Photos capture Australian stories for global Day of Older Persons

Yet they have lived through wars, droughts, floods, political upheaval, boom times, tough times, and every kind of heartache and joy.

Their eyes have seen things the next generations will never see.

And our communities and our country have so much to learn from them.

As International Day of Older Persons 2023 approaches, ACM photographers present Our Precious Things - a project to capture the wisdom and experience of Australia's unsung regional elders.

ACM photographers work at the front line of news gathering. They think and see differently to reporters.

Using intimate portraits and audio recordings of the stories behind one cherished object selected by the subject, the photographers' keen eyes, skill, and deep knowledge of their communities captured the essence and voice of a special older local.

"These sweet subjects let us shoot their precious faces, home and special places," The Canberra Times photographic editor Karleen Minney said.

"We hope this is a reminder to us all to give our precious people our time and interest - and also a special moment for their families who may treasure our photos for generations to come."

International Day of Older Persons is celebrated on Sunday, October 1.

As he sits by the fire in his homely steel shack, Bob Skelton's billy is on the boil while the sun sets out back.

Never any good at singing or playing guitar, the "Minmi Magster" uses his voice as his instrument and the bush as his inspiration.

"I suppose I turned a negative into a positive," he said.

Inspired by Australia's greats Henry Lawson and Banjo Paterson, the 84-year-old bush poet has filled books with his work. And he can recite a fair few of them off by heart.

Mr Skelton started performing his own poetry in the 1980s.

He said great poetry starts with a good story.

"I don't know how I do it, but they reckon it runs in the blood," he said.

Growing up at Waratah in Newcastle as the son of a blacksmith, he remembers men would trade poems outside his father's workshop.

"It's a tradition," he said.

"All these blokes would come around, sometimes there might be half a dozen, and they'd be watching dad work at the blacksmith's shop; it was a meeting place. A lot of them had a poem to recite."

From those days comes his precious thing: an old pocket watch given to him by his dad.

"Funny thing, Dad didn't buy many things," he said.

"He might have swapped it for something, as as they did in those days. And that watch has given me great service. It still works.

"It was made back when things were made to last, not like a lot of presents you get now, you throw them away in a couple of years time. So that watch has really stood the test of time, to pardon the pun."

Words: Madeleine Link

Elaine Stewart once lived in a world dominated by fairies.

Then she morphed her way into pin-up pageants. Now, as a 70-year-old, she's stuck in the past.

Deliberately so.

Having moved to the northern suburbs of Wollongong in NSW back in 1983, the single mum and her kids lived in the house known as The Fairy Dell.

It turned into a party business, thrilling children who enjoyed escapist birthday parties with all the wonderment and trimmings only mythical creatures can share.

But even fairies have to grow up and, in Miss Elaine's case, with her eldest daughter alongside, she eventually found her way to pin-up pageants.

On the way there, Ms Stewart became immersed in what she calls "the vintage lifestyle" with her now-blended family.

Not only did she collect vintage bric-a-brac, she joined forces with family and opened a vintage 1950s-era clothing and accessories shop.

She held deportment workshops and offered hair and make-up tips and style advice. What started as a hobby on the side turned into a serious pin-up pageant habit.

As a competitor, she was named Miss Retrofest 2019; as an organiser, her Rock n' Vintage Roll Festival celebrates its 10th anniversary in 2024.

It's all much more than dress-ups, there's a core of staunch empowerment and individualism.

That's why there are no cheap, knock-off tiaras for Elaine. Her competition winners are gifted genuine vintage headpieces - just like the precious 1950 tiara she reveres so deeply.

Words: Janine Graham

The Reverend Loy Buckley at 83 is sprightly. And she has a lot more living to do yet.

She and her husband adopted three children from orphanages in South America. They are now grown up in Australia with children of their own.

And Ms Buckley is a minister assisting at Saint Matthew's Karabar Anglican Church, south of Canberra.

Her treasured possession is the stole that ministers wear around their necks during services.

Stoles often depict sacred images and, while Ms Buckley's does have a wooden cross, it also has a gum tree and what she calls "the blue of the mountains", which reminds her of where she grew up in the village of Nimmitabel in south-west NSW.

She sees the gum tree as "a sacred symbol of our land of Australia".

From an early age her Christian faith was important, but she grew up in a Catholic family so the priesthood was barred to her.

"When I realised that I had to be a boy to be a priest, my first response was to be very angry with God because He knew I wanted to be a priest, so why didn't he make me a boy?"

She entered a convent but that didn't work for her so she left and taught in a Catholic school - all the time driven by a "call to service".

Eventually, she retired and went on a retreat with a group of Anglican women.

It was there she came to the realisation that "I felt I was in the wrong church".

Words: Steve Evans

"He was a good kisser."

Dulcie Balderston holds a photograph of her late husband, Athol, captured as a young man dressed in his military uniform.

"I knew as soon as I kissed him that he was the one," she said.

Ms Balderston was born when ballerina Anna Pavlova was touring the globe and Al Capone still terrorised the streets of Chicago.

As a young girl she lived through the Depression and witnessed the opening of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

When her father was sick and unable to provide for the family, 13-year-old Dulcie left school to help support the family. She earnt 12 shillings and six pence a week, but every penny counted.

Then there was World War II and young Dulcie felt obliged to do her bit.

With her father a navy man and her older brother in the army, she had to join the air force.

At the age of 90 she took up tap dancing, performing in local productions and earning the nickname "Dancing Dulcie".

At 97 years of age, she still does her own shopping, memorising all the prices.

And she's not shy of pointing out when she's been overcharged. There's no notebook to record price tags - just a good memory and her razor sharp wits.

"I don't have a mobile phone. I don't have a computer," she said.

"If they cut the electricity off they'll all be dead. But not me."

Words: Rick Kernick

Norma Rowland has always found her way back home.

She was born and raised on the outskirts of Bathurst in the NSW central west - on a property that has been in her family since 1857.

Ms Rowland, now 88, said she had a happy childhood surrounded by her parents, sisters, and great-grandmother.

"I grew up here as a very happy child," she said.

When she turned 17, she made the move to Sydney.

But, after meeting her husband and having three children, Ms Rowland moved back to Bathurst and, eventually, to the property where she grew up.

She still lives there now with her husband, Fred, and dog Willow.

"It's the place I love, and it's the place where I always wanted to live," she said.

"I'm finishing it here."

Alise McIntosh

As a teenager Brian Phillips began building a 16-foot cabin boat by hand.

Using hand tools, he crafted the vessel over three years and took it out on the Tamar River at Launceston.

Now 85, Mr Phillips is still working with his hands.

These days he volunteers at steam engine museum Pearn's Steam World and can be found restoring a 1950s rotavator in the dim green light of a cavernous hangar-style workshop in the small northern Tasmanian town of Westbury.

"The clutch was frozen, so I had to strip the mechanisms down to put in a new clutch," he said of the soil tilling machine.

He has been working on the project for about 12 months.

Mr Phillips, who lives in Hadspen, Tasmania, was born in Cygnet in the state's south in 1936.

His parents wanted him to become a carpenter, but he was 20 years old when he began an electrical apprenticeship.

He worked in the timber, aluminium and steel industries before moving to Western Australia, where he worked for iron ore exporter CRA, the gas industry, and the state's main water supplier.

At age 57 he started his own electrical business before the move back to Tasmania.

"The townspeople didn't want me to go; I was too reliable," he said, laughing.

Words: Phillip Biggs

Di Rowan has been scoring local cricket for almost half a century, but the results have never been important.

"It doesn't matter to me whether they win or lose," she said.

"I've never had a day where I've gone to cricket and haven't had a fun day, had a laugh."

The 80-year-old first picked up the score book when her own sons took up the game as kids.

Now her grandson plays for the Stockton club in Newcastle, NSW, and her younger son coaches.

The veteran scorer is on deck for first grade games, but is beloved by everyone in the club, where she is a life member. At an afternoon training session, she's greeted with a hello, hug and kiss from every bloke who spots her.

Ms Rowan calls them her treasures.

"They're just a nice bunch of boys ... good young men," she said.

"It's like another family."

She remembers watching a star being born when Josh Hazlewood took to the field for Tamworth in a match at the Sydney Cricket Ground (SCG) long before he pulled on the whites for Australia.

Home-town pride keeps her coming back season after season.

"Just because it's Stockton," she said. "And I love living in Stockton. I'm lucky, aren't I, to be my age and be able to go and do these things?"

Words: Anna Falkenmire

At 84, Rex Dallas is still eyeing the main prize: the Bush Ballad of the Year award.

He hopes the release of his new single will help.

Mr Dallas said he doesn't understand much of the Australian country music celebrated today - and it's become more Americanised.

"It's just not the real Australiana the way I am," he said.

"That's the way it is now, so I've gotta accept that."

Raised in Wallerawang, a town outside Lithgow west of Sydney, Mr Dallas was a boy soprano who listened intently to his grandfather reciting Banjo Paterson poems.

Times were hard for his family of coal miners, so his mother encouraged him down a different path.

It was while selling records from a Sydney music store that he first heard the melodies of Aussie country icons Slim Dusty and Buddy Williams.

Fast forward sixty years and the bush balladeer is considered an icon of Australian country music himself. He helped establish what is considered its modern centrepiece, the Tamworth Country Music Festival.

The four-time Country Music Awards winner - for EP, male vocalist, APRA song and heritage award - still supports young country music talent, especially his granddaughter, musician Ashleigh Dallas.

"Love Tamworth," he said. "I always have and I've stuck by it."

Words: Eva Baxter

Eileen Brooker still has the first and last paintings she created.

At 101, the Tasmanian artist no longer has the keen sight she once relied on to capture the island's landscapes and faces.

But she talks with passion about the love of her life.

"I can't describe it. I just love doing it; it's my favorite thing. I always wanted to paint," the Hobart-born centenarian said.

Ms Brooker grew up in the Hobart suburb of Montrose as one of five children and spent more time helping to look after the family than at her school work.

But her father took her to art classes for children on Saturday mornings and she went on to study at the Hobart art school in the 1940s - where she found her love of painting.

"I love doing landscapes and portraits," Ms Brooker said.

Ms Brooker also taught art in schools in Launceston and Hobart.

"I liked to do things that were different that would give them a thrill, doing sculpture and all sorts of things," she said.

Her father, Edward Brooker, was once state transport minister; the Brooker Highway was named after him. She said the road would always hold a special place in her heart.

"Life was extremely busy," she said.

Ms Brooker said she was sad she could no longer draw or paint, but is determined to make the best of what she has.

Words: Paul Scambler

When Kevin Goldsworthy was expelled from the bush shack he called home, his father warned: "Son, if I ever see you again, I'll shoot you."

With the two shillings his mother gave him, a stockman's whip gripped firmly in one hand and his cherished bible in the other, the 17-year-old took off on foot searching for wild brumbies.

"I wandered up to the mountains, sleeping in a swag on the side of the road, chasing brumbies, trapping rabbits, shearing sheep and breaking in horses," he said.

Mr Goldsworthy, the son of a stern, horse-breaking father and a loving Seventh-day Adventist mother, was born in a bark hut in the bush outside Beechworth, Victoria, in 1934.

He was riding horses by age four, learnt the art of breaking by age 10, and was a professional horse breaker by the time he turned 14.

"All I ever wanted was to be a stockman, to get a horse, stock whip and a lasso and catch brumbies," Mr Goldsworthy said.

The vagabond horse breaker, who is also a lifelong vegan, took off in a caravan not long after he left home and spent his career travelling around the country, picking up odd jobs along the way.

One steadfast companion remained by his side through everything - his precious Bible.

"It has been my guide through life," the 89-year-old said at his Burrowye home on the Victoria-NSW border.

"It offers hope for a brighter future, a world where Christ's return will usher in a new beginning."

Words: Layton Holley

Helen Crampton's earliest memories are of music.

It flowed through the house - sometimes dawn until dusk - as pianists, singers and students came to visit her music teacher mother.

It made young Helen want to dance.

But lessons were a luxury for a family living through the Depression and two world wars.

"I was born before the war - I was born in '38," Ms Crampton said.

"We just had to do with plenty of love and good health and good meals. But to do ballet, well, there just wasn't the money."

It would be more than 80 years before the ex-teacher, raised in Cessnock in the NSW Hunter region, stood at a barre.

Her feet took instantly to the movements as she learnt positions with the Silver Swans, a Newcastle Dance Academy group for over 55s.

At 84, Ms Crampton is the oldest. Ageing busily seems to be a family trait. Ms Crampton's brother, a paediatrician, still works and her mother taught well past her 70th birthday.

"The first day, as I stood there in a leotard and ballet shoes - oh, I could have cried! It was absolutely wonderful," she said.

"My heart, my soul, they were just soaring."

She was clutching an eisteddfod medal won by her mother as a teenager when she talked about learning technical skills for the first time.

"I knew I could rock and roll. Oh, I could jive," she said. "But to be shown how - that was special."

Words: Lucinda Garbutt-Young

It's Sunday afternoon and Peter Murray shares a beer with his granddaughter while his wife of 65 years, Sheila, drinks tea.

Sharing the table is granddaughter Ellena's new boyfriend, invited over to meet Nan and Pop.

Mr Murray, 88, is proud of their five children - and all 14 grandchildren.

The dozens of framed photographs behind him show his love for family, including one with his parents, twin brother and their siblings.

As a child he spent four years living in tents in Guildford, Sydney, where his father worked on the railway.

"He instilled hard work [in] all his family," he said.

Most of Mr Murray's 50-year working life was spent in his home town of Gundagai in the NSW Riverina region.

He and his wife were actively involved in its community, and its golf course, before her health deteriorated and they moved to Wagga in 2018.

"Sheila looked after me for 60 years; I've been looking after her for five," Mr Murray said.

"I did enjoy playing golf with Sheila," he said. "And - I hate to have to admit this - but Sheila was lower handicap golf than I was."

Reggie, aged four, takes a seat and looks across the white embroidered tablecloth to his human granddad.

He is named after Mr Murray's father, Reginald James, and Mrs Murray's father, Reginald Eric.

But this Reggie doesn't look like either of his namesakes.

Morning walks with the schnauzer-poodle cross encourage Mr Murray to get out of bed each day.

To younger generations, he offers this advice: be honest.

"If people aren't honest, there's no hope," he said.

Words: Madeline Begley

As one of an elite group with life membership of the Scouts Association of Victoria, Neville Cartledge has a position to defend.

Only 25 people can hold the badge at any one time.

"People will be wanting me to die off so they can get my position next year," the 85-year-old said jokingly.

"I did have a bit of a health problem in that year [I received life membership]."

Mr Cartledge, who was also awarded the Medal of the Order Australia, has spent nearly seven decades volunteering for the Scouts and country firefighters.

An original member of the Creswick Scout troop formed in 1951, he trained 33 Queen's Scouts, setting young people on paths to success and even nurturing them into careers, such as head teacher, police inspector and anaesthetist.

"I'm very proud of the Queen's Scouts I've produced ... most other groups don't get anywhere near that amount," Mr Cartledge, from Victoria's Central Highlands, said.

The King's - previously Queen's - Scout Award is the highest award in youth Scouting, bestowed on people who demonstrate ability in outdoor skills, leadership and community.

Mr Cartledge was the first Ballarat Scout leader to receive the Scouts National President's Award.

He has also been involved with the Country Fire Authority (CFA) since the age of 17.

Barry Kershaw was 15 years old when he started playing A-grade football.

It was the 1950s and he was working at his father's market garden in Fyshwick to the south east of Canberra's centre.

Young Barry would get a lift from work to play as a half-forward flank for the Ainslie Football Club's second grade side.

After two or three games in the team, the coach got in touch with his parents to promote him to first grade football.

He met his wife, Denise, in Ainslie as well and, together, they had three children and built their own home.

They called him "Twinkle Toes", Mrs Kershaw said. With a tall, slim build, young Barry had a tank on him.

He moved from the forward line to the centre and, eventually, moved into the wing, intercepting kicks and shutting down opposition counters.

In 1975, he was presented with a club life membership badge.

"I became the 26th life member of the Ainslie Football Club and there's only three of us left alive today," the 83-year-old said.

Mr Kershaw remembers playing against Football Hall of Fame great Alex Jesaulenko when he was at Eastlake.

"I can't confirm this but apparently my father was approached by a Victoria club, but he wouldn't let me go because I had an apprenticeship," he said.

After 164 games and several ankle injuries, Mr Kershaw retired from football aged 32.

He continued working at the old Canberra hospital as an electrician.

"I finished at 32 after my orthopaedic surgeon said, 'If you do your ankle again, I don't think I can fix it'."

Words: Kerem Doruk

Heather Morrell has always had a story to tell.

She taught school students through storytelling and raised her own four children the same way.

A relief teacher for decades, as well as Ballarat swimming club life member and grandmother to nine, education has always been at the heart of her life.

Ms Morrell went to Ballarat Teachers College in 1951 where she met her husband, Tom.

Their meeting was an accident. Some mutual friends wanted to date and Mr Morrell was the only one with a car.

The Morrells have "stayed the distance for 56 years".

Once her children were at school, Ms Morrell returned to education as an emergency teacher in Ballarat in Victoria's Central Highlands.

"I was going to make myself the best relief teacher going," the 90-year-old said.

She had to be "like a magpie", taking the best lessons, stories and games from all over the place and practising them in her work.

She still has her teacher's bag - she calls it her "doctor's bag" filled with lesson plans and tools she would use to tell stories, including photos of her son in Germany when the Berlin Wall came down.

As she became more involved in activities outside of education, including gardening and Probus club activities for retirees, Ms Morrell said she realised it was time to pass the teaching torch on.

"It was somebody else's turn," she said.

Words: Nieve Walton

Garry Quinlivan understands the importance of family.

With two children, six grandchildren and 15 great-grandchildren, they are the most important people in the 86-year-old's life.

But Mr Quinlivan has a second family and, after 28 years, it means just as much to him.

"Quinzo" has been with the ACT Brumbies since its inception in late 1995 and remains one of the club's hardest working people.

At 86 he could be relaxing at home, but he keeps coming back.

"The Brumbies have kept me active - and probably kept me alive," Mr Quinlivan said.

"The Brumbies are my family and I love each and every one of them dearly."

Mr Quinlivan lost his wife, Lorna, 15 years ago. In 2009 he was diagnosed with throat cancer and doctors were forced to remove his voice box.

He uses a special microphone to talk, affectionately known as a "squawker". Ever the joker, he's had a lot of fun with it.

As the health battles continue, Mr Quinlivan has started to slow down.

But the Brumbies remain central to his life and he's determined to keep going as long as he can.

"I love the place and it's been so good to me," Mr Quinlivan said. "But all good things come to an end, don't they?"

Words: Cameron Mee

Shouts of "Tommy Gun!" pierce the air at this regional bowling club.

Uncle Tom Leonard's mates are calling him at every turn.

The Kamilaroi elder was born in 1940 at Coonamble and learned from an early age the value of respect - an important skill for the third eldest of 17 children.

Clutching a speckled Greenmaster premier ball, the lawn bowls champion was formally recognised back in 1988.

But he's cherished the sport since his teen years "over in the Pilliga".

"I like the feel of them [bowls]; they're beautiful in your hand," the 83-year-old said.

"Plenty of competitions I've won with these ones - you'll see them on the wall."

His high school sweetheart, Norma Leonard, said her husband is a character with endless charm and wit.

He also loved running and playing rugby league.

All of Uncle Tom's most treasured items are stamped with the Canterbury-Bankstown Bulldogs' emblem.

An unseen wisdom wraps around each and every bowl.

"See the number three out there?," he said, pointing to the far end of the central western NSW Orange Ex Services' Country Club lane, or rink.

"Aim for that, then just put the bowl down and hope it stops on the jack. If you can get a turn from about the halfway mark, you're 'right."

Words: Emily Gobourg

There's a delicacy to the way Merle Hare holds a photo of her brother, sitting proudly in his air force uniform.

At 103 years old, the navy veteran has spent 80 years without her twin brother Don Storrie.

The few photos she has of him are among her most precious possessions.

Both siblings served in World War II - Mr Storrie as part of the Australian Air Force, and Ms Hare as one of the first women to enlist in the Australian Navy.

"There were so few of us at that point that each one of us had a tailor-made uniform by a tailor still going in Elizabeth Street," she said.

But only months before the end of World War II, Ms Hare received news that shook her to her core.

Her brother's plane had gone down over Tokyo Bay on March 6, 1945.

"They weren't meant to be there. They had finished their tour of duty," Ms Hare said at her home in Braddon in the ACT.

"That's where they are now - at the bottom of Tokyo Bay. That's their resting place."

Words: Amy Martin

More than 55 years ago, a welding instructor told John Griffiths he'd never succeed if he kept asking so many stupid questions.

"I now know the answers to all those stupid questions, and he still doesn't," he said with a trademark belly laugh.

Rare is a mind as inquisitive as this 82-year-old's.

On top of welding experience, his "old coconut" holds how-to guides on 3D printing, computer programming, electrical engineering, motor mechanics and instrument repair, making him a modern-day renaissance man.

From his backyard workshop in Tamworth in NSW, Mr Griffiths is often found tinkering with whatever projects catch his fancy.

Though his biggest passion is repairing musical instruments for local students.

With nearly 500 instruments given new life by his hands, Mr Griffiths has a resounding impact on a region that prides itself on music.

While on a job to fix a fridge, Mr Griffiths fell in love with his now-wife, Helen.

He was too shy to ask her name and later checked with his electrician brother.

"Rita," his brother said, which is how he ended up accidentally asking out Helen's housemate.

Despite the mishap, John became friends with Helen and her housemates, and from there a decades-long love blossomed.

Now, regardless of how many instruments or machines he repairs, Mr Griffiths says Helen is the most precious thing in his life.

"I have the best wife in the world," he said.

Words: Jonathan Hawes

Cyril Simpson has proven that you are never too old to learn something new.

The 85-year-old, who had a successful career as a jockey, took up guitar after his daughter Kim bought him one for his 80th birthday.

"She bought me one and I thought, 'Well, I got to do my part now - I got to learn how to play it'," he said.

Before taking up the guitar, Mr Simpson was involved in the horse racing industry, including being part of the team that won the Melbourne Cup in 1972.

"I was in the stable where Piping Lane was and I used to ride Piping Lane and do work on the beach and round the little tracks," he said.

Mr Simpson, from Spreyton on Tasmania's north coast, said the win topped his racing career highlights.

"Riding the Grand National and riding my first win for my dad would probably be the [other] main highlights," he said.

But when asked what was most precious to him, Mr Simpson said it was his wife of more than 60 years, Shirley.

"The day we stood at the altar is a day I'll never forget," he said.

"We had some struggles with our health; Shirley was very ill at one stage.

"I'm lucky she's with me today."

Words: Rodney Woods

Gym is life for 82-year-old Ting Lovie.

Her health is deteriorating and she can feel herself slowing down. But ageing doesn't stop Mrs Lovie from working for a body that helps her live her best life.

"As you grow older you just want to be healthy," she says.

Exercise, especially lifting weights, helps her stay in shape and stay social. She said maintaining friendships and meeting new people was very important in older age.

Her fitness journey began after she retired from being a midwife. She's lived in "friendly" Canberra for most of her life after growing up in Malaysia and studying in England.

After retirement, Mrs Lovie wondered what she would look forward to every day.

But the answer was clear: she wants to live longer and pumping iron with her friends is what gets her out of bed in the morning.

Words: Bageshri Savyasachi

If you don't have much time, Aunty Lyn Warren can describe her life story and fierce love for the Collingwood Magpies in tandem.

"I grew up white and found out I was black, so who else would I barrack for?" Aunty Lyn, a Yorta Yorta and Wemba Wemba woman, said.

She was 43 years old when she discovered she was taken away from her Indigenous mother as a baby.

"My father took me away from her," Aunty Lyn said.

"He wasn't a nice person."

Her mother's death led to the discovery of her identity. But they never met.

Angry and confused, grappling with "all the lies that were told", Aunty Lyn found herself sitting in front of the television watching an Archie Roach special.

"He'd been talking to all these people about going back to their families and how they could connect," she said.

"And the rest is history".

Sitting on a lounge chair at her Bendigo home in regional Victoria, the wall behind her tells the story of the history since, dotted in between Elvis portraits and Magpies' merchandise.

Faces of the brothers, sisters, uncles and aunts who searched for her also fill the wall.

Honoured with an Order of Australia, Aunty Lyn has worked with other Aboriginal people separated from their families to ensure her culture carries on into the next generation.

Now 73, a few years ago she was able to reknit the threads back to her own origins.

"My family organised to take me up to where Mum is laid to rest," she said.

"And it was magic. It really, really was."

Words: Gabriel Rule

Bob Lubout treasures a slender booklet filled with memories of his childhood in Nazi-occupied Holland.

The 91-year-old decided to write his memoirs when the younger members of his family became curious about their great-grandparents, Mr Lubout's parents.

The book, Children at War (Lost Childhoods), recounts his mother and father's experience concealing a Jewish family - a mother, father, grandmother and three-year-old boy - in a cramped apartment for more than three years.

At just nine years old, Mr Lubout took on responsibilities far beyond his years, including sneaking the hidden family out for fresh air after curfew, hoping his youth might spare them German scrutiny.

"This was written after the realisation that my parents' grandchildren had no idea of the humanity, compassion, the bravery, and the suffering my grandparents had endured during their lives," Mr Lubout said.

"There should be many stories and they should be written so that the children of today know what went on."

His life has been marked by diversity, from serving as an electronic technician in the Dutch army in New Guinea to launching a TV and video repair business in the Western Australian capital of Perth.

He even piloted planes to inspect X-ray mining equipment in WA and lectured in electronics at Midland TAFE.

In 1953 he migrated to Sydney from Holland, eventually settling in Perth with his first wife. Together, they raised two sons, adopted a daughter, and fostered another.

Later in life he found love again with Sandra and, in 2013, they relocated to Tasmania.

Today Mr Lubout stays active in Launceston, walking two chihuahuas, tutoring in maths at the local library, and remaining engaged with current events and politics.

Words: Sandra Henderson

Nonagenarian great-grandmother Joy Veage has had her hands in the garden ever since she can remember.

As a child in 1940s war time, Joy, a twin and one of seven children, was moved to the country north of Gloucester NSW.

She lived in a one-room, rough-hewn wooden shack with no electricity or running water.

"We slept four in a bed and I had to check the rabbit traps every morning, otherwise we didn't eat meat," she said.

"My father gave me a small vegetable plot which I had to ration the water on because we only had limited tank supply, " the 90-year-old said.

"I've been gardening ever since."

Joy's middle name is Dusk and her twin's name is Dawn and she has also played tennis since her teens.

"I only stopped playing competition tennis last year because I can't run as hard as I used to," the southern Sydney resident said.

"But I still get out in the garden every day. There's always something to do."

John Veage

A fresh posy sits centre stage in this Central West NSW dining room.

Daphne Meyer fidgets in her chair, the wood creaking beneath her small frame.

"When I get nervous I twist my legs," the 103-year-old says.

"They're marigolds, though - they're as tough as nails."

Today's flowers are as brazen as Daphne a century ago as the girl who had mastered scaling the back fence in sneaky shortcuts to art class.

Horse-drawn to school in Tallwood, south of Orange, she kept a close eye on her two younger brothers in the sulky.

"I was the eldest; I was the boss," she said.

Her parents managed a farm and grew vegetables while selling eggs for sixpence a dozen.

Mrs Meyer has always cherished time outdoors, especially the vivid lilacs and butterscotch yellow blends of flowers in bloom.

"Everything in the garden seemed to be loved," she said.

"My mother would always put a lovely cloth over the old table in the kitchen after lunch - a green cloth - and we'd always have fresh flowers.

"I think the garden keeps you sane; [it] puts joy in your life."

The secret to living, she said, is laughter.

"That's what makes the world go 'round."

Words: Emily Gobourg

Violet Lousick's early memories are of a nomadic life camping across the countryside.

The threat of being separated from her family because of her mixed heritage was a constant fear.

As a child, she and other relatives were forced to live on an Aboriginal mission at Peak Hill near Parkes in the NSW Central West.

When she later moved to Dubbo Ms Lousick started working at the local hospital.

But it was in the market garden she later met her husband-to-be Bill Lousick, who had a Chinese background.

Her friends had told her to pick some peaches.

"So I climbed up a tree and Bill came along and spotted me and said 'get down'," she said.

They fell in love, married and had seven children.

Ms Lousick, a descendent of the Warramunga people, and her family grew vegetables to supply local communities and a contract with canned vegetable supplier Edgell earned them a solid living.

Gardening became a source of joy and solace for Ms Lousick. It was a way to connect with the earth - to nurture life from seeds to thriving plants.

Today, the 94-year-old lives in what she describes as "heaven" in the regional NSW town of Wellington where she spends time with her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

"I'm so happy and so lucky," she said.

Words: Ciara Bastow

Elizabeth O'Callaghan sits beneath a large portrait featuring the faces of Warrnambool's pioneers. All of them are men.

But the book she clutches tells a different story of the origins of this south-western Victorian city.

Silent Lives: Women of Warrnambool and district 1840-1910 is a tribute to the region's unsung heroes, including its Indigenous women.

Now 90, Mrs O'Callaghan retired to the area in 1991 after decades teaching across Australia and England, as well as traveling around the globe in school holidays.

As an active member of the local historical society she has pored over newspapers, diaries, letters, honour boards, photographs and teacher records documenting the coastal town's seafaring past.

"I've always been interested in the women because they do not feature in history. Our history, in any country really, is a history of the men," she told The Standard in 2017 when Silent Lives was first published.

"It completely excludes women. You can expunge people from history very easily."

Born in Colac in the 1930s, Mrs O'Callaghan was the second eldest of five children in a household shaped by her father's wartime service in New Guinea.

She has written dozens of booklets for the Warrnambool Historical Society.

Words: Anthony Brady

Ross "Roscoe" Taylor has spent more than 60 years patrolling beaches and wakes up every day feeling "bloody terrific".

He became a surf lifesaver at 11 and has only missed two seasons when he was the president of the Surf Life Saving Illawarra branch south of Sydney.

The 78-year-old said patrolling Thirroul Beach "keeps him feeling young".

"Now that I'm older I actually choose the type of surf I go out in. Whereas before it didn't matter what the surf was like, I'd just go out," he said.

The grandfather is retired but wakes up early every weekday for his 5am swim at the rock pools, a 50 year ritual.

"If I'm stressed I can dive in the pool and I feel just all the stress and tension just leaving the body," he said.

Mr Taylor held his board rescue medal in his hands with care.

He won the masters medal in the 2021-2022 championship just two months after his wife died.

"I was in a bad state ...and it just lifted me," he said.

Words: Marlene Even

Sitting in the art studio where bright dot paintings hang on crisp, white walls, Aunty Lorraine Brown said her works give Ken Done a run for his money.

The prolific Illawarra NSW artist is one of the east coast saltwater people.

Her artworks reflect the colours and images of her local environment, not the deserts, scrub and wildlife of the outback.

Three decades ago when she first started making public murals around Wollongong, people said: "Lorraine, you can't paint those colours on public art."

"We're east coast Kooris," Aunty Lorraine said. "I wasn't brought up in the desert. We told them to tell [artist] Ken Done to move over because Coomaditchie's in town."

The walls of the Coomaditchie United Aboriginal Corporation are adorned with colourful dot paintings telling Dreaming stories from the Illawarra - and they feature shades of blues, greens and yellow.

Art, she said, brings joy and conversation and it helps break down barriers.

As she approaches her 68th birthday, it's a time of reflection for Aunty Lorraine.

In Australia, an average boy born today can expect to live to the age of 81.3 years; girls are a little longer at 85.4 years.

But if you're Indigenous, the numbers are drastically different - at 71.6 years and 75.6 years respectively.

"It makes you feel pretty sad because we're losing a lot of people. Each week we're losing family," Aunty Lorraine said.

"There's a lot of Aboriginal people passing away."

Words: Nadine Morton