Category: Kiama, Jamberoo, Gerringong LGA

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.

#JamberooRFS #85YearsOfService #VolunteerFirefighters #RFSFamily #CommunityHeroes #NationalMedal #LongServiceMedal #EmergencyServices #FireBrigadePride #IllawarraStrong


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

From Bare Floors to Barely Affording. Why Getting Rich in 1870 Was Easier Than Buying a House Today”

In 1870, the Kiama Independent ran a piece titled How to Get Rich. The advice was breathtakingly simple:

Work hard. Spend less than you earn. Save a few hundred pounds. Buy a small farm on the edge of town. Build a modest house. Marry a prudent woman (the sexism was free). Live happily ever after.

And the best part? Don’t worry about furniture. As the newspaper sternly advised, “If the average colonist can have a carpet and fine furniture without taking another man’s money to pay for them, let him have them. But if he cannot afford it, bare floors will not hurt honest men’s feet.”

In other words: buy the farm first, worry about the carpet later.

And here’s the thing, it wasn’t a joke. Back then, this advice actually worked. You could slog for a few years and end up with a farm. Land ownership was within reach of an ordinary labourer.

Fast forward to 2025, and you’d be laughed out of the bank for suggesting such a thing. Today’s version of How to Get Rich might read something like this:

Work hard. Spend less than you earn (if that’s even possible). Save for a decade while rents chew through a third of your income. Watch house prices climb faster than your wages. Cry into your smashed avo (because it wasn’t the avocado that broke the bank). Apply for a mortgage that will consume 50% of your household income. Repeat until retirement.

Here are the hard numbers:

  • The house-price-to-income ratio in Australia now sits at about 8 times annual income (9.5 times if you’re in Sydney, 10-12 times if you live in Kiama). In 1870, it was closer to 1:1.

  • It takes the average household more than 10 years just to save a deposit—and that’s without the market leaping ahead while you save.

  • If you’re lucky enough to secure a mortgage, expect half your income to vanish into loan repayments. If you’re renting, a third of your income disappears into someone else’s mortgage.

In short: in 1879  “getting rich” meant a few years of thrift and sweat, and you could end up with your own patch of dirt. Today, thrift and sweat mostly buy you the right to complain about real estate agents and doom scroll Domain listings at midnight.

The truth is, our ancestors may have lived with bare floors, but at least they could afford the walls around them. Carpets were optional. Houses weren’t.

#HousingCrisis #CostOfLiving #KiamaHistory #ThenAndNow #BareFloors #HomeOwnership #AustralianDream #LocalHistory #RealEstateReality

From a Box of Hoses to One of the Best-Equipped Brigades in the State

This is a recreated image produced for this 85th anniversary blog. It is for illustrative purposes only and does not depict the actual vehicles, buildings, or equipment from the period.

Eighty five years ago, on Valentine’s Day 1940, a group of locals gathered in the Jamberoo Council Chambers, not for romance but to talk about fire. Austin Howle was elected captain, with M Boulton, A Pryor, and J Murphy as vice-captains. Each picked a team of five mates, and together they formed the very first Jamberoo Bush Fire Brigade.

The equipment was modest. It was a standpipe, a hose director, and a couple of lengths of canvas hose kept in a box at the Post Office. But it was ours, and it worked. Eventually, it was moved to the fence at the Council Chambers, which you might now know as the butcher’s shop.

Fast forward to 1958 and Kiama Council handed over our first station, an old Electricity Department building. The “tanker” at that time was a box trailer with a water tank and pump, towed by the captain’s Land Rover. Then came the brigade’s first real tanker in the early 1960s, an ex-army Ford Blitz that the members kitted out themselves.

From there, the fleet kept growing. A 1981 Toyota four-wheel drive, a 1957 Commer fire appliance rescued from Goulburn, and a Ford van turned into a forward control unit all joined the ranks. By the 1990s, we had replaced the lot with modern equipment, and the station grew too. Thanks to a lot of voluntary muscle power from brigade members who built, poured, painted, and laid bricks, we ended up with the four-bay station we know today.

We have had 14 captains over the years, from Austin Howle through to our current leader, Hannah McInerney. Along the way, many members have gone on to senior roles across the Kiama and Shellharbour fire service.

Today, Jamberoo is a village with fire-fighting equipment that consists of: Heavy tanker (Cat 1), Village protection unit (Cat 10), Striker unit (Cat 9) Personnel carrier (Cat 20)

The brigade 60  members, ready to tackle structural fires, bush and grass fires, motor vehicle accidents, rescues, searches, and even the occasional tree blocking the road. We also lend a hand across the Illawarra Zone and wider NSW  whenever needed.

From that humble box of hoses to one of the best-equipped brigades in New South Wales, Jamberoo RFS’s story is about dedication, community spirit, and a willingness to muck in and get the job done.

Here’s to the next 85 years, and maybe, just maybe, fewer 5am callouts.

#JamberooRFS #RuralFireService #FireBrigadeHistory #CommunityService #VolunteerFirefighters #HistoricFireTrucks #EmergencyServices #FirefightingHeritage #LocalHistory #NSWRFS

How a Highway Bypass and a Missing Railway Line Changed Jamberoo Forever

Did you know Allowrie St Jamberoo was once called George St  

Once upon a time, Jamberoo was the centre of the universe on the New South Wales South Coast. People will tell you it was the largest town between Sydney and Melbourne. Drays rattled through, pubs bustled, and blacksmiths hammered away, all thanks to the fact that Jamberoo sat squarely on the main inland route south. Travellers from Sydney would pass through Albion Park, swing into the Jamberoo Valley, then take on the steep haul up Saddleback Mountain before descending into Kiama.

It was not an easy journey, but it kept Jamberoo humming. The town was a natural stop for food, drink, repairs, and gossip. Things got even better in the late 1800s when the Pike’s Cutting was cut, giving a shorter, less back-breaking link to Kiama.

Looking west through Pike’s Cutting towards the Jamberoo Rd

The real change came earlier than many think. Before the first bridge at Minnamurra opened in 1870, the coastal route had a built-in obstacle — the punt across the river. Travellers would roll up, sometimes in carts piled high with produce, only to find a queue of buggies, wagons, and the occasional impatient rider, all waiting their turn.

The ferryman set the pace, and he was not in a hurry. A good crossing depended on the tide, the weather, and how chatty he felt. A stiff breeze might mean you waited longer. A juicy bit of local gossip could mean you waited longest of all. Farmers swapped news, children fished off the bank, and the odd traveller calculated just how much quicker it would have been to go through Jamberoo after all.

When the first Minnamurra River bridge opened in 1870, and later the second in 1890, the days of punt queues were numbered. More and more traffic flowed along the coast instead of inland through Jamberoo. What was later named the Princes Highway in 1920, rebranded to curry favour with the visiting royals. The prince in question, who later became Edward VIII, very nearly brought down the monarchy.

Of course, Jamberoo had faced other supposed threats before, like the Russians. In September 1860, The Kiama Examiner reported on fears that Russia might invade Kiama. Their verdict on Jamberoo’s fate was unforgettable:

“Jamberoo will, of course, escape, as it will be impossible for any army to come up here from the impassable state of the roads. In some future generation their fossil remains would be found imbedded in a strata of yellow clay, which would be all that would be left to tell the tale that a great and mighty army had once invaded our shores.”

In other words, Jamberoo’s best defence in 1860 was potholes and mud.

While the roads were shifting, so was the way people and goods moved between Kiama and Sydney. For decades, ships carried passengers, butter, and blue metal from Kiama Harbour to the city. The arrival of the railway in 1887 changed everything. Fresh produce could reach Sydney markets the same day, and passengers could travel in comfort without braving the sea.

The first government proposal for the rail route actually had it running through Jamberoo rather than Shellharbour. Imagine if that plan had been adopted. Jamberoo would have been on the direct Sydney to Melbourne main line. Butter factories could have sent goods by train instead of cart, pubs would have bustled with passengers stepping off the platform, and the valley would have been plugged directly into the country’s busiest rail corridor.

In the early 20th century, there was even talk of a branch line to Jamberoo when it was thought coal might be found in the valley. Nothing came of it, and the railway stuck to the coast. Jamberoo remained an inland service town, its fortunes tied to dairy farming rather than the booming railway economy.

W.A. Bayley, writing in the 1960s and 70s, told this story with the precise detail of his era, recording dates, council minutes, and route maps in the serious style of mid-20th century history writing. Dr Tony Gilmour’s Rascals and Respectables covers the same territory but with more sparkle. In Gilmour’s version, the stubborn characters, bruised egos, and colourful asides make you wish you could eavesdrop in Jamberoo’s pubs the day the first bridge at Minnamurra opened, or the moment they learned the railway would not be coming through the valley.

Dr Tony Gilmour’s Rascals and Respectables does not just tell you the history of our local pubs, it pours you a pint of it, froth and all. From the days when Jamberoo ruled the coast to the high-stakes drama of the railway line that never came, Gilmour weaves the rise and fall of our watering holes into a tapestry of hysterical anecdotes, petty rivalries, and larger-than-life publicans who could pour a beer with one hand and stir up scandal with the other. It is history with a wink, where every closing time comes with a punchline. You can buy it here: https://www.trybooking.com/events/landing/1348394

Much gratitude to Dr Tony Gilmour and Sue Eggins from Kiama District Historical Society for their anecdotes and fact checking

#JamberooHistory #CentreOfTheUniverse #HighwayBypass #MinnamurraPunt #PrincesHighway #RailwayThatNeverCame #IllawarraHistory #SouthCoastNSW #LocalLegends #ButterAndBasalt #rascalsrespectables #TonyGimour

Leapfrogs, Lawbreakers, and the Birth of Surf Culture in Kiama

Long before the zinc cream and beach umbrellas, before lifeguard towers and bikini bans (or, more accurately, bikini approvals), Kiama’s surf and swim culture was something else entirely.

It was… illegal.

Yes, in the 1890s, going for a dip in the ocean in Kiama was a rebellious act, especially if you did it within view of a public street. In 1895, a fellow named John Holbrook dared to take a surf bath near Manning and Barney Streets at 7am. He was promptly hauled into court and fined 10 shillings under the Towns Police Act, which apparently took a dim view of early-morning enthusiasm and exposed ankles. That bold splash effectively sank surf bathing in Kiama for more than a decade.

But let’s backstroke to the beginning.

In the late 1800s, swimming wasn’t taught in schools, and most people bathed in the sea fully nude, preferably very early or very late, and never when the ladies were about. In 1891, some order was attempted: men were directed to bathe before 10am or after 5pm, while women had access to the baths in the middle of the day. Also, brace yourself, men were asked to wear trunks. A shocking concept for some.

Kiama’s Blowhole Point Baths, initially privately built, were handed over to Council and officially opened on New Year’s Day 1894 by G.W. Fuller, MLA, with 400 onlookers.  W. Kelly, organiser and swim evangelist, went on to form the Kiama Swimming Club that same year. A.E. Fulton and S.S. Wells were club secretary and president, respectable positions in a sport that was only just becoming respectable.

Around the same time, a zigzag track down the cliffs to Kendall’s Beach was carved out by locals under the leadership of P. Proud. Initially called Jacob’s Ladder, it later became known as the Golden Stairs, possibly because anyone climbing back up needed the strength of a god and the patience of a monk.

By 1905, the tides were finally turning. Council rescinded the old anti-bathing laws. And in 1908, despite Alderman Hyde Marsh’s solemn warning that “surf bathing is only a craze,” Kiama gave it the green light. That same year, the Kiama Surf Bathers Club was born. Costumes were neck-to-knee, compulsory for anyone over eight. Nude swimming? Still a thing, unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your perspective, because by 1909 complaints were rolling in about young men skinny-dipping at North Kiama Beach.

And what really pushed things over the edge? Leapfrog.

In 1910, a stern council motion condemned surf bathing after complaints that men in bathing suits were “playing leapfrog” on the beach. But like any movement with good sand and better timing, surfing couldn’t be stopped.

By 1911, Surf Beach at Storm Bay was selected as the official town surf beach, two dressing sheds were built, and by 1912 the surf club boasted 45 men and 11 women. In 1913, the first major surf rescue took place. Tragically, Mr. Pollock drowned while his wife was saved and successfully resuscitated, marking the beginning of Kiama’s legacy in ocean safety and surf awareness.

By 1915, it was clear, “The baths and the surf are the greatest pleasures of a holiday in Kiama.” And while there were still complaints about the wrong people wandering into the wrong baths, and suggestions for continental bathing facilities, scandalous, the waves had won.

What began as a sneaky morning splash, a zigzag path, and a few brave souls defying the dress code became something bigger, a culture.

So next time you’re at Surf Beach, spare a thought for John Holbrook, fined for his 7am dip. He didn’t just take a swim,

He took the plunge, for all of us.

Much of this delightful detour through Kiama’s past has been made possible thanks to W.A. Bayley, whose 1959 book Blue Haven: History of Kiama Municipality remains a treasure trove of stories, facts, and fabulous detail. It’s not just a source, it’s a time capsule, capturing both the spirit of the district and the language of its era.

#KiamaHistory #SurfCulture #VintageSwimwear #KiamaBeachDays #SurfBathing #EarlySurfing #LeapfroggingLarrikins #KiamaStories #AussieHistory #RetroBeachVibes #LawbreakersAndLifesavers #BathingSuitHistory #KiamaHeritage #JamberooHistory #LocalLegends #HistoricalResearch #KiamaDistrict #AustralianHistory #DairyHeritage #ButterAndBasalt #IllawarraRailway #HistoryNerd #SmallTownStories #FamilyHistory #HeritageHunt #HistoricalHumour #LocalGovernmentDrama

Always Broke, Forever Hopeful, A Brief (and Broke) History of Kiama Council

When ratepayers gave the mayor boxing gloves in 1890, they weren’t kidding. 140 years later, council’s still trying to stop the money leaking out, one glove at a time. 

If you’ve heard whispers that Kiama Council is in financial strife and thought, “Surely this is new?” — allow me to introduce you to the long and time-honoured tradition of municipal money woes. Because, dear reader, we’ve been broke since before board shorts, streetlights, or even bridges were cool.

In 1882, Kiama Council approached Parliament to borrow money for, you guessed it, a tramway. At the time, it was seen as a visionary move. The blue metal trade was booming, basalt was being hauled from the hills to the harbour by horse and dray, and the dust and mud on Kiama’s streets were choking businesses and water tanks. A tramline was proposed to streamline transport from the quarries to the port and keep Kiama competitive in the shipping trade. It might have been brilliant, had it worked.

Instead, it went over budget, underused, and over the edge of financial logic. By 1890, the council was broke. Properly broke. Ratepayers were so fed up they literally handed the mayor a pair of boxing gloves at a council meeting. (Fact, not metaphor.)

By 1894, Kiama Council was saddled with a £4,000 debt to the bank, couldn’t afford basic street repairs, and had to sweep Terralong Street with brooms while dust blew into shops and ruined water tanks. The situation was so dire that they considered lighting the streets with acetylene gas instead of paying their overdue bill to the gas company.

Electricity? That was another slow burn. While towns up and down the coast were already flicking switches, Kiama was still dithering over tenders, tariffs, and the staggering cost of poles and wires. The council’s reluctance to commit funding meant Kiama lagged behind in the electrification stakes, and when lighting finally arrived, it lit up more resentment than roadways.

Water supply? That, too, was a long and thirsty road. For decades, residents relied on rooftop tanks, wells, and carted water. By the late 1800s, a proper water scheme was desperately needed. Eventually, the solution came in the form of Fountaindale Dam,

 located at the confluence of Tangalla Gully and Fountaindale Creek, approximately 10 km west of Kiama. A concrete wall was built to hold back the water, and in 1909 the dam was completed as an on-stream storage facility. It officially became part of Kiama’s water supply system in 1909 at a cost of £7,073 (roughly $1.1 million today). Pipes were laid, tanks were constructed, and water finally flowed. It was a triumph, briefly.

Fast forward to today and the irony is hard to miss. Fountaindale Dam still sits there, perched on what is now my family’s farm. It no longer supplies water to Kiama, having been decommissioned in 1977, yet the dam’s massive wall remains council’s responsibility, a costly, aging relic of early infrastructure dreams that now brings nothing but maintenance bills and engineering headaches. It is not accessible to the public.

Public buildings? Repeatedly proposed, repeatedly defeated, sometimes by referenda with fewer than 20 votes. A grand new civic hall was once declared too ambitious. Central Park was dismissed as a “disgrace to the title,” filled with weeds, quarry rubble, and good intentions.

And the consequences of all this financial floundering?
They were significant.

In 1890, after years of frustration, Gerringong and Jamberoo both seceded, forming their own municipalities and taking with them not only their rates but also a good chunk of local identity and political momentum. The split was celebrated with banquets, and the division remained in place until the mid-1950s.

Even surf culture faced municipal delay. When locals pushed for public bathing and beach access, council’s response was to fine the first man caught swimming in view of the street. It took years, and another round of public outcry, before bathing laws were finally revised and surf clubs allowed to form.

So if you’re feeling nostalgic about balanced budgets and visionary spending, maybe don’t. The truth is, we’ve always operated somewhere between ambition and overdraft.

The real question isn’t, “How did we get into debt?”
It’s more like, “Do we ever learn?”

#KiamaHistory #CouncilChaos #LocalGovernmentWoes #AlwaysBroke #MunicipalMeltdown #FountaindaleDam #BoxingGlovesAndBudgets #KiamaCouncil #TramwayTroubles #BudgetBlunders #HistoricalIrony #BlueMetalAndRedInk

Jamberoo Time Travel (Minus the Jet Lag)

You could say Jamberoo is in my blood. My family has lived here for eight generations, and while others have documented its history in great detail, I’ve recently joined the fray for a very specific reason: a book I’ve been commissioned to write about a “scandal” that rocked the village in 1910. Let’s just say the past has been more gripping than I ever expected, and I am absolutely loving the research.

With help from local legends Dr. Tony Gilmour and Sue Eggins at the Kiama District Historical Society, I’ve been digging through dusty records, unexpected side stories, and the odd political stoush that feels… well, oddly familiar.

Some people take a gap year to find themselves in Europe. I took a few weeks and found a cast of clergy, schoolteachers, butter makers, ambitious aldermen, and a council so divided they once presented the mayor with a box of boxing gloves. Yes, literally. A political stunt so deliciously dramatic, you almost expect it to show up in a Netflix period drama. The gloves were delivered to the council chambers  in July 1890 at the height of the campaign to separate Kiama Town from the rural wards, and the Council’s shock was so great they attempted (and failed) to prosecute the glove sender. Some things, it seems, haven’t changed.

Turns out, council being broke isn’t exactly a modern innovation. Back in the 1880s, Kiama Council found itself mortgaged to the bank, struggling under the weight of a tramway project that was supposed to pay for itself, and spectacularly didn’t. By 1890, they were embroiled in financial drama, territorial separation movements, and public meetings where frustration boiled over into performance art (cue the boxing gloves). It’s oddly comforting to know that while the potholes and politics may change, the budget headaches remain a timeless local tradition.

Jamberoo itself, though, was already galloping along by the mid-1800s. By 1836 it boasted its own flour and timber mill (powered by waterwheel), a brewery growing its own hops, and blacksmiths pounding out the future. Church life was thriving, with four  churches  and a similar amount of schools at one point, and education became a passion project. By 1890 Jamberoo boasted a population of 2,235 people

Little slab schools popped up in barns, old inns, and weatherboard buildings, giving rise to figures like William Cullen, who started school at Jerrara and went on to become Chief Justice of New South Wales. He was so precociously brilliant that at just 12 years old, the school inspector recommended he be offered a job as a pupil teacher. It’s probably the only time in history a careers advisor looked at a Year  6 kid and said, “Right then, how about you teach the class?”

Then came the butter boom.

In 1884, the Pioneer Factory opened near Spring Creek—the first of its kind in Australia. Two more factories followed in Jamberoo alone, at Waughope and Woodstock. Suddenly, the quiet valley was home to piggeries, Danish separators, milk cans hand-fashioned by the local tinsmith, and grand dinners with turkeys, fowls and suckling pigs to honour the men who made it all happen. The whole region was churning with energy (and dairy), as farmers abandoned their home churns for cooperative factories and the promise of a better price.

But nothing upended daily life more than the Illawarra Railway. When it opened in 1887, quietly, under pouring rain, local papers nicknamed the new Kiama ( now Bombo) station “The Station at the Graveyard.” Still, the transformation was immediate. Milk, butter, and even newspapers began moving by train. Kiama’s coastal shipping trade faded, and the daily arrival of Sydney papers left the local press scrambling.

As I keep uncovering these stories, I’m struck by how little has really changed. People back then were organisers, agitators, dreamers, and doers. They planted trees before Arbor Day existed, debated public spending over tea meetings, and threw their hearts (and sometimes their gloves) into local politics.

So yes, I’ve lived in Jamberoo. But not just the one you drive through. I’ve walked her muddy streets in the 1850s, seen her butter factories boom in the 1880s, and shaken my head in fond disbelief at an 1890 council session where someone thought boxing gloves might get their point across.

And I am loving  every minute of it.

Much of this delightful detour through Jamberoo’s past has been made possible thanks to W.A. Bayley, whose 1959 book Blue Haven: History of Kiama Municipality remains a treasure trove of stories, facts, and fabulous detail. It’s not just a source, it’s a time capsule, capturing both the spirit of the district and the language of its era. Like many works of its time, it defaults to the male gender throughout,  with little thought for neutral language, but it still offers a vivid, passionate account of a community in motion.

#JamberooHistory #LocalLegends #HistoricalResearch #KiamaDistrict #AustralianHistory #DairyHeritage #ButterAndBasalt #IllawarraRailway #HistoryNerd #SmallTownStories #FamilyHistory #HeritageHunt #HistoricalHumour #LocalGovernmentDrama