There’s a quiet kind of magic that sits patiently in lived in lounges, in old photographs, in stories that stretch across generations. Those stories are tucked into all corners of island life. They belong to the people who built things before they were needed, who saw possibility where others saw paddocks, and who gave more than they ever asked for in return. Margaret Broome is one of those stories.
At 94, you might expect gentleness, perhaps a slowing down. What you don’t expect is the sharp and unwavering spark. Wrapped in a warm knitted jacket, a blanket draped across her knees, Margaret sits beside a coffee table that reads like a time capsule. An old radio with a history of its own. A stapled document titled “A Brief History of the Gows.” A well worn book, “A History of George Gow, the Uncrowned King of Barellan” - her grandfather. Every object within arm’s reach tells you one thing very clearly; this is a woman who comes from stories, and has spent a lifetime adding to them.
Margaret’s life stretches across science and activism, motherhood and politics, risk and resilience. She worked with CSIRO studying sunspots in the early days of radio physics. She ran for political office, more than once, determined to see women better represented in government, even when it meant going against the expectations of the time, and her own family.
She established kindergartens in communities that didn’t yet have them. Built a community centre with her own money, a decision so bold it was once mistaken for madness. She’s lived through decades of change, raised a family that now spans children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, and never quite lost her appetite for starting something new.
“I’ve always had plenty of interests,” she says. And it shows.
But perhaps the most telling thing about Margaret isn’t her resume or what she’s achieved, it’s what she’s given away.
In 2015, Margaret made a decision that would quietly shape the future of Russell Island. She donated a parcel of her land to council; not for profit, not for recognition, but to protect it. To ensure it would never become just another row of houses. Instead, it would become something far more valuable; a shared space. A park for children to play, for seniors to move, for families to gather. She had a name for it too. Peninsular Park.
“I lived in the Redlands before moving over and I bought land here because I wanted to build a mud brick house, something environmentally friendly,” Margaret says.
“My aunt and uncle had one near Griffith, all our big family celebrations were held there and it stayed with me.”
“That was close to 26 years ago now.”
When asked what has changed since then, she doesn’t hesitate.
“The population has grown enormously and when I first came, most of the roads were dirt; now they’re much improved,” she said.
“A seniors group was started at the community centre, called Young at Heart. We meet weekly for bingo, lunch and conversation. It’s important as you get older, those connections matter more than anything.”
She talks about the islands with a kind of grounded affection.
“The peace, the quiet, the friendships. There’s an understanding between people here, especially as you get older. You look out for each other.”
And like many lives built across decades, hers is marked by turns that didn’t always go to plan.
“Everything’s been a mistake,” she adds without regret.
“But I wouldn’t change anything, I’ve enjoyed the consequences of my decisions.”
The land she donated sits as a quiet extension of that instinct. A place where children will grow up without ever knowing that their playground exists because a woman once decided that community mattered more than ownership. Because more than a decade on, there’s still no promised playground, no lasting recognition, not even a sign.
Council has confirmed that the land on Oasis Drive was, at the time of its donation by Margaret, intended to be rezoned for open space and park purposes. The site, now named Canaipa Point Drive Park despite Margaret’s own wishes for its naming, sits within what Council describes as a design phase, with any future upgrades tied to the usual rhythm of capital funding and annual budget allocation. Interpretive signage, acknowledging both the site’s former life as an avocado farm and Margaret’s contribution, is also noted as part of those future works.
What was promised in principle is still waiting for delivery in practice. There is no clear timeframe attached and no visible finish line on the horizon. In reality, it comes down to budget priorities and so far, those priorities have left this site sitting quietly at the back of the queue.
So this is a call out. If you’ve got skills; wood burning, metalwork, sign writing, design; or you just want to be part of something that actually means something, this is your moment. Let’s come together as a community and create something worthy of Margaret Broome. A sign, a marker, a legacy she can feel, even if she can no longer see it.
Because while Council decides when (or if) that playground arrives, we can decide right now who we are as a community. And we can show up and make this happen! If you want to be involved, email cindy@silentriotcollective.com.au
A final note from Margaret: “Breathe deeply, and drink beer and whiskey occasionally.” At 94, it feels less like advice and more like a philosophy well tested.
And on an island full of stories, Margaret Broome’s is one that will echo not just in memory, but in the laughter of generations still to come.
