#Strongwomen. "I write about the power of trying, because I want to be okay with failing. I write about generosity because I battle selfishness. I write about joy because I know sorrow. I write about faith because I almost lost mine, and I know what it is to be broken and in need of redemption. I write about gratitude because I am thankful – for all of it." Kristin Armstrong
At the Ignite event on 5 September at the Berry School of Arts, every speaker gave us something to think about. Over the next few weeks, I will be sharing highlights from each presentation. You can find the presentations as they are published here.
Ashleigh McGuire’s story was one that moved the room. She spoke with honesty about growing up with dyslexia and sensory issues, struggling to make sense of a world that felt too bright, too loud, and not built for her. Later, as a teenage mother navigating trauma and the aftermath of domestic violence, life felt like a series of battles stacked against her.
“Innovation comes from lived experience, from people who have been told no their entire lives.”
But where others saw limitation, Ashleigh found imagination. She described how, in quiet moments holding her children, she began to picture a different life, one where they had security, independence, and a future they could be proud of.
Imagination was not escapism. For her, it was resilience. It was the spark that helped her reimagine her story and chart a way forward.
“Your imagination is the most powerful asset you have. It is the compass that will guide you and the forge where your innovation will be born.”
From that spark came innovation. Ashleigh built a social enterprise that connects Aboriginal culture and skills with business markets, proving that heritage and creativity can be powerful economic engines. She taught herself the language of business, from grant writing to tender applications, and when the obstacles piled up, she returned to imagination to find a way through.
Her message was clear and deeply inspiring: innovation does not only come from labs, boardrooms, or textbooks. It often comes from lived experience, from those who have been told “no” their whole lives, and from mothers who refuse to give up.
“Imagination was not a distraction. It was my deepest form of resilience.”
Ashleigh’s journey from imagination to innovation is more than a business success. It is a reminder that the future can be reshaped when we dare to see it differently. And it is proof that the stories we write for ourselves can be stronger than the ones the world tries to write for us.
“I refused to read their script. I imagined a different one.”
📸 Images used in this post are for commentary and community storytelling. Credits belong to the original photographers and sources. Please contact me if you would like an image credited differently or removed.
I’ve been commissioned to write a book. That still feels extraordinary to say. Not because I didn’t think I had it in me – but because this book has reminded me of skill sets I had tucked away. Some I’d forgotten. Others I never knew were there.
I can’t give away the title, and I won’t walk you through the plot. But I can offer glimpses. .
A barefoot child on a dairy farm. A marriage that unsettles the whole village. A funeral, too soon. A son who breaks. A woman who does not.
The book is set in the Jamberoo of the early 1900s -back when the land ruled daily life, and community reputation could make or break you. It’s a chance for me to write about the complexity of family grief, the silence that follows a child’s death, and the way small towns handle trauma. It’s also letting me reflect on the burden of stoicism, the quiet strength of women, and the weight of religious and cultural expectations.
At its heart, this is a story about forbearance. About the kind of dignity that doesn’t ask for applause. About how people endure the unthinkable and still show up to milk the cows.
It’s personal work, but not confessional. I’m drawing on history, memory, imagination, and finding in myself a storyteller I didn’t expect to meet again.
This book is not about Jamberoo alone. It’s about what binds all of us, wherever we live. Compassion, endurance, resilience. Love that doesn’t announce itself. Grace in the everyday.
I’m grateful to be writing it. Grateful for the trust, the challenge, and the reminder that even now, especially now, I still have something to say on behalf of the people who came before me .
Flying back to Australia this year after two seasons away, I felt as if I’d missed a chapter in nature’s book—one I thought I’d read dozens of times. After nearly seven decades of watching winters turn into springs and springs into summers, it was humbling to see how much I still missed by being away. This shift from one season to the next was more than a change in scenery; it was a reminder that the world moves on, whether we’re present or not.
For most of my life, the rhythms of nature have been a constant. I’ve watched Japanese maples bud, daffodils bloom, and wisteria unfurl in countless spring displays. But this absence made me realise how easy it is to take these transitions for granted. Seasons come and go as predictably as the sun rises, yet the details change, and those changes are only visible if we stop and truly look. With every year, I’ve come to understand more deeply how essential it is to stay curious, to investigate the world with fresh eyes, and to never assume that just because you’ve seen something once, you’ve seen it all.
As I reflect on 68 years of life, I’m struck by how much the world itself has changed. Landscapes, communities, climates—each season, each place, has a story to tell if we’re willing to listen. Investigating the world isn’t only about seeing new things; it’s about allowing new perspectives to influence who we are and how we understand our place in the world. Whether that investigation takes the form of travel, reading, or simply watching the familiar with curiosity, it brings fresh layers to our knowledge and resilience.
Curiosity fuels every step forward. It’s what keeps us asking questions, pushing boundaries, and opening doors to unexpected paths. No matter our age, curiosity encourages us to keep learning, and learning keeps us vibrant. This recent journey of ‘missing’ a season has been a reminder that there is always more to see, more to learn, and more to appreciate in the world around us.
So, let’s make investigating the world a priority—whether it’s by visiting new places, nurturing relationships, or simply staying open to change. Seasons may come and go, but with each passing year, there are still new stories waiting to unfold, and it’s up to us to bear witness.
The world you see is created by what you focus on.
It’s never too late to adjust your lens.”
With the sun now shining and the wind disappearing, I decided to take my iPad for a walk around my garden. As I wandered through, I spotted this lonely hydrangea flower enveloped by a spiderweb, and I was fascinated.
In the midst of winter’s cold and wind, this small moment reminded me of the resilience and beauty that can be found even in the simplest things. The delicate web, glistening in the sunlight, seemed to tell a story of survival and intricate craftsmanship. The hydrangea, though weathered and solitary, stood as a testament to nature’s enduring cycles and the promise of renewal with the coming spring.
By focusing on small, often overlooked wonders, we can shift our perspective and find joy and inspiration in our everyday surroundings. It’s a gentle reminder that beauty and fascination can be found in the most unexpected places, if only we take the time to notice.
In a world often fraught with challenges and negativity, the power of positivity stands as a beacon of hope and transformation. This image spotted on Facebook highlights a profound truth: our emotions and attitudes can significantly impact our lives. When read left to right, the statements depict how negative emotions and traits can destroy vital aspects of our existence. However, when read right to left, a new perspective emerges, showcasing the empowering force of positive attributes.
In agriculture, it is especially important to focus on the positives without prefacing them with negatives. Too often, conversations about agriculture start with a negative statement followed by a “but,” which inadvertently reinforces the negative. For example:
Negative Reinforced: “People think agriculture is all mud and flies, but it’s also full of innovation.”
Positive Reframed: “Agriculture is full of innovation, advanced technology, and sustainable practices.”
Additionally, agriculture too often plays the sympathy card, emphasising its challenges in a way that overlooks the fact that other sectors also face similar difficulties. It’s important for our language to be inclusive and recognise the shared struggles and triumphs across different industries. By doing so, we can foster a sense of solidarity and mutual respect.
Examples of Inclusive Language:
Negative Sympathy: “Agriculture faces unique challenges that others don’t understand.” Inclusive Positive: “Like many sectors, agriculture faces challenges, but it also leads the way in innovative solutions and sustainable practices.”
Negative Sympathy: “Farmers have it harder than anyone else.” Inclusive Positive: “Farmers, like professionals in many other fields, work tirelessly to overcome obstacles and ensure a thriving future.”
Negative Sympathy: “Only in agriculture do we see such hard conditions.” Inclusive Positive: “Agriculture, alongside other industries, continuously adapts to tough conditions, showcasing resilience and innovation.”
People remember the negative, so it’s crucial not to reinforce it.
Instead, let’s emphasise the positives and showcase the industry’s true value and potential. Highlight the sustainable practices being implemented, the technological advancements improving efficiency, the passion of our farmers, and the essential role agriculture plays in feeding the world. By focusing on these positives without reverting to the negatives, we can change the narrative around agriculture and help others see it for what it truly is: a cornerstone of society that deserves recognition and respect.
The power of positivity lies in its ability to transform our mindset and, consequently, our lives. By focusing on positive traits and emotions, we can overcome the negative forces that hold us back and pave the way for a brighter, more fulfilling future. Embracing positivity empowers us to be the best versions of ourselves, fostering growth, peace, and success in all aspects of our lives, including the vital and often underappreciated world of agriculture.
It is essential to break the cycle of negative reinforcement and instead, build a narrative that celebrates the contributions and advancements of agriculture while recognising the shared experiences across all sectors.
Using inclusive language offers an opportunity to build alliances with other sectors that share similar issues, enabling us to work together to drive change and create a more resilient and sustainable future.
For more great advice on language to use in the agriculture sector visit here and here.
Today’s post is the story of my grandmother Ethel Lindsay (née Carr) 1896-1994, told through the eyes of my aunt Ruth Rae (née Lindsay).
Ethel Lindsay as a young girl
Ethel Lindsay in 1978
The third daughter of Lawrence and Jane Carr, Ethel was born at Cordeaux . She was their third child and three sons were to follow in later years.
Lawrence and Jane Carr
My mother’s early years were not often mentioned. There were so many relatives at the time that the names that featured in conversations floated in and out over the heads of children. Many relatives, even distant ones, had honorary titles of Aunt and Uncle and very little of family affairs was discussed “in front of the children”. Even in later years the reticence held and glimpses of earlier times are fragmented and often incomplete.
Ethel Lindsay with her sisters Mary and Alice Carr in 1978
I suspect that Mum was the brightest intellect of the family. She was only afforded schooling to the end of primary years though, through the generosity of her mother’s sister, Sarah, the two eldest girls were sent for three years to St Mary’s College in Wollongong. Mary(May) became a governess and Alice(Bob) trained as a nurse. Mum had to stay as home help for her parents and younger siblings. The only way we know of her prowess as a horsewoman is because of a snapshot of her on a horse and a half-remembered anecdote about winning some prizes that afforded the means to buy material and cottons for sewing.
Ethel Lindsay as a young woman on horseback
There are only two school anecdotes. One is of being allowed out of school to watch the first car in the district go by. It was preceded by a man waving a red flag. The other concerns an incident with her school teacher, Mr Rose. In the stand at the tennis court Mum discovered Mr Rose’ tennis clothes and, putting on the trousers, she jumped up on the table and did an impromptu dance. What she didn’t realise was that the teacher had observed her. The next day the class was to write an original essay. Mum began hers with an old ditty: “You asked me for something original But I hardly know how to begin For there’s nothing original in me Excepting original sin” . When the essays were handed back the next day Mr Rees had appended his own observation:” I know there’s a deal of original sin And a jolly good lot of it reaches A long way up and a good way round When you wear Mr Rose’ white breeches“. I think this shows nearly as much about the teacher as it does about Mum.
.After she left school, life settled down to housework, outings, sewing (often by kerosene light at night) and other crafts. Mum dabbled a little in painting though we have no examples. She played the cello and there must have been singing and music around the piano for Mary played that instrument while Alice played the violin. She was also said to be an excellent horsewoman. I never heard stories of her life at Cordeaux, nor, after the family moved to Unanderra, how she met Dad ( Walter Dunster Lindsay). They had to wait a long seven years before marriage was possible, she because of family commitments and he because he had to save enough money to pay his share of the property he shared with his brother, Eric, and some of the sum needed to build a house. They were married on April 28 1928 at St Phillips Sydney by Bishop Irvine, coadjutor Bishop of Sydney
Walter and Ethel Lindsay on their wedding day
Ethel and Walter Lindsay
The first four years were spent in a farmhouse on a property, Lakeview owned by Ernie Lindsay. This house was an old home with wide verandahs, no electricity and open fireplaces. I remember the latter because, in the summer time, possums would come down the chimney of the lounge at night and were fed with hunks of bread. There was a mulberry tree near the back gate and I’ve no idea why I remember that so well. A hammock hung on the side verandah and that I do remember clearly because I stood up in it to show off and falling off, I broke my arm for the first time. I was born on February 24 1929 and sixteen months later my brother, John, made his appearance. Mum had developed a kidney complaint after I was born and was sick for some time so I was bottle fed. John had the benefit of mother’s milk and was a plump and easy baby. She is seen here at Lakeview with Ruth and John in the squatters chair she gave her husband for their first wedding anniversary.
Ethel Lindsay with daughter Ruth and son John Lindsay
The property at Karara had a small old grey house on it and Dad and Gug (Eric) would camp there but , in 1933, Dad had the house built at “Karara” and we moved down there. It seems Mum designed the house. It cost 1200 pounds to build and was quite sumptuous for the times. There was electricity, but no hot water and it was many years before mains water reached the area .The windows had lead lighting in the panes of the lounge and front bedroom and most of the woodwork was Oregon. Mum kept it spotless with the help of a maid. I remember four of them and they all stayed for quite some time, pleasant local girls. When things got difficult for the men Mum would help with the milking though she hated it. She certainly hated it enough to make sure that I never learned the art. Mum’s cooking skills were well known and she was asked to judge at local shows. She won many prizes for her embroidery and was asked to judge that also as far afield as Robertson and Kiama. I remember a beautiful christening frock that she sent to the Royal Easter Show. It won the top embroidery prize and the judges were so impressed that they asked for a championship ribbon from the cattle ring and sent that back with the frock. Later she gave the frock to the Red Cross to be raffled. The raffle made about 40 pounds which was quite a sum in those days.
Visitors were treated with tremendous hospitality and always went away with gifts of flowers, cream, fruit or any goodies that were at hand. Conversely I haven’t much memory of goods flowing the other way. Mum had a love of flowers and gardens that was lifelong and culminated in ‘Karara’ winning the Herald Open Garden Competition three times.
She stopped entering after that because, she said, she had three trophies by then, one for each of her children. I should add that Gug was responsible for keeping the lawns immaculate for these displays, Dad was an impeccable weeder and Mum was the genius behind design and growth.
Those early years at Karara were Depression years. Being on a farm meant no food hardships but money was tight and every penny was counted twice. Mum was 32 when I was born which was far above the average age for first births. It may well have been my parents fierce abhorrence of debt which made them wary of having more family for some time. Mum had been brought up Catholic though her mother was Protestant and Dad was (a not particularly devout) CofE. I think avoiding having children was probably hard for them. David (left) arrived 7/7/37 and Phillip (right) was born 2 years later. They were both healthy little boys. I don’t think Mum ever got over the tragic death of Phillip at 19 months. He was a merry little fellow and very lively so that when the baker forgot to put the ring back on the gate it was not surprising that he should have run out on to the back road and been run over by the farm utility. That was a vehicle with an unusually high dashboard and Keith, who worked for us, was a short man. He too was devastated. Mum had a nervous breakdown and was in hospital for a while. We were never able to mention the baby again.
Phillip Lindsay
Mum had been used to a world of relatives but, as Dad was one of ten and the first to marry, I think Mum sometimes felt she’d married the lot of them. After all, Gug lived with us and it must have seemed at times as though she had two husbands to care for, one to love and the other to look after. Gug had at least four ladies lined up nearly to the proposal stage but always jibbed at the engagement ring .
Eric Lindsay (Gug)
Mum and Dad loved each other dearly and I never knew them to quarrel. (After Dad died Mum resented the fact that he was taken and Gug still alive and it was sad to see her being so difficult with him). Two of Dad’s sisters were only a walk across the paddocks. Nothing happened that wasn’t chewed over by the whole family. As against that the family always rallied around when sickness or tragedy struck. There are compensations and I loved all my aunts. None of the five ever had children (except Auntie May whose daughter was stillborn). When Mum was sick there were aunts to look after us. Soey Dunster (Dad’s cousin) minded me when I was a baby and Mum had nephritis; Auntie Hilda got leave from hospital and nursed John and me at West Horsely when we had influenza very badly.
Lindsay Sisters at West Horsley
Hilda Lindsay
Eric and Doris Lindsay and Soey Dunster
There always seemed to be people dropping in and the old wood stove turned out scones and cakes at a great rate. My brothers and I are always grateful to Mum for insisting that we received the education she was unable to have. I doubt if it would have greatly worried Dad but he listened carefully to all Mum’s arguments and she always won the day.
I was brought up with Ethel Turner’s and the Anne books but Mum was quite nostalgic about the “Elsie” books. Years later I bought one in a second-hand shop and found it so priggish and narrow minded as were the few other early books from my parents’ childhood that I could understand why so much of their lives seemed staid and conformist. While we were young Mum and Dad only had two holidays, both at ‘The Cecil’, a guest house in Katoomba.
The Cecil Guest House in Katoomba is getting a new lease of life See it here
A trip to Sydney was a major event and the furthest my parents were to travel together was to visit me Grafton after I married. After Dad died Gug treated Mum to a round the world Herald Garden Tour special. This was marred at the end by Gug’s sudden death as he was leaving a football match. It was while she was preparing for the trip and needed a passport that Mum discovered that she hadn’t been christened Ethel Hope as she’d always believed but Ethel Sarah. She also discovered that her birthday was on September 26th not 28th. (Alice was to discover in the same way that she had been celebrating and noting her birthday some ten days later than her birth certificate claimed. Perhaps Laurence had been celebrating on the way to the registry!).
When Gug died it became impossible for Mum to live alone at Karara and she moved to a strata title unit in Wollongong.
Ethel Lindsay centre with her children Ruth John and David at her unit in New Dapto Rd
Karara was sold to a man who, as a youth, had looked at the place from afar and always longed to own it. He looked after the house very well but knew nothing about gardening and so the garden fell on hard times.
In Wollongong Mum had friends from her days as a member of the Garden Club. She joined the Red Cross and was put in charge of the hiring of medical equipment. But the time came when she needed family care. As I at the time was looking after May and Bob in Grafton nursing homes David settled Mum just up the street from his own place in a very neat cottage complex with a small yard back and front. He and Rosalind looked after her untiringly and lovingly. I tried to visit her as often as possible and wrote regularly every Sunday, receiving letters in return written in handwriting I’d have been proud to call my own. After she died and David retired he sold his home and moved there himself. She was nearly 98 when she died and was very much her own person until a few months before her death.
Ethel Lindsay with great grandson Nick Strong at her grandson Michael Lindsay’s wedding circa 1989
Today’s post shares the life story of my grandfather Walter Dunster Lindsay (1893-1967) through the eyes of my aunt Ruth Rae (née Lindsay).
The third son and fourth child of Mary and John Lindsay, Walter was born into a dairy farming family well known in Dapto and throughout the Illawarra of that time.
He didn’t speak much of his family or his childhood though we were told he played a good game of tennis and of football in early youth until, at the age of 16, he contracted Rheumatic fever which ended such games for a long while. He told me once that while he was very ill it was his eldest sister, Muriel, who looked after him most, his mother being preoccupied with all the younger siblings.
Muriel Lindsay
It was during convalescence that his one tale was of the birdcage he built in the warmth of the big family kitchen. When it was finished to his liking he found it was too big to get out of the door. But we never heard what did happen to it.
He was a gentle man, slow to anger and rather shy. This shyness may well have been because he was born with a harelip and cleft palate, neither mended with today’s skills. He probably took more interest in his children than he showed but he seemed to have all the conservatism and indifference to his young family that he claimed his forebears displayed so abundantly. He left his wife, Ethel, to dispense both tenderness and discipline. Only once did he show anger and act upon it. That was when he was obliged to return to the dairy late one evening and did some damage to his shins when he tripped over his son John’s bike which had been carelessly left on the ground just outside the gate from the house. John, despite his protests, was the recipient of a sound hiding according to the traditions of justice of the day. It was only later that it became clear that it was a workman who had borrowed the bike, and not John, and had thrown it on the ground at the gate when he had finished with it. None of the children ever received any form of punishment from their father from that day on.
He did his work slowly, thoroughly and methodically, illustrated by his technique for washing up. He took responsibility for this within the dairy for half a century and, after retirement, continued it into the kitchen. First everything was rinsed, then washed immaculately, then rinsed again. It took all evening for he suspected that detergents had hidden implications for health. When he weeded a garden the result was just perfect and raked evenly to a fine tilth.
His conservatism extended to all things mechanical and, when a shortage of labour during the war forced Lindsay Bros to buy a milking machine, it was taken on with extreme suspicion and reluctance. For most of the war years the cows were milked by machine in the morning because it was the only way to get the job done and by hand in the afternoon when an extra person was available. Even with the machine his distrust was such that he always sat down and verified that the machine had done its work properly by doing a short finishing milking , or stripping as it was called. The cows gradually got used to this and saved up some of their milk for the hand milking so that some of them gave as much milk the second time around as they had initially given to the machine. Consequently milking 80 to 100 cows took and eternity and an inordinate amount of manpower- 6-7 hours a day plus another 2-3 hours for washing and cleaning the dairy equipment. There was not a lot of time for other farm work or recreation and he indulged in very little of either. This remained the case until the Karara herd was dispersed in 1958.
A treasure I inherited from my grandfather
It was many years before he could afford a car (Eric owned one and that was the family car) but he was very pleased with the one he bought and he drove it skilfully and well.
Eric Lindsay
He had a good relationship with Eric and they had nicknames for each other. Dad was ‘Andy’ when Gug was ‘Horace’ while, in other gender mood, Gug was ‘Katie’ and Dad ‘Lena’. I don’t know who thought up the names, but Doss and Estelle were referred to as ‘The Tabbies’ and Estelle was ‘Longo’. John was referred to as ‘The Boss”. Of them all Dad felt closest to Roy, who Mum always said should never have been a farmer. He had a lovely tenor voice, loved books and music. He planted a groves of trees on the farm and attempted innovations like breeding special types of poultry. The few times his name came up I noticed tears in Dad’s eyes. Roy died, aged 36 of a ruptured appendix. He apparently was in great pain on a Friday but refused to disturb the doctor’s weekend so waited till Monday morning when the condition was too advanced for treatment.
Walter and Eric began to value add ( to use a modern expression) to their dairy farming activity by becoming vendors of milk. Eric was the entrepreneur (to use another modern expression) and Walter the anchor man.
Bill Seath delivering milk for Lindsay Bros, Dapto in 1940.Photo supplied by Caine Seath from Dapto History in Photos
To upgrade the herd Eric went to New Zealand and bought a prize bull. It became an extremely successful business and WD &ES Lindsay, later to be called Lindsay Bros, was , at its height . retailing more milk in the Wollongong-Port Kembla district than any other firm including the Dairy Farmers Cooperative Milk Company. Some 8 or 9 farmers in the district sold their milk to the firm and this was cooled, stored and distributed through some 3 domestic milk runs and a wholesale network that included almost every milk bar and general store from Dapto in the south to Austinmer and Coaldale in the north. Eric would go to bed early and set off in the wee small hours with a laden truck to start the days distribution. Particularly in the hot months he would leave the milk in the cool room till the last possible time necessitating the early rising. After the war draconian and unfair government regulations were imposed that forced all other farmers to sell their milk only to a government agent which was the rival Dairy Farmers Milk Cooperative. With the loss of their major source of supply, Lindsay Bros were forced to sell their domestic business and retain only the wholesale business in the city of Wollongong itself. Their milk was subjected to regular and intrusive testing, while that of the rival company was not, but were always found to be well above the prescribed norms. Eric bought the farm, “Kembla Park” and a subsidiary dairy was set up to augment the supply of milk. Lindsay Bros also bought a small farm at Albion Park to run dry and young stock But the retail business was only a shadow of its former size. The company could not afford or warrant upgrading its machinery to enable processing and pasteurization which were beginning to be an important part of the industry and the business and herd were sold in 1958. The Dairy Farmers bought the plant which they scrapped to forestall potential competitors but the herd, which had become well known for its productivity in the State herd testing scheme, attracted excellent prices for the time. Walter was 65 at this time and Eric 64 so retirement was timely option.
Sale of Karara Herd John Lindsay
Sale of Karara Herd J
Sale of Karara Herd John Lindsay
The sale of the Karara herd attracted buyers from across Australia
Dad and Mum ( Ethel Lindsay nee Carr )fell in love 7 years before they were married, the first of his family to do so. They had to wait for several reasons: her responsibilities to her parents (her two sisters had moved away and were working) and the need to have a home when the farm was established.
Ethel and Walter Lindsay
Walter and Ethel Lindsay on their wedding day
Walter and Ethel on their wedding day – photo on the right
Karara only had on it a weatherboard old house with no facilities whatever and a cloying smell of dust and age. There was also the matter of religion – he, Protestant and she, Catholic. The exact details of the arrangement that allowed this to happen were never divulged but Mum was presumably excommunicated from the Catholic Church because she never attended mass again. They were married in St Phillips in Sydney and went home to a rented house called “Lakeview’ at Unanderra- a house with no electricity and home to a host of possums. Gug joined them and lived with them for the rest of their lives. Dad spoke of the Catholic Church only with bitterness but he always avoided mentioning the subject of their marriage.
Fortunately, the acrimony did not extend beyond the church and the Carr and Lindsay families had an extremely good relationship. For example , Gug and Auntie May were particularly fond of each other, platonically of course, and the Christmas table at Karara always had all available members of both families around it.
Ethel Lindsay with her sisters Mary and Alice Carr
After the business was sold the garden became a pleasant hobby.
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He had always had a love of nature and knew all the birds around the farm. He watched them nesting and was so determined that they would not be disturbed that he told nobody about it. I often regret not having been allowed to share his knowledge. Mum would always consult him before hanging out the washing, and I can’t remember that his forecasts were ever wrong. I understand that he had only one year of secondary schooling, but he must have absorbed a tremendous amount of knowledge later as he read the Herald from cover to cover.
One very cold winter when Dad and Mum were house-sitting in Cowra for John and Robyn, I sent them an electric blanket. This was a sheer delight to him – there was only one control and he would set it to keep very warm, while Mum, who couldn’t spoil his enjoyment. slept with both feet outside the sheets. When small battery radios came in he considered it pure heaven to lie in a warm bed, head in the cool air, listening to news from far places. Then I would be called in to prepare a very large, cold milkshake which he drank with gusto before turning out the light.
He had been plagued for years with a so called ‘gastric ulcer’ and frequently complained of severe indigestion. In his late sixties this symptom was belatedly diagnosed as a severe hiatus hernia with oesophageal reflux. The strictures in his throat prevented him swallowing and he was admitted to hospital in Sydney for an operation. Five days post-operatively he was sent home, sitting up in an ambulance. He was a long time recovering. By this time his cardiac system was showing signs of damage and he died in Wollongong Hospital in April, 1967. Thus passed a good man who had never knowingly hurt a living thing. His last thought as he died was for Mum whom he adored and she was to live on for over twenty more years without him.
Phillip, Walter and Ethel Lindsay are buried at St Lukes Church Brownsville
Table – John Lindsay and Mary Dunster and children
Name
Born
Died
Status
John Lindsay
1857
1930
Married: Mary Dunster
Muriel
1887
1961
Unmarried
Charles
1888
1964
Married: Eileen McPhee
Joseph Roy
1890
1929
Unmarried
Walter Dunster
1893
1967
Married: Ethel Carr
Eric Stratford
1894
1970
Unmarried
Estelle
1897
1962
Unmarried
Harold Thornbury
1895
1959
Unmarried
Hilda
1900
1963
Unmarried
Doris
1899
1980
Unmarried
Hilton
1902
1964
Married: Edith Martin
OBITUARY. MR. JOHN LINDSAY.
Mr. John Lindsay, a member of one of the pioneer families of the Illawarra, died suddenly at his home, West Horsley, Dapto, on Sunday evening, aged 73 years. He had only returned home on Friday after a holiday trip in the Western districts, and appeared in the best of health. The late Mr. Lindsay was born near Unanderra, and was a son of the late Mr. John Lindsay, of Kembla Park, who was a noted breeder of Ayrshire cattle. The late Mr. Lindsay was also a noted cattle breeder, and met with many successes at agricultural exhibitions. For many years he was a member of the committee of the Dapto A. & H. Society, and at the time of his death was one of the trustees of the Society; he was also a Churchwarden of St. Luke’s Church of England, Brownsville. He was held in very high esteem in the district, being a man of very high principles, his word being his bond. The funeral on Tuesday was one of largest ever seen in the district. A short service was held in St. Luke’s Church of England, prior to the interment in the cemetery attached to the Church grounds. The Rev. O’Neil, an old friend of the family, and the Rev. Chapple were the officiating clergy. The late Mr. Lindsay was predeceased by his wife some four years ago, and he is survived by five sons, Messrs. Charles, Walter, Eric, Harold and Hilton, and four daughters, Misses Muriel, Estelle, Doris, and Hilda. One son, Roy, died some years ago. Messrs. George, Thomas, and Charles Lindsay are brothers, and Mrs. E. T. Evans, Dapto, and Miss Lindsay, Kembla Park, are sisters of the deceased. Mr. Charles and Miss Hilda Lindsay had just arrived in Tasmania on a holiday trip, when they received the news of their father’s death. They immediately crossed to Melbourne and arrived in Sydney on Wednesday by means of one of the aeroplanes of National Airways Ltd. We extend our sympathy to the bereaved family. Source
As I delve deeper into my family history, I’m struck by a recurring theme: the erasure of women’s identities. Reading the obituary of my great-grandmother in the Kiama Independent from June 10, 1925, it’s evident that women were often not given the dignity of being named in their own right. MRS. JOHN LINDSAY – not even her first name (Mary) is mentioned. Instead, she is an extension of her husband’s identity. This was a woman who lived a full life, moving from Tullimbar to Shellharbour, raising a family, and being an ‘ideal wife and mother’. Yet, her personal identity is overshadowed by her husband’s name.
Obituary – MRS. JOHN LINDSAY. Wednesday June 10 1925 Kiama Independent
The death took place at her residence “West Horsley,” Dapto, on Sunday night, of Mrs. John Lindsay. ‘The deceased lady had been in her usual health until Wednesday evening last when she was suddenly overcome by alarming symptoms of what appeared to be peritonitis. Dr. Kerr, of Wollongong was called in immediately and on consultation with his brother, decided to have the opinion of a specialist. Consequently Dr. Poats of Sydney arrived with a special nurse and an operation was performed, but although the operation was in itself successful, Mrs. Lindsay’s strength was not equal to the great shock incurred and she gradually sunk until death took place in the presence of her loved ones on Sunday night.
Mrs. Lindsay was born at Tullimbar and came to Shellharbour with her parents, the late Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Dunster, when quite a tiny child. She spent her girlhood at the old home at “The Hill” until her marriage with Mr. John Lindsay ,about 40 years ago, since then she has resided continuously at “West Horsley.” An ideal wife and mother she will be sadly missed by her loving husband and family of six sons and four daughters. Of Mrs. Lindsay’s brothers and sisters Mrs. J. E. Miller (Shellharbour), Mrs. Musgrave (Dunoon), Mr. Joseph Dunster (Billinudgel), and Mr. Walter Dunster (Dapto) still survive. One sister, the late Mrs. John James and two brothers the late W. C. Dunster and Robert Dunster, of Shellharbour, pre-deceased her. The funeral took place at Brownsville Church of England cemetery yesterday (Tuesday) afternoon.
Nola Irvine’s life was a testament to love, resilience, and community spirit. Her ever-smiling face, unwavering friendship, and compassionate personality left an indelible mark on all who knew her. As we remember Nola, we celebrate a life well-lived, filled with joy, strength, and an enduring faith in God.
Irvine Family- L to R Back Row Sisters Nola, Valma, Olwyn and Molly, Front Row Parents Ivy ( nee Fredericks) and Robert Irvine
Nola Marjory Irvine’s life is a beautiful tapestry woven with threads of love, resilience, and an unwavering spirit. Born on July 21, 1926, at “Brooklyn,” a private hospital in Kiama, Nola was baptized and christened in the Church of the Resurrection (CoE), where she remained a devoted member throughout her life.
Nola grew up on Clover Hill, a dairy farm run by her parents, Robert and Ivy Irvine, since their marriage in 1920. Despite the untimely passing of her father in 1949, the family continued to manage the farm with the invaluable support of share-farming families like Ray and Avril King and later, Michael and Lynne Strong. These families provided much more than labour; they offered genuine friendship and neighbourly support, enabling the Irvine family to stay rooted at Clover Hill.
Education was a challenge in the early days, with Nola and her sisters often riding horses and walking long distances to attend Jamberoo Public School. Eventually, Nola completed her education through correspondence with Blackfriars’ Correspondence School, which later became known as the School of the Air.
Nola Irvine is 2nd from the right in the bottom row at Jamberoo Public School circa 1931-1932
Nola’s childhood memories are filled with joy and laughter. Visits to Clover Hill were marked by her great sense of humour, engaging board games, and delicious treats. Her love for animals was evident as she cared for her chooks, cats, birds, and cows, always accompanied by her faithful feline friends during farm chores.
Diagnosed with Coeliac disease in 1985, Nola faced her health challenges with remarkable strength and positivity. Her condition, undiagnosed for many years, never dimmed her spirit.
Her favourite saying, “it’s only a problem if you make it one,” encapsulated her approach to life. Nola’s calm, loving nature and unwavering faith were a testament to her resilience and courage.
Nola was an active member of the Girls Friendly Society during the war years, participating in hikes and picnics. Her loyalty and warmth were highlighted by her pen pal relationships, particularly with friends in England, which spanned over 50 years. A visit from her pen pals about a decade ago was a cherished moment, allowing Nola to proudly showcase her beautiful district.
Her passion for photography, inherited from her father, and her interest in family history were integral parts of her life. Nola played a significant role in researching and publishing the Fredericks Family History in the 1970s, preserving the legacy of her ancestors, including her two great-great-grandfathers who fought in the 1815 Battle of Waterloo.
Nola’s life was a testament to love, resilience, and community spirit. Her ever-smiling face, unwavering friendship, and compassionate personality left an indelible mark on all who knew her. As we remember Nola, we celebrate a life well-lived, filled with joy, strength, and an enduring faith in God.
Nola Marjory Irvine, born July 21, 1926, passed away on June 20, 2004. Her legacy continues to inspire us, reminding us of the power of love and resilience.
This blog post reflects on the resilience, traditions, and legacies of the Irvine family, offering a compelling look into the life and times of a pioneering family in rural Australia. Their story is a testament to the enduring spirit and adaptiveness necessary to flourish in the face of both environmental and societal challenges.
Clover Hill Today
As I sit here on Clover Hill, where my family and I have lived and farmed for over forty years, I often find myself reflecting on the journey that brought us here. This land, steeped in history and resilience, has been a constant witness to the ebb and flow of time, weather, and generations. My son now holds the reins of the farm, a legacy passed down through the Irvine family, connecting us not just to the land but to a lineage of hardworking farmers who shaped this landscape before us.
Having spent much of my life here, I am endlessly fascinated by the comparisons of life then and now. The contrasts between the modern conveniences that ease our daily burdens today and the relentless challenges faced by my predecessors like James Irvine in the late 19th century are stark. James, a second-generation farmer, navigated the steep terrain of Saddleback Mountain without the technology and machinery that we take for granted today. He and his wife Sarah raised nine children here, their lives intricately woven into the fabric of the farm, their daily routines dictated by the rising and setting of the sun, and the rhythms of nature that are as old as time itself.
The historical documents, photographs, and stories that have survived over the decades are more than just records; they are a window into the past, inviting us to ponder the evolution of farming life from one century to the next. These glimpses into the past serve not only as a testament to the tenacity and resilience of those who came before us but also as a bridge that connects their experiences with our own.
In writing about these reflections and sharing them, I hope to honour the legacy of the Irvine family and all those who have toiled on this land, while also celebrating the progress that has made farming a different, perhaps easier, but still demanding way of life today. As I look out over Clover Hill, I am grateful for this land and the life it has provided us, and I am inspired by the enduring strength and spirit of those who farmed it long before us.
James Irvine, born in 1830, and Sarah Purnell, born in 1851, married when there was a notable age difference of 21 years between them. This age gap was fairly typical for that era, especially in rural communities where marriages often served to consolidate land, social ties, or economic resources. Their wedding, held in the Wesleyan Church in Jamberoo, not only underlines their religious affiliations but also illustrates the role of the church as a pivotal institution in their social and community lives.
James and Sarah Irvine’s life together brought forth nine children between 1879 and 1893, highlighting a family structure where a large number of children was beneficial for contributing to farm work and ensuring support in the parents’ old age. Sarah’s almost continuous cycle of pregnancy and childcare reflects the common expectations placed on women during that period.
The Irvine’s large family and the operational demands of their farm necessitated a collaborative family effort, with children taking part in farm duties as soon as they were able. The reflection that Sarah might have wished for the advent of birth control underscores the significant challenges women faced regarding reproductive health and autonomy, a liberty that was not accessible until much later.
The existing photographs, including James Irvine’s formal portrait and their presumed wedding attire, offer a glimpse into the period’s attire and aesthetics. These images are not merely family mementos but serve as historical documents that capture the essence of personal and family identity during late 19th century Australia, revealing much about the social standards and everyday lives of people at that time.
Living and farming at Clover Hill on the side of Saddleback Mountain presented unique challenges for James Irvine, a second-generation farmer there. The steep terrain necessitated specific agricultural practices to prevent soil erosion and manage water runoff effectively. This included more labor-intensive methods to cultivate land and care for livestock, with limited use of machinery due to the steepness.
The logistical challenges of moving dairy cattle across such steep terrain significantly impacted daily operations. Ensuring safe and accessible pathways for the cattle was crucial, as was managing their grazing patterns and health given the restricted access to diverse pasture.
The farm’s location exposed it to variable and sometimes harsh weather conditions, which affected crop yields, animal health, and daily routines. Effective management of water resources was critical, given the rapid runoff likely on the sloped terrain.
James Irvine’s experience at Clover Hill showcased his resilience and contributed to the collective knowledge of farming in challenging landscapes. His innovations included terracing fields and adopting rotational grazing to maintain soil health, demonstrating the skills and ingenuity required to thrive in such a diverse Australian agricultural setting.
Despite the relentless challenges—the physical labour, the long hours, and the emotional toll of sustaining a legacy—the passion for dairying persists. For the Irvine sisters, Clover Hill is more than just land; it is a testament to resilience, a beacon of heritage, and a promise of continuity in the face of adversity.
Molly and Olwyn Irvine Photo Sylvia Liber Illawarra Mercury
As in McLeod’s Daughters, the Irvine women of Jamberoo have dedicated their lives to keep Clover Hill Dairies in the family.
Olwyn Irvine, 83 sparks up the combustion stove in the old Jamberoo farmhouse – it will cook the nightly meal and heat water for their daily shower. Her sister Molly, 81 carts in the firewood as she has done since she was a girl. The stove is solid and reliable – a reminder of a simpler life.
“We’ve had this stove for 50 years and never thought to get a new one,” says Olwyn.
Step outside the Irvine’s front door and 30m away is some of the most advanced computerised technology known to the dairy industry. Along with farming partners Michael and Lynne Strong, the four sisters, including Valma and Nola, have helped transform Clover Hill Dairies into one of the most productive dairy farms in the country. Deregulation forced their hand. The sisters, accustomed to sacrifice and hard times, didn’t blink when in 2000 the Strong’s put forward a daring proposal to keep the farm afloat.
Nick Strong continues the Irvine Sisters’ legacy
Clover Hill has been a bit like the television series McLeod’s Daughters. After their father died in 1949, the girls stayed on the land to help their mother run the farm – finishing their schooling by correspondence. They never married or had children and they’ve always lived in the farmhouse, enjoying each others company around the old kitchen table.
Nola, Valma, Olwyn and Molly ( Myra) Irvine with their mother Ivy and father Robert Irvine
In 1939 a battery run wireless was their only link to the outside world, but today a television positioned in the kitchen keeps the women informed.
Valma, Molly and Olwyn continued to play and active role in the dairy into their 80s
In the last two years Valma, 83, and Nola, 78, have died leaving Olwyn and Molly to make the tough decisions. But dairying is in their blood and the women have shown the same resilience their forefathers did 150 years ago.
The original Clover Hill homestead and dairy
The farm has been in their family since 1851, when their great great grandfather James Irvine and his son purchased the land naming it Clover Hill. With 180 degree views of the ocean, the Irish settlers cleared the rainforest and forged a new life for themselves in a strange environment.
Molly and Olwyn’s grandfather James and his wife Sarah ( nee Purnell ) on their wedding day
There have now been four generations of Irvine’s farming on the side of Saddleback Mountain. When the sister’s were young there were 300 dairy farms in the Kiama area – today there are just 30. In the six years since deregulation 50 per cent of dairy farms in NSW and Queensland have disappeared.
Deregulation has halved the farm-gate price of milk, but the drought has been the tipping-point for many asset rich, cash poor farmers who’ve made the agonising decision to walk away from their land.
Those who survived were forced to change. More milk had to be produced to make the same amount of money. A decision was made at Clover Hill to “ramp-up” the operation and to pour hundreds of thousands of dollars back into the farm. It was a defining moment for the Strong’s.
Lynne, a pharmacist for 25 years, gave up her career to return to the land full-time, so too did their only son Nick, who had just completed his HSC.
“Most people sold their cows, but we did the opposite,” says Lynne. “We’re now running four times the amount of cows per hectare than we did before deregulation.”
To finance the move the Strong’s and the sisters sold a 280ha joint investment property out west. With the money they built a state-of-the-art $300,000 milking shed which has the capacity to milk 28 cows at a time. Now instead of 80 cows a day, they milk 300.
It was 28 years ago when Michael, then 23, began share farming at Clover Hill. The women took a chance delegating responsibility of their livelihood to someone so young – but it wasn’t to be their last leap of faith in him.
The sisters had grown up with Australian Illawarra Shorthorn cows (AIS), but Michael was keen to swap the herd for Holsteins, a breed which produces more milk. Just before deregulation they reluctantly agreed.
Each cow is now considered a potential elite athlete and the farm hires a full-time nutritionist to feed them a combination of pellets, vitamins, grain and corn.
“If you change a cows diet overnight and you get it right there’s more milk in the vat the next day, but if you stuff it up you get less milk,” explains Lynne. “The results are instant, it’s just so dramatic. There’s a huge amount of research into the science of this industry.”
Hard work and clever decisions have paid off and now Clover Hill Dairies is regarded as one of the most productive farms in the country, with four of its cows this year becoming Australian record holders.
In the show ring too they’ve had success winning the All Australian Three-Year-Old, the first time the farm has ever taken out the award.
“This farm would be up there with the best in the country,” says Lynne. “But people are out there doing it equally as well.”
The view from Clover Hill is spectacular, but Michael Strong isn’t taking in the scenery. Instead he casts a critical eye over his herd of Holsteins. Despite having some of the best and most productive cows in the country he’s still not content. He’d like all of his cows to reach an elite level.
“When you win at the shows you think well I’ve done an alright job,” says Michael. “But when I stand there and look at the herd, I’m pretty critical, I want them all to look wonderful every day of the week.”
Every 12 months the Strong’s and the Irvine’s reinvent the farm. This year they made another decision to increase milking from two to three times a day -starting at 4am and ending at 10pm.
Nick’s decision to follow in his father’s footsteps, although celebrated by both families, also increased the pressure to produce more milk.
“You’ve got to produce a million litres a year to support one family, so obviously we had to double that,” says Lynne. “Now we produce 21/2 million litres and we’re now heading towards three million.”
Before machinery the sisters would have to milk 50 cows by hand twice a day.
“I was very good at milking,” says Olwyn proudly. “‘I used to milk eight cows in one hour and that was good going. It’s hard to deal with all the progress, but we’ve just accepted everything as it’s come, you’ve got to move into the modern world.”
The farm has always been the centre of their lives and they never had any desire to travel overseas or have a family of their own. They still have their jobs around the farm to do, Olwyn mops up the buckets after each milking and Molly teaches the calves to feed.
“We grew up in the war years so I suppose we just stayed on the farm and worked,” says Molly. “I did have some admirers though.” “So did I,” chimes in Olwyn. “But none I wanted to marry.”
Olwyn admits that as a girl she never imagined that the farm would always be her whole life.
“It’s been a hard life I suppose in a way, it’s the same thing over and over, but there’s been lots of pleasures.”
The farm house has always been full of children, either relatives or the offspring of the share farmers working on the farm.
Nick spent his afternoons after school sitting around the Irvine’s kitchen table playing with toy farm animals waiting for his father to finish the milking. Clover Hill has always been his home and the sisters consider him part of their family.
Lynne doesn’t fit the farmer mould and happily admits to never having milked a cow in her life. But having grown up on farms she’s not scared to get dirty and it’s her job to look after the calves. She’s also in charge of the never-ending bookwork and data-entry with each cow having a record since birth.
Since deregulation the dairy is run more like a business. “In one way deregulation was good for us,” says Lynne. “We’ve made wise choices and we’ve become more efficient.”
But it’s been a risk and at times they’ve wondered if it will work – particularly as the drought begins to squeeze.
“The drought is tough, it’s really tough and because the animals are so important to us we don’t downgrade the amount of feed we use, we take the view that the cows are number one in our operation and they have to be looked after. I think though if it goes on for another year all dairy farmers will have to review their situation.”
Grain has doubled in price in the last month and 2007 is already shaping up to be a bleak year for many farms. Thanks to Lynne’s bargaining skills the farm was lucky to have locked in grain at the old price until the next harvest.
The drought has turned cows into a valuable commodity and there are now plans to diversify the business. In the future they hope to sell 30 high pedigree cows a year on the international market – so the dairy won’t be so dependent on the farm-gate price of milk. But first they need to improve their progeny. Twice a year a specialist vet from Victoria transforms a section of the farm into a mini fertility hospital. In August 14 cows of high genetic merit were chosen as donors and were super-ovulated. A week later the embryos were flushed out of the cow’s uterus and viewed under a microscope with the live embryos then being either frozen or implanted into surrogate cows.
“Each year there’s a new development in the research,” says Lynne. “It’s like the dairy industry is the frontier of IVF and I imagine that a lot of the success on dairy farms actually goes back into the human research.”
There have also been massive changes to the farm’s physical boundaries and a road now runs through the middle of the property. To ensure a sustainable and viable dairy long-term, in 1998 they swapped two parcels of non-farmable land for 40 farmable hectares. Today there are seven Torrens Title lots on the 120ha property, of which two-thirds is rainforest, creating a rural hamlet within the working farm.
With the sale of each lot came a list of covenants to ensure Clover Hill Dairies always had the right to farm. There are never any complaints about the odour, the lights or noise and there are strict rules about pets and priority water for the farm.
“It’s a fairly unique situation,” says Lynne. “We have urban and rural co-existing together. “The sub-division has been developed around the dairy and the sizes of the blocks haven’t impacted on the farm at all – most of the lots are rainforest and allow for only a small section of land to be built on.”
But even with close neighbours dairying can be a harsh and isolating life.
“It’s not so much hard work, but hard hours, you get tired of course and you get your down moments when you wish you’d done something else with your life,” says Michael. “But it doesn’t last long, the cows are my passion and that’s what keeps me going.” “I’m always thinking about the heritage of the farm, it’s been such a privilege to live here. The sisters have made a lot of sacrifices to keep the farm going and I’d like to think that there will be a dairy farm on Clover Hill for many years to come.”
This blog post is a reprint of a story by Jodie Duffy in the Illawarra Mercury Weekender 21 October 2006 and is part of the Irvine Family history series
A treasure I inherited from my grandfather 
Ethel Lindsay with her sisters Mary and Alice Carr
Clover Hill Today 
