By Carol Goddard

The year was 1916. Eighteen-year-old John Henry, a boy from Mascot, enlisted in the Australian Army to fight a war half a world away.

Young and idealistic, he was soon sent for training to learn the basics of trench warfare and signalling. Deployed from Sydney to Kiama, he and thousands of other young men settled into a makeshift tent city on the Kiama Showgrounds. John trained in signalling on the headland overlooking Kendalls Beach and practised digging trenches on the sands of Bombo Beach before being shipped out to Beersheba to join the Light Horse Brigade.

The harsh conditions of the Middle East took a toll on John; within three months, malaria had found him, and he spent much of the First World War in and out of care. He was lucky—he survived. Although he suffered occasional bouts of malaria for the rest of his life, he returned home, met a girl, and raised a family.

Fast-forward to the late 1950s and early 1960s. Each summer, John Henry’s son-in-law, Norm, packed up his wife and two young kids for a camping holiday in Kiama. Living just two hours north, Norm would load up his Dodge truck with a double bed, bunks for the kids, a large icebox, a metho stove, a kerosene lamp, and a centre-pole tent. He even brought his toolbox, for Norm was a hardworking carpenter, picking up jobs whenever and wherever he could.

Money was often tight, and though he occasionally placed a bet on the horses, whether he won or lost didn’t change his commitment to the annual trip to Kiama. Each year, they camped on the headland overlooking the round Rockpool, under the shade of pine trees. Today, this spot is home to rental cabins, the Kiama Visitor Centre, and Diggies café. But back then, it was a bustling camping ground filled with tents, plywood caravans, and families enjoying the simple pleasures of life by the sea.

Norm set up their three-room tent, and for the next few weeks, while his wife and children enjoyed Kiama's beaches, the Rockpool, bike rides, and the joys of camping, Norm took off with his carpenter’s toolbox to find work in town. If there was money left after camping fees, he could take a day off to enjoy the beach with his family—those were the good days.

Another leap through time brings us to the 1980s. Norm’s little boy, Gary—John Henry’s grandson—had grown up, met, and married me. By then, we had two of our four children, and on occasional weekends, we would drive from Sydney down to Kiama and Gerringong, just for the pleasure of seeing the lush green hills rolling to the sea. Each time, we’d return home wishing we could live in this beautiful place. But the universe had other plans, and it would take another forty years before we finally became locals in Kiama—arguably the most wonderful place in the world.

For over a hundred years, our family’s connection to Kiama has endured, from John Henry’s time to the present day. Gary found our home, and in May 2021, we moved in, ready to live the Kiama life to the fullest. If John Henry were here today, he’d heartily approve.