Category: History Beyond the Classroom – HSTY3811 – 2024

For as long as I can remember, a winter Saturday morning has only meant one thing: netball. Ever since primary school, my mum, my sisters and I have spent countless Saturdays down at our local netball association, where we play, coach, umpire, and, every so often, enjoy a bacon and egg roll from the community-run BBQ. It’s often an all-day, if not all-weekend, affair. As juniors, Mum and Dad would cart us all around Sydney for representative carnivals, and we’re now avid fans and members of our national league team, the NSW Swifts, and frequently head out to Olympic Park to watch their matches in person. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to have your weekends not taken up by the all-consuming force that is netball. But despite the commitment, there’s something about it that keeps us coming back every year.

For many girls and women across the country, their winter Saturday morning plans mimic mine. For decades, women and girls have flocked in droves to their local netball courts every weekend. Netball is Australia’s leading team sport for female participation, ranked only just behind AFL for overall participation across men and women. At its core, netball is a sport that was built for women, by women. In fact, Super Netball is the only professional league in Australia where the female code is the main event.

Perhaps that’s what makes the sport so special, and part of the reason I’m so passionate about it. It’s a sport where women have paved their own path, carving out a space for girls to thrive. And at the very heart of the sport is local associations. It’s here where a community is built, where friendships are made, and where the netball superstars of the future are born.

That’s why I have chosen to complete my public history project with Hills District Netball, my local association. Originally founded as the Hills District Women’s Basketball Association, it has been a thriving community organisation since 1968. Each year, HDNA runs a Winter Day competition which takes place every Saturday, as well as Spring and Summer Night competitions, which also involve mixed teams with both men and women. These competitions are run by a group of passionate and committed volunteers, some of whom have been involved in the association for decades. They’ve even had former players go on to become national league players, including Cath Cox, who played with HDNA and went on to captain the Australian Diamonds.

Throughout my project with HDNA, I hope to use my passion for netball to delve into the association’s rich history. Having been a part of the association’s netball competitions for years, I’d love to give back to the organisation through using my knowledge and skills to create an engaging public history project. Along the way, I hope to uncover how HDNA has evolved over the years into the netball-loving community it is today.

I would like to acknowledge the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation, the traditional custodians of the land from which I am writing, and pay my respects to the Elders both past and present. I would also like to acknowledge the Dunghutti and other First Nations peoples of this country who were victims of the Australian Government policies that created the Stolen Generations.

To understand Kinchela Boys Home Aboriginal Corporation (KBHAC), one must first understand what Kinchela Boys Training Home (KBH) was, and its continuing impacts. KBH was built on the stolen land of the Dunghutti people, 20km north-east of Kempsey in New South Wales. This ‘home’ housed young Aboriginal boys who had been forcibly removed from their families by the NSW Government for almost 50 years (1924–1970). While at KBH, the boys, who received numbers instead of being referred to by their names, were stripped of their childhood and Aboriginality, enduring a forcible assimilation project.

The nature of KBH makes this site a place of deep importance for survivors, their families and the community, with the site and the memories of survivors acting as a historical record of destructive policies implemented by the Australian Government, and also an opportunity for the education of Australians today. If you would like hear more about KBH, I would recommend the video created by KBHAC for NAIDOC Week 2022 called We Were Just Little Boys, narrated by KBH survivors and illustrated by Uncle Richard Campbell, #28.

KBHAC emerged from the survivors KBH as a way to help with the restoration and reconstruction of the ‘identity, dignity and integrity of survivors.’ Another of the key aims of this organisation is to address the impacts of intergenerational trauma that is experienced by the families and descendants of the survivors of KBH. This mission becomes clear in the motto of the organisation:

‘Unlocking our past to free our future’

Finally, I would like to mention that October of this year marks 100 years since the gates of KBH were opened. As such, from the 18th-19th October, KBHAC invites KBH survivors, their descendants and families to honour the spirits of the children at KBH and to celebrate the past, present and future of KBHAC. I feel privileged that I will be able to volunteer at this event, and if you would like to offer your own form of assistance, you can donate here, or volunteer by emailing 100kbh@kbhac.org.au.

Conversation and community spirit transform The Glebe Community Op Shop from a humble corner store on 133 Glebe Street into the beating heart of Glebe. Connections fostered between residents within its four walls spread outward, running through the alleys and arteries of the neighbourhood in a network of trust and compassion, touching the lives of everyone around.  Friendly faces pass through the doors like clockwork, followed by a medley of greetings like “Lovely to see you again” and “How was your vacation last week?” that echo throughout the small, intimate space. On my first trip to the store, known affectionately as “The Oppy”, I was struck by this camaraderie as it was what I had hoped to find here as an exchange student living alone in a foreign country for the first time. Back home in Singapore, third places are on the decline as the ever-persistent threat of development looms over these humble, communal spaces. Having found a second home in second-hand stores for half a decade, the Oppy felt like a warm hug and a welcome home, reminding me of the same community spirit (or “kampung spirit” as Singaporeans call it) I felt in the neighbourhood thrift stores I frequented in Singapore. The natural affinity I felt for the cosy space and friendly people drew me to work with them for this project. 

Outside the Glebe Community Op Shop (photograph taken by me).

Known as Glebe’s “hidden gem”, The Oppy is a not-for-profit shop brimming with preloved treasures including clothes, accessories, bric-a-brac, and homeware. Eco-conscious shoppers get the chance to help reduce landfills in style, and bargain hunters can look forward to finding cheap steals too. The shop is run by long-time Glebe resident Heather Murphy and a team of volunteers. Things may only cost a few dollars at The Oppy, but their generosity is priceless. The shop channels its profits back into the community and collaborates with local organisations to support others in need, such as Rainbow Lodge, a residential support program for men to transition back into the community following a period of incarceration. Through GAPP1, clothing vouchers are given to these men so they can shop for free. Beyond Glebe, the shop has also positively impacted the international community. Heather has also contributed to funding the Kitchen Starter Pack Project, which provides essential cooking and eating equipment for those moving from temporary accommodation to self-contained housing, like those leaving Rainbow Lodge. Beyond Glebe, the shop has also positively impacted the international community. Boxes of clothing weighing up to 100kg have been sent from the shop to orphanages in the Philippines and Nepal, and even as part of disaster relief in the wake of floods in Sri Lanka. 

133 Glebe Street in the 1970s, when it was still a butchery. (Image taken from the Bernard and Kate Smith Glebe Photographs series on the City of Sydney Archives database.)

133 Glebe Street. The Op Shop is located on the ground floor. (Image taken from The Glebe Society Bulletin, credited to Jude Paul. )

The Oppy has been operating for 40 years, but this tradition of serving the community has long been tied to the site’s history. For a century before The Oppy, the building was home to a butchers’ shop, a family-run business that was one of only 27 commercial buildings serving residents living in 723 properties. Beyond the building itself, the suburb derives its name from the Latin ‘glaeba’ meaning a clod of earth because it was designated for use by the church. The Oppy has passed through the hands of the church, previously managed by Julie Breckenreg, former Hope Street and subsequently Heart of Glebe pastor and now by Heather, from The Glebe Christian Life Community. While profits are collected for the benefit of the Glebe community rather than the church now, the same mission of goodwill continues to ripple through time till today through the good work of the Glebe Community Op Shop.

DAS Neerlandia is a community organisation founded 70 years ago in the Northern Beaches of Sydney. This group was founded out of the community built around Het Tentenkamp, a tent city in the Northern Beaches following World War 2 and the influx of immigration it brought with it.

                  The Dutch like many under the occupation of the Nazis were returned to a country destroyed, and many rather than rebuilding sought to find a new life of opportunity and peace in Australia. However, the 14000 km distance was and is still an enormous way to go. Further, the Dutch community unlike the Italian, Greek or German community had no organisations helping resettlement of people to Australia. DAS was born out of this absence.

                  Centrally DAS was a club focussed on continuing Dutch culture, language, food, and drink. But also, in the early foundation of the club, it was a mutual cooperation, which played a vital role in establishing migrants into the area. Reading their own historical book which was written 20 years ago by Mijntje Hage shows how the club in its earliest years focussed on mutual cooperation. When one family would move out of Het Tentenkamp one more would move in buying the plot and a ladder of the Australian dream would be climbed. But the club also had a hand in the dramatic arts, games, sport, travel, and ‘discos’.

                  I first found out about this club as I searched for a place for my partner who is Dutch to feel gezillig and at home just a little. It has a brick-and-mortar club house nowadays which is its centre of activities compared to roaming between community centres from the 50’s to the 80’s.

The club has an ageing population which is getting smaller due to the passing of time and a lack of migration from the Netherlands. This is understood by the President and Secretary who are constantly trying to gain more members. This is hard as COVID changed the fabric of the community and individuals are more atomised than ever before. This club is really special and plays an important part in the community still and that is why I’ve chosen it for my project as places like these need to remain in the community.  

                  I intend to create the historical project around the people of the club, and not the institution itself. Why? Because the club is the volunteers, it is the Klaverjas club, it is the Oma’s who come every year with their huge families to eat bitterballen and vlaai. I will be able to interview them through a plan help devised by a classmate (Rose I think her name is please forgive me if it’s not). I as a bartender by trade will volunteer behind the counter and be able to have a captive audience of people. They will then be surveyed on their life at the Dutch club. From that, I am creating a multimedia website to collect the sounds, sites, and histories of the club. To help them I also am going to be adding survey questions to ask the clientele what they want to see more at the club and what will make them come more.

This club is so special. In an Australia in which community organisations like Workers Clubs, RSLs, and Bowling Clubs are dominated by problem drinking and the massive stain of addictive poker machines the Dutch club stands pure. Community organisations are supposed to serve the purpose of helping the community, and this is the sole purpose of this club.

Dankewel en Tot Ziens.

As someone who has held a deep passion for cinema for many years now, the endurance of artistic collaboration and a sense of community provided through the shared endeavour of cinematic creation has always been a defining aspect of the medium – one whose success relies on the connections formed with others. 

The Society of Australian Cinema Pioneers has become one such organisation where camaraderie endures. Founded in Sydney in 1933 by veterans of the motion picture industry, the society has remained dedicated to the recognition of its members who have contributed 20 or more years of service to the Australian Motion Picture Industry – whether involved in distribution, production, exhibition, administration and education.

As membership numbers have increased over the years, various state branches have been formed nationally. Regardless of where you may find yourself across Australia, there will be a branch of the society where members can encounter other industry professionals, reconnect with colleagues, or form new friendships. The society often organises social functions – networking events, film screenings, dinner catchups – and holds annual award presentations of National and State Cinema Pioneers of the Year, where members are recognised for their decades of influential contributions across various sectors of the Australian Motion Picture Industry. The community celebration of the achievements of individuals is at the forefront of the values of the society. 

Although I had never encountered The Society of Australian Cinema Pioneers before, I was immediately struck by the sense of community displayed online when researching possible organisations. The group photographs, written celebratory praise of awarded members, social media and group activities – an organised but communal sense of collaboration appeared on screen before me. I suppose I had never considered the importance of a society for industry professionals beyond film production sets, boardrooms, and other formal spaces, where a community can come together for their shared passion for cinema and love of the industry. A society which reflects the values of community crucial for the cinematic medium as a whole, and for film spectators like myself, who form our own connections based around the dedicated work of these industry professionals. 

To be expected, the past 91 years have seen various organisational changes. 

After conducting research and collaborating with a member of the society, the startling piece of information which immediately grabbed my attention was the admittance of membership for women only occurred in 1989. For 56 years the society was for men only, even though there remained a substantial female presence in the Australian film industry for decades. How then has the society become so diverse and inclusive since 1989? My project will focus upon this question among many others, uncovering how women changed the community of the society from 1989 until now.

As the Australian Motion Picture Industry has become increasingly inclusive, diverse, and equitable for women since 1989, The Society of Australian Cinema Pioneers has evolved to reflect the changing demographics of the cinema community. In doing so, the shared sense of community provided by the society has never been so widespread and enduring, across all ages and genders, as it is today. 

         In 2011, Jan-Maree Ball, a former officer in the Royal Australian Navy and Air Force, ignited a drive to ensure Australia’s service members deployed overseas would feel the support of their country. The idea arose after learning that an Australian soldier in a German hospital had received a quilt from an American volunteer. Moved by the notion that Australian Defence Force (ADF) members should experience such gestures from their own country, Jan-Maree began what would grow into a national project dedicated to sending personalised quilts and laundry bags to ADF members far from home. Initially a small, personal effort, Aussie Hero Quilts (and Laundry Bags), quickly gathered momentum as quilters across Australia rallied to the cause. By 2015, over 10,000 quilts had been crafted and sent, each personalised to reflect the recipient’s name, unit, or interests—a lasting reminder that they were remembered. Jan-Maree’s commitment was recognised when she was awarded the Medal of the Order of Australia (OAM), and despite a devastating fire that destroyed her home and the project’s headquarters in 2016, the community’s support ensured that the initiative continued without pause. To date, thousands of quilts and laundry bags have been sent to Australian Defence Force personnel across the globe, reflecting both Jan-Maree’s vision and the generosity of countless volunteers.

         More than just providing physical items, the sewing project has created deep connections between the volunteers and recipients. Many of those who craft these quilts and bags are veterans or have family members in the military, and for them, quilting offers a way to channel their feelings into something tangible. The care taken in selecting fabrics, designing patterns, and stitching each quilt and bag is an act of personal connection, with the final product representing far more than just a practical gift. For recipients, receiving a quilt or bag becomes a profound emotional moment. The personalised touch reminds them that, even in distant and challenging locations, they are not forgotten by those at home. Some recipients have described receiving their quilt or bag as a turning point, offering comfort during dark times. One recipient shared how the quilt helped him through a difficult period, while a Vietnam veteran reconnected with an old friend through the insignia sewn into his own. Such stories reveal how these items are imbued with personal meaning and can rekindle memories, provide strength, and maintain a connection with home.

         The broader impact of the project lies in the community it has created. Volunteers from diverse backgrounds, united by a common cause, have formed a tightly woven support network. This spirit of connection and purpose transcends geographical boundaries and social divides, fostering a national sense of care and solidarity. As the project moves into its second decade, it provides physical comfort and an enduring link between ADF members and the Australian public. Each lovingly crafted quilt and bag serves as a reminder that no matter where they are, these recipients are part of a broader community that values and supports them. The threads that tie these quilts and bags together also weave a deeper network of care, resilience, and remembrance as strong as the fabric itself.

I was not raised in Australia yet has been studying Sociology and Australian History here in Sydney for a few years, and have listened to different histories told through stories throughout the past few years when I am on domestic trips to places like Uluru, Ballarat and more. During the visit to the Maritime Museum, I learnt about artefacts that did not have the opportunity to be publicly exhibited despite their historical importance, such as the ballasts thrown off HMB Endeavour in 1770 by Lieutenant James Cook and its crew. And a visit to Uluru last year allowed me to learn about how First Nations peoples have different epistemologies and how they pass on knowledge through storytelling and lore (My apologies for not being able to tell the stories here, as some of them must be learnt on-site, and mostly importantly, I prefer not to represent First Nations peoples without the consultation with them). Therefore, I wonder what it is like to tell Australian history as an “outsider.” I believe there must be more of these “untold” or “unpopular” stories or artefacts that should be made known to the public, and potentially to connect peoples in society with these histories.

When talking about all the histories and stories behind different societies and peoples, it is clear that the Australian National Maritime Museum is not just about boats. It is the waters which shaped our nation, it is the people who lived through a diverse experience and explored the land and the ocean. By preserving and sharing the stories of people from different communities, I believe that the public interest and curiosity towards the relationships between us and the ocean can be sparked, providing more opportunities for us to explore our diverse cultures, lifestyles and narratives – to continue respect and cultivate what “multiculturalism” really means.