fuss involved. Action taken, reputation adjusted.

The same year delivered frogs. Not a few, not a rumour, but thousands. Captain Garde of the steamer Illawarra stood on deck at Shoalhaven Wharf when objects struck him like hailstones.

Daylight revealed frogs across deck, wharf and water. They fell for ten minutes, arrived in good health, then carried on hopping towards Wollongong as if aerial travel formed part of normal routine. The paper reported it as routine which made it funnier than any embellishment would have.

Then came the larrikins. Jamberoo sat inside a wider Kiama problem that escalated from nuisance to civic emergency. Bridges suffered damage. The town pump broke twice. Horses bolted after deliberate scares. Church windows shattered.

One New Year’s Eve saw 40 to 50 men and boys roaming, singing, hooting and pelting buildings. The court imposed the maximum fine. The community debated stronger measures and ordered a cat o’ nine tails by steamer. The cat arrived.

Threats followed. Actual flogging rarely did. The town demonstrated enthusiasm for symbolism and restraint in execution.

Ambition ran alongside all of this. Jamberoo carried pride in hills, cows and distance from coastal bustle. The paper described it as picturesque and impractical in the same breath. Big ideas surfaced anyway. The district dreamed, announced schemes with confidence, then watched resources thin out. Earnest campaigns appeared, gathered momentum, then quietly dissolved. The effect stayed visible. Later jokes carried extra weight because the groundwork was already in print.

When the nation’s capital was being decided, Jamberoo put itself forward as the Bush Capital. Supporters pointed to green hills, dairy country, space, calm, and distance from Sydney politics. The argument reflected how Jamberoo saw itself. Sydney politicians continued their search elsewhere. The paper recorded Jamberoo’s confidence and the broader response in close succession, then turned the page.

Smaller moments filled the margins. Visitors received warnings about local music. Outsiders earned suspicion, hospitality, then criticism in columns. Public enthusiasm surged, committees formed, and minutes followed. Jamberoo showed itself lively, observant, and fond of commentary on its own behaviour and not happy with Kiama Council governance.

Jamberoo took itself seriously. Very seriously. Reading the paper now, you’re reminded how fortunate it was that these debates stayed on the page and in the pub, rather than being amplified in real time. A band meeting, a capital bid, frogs from the sky, all of it received careful attention and confident opinion. Social media would have been carnage. Half the district would still be making its case.

BTW Did you know this? I didn’t.

Before Federation we were know as The Australian Colonies and legally and politically, it was six British colonies, not a country. On 1 January 1901, the colonies federated to form The Commonwealth of Australia

Who will be laughing at us in a hundred years

Old newspapers are a gift. They show us a community concentrating very hard on the business of being right about the small things.

In Jamberoo in the late 1800s, people worried about the name of the colony. Australia felt flimsy. Too casual. Too much like a place where people might relax. A proper society, it was argued, required a name with authority and a whiff of empire. Something that would sit comfortably on official letterhead.

The name survived. It now appears on passports, Olympic medals, and road signs without incident.

Beach behaviour also drew close attention. Men bathing in underwear sparked outrage. Editorials were written. Public standards were defended. The issue hinged on fabric, fit, and the preservation of decency. The town believed civilisation rested on correct swimwear.

Electricity prompted years of debate. Poles were discussed. Tariffs were dissected. Who should pay occupied many meetings. When power arrived, streets were lit and grievances brightened along with them.

Women voting caused genuine concern. Serious men warned it would alter women’s nature, upset social balance, and weaken chivalry. These arguments were delivered with confidence and a straight face.

Marriage advice was also a public service.

In 1886, the Kiama Independent offered bachelors a guide to finding a wife. It advised men to observe women closely in the morning. To check her hair. Her dress. Her energy levels. To assess whether she complained of cold, executed unreasonable projects, or wrote too many letters. A man was cautioned against leading a woman to the altar if she showed signs of extravagance or ambition. A good wife, readers were assured, would not be a boaster and a slattern. This bible of rules was apparently the gold standard.

This guidance was published earnestly. Presumably clipped. Possibly discussed over tea.

At the time, all of this mattered. These were serious conversations held by serious people trying to protect their world from decline, disorder, and women who might write letters.

Seen from here, the intensity is impressive.

Which brings us to the present.

We have our own certainties. Our own moral alarms. Our own debates conducted with absolute conviction. We argue about productivity, visibility, optimisation, self branding, and being constantly available. We hold strong views about how people should live, work, partner, parent, age, and perform success.

Future readers will find these pages too.

They will smile at the confidence. They will marvel at the energy. They will wonder how so much attention landed in such particular places.

History tends to be generous. It shows how people worked with the ideas they had.

The more useful question is which of today’s decisions will still make sense once everyone involved is dead and no one is defending them.

Those choices are rarely the ones anyone is busy congratulating themselves for.

They do not come with rules.

And they show zero interest in what a woman looks like before breakfast.

 

How a small town editor changed the landscape by channelling Hawke, Mandela and Attenborough

Wouldn’t life be easier if we knew when to calm the room like David Attenborough, when to hold the line like Nelson Mandela, and when to roll up our sleeves and push like Bob Hawke?

Joseph Weston understood timing.

He was the editor of the Kiama Independent in the late nineteenth century, a farmer in an earlier life, and a fierce advocate for systems that moved farmers from price takers to price makers.

He had range.
Emotional range.
Strategic range.
Editorial range.

I’ve spent a long time watching how change actually happens. It often slips in while everyone is busy arguing about something else. Weston seemed to understand that instinctively.

Start with women.

As editor of the Kiama Independent, Weston strategically expands who appears in the public record. Women begin to show up with careers. Paid work outside the home becomes part of everyday reporting. Secretaries. Clerical and office roles. Assistants in business and administration.

His commentary ensures these roles sit comfortably on the page.

Education is assumed. Literacy is assumed. Organisational skill comes with the territory. Women appear as capable participants in the life of the town.

Alongside this, the paper notes the first woman to graduate university with an Arts degree. She takes her place among the day’s business and the paper moves on. Education, work, and opportunity sit naturally within community life.

This is Weston in Attenborough mode.

He trusts readers to notice. He lets repetition do the work. Over time, expectations widen because what people see keeps widening.

Then he switches gear.

When the dairy industry is at stake, Weston becomes very Hawke. Energy up. Purpose clear.

He writes under the pseudonym The Dairyman. Farmers start asking each other who The Dairyman might be. They argue about the ideas and speculate about the author at the same time. The conversation spreads. Momentum gains traction.

Cooperative dairying becomes something people are talking about in sheds, kitchens, and at the factory gate.

This is Weston mobilising attention.

Running through both approaches is a third instinct, the Mandela one. A sense of timing. Knowing when to slow things down and when to apply pressure. Knowing that influence works differently depending on the moment.

With women’s roles, Weston widens the frame until it feels familiar.
With cooperative dairying, he sharpens the focus until it demands action.

Same person. Different tools. Wisdom we all can aspire too.

Joseph Weston understood how communities change. He worked with that reality. Low-key when low-key works. Direct when direction builds momentum.

For me

Joseph Weston is a role model who shows us how to rearrange the furniture, and when to do it.

FYI

Source 

Understanding heritage, development and relocation

We have  number of beautifully and faithfully restored homes in our region. Some of them like this one were restored by Jose De La Vega in the 80’s and nurtured by their owners since and they don’t need reminding of this hard truth 

“The public enjoys heritage, but the private owner carries the bill.”

This article sits alongside my recent piece on the former Kiama police residence. The issues surrounding a public heritage building on Crown land, subject to an Aboriginal land claim, are very different from the questions that arise when heritage applies to privately owned residential property.

To keep the discussion clear and useful for the community, these topics have been separated. This article looks at heritage from a developer’s perspective, drawing on planning requirements, the Kiama Development Control Plan (DCP) and common industry experience. These insights do not relate to the Police Residence site. They describe how heritage processes operate more broadly in NSW and why conflict often emerges when significance is identified too late.

Five things you need to know

  1. Heritage must be identified early.
    Once a property is bought with no listing in place, it becomes extremely difficult to stop demolition later.

  2. Heritage is more than a single building.
    Streetscapes, context and neighbourhood character often carry as much weight as the building fabric itself.

  3. Maintaining heritage is expensive.
    The community may love a building, but the owner carries the cost, the compliance burden and the responsibility.

  4. Relocation is possible, but rarely simple.
    Engineering, approvals, heritage reports and cost blowouts mean moving a building is often not viable.

  5. Clear communication prevents conflict.
    Uncertainty is what triggers community anxiety. Clear rules, early assessments and honest updates help everyone.

Why timing matters

Heritage significance must be identified before a site is purchased. Once land is bought with no heritage listing in place, and after due diligence and council checks have been completed, it becomes very difficult to later prevent demolition.

“If heritage isn’t protected before a site is purchased, the window has usually closed.”

This is echoed in the Kiama DCP, which requires applicants to understand the heritage character of a site and its surrounds, demonstrate how heritage values have informed their design, and engage specialists when needed. Early clarity benefits owners, developers and the community.

The importance of conservation areas

Heritage Conservation Areas carry weight because they assess not only the building, but the setting, streetscape, visual relationships and surrounding story. This aligns with the DCP’s emphasis on context, which sometimes matters as much as the building fabric itself.

“Heritage is more than a single building, it is the story held by the whole streetscape.”

When heritage character is defined early, conflict drops dramatically. When it isn’t, disagreement becomes almost inevitable.

Council’s role and why incentives matter

If the community wants to absolutely guarantee that a privately owned building survives, government purchase is usually the only certain option.

Short of that, councils can support better outcomes by making retention, adaptive reuse or relocation more feasible. Right now the regulatory pathway is often slow, expensive and unclear, which discourages owners from considering alternatives to demolition.

The DCP requires detailed documentation before relocation is even considered, including:

  • structural and engineering assessments

  • heritage impact statements

  • evidence that significance will survive the move

  • analysis of how the relocated building will sit in its new context

Relocation is possible, but rarely simple.

“Relocation sounds simple, but the approvals, cost and engineering make it anything but.”

Clearer incentives or streamlined processes would make a real difference.

The private burden of heritage

Heritage buildings are admired by many, but the financial burden falls on one: the owner.

“The public enjoys heritage, but the private owner carries the bill.”

Restoration requires specialised trades. Maintenance is ongoing. Grants are limited and rarely cover the true cost. The DCP places strong responsibility on owners to justify changes, maintain fabric and demonstrate that significance is respected.

“Two years ago I read that the NSW Government was going to spend $25 million demolishing the (Finger) wharf. They surely did not want to spend that money. What was needed was a formula to justify the investment.”

…. We won because we put in the time, did the homework and had the team. And we have been passionate about it.” Source 

This mismatch between community expectation and private obligation is one of the drivers of heritage conflict.

“Heritage has many fans, as long as someone else is paying for it.”

Understanding development risk

Development is complex. Even skilled developers carry significant risk, from contamination to infrastructure constraints to changing market conditions. A project that looks viable at purchase can become unworkable once detailed assessments begin.

“Most heritage crises begin as maintenance problems left too long.”

This context helps the community understand why late-stage heritage identification can destabilise a project and fuel community tension.

The role of communication

Clear communication lowers anxiety. Silence does the opposite.

“Silence from government is the fastest way to start a rumour.”

Developers who contributed insights to this article emphasised the importance of keeping dialogue constructive while statutory processes are underway to avoid misunderstandings.

The DCP supports this by requiring transparency, expert evidence and clear demonstration of how heritage considerations shape proposals.

“Clear rules calm communities. Uncertainty fuels conflict.”

Summary

Heritage and development are not adversaries. Both benefit from:

  • early identification of significance

  • clear, consistent planning rules

  • practical pathways for retention, adaptation or relocation

  • communication that builds understanding, not conflict

“Heritage survives when everyone knows their role, not when everyone waits for someone else.”

When the system works well, heritage is protected and development remains viable. When it doesn’t, communities, owners and councils all feel the strain.

Passion is important to de la Vega. “Can you feel the magic of it?” he asks pacing through the structure of the Finger Wharf. “It’s like restoring an old ship. You have to be passionate about it.”

Rider

This article is based on publicly available planning documents, including the Kiama Development Control Plan (DCP) 2020, and general insights shared by several experienced developers to help explain how heritage processes operate in NSW. These discussions were broad in nature and d0 not relate to the former Kiama police residence or any specific development site.

The purpose of this piece is to give the community a clearer understanding of how heritage is assessed, why timing matters, and why conflict often arises when significance is identified later in the planning cycle. All information has been consolidated and interpreted for clarity, with care taken to avoid speculation or commentary on any live development matters.

#KiamaHeritage #HeritageProtection #NSWPlanning #KiamaCouncil #HeritageConservation #DevelopmentAndHeritage #KiamaHistory #BuiltHeritage #CommunityInformation #HeritagePrecinct #UrbanPlanningNSW #HeritageListing #HeritageDebate #HeritageBuildings #KiamaCommunity #AboriginalLandRightsNSW #HeritageEducation #CivicPrecinctKiama #HistoricKiama #PlanningExplainer

Kiama’s museum shows what truth telling looks like

Kiama’s Pilot’s Cottage Museum has been recognised on the state stage, collecting a Highly Commended award at the Museums and Galleries of NSW Imagine Awards this week. It is an achievement that says a great deal about the calibre of work quietly happening in this town.

Out of 114 entries, only 28 awards were given. Major institutions with full time staff, curators and budgets many times larger than Kiama’s, including the Australian Museum, the National Maritime Museum, Powerhouse and UNSW, walked away empty handed. Kiama Historical Society was the only organisation across the Illawarra, Shoalhaven and South Coast to receive an award.

The prize acknowledged the museum’s transformed Aboriginal history displays, a project developed in partnership with respected Wodi Wodi Elder Dr Aunty Joyce Donovan. Over the past year, the Society has rethought the entire museum through a simple question, whose history is missing?

The answer reshaped everything.

A volunteer team quadrupled the space dedicated to Aboriginal stories and placed them at the centre rather than the margins. The result is far more than an updated display. It is a shift in how Kiama tells its past, moving away from a settler only lens and towards a shared story that invites honesty, awareness and reconciliation.

When I sat down with Tony Gilmour, he described the outcome as a “living museum”. Stories are not fixed behind glass. They are open to the ongoing knowledge, guidance and correction of Aboriginal people. Visitors are encouraged to see the whole landscape of Kiama, from long before colonisation through to the present, as one continuous story.

It matters. It shows what can happen when a community organisation chooses curiosity over defensiveness, partnership over tokenism, and truth over comfort. It also shows what happens when volunteers believe in the work enough to carry it through.

In a year where heritage debates have become louder and more divisive, Kiama has been recognised for doing something far more generous. Listening. Learning. And making room.

An award was not the goal, yet it confirms what many already know. Good things grow here when people work together.

#KiamaPilotsCottageMuseum #Aboriginalhistory #ImagineAwards2025, #KiamaHistoricalSociety #Communityleadchange #TruthTelling, #LivingMuseum #Illawarraheritage #SouthCoaststories, #ListeningLearningMakingRoom #Sharedhistory #Volunteerpower #Culturalrecognition #NSWmuseums

Packed House, Untold Stories. How Kiama Is Rewriting What We Know About Australian History”

L to R Aunty Dr Joyce Donovan, Sue Eggins and Dr Tony Gilmour 

The Kiama District Historical Society’s October event drew a full  house, standing room only, as locals gathered to hear Aunty Dr Joyce Donovan and Dr Tony Gilmour explore the deep Aboriginal history of the local area.

The crowd loved the didjeridoo performance by Quinten Dingo-Donovan – a moving tribute that connected the past and present.

The audience, mostly baby boomers, was visibly engaged and moved by what they heard. Many said afterward that they had learned more about the South Coast’s Aboriginal history in one afternoon than in all their years of schooling.

Aunty Joyce, a Wodi Wodi Elder and local hero recognised for her work in Aboriginal health and education, and Dr Gilmour, historian and Vice President of the Kiama District Historical Society, presented a powerful overview of Wodi Wodi Country, focussing on Kiama, Jamberoo, Minnamurra, and Gerringong. They described how the area’s saltwater people lived along the coast and gathered at Kiama to trade salt, arrange marriages, and pass on law; how Jamberoo and Minnamurra were key meeting and birthing places; and how Aboriginal names like Kiama (“where the sea makes a noise”) and Minnamurra (“plenty of fish”) connect the landscape to its stories.

Aunty Dr Joyce Donovan is presented with a certificate by Kiama District Historical Society president Sue Eggins, marking her appointment as the Society’s first Aboriginal Elder Patron — a recognition of more than 15 years of collaboration and contribution to keeping Kiama’s shared history alive.

They also revisited the history of King Mickey Johnson and Queen Rosie, whose lives in the late 1800s and early 1900s show that Aboriginal people remained part of community life long after colonisation. Their stories now form part of a new, evolving display at the Pilot’s Cottage Museum, a living history project that welcomes new knowledge, corrections, and contributions.

“This is a living history,” said Aunty Joyce. “We’re still learning, still listening, and still adding to what we know. History belongs to everyone, and it grows stronger when we share it.”

Dr Gilmour agreed, describing the project as a way of completing the story of Kiama rather than rewriting it. “We’re not taking anyone’s history away,” he said. “We’re filling in the missing chapters. The story of this place didn’t start in 1797 when explorer George Bass landed in what is now Kiama harbour. And it hasn’t stopped. It’s a continuing story that connects us all.”

The energy in the room suggested more than nostalgia. It reflected a wider hunger for understanding and a recognition that history told only through rose coloured glasses leaves us poorer.

As one attendee remarked.

 “It’s time for Aboriginal history and culture to become a genuine, continuous part of the curriculum, not an elective reserved for the senior years. In a global world, young people are hungry to understand where conflict comes from and how empathy begins with truth. It isn’t about rewriting history. It’s about completing it.”

Around the world, societies are re-examining how their histories are told. When people study the past honestly, whether it’s the brutality of Europe’s religious wars or Australia’s frontier conflicts, they begin to see why divisions persist and how understanding grows from truth.

#AboriginalHistory #KiamaHistory #WodiWodiCountry #KingMickey #QueenRosie #LivingHistory #TruthTelling #AustralianCurriculum #SouthCoastNSW #KiamaCommunity #Jamberoo #Minnamurra #Gerringong #PilotCottageMuseum #LocalHistory #Reconciliation #HistoryEducation #AustraliaBefore1788 #KiamaEvents #CulturalHeritage

60 Years of Service: John Downes Reflects on Jamberoo RFS

Each member of the Jamberoo Rural Fire brigade has their own story, together they reflect the strength of Jamberoo RFS,  a brigade built on loyalty, service and community spirit.

Photo credit Linda Faiers 

As Jamberoo Rural Fire Service marked its 85th anniversary, its longest-serving member, John Downes, shared his reflections. John has been part of the brigade for an extraordinary 60 years, and in that time, he has witnessed the service change beyond recognition.

“When I started, we had little more than a haversack and a few basic tools,” he recalled. “Now the equipment is first class. The protective gear, the trucks, the training, it is all about safety and being ready.”

For John, what stands out is how the brigade has kept pace with the modern world. “It is like life in general,” he explained. “Just like you go to the doctor for regular check-ups, the RFS makes sure members are trained, the gear is up to date, and there is support after tough jobs. Everything is checked and ready before you need it.”

The difference, he said, is clear on every call-out. “Years ago, we might have had ten members available. Now Jamberoo, just a small village, has more than 60 trained people. That makes a huge difference. The pager goes off, and within minutes the trucks are on the road. And when you climb on board, you already know what you are heading to, whether it is a house fire, a crash, or a medical emergency. If someone inside relies on medical equipment, you know to take a generator. That information saves time, and it saves lives.”

The statistics back him up. In 2024, Jamberoo RFS recorded its busiest operational year ever with 180 call-outs, an average of one every two days. Even more remarkable, the brigade achieved an average turnaround of just 4.5 minutes from the pager sounding to the first truck on the road, one of the fastest response times in the Illawarra.

The brigade itself reflects the diversity of the community it serves. Its members range in age from 17 to 83, including students, retirees, small business owners, health professionals, and farmers. In 2025, 75% of its  officers are women, led by Captain Hannah McInerney, the first female brigade captain in the Illawarra.

John also appreciates the way the brigade has become more inclusive. Where once women were mainly behind the scenes, today they stand side by side with men, both on the trucks and in leadership.

“The role of women is no different,” John said simply. “They get the same training; they stand shoulder to shoulder.”

One memory that stands out for John is the Jamberoo Mountain bus crash, when a tourist bus rolled down an embankment, killing two people and injuring many others. “That was terrible,” he said. “But what I remember most is the support we got afterwards. Male and Female counsellors were at the station that night, and everyone sat down together. It helped a lot.”

After six decades, John’s reflections are not about looking back wistfully, but about recognising progress. From basic beginnings to one of the fastest, best-equipped brigades in the Illawarra, he sees the change as something to celebrate.

“It is better now,” he said. “This is progress.”

Deputy Commissioner Ben Millington presents John Downes with his 60 years of service medal Photo credit Linda Faiers 

Honouring Service

The 85th anniversary was also a night of recognition, with National Medals and RFS Long Service Medals presented to members whose commitment spans decades. Together, these awards represent hundreds of years of dedication to Jamberoo and the wider community.

National Medals

  • Mongo Delamont – 35 years

  • Corrine Wesche – 25 years

  • Craig Downes – 25 years

  • Dave Butcher – 15 years

  • Hannah McInerney – 15 years

  • Nathan Minett – 15 years (not present)

  • John Staniforth – 15 years (not present)

RFS Long Service Medals

  • John Downes – 60 years

  • Mongo Delamont – 30 years

  • John Friedmann – 30 years

  • Gerard Blunden – 20 years

  • Kay Brennan – 20 years

  • Leanne McParland – 20 years

  • Andy Mullen – 20 years

  • Bob Parker – 20 years

  • Dave Brennan – 10 years

  • Leanne Deen – 10 years

  • Brian Dixon – 10 years

  • Pete Leeson – 10 years

  • Pete Williams – 10 years

  • John Temlett – 10 years

Each medal tells its own story, but together they reflect the strength of Jamberoo RFS,  a brigade built on loyalty, service and community spirit.

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Jamberoo RFS, 85 years of service, volunteer firefighters, RFS family, community heroes, National Medal, Long Service Medal, emergency services, fire brigade pride, Illawarra strong