Through the pages of The Friendly Bay Islander, he quietly documented island life; the characters, milestones, triumphs, and tragedies. Yet for a man who spent decades telling other people’s stories, Gerard rarely told his own.
Which is why, since he quietly stepped away from the magazine five months ago, a question has been floating around the islands with surprising frequency. Where’s Gerard?
For a man who spent a lifetime asking the questions, answering them feels unusual.
“I rarely talk or write about myself,” he says. But Gerard’s story is worth telling.
For over sixty years, he worked across Australia and Papua New Guinea, owning and running newspapers and publications long before arriving on the islands to slow down. Gerard and his wife Glenda had just settled on Macleay Island when a local publication attempt fizzled out. With decades of publishing experience behind him, he put his retirement plans on hold and decided to start one himself.
The first issue of The Friendly Bay Islander was just 16 pages. But the community embraced it quickly, and local advertisers jumped onboard, recognising that islanders were starved for information and that this publication would be their lifeline. Within a short time, it grew to 40 pages, then 60, and sometimes as many as 80. For a small cluster of islands, it was remarkable. More importantly, Gerard had a purpose behind the pages.
“When we first came here the islands had a shocking reputation,” he says. “They were often written off as a sleepy backwater.”
Rather than feed the negativity that often drives news headlines, Gerard chose a different approach; tell positive stories about local people.
“In most people’s lives they get a birth notice when they’re born and a death notice when they die, and there’s no recognition in between,” he says.
So he went looking for the stories in between, and discovered the islands were full of them.
War veterans with incredible histories, colourful characters, volunteers, artists, and everyday residents who had quietly lived extraordinary lives. Slowly, the magazine helped shift how people saw the islands, and how islanders saw themselves.
Elissa, his daughter, has been by his side for most of it.
“She started helping me when she was 12, sorting photos and assisting with layouts,” Gerard says.
“She literally grew up in the pages of the magazine, and seeing her take over completely is one of the proudest moments of my life.”
Gerard also used the publication to campaign on issues affecting the community, including the push that eventually led to free inter-island ferry travel, something he believes changed the way the islands connected.
Now, the man who spent fifteen years documenting island life is enjoying something new; slowing the pace. These days, Gerard can usually be found working on the waterfront home he designed with Glenda, where the water sits just ten metres from the back verandah. Once it’s finished, the plan is simple; sit on the deck, enjoy the view, go for a daily walk, and maybe take a swim straight out the front.
“I’m looking forward to completely relaxing,” he says.
He admits he misses the interaction with the community, but slowing down hasn’t made him invisible. Islanders still stop for a chat, wave from passing cars, or call out across the street.
This year Gerard turns 80, and his ambitions for the next chapter are refreshingly simple; family, watching his eleven grandchildren grow, and enjoying the simple life.
Journalism wasn’t Gerard’s first claim to fame. Before the newspapers, he was a professional runner and still holds the record for winning the most professional “Gift” races in Australian history - thirteen in total.
When asked what he hopes the legacy of The Friendly Bay Islander will be, his answer is characteristically humble.
“I hope it made a bit of a difference,” he said, spoken with the quiet understatement of a man who once made a habit of finishing first.
Because in Gerard Thompson’s view, the Southern Moreton Bay Islands were always something special.
“The islands are the jewel in the crown of the Redlands; they just weren’t recognised,” he said.
Gerard now trades deadlines for deck chairs, newspapers for hammer and timber, and stories for daily swims. The familiar shouts of “Hey Gerard!” still make him smile. After a lifetime telling other people’s stories, he’s finally living his own; quietly, contentedly, and with that trademark mischief intact.
