The year was 1916, and 18 year old John Henry enlisted in the Australian Army, to fight a war half a world away.

He was young, and idealistic, and he was soon sent for training, to learn the basics of trench warfare, and signalling.

He was deployed two hours south of Sydney and, along with a few thousand other young men, took up residence in a makeshift tent city on Kiama Showgrounds.

He learned signalling on the headland overlooking Kendalls Beach.

And he practiced digging trenches on the sands of Bombo Beach. Before being shipped out to Beersheba, to join the Light Horse Brigade. 

Malaria, rife in the Middle East, found him three months later, and he spent the First World War in and out of care. 

He was lucky, he survived.

Though plagued with occasional bouts of Malaria for the remainder of his life, he came back from the war, met a girl, and raised a family.

Let’s now travel on through the years.

To the late 1950s and early 1960’s.

Once a year and usually in summer, Norm, John Henry’s son-in-law, would pack up his wife and the two young kids, and head off to Kiama for a camping holiday. 

He didn’t live far away, about two hours north, but he made sure he brought everything with him.

And so, he’d pack the double bed, bunks for the kids, a very large icebox, a metho stove, a kerosene lamp, and a centre pole tent. 

All jammed into the old Dodge truck he used in his building work.

And he also packed his toolbox.

Norm was a true working class man. Picking up carpentry work whenever and wherever he could.

Everything was a struggle. Money didn’t come easily, and when it did, well, a little flutter here and there on the horses usually followed.

Sometimes Norm was a winner; more often than not the reverse was true.

What remained steadfast however, whether he had the money or not, was that beloved yearly trip to Kiama. 

And so every year, he’d take a spot in the camping grounds on the headland overlooking the round rock pool. Overlooking the sea, and surrounded by the pine trees.

Today the headland has rental cabins, the Kiama Visitor Centre and a busy cafe. 

Back then it housed row upon row of tents and plywood caravans, in various shapes and sizes. And many fun seeking families.

Norm’s three room tent was erected, the sleeping arrangements & general area sorted. And from then on for the next few weeks, while his wife, son and daughter enjoyed two or three weeks in the waves of Kiama beach, swimming in the rock pool, riding bikes and all the other joys of camping life, Norm took off with his carpenters toolbox and looked for work . 

That’s how it was. 

If there was money left over after paying camping fees, he could take a day off work here and there to enjoy a Kiama beach day with his family. And that was a good day.

Once again, let’s move on through the years. 

It’s now the 1980s.

Norm’s little boy (and also John Henry’s grandson ) Gary has grown up.

He met and married me, and we have, at this time, the first two of our four children. 

On occasional weekends we would drive down to Kiama and Gerringong from Sydney, just for the sheer pleasure of seeing lush green hills rolling down to the sea. And always, always we returned home, wishing we lived in this gorgeous place called Kiama. But the Universe had other plans for us.

And so, it took another forty years before we finally became local residents of Kiama, to us possibly the most wonderful place in the world. 

For over one hundred years, our family has had a connection here.

From John Henrys time in Kiama, to now.

Gary found our home.

In May 2021 we moved in. And immediately set about living the Kiama life to the full.

If John Henry were here with us now, he’d heartily concur.