Gwen Derrick, centre, the 'creative, tireless heartbeat' of the Wonthaggi Theatrical Group. By Karen Milkins-Hendry
This was Gwen Derrick’s 100th year and I was struck by the sheer amount of change and generational influence she faced, yet she always appeared so contemporary and ‘living in the moment’ to me.
Born on 5 November 1926 as one of eight children, Gwen grew up in Richmond. As a young child she was sent to live with a wealthier relative in Richmond who could take care of her. When she was 14 her mum came to collect her, took her out of school and she was sent to work in a factory.
At the age of 19 she married John (Jack) William Derrick on 6 April in 1946. She moved to Wonthaggi as a young war bride and out of the several jobs she had was most well known for her work in the pharmacy for 28 years.
This was Gwen Derrick’s 100th year and I was struck by the sheer amount of change and generational influence she faced, yet she always appeared so contemporary and ‘living in the moment’ to me.
Born on 5 November 1926 as one of eight children, Gwen grew up in Richmond. As a young child she was sent to live with a wealthier relative in Richmond who could take care of her. When she was 14 her mum came to collect her, took her out of school and she was sent to work in a factory.
At the age of 19 she married John (Jack) William Derrick on 6 April in 1946. She moved to Wonthaggi as a young war bride and out of the several jobs she had was most well known for her work in the pharmacy for 28 years.
A World War II returned serviceman, Gwen’s husband suffered what we might define now as post-traumatic stress disorder during a time where the words and supports were not there and life was very challenging for Gwen.
Like all long lives, Gwen’s life was not untouched by pain. There were losses, complexities, and sorrows she carried. But I am unashamedly going to ‘put in the spotlight’ her legacy as a founder and life-member of the Wonthaggi Theatrical Group. A thriving community group due to the work, talent and sheer ‘bloody-mindedness’ of people like Gwen.
We describe her as our creative, tireless heartbeat. She wasn’t just part of the show — she was part of the walls, the wings, the costumes, the chaos, the laughter, the standards, the welcome, and the memory of this group.
For 50 years she helped build not just productions but people. That’s why her passing has been felt so widely, and so deeply. The Wonthaggi Theatrical Group wasn’t just a pastime for her. It was a life. A long, generous, hilarious, hard-working, community-shaping life.
Like all long lives, Gwen’s life was not untouched by pain. There were losses, complexities, and sorrows she carried. But I am unashamedly going to ‘put in the spotlight’ her legacy as a founder and life-member of the Wonthaggi Theatrical Group. A thriving community group due to the work, talent and sheer ‘bloody-mindedness’ of people like Gwen.
We describe her as our creative, tireless heartbeat. She wasn’t just part of the show — she was part of the walls, the wings, the costumes, the chaos, the laughter, the standards, the welcome, and the memory of this group.
For 50 years she helped build not just productions but people. That’s why her passing has been felt so widely, and so deeply. The Wonthaggi Theatrical Group wasn’t just a pastime for her. It was a life. A long, generous, hilarious, hard-working, community-shaping life.
“You learn to lift your head, lift your diaphragm, say ‘Look at me!’ You learn a whole new body language. You’re engaging with the audience; you’re saying ‘Look at the fun we’re having!’ A little bit of that stays with me in my daily life.” |
When we shared the news of Gwen’s passing through social media, the response was immediate and overwhelming. It reminded us of something we already knew, but to see the avalanche of commentary cemented Gwen’s influence as reaching far beyond one stage, one cast, or one era.
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Founding member of WTG David Sims remembers Gwen as his closest friend, ally, creator, supporter, cheerleader. Her energy was limitless and her belief unstoppable.
“She would turn up early, stay late, do the job nobody wanted, and somehow still be ready with some acerbic comment to keep you on your toes and boy – for an actress, her poker face was not great when something displeased her. The set jaw, determined tone and a look that said ‘I’m going to go and do that anyway’!” Memories of watching her on her daily walk to the shops with a green, string sack strung over her shoulders – she’d never take you up on a lift. The bag would go there empty and come home full of essentials, bargains and indulgences. No doubt some of them secreted away into the mysterious ‘prize cupboard’ in Gwen’s house from which many a raffle hamper for fundraising was created. She did every role imaginable — performing, directing, supporting, organising, sewing, encouraging, fixing, carrying, advocating, fundraising, promoting. If there was a job to do, Gwen had done it, would do it, or had already found three better ways to do it. |
Early in April 1980 came an anonymous phone call: “If you want to save your costumes, get them out.” "We salvaged some things; got quite a few costumes out. That night at about 3.a.m. I woke up and saw this bright light outside. "It was worse than a death in the family, watching 11 years of our lives burn … the work, achievements, failures, camaraderie, burning in front of us." That morning, David Sims, unaware of the fire, was walking up Graham Street to his office when he saw the charred remains and Gwen sitting on the pavement opposite. They sat together, he in his business suit, and stunned and unbelieving, looked at the ruin. Gwen Derrick, We Can Do That |
If you wanted to get something off the ground, Gwen was your person. No idea was too small or too big. When the sets were too high to build in the Green Room, Gwen got permission for them to be built at the State Coal Mine and then painted them for good measure.
Even though she was officially off the committee in her last independent years we held our meetings in Gwen’s unit, with everyone squeezed into the lounge room among floral cushions and lace cloths, while Gwen perched on her stool, surrounded by champagne, cheese cubes and potato chips giving opinions, advice, encouragement — and loving every minute of it.
Her mentorship is often discussed. I feel the best way to describe it is that she made people feel they belonged in the room — and then expected something of them once they were there.
A reflection from one of the young people she assisted – Simon Russell.
“I first met Gwen about 35 years ago and even then I thought she was ancient. Mind you, I was 15 at the time so everyone seemed ancient. I had found myself mysteriously entangled in a production of WTG’s Mikado and had no idea what I was doing, but Gwen seemed to take sympathy on me and very quickly huddled me under her protective wing – ensuring I didn’t meet David Sim’s wrath when I inevitably forgot my score (which I couldn’t read and so seemed somewhat superfluous), forgot my choreography (always) or began to look completely bewildered mid scene.
“As she rushed from the costume department (the small room next door) into the rehearsal room, she always flashed me a smile and a reassuring wink. She told me I was tall, dark and handsome – which I loved but I’m sure she said that to all the boys – and ensured that I got the most comfortable Japanese style and culturally inappropriate wooden thongs – or at least she TOLD me that I had the most comfortable Japanese style and culturally inappropriate wooden thongs. Backstage she introduced me to lemon in tea, taught me a thing or two about stage makeup (the old wax sticks that took weeks to remove) and chatted to me as if I belonged, which as a 15 year old kid in a new world, meant everything.”
Her mentorship is often discussed. I feel the best way to describe it is that she made people feel they belonged in the room — and then expected something of them once they were there.
A reflection from one of the young people she assisted – Simon Russell.
“I first met Gwen about 35 years ago and even then I thought she was ancient. Mind you, I was 15 at the time so everyone seemed ancient. I had found myself mysteriously entangled in a production of WTG’s Mikado and had no idea what I was doing, but Gwen seemed to take sympathy on me and very quickly huddled me under her protective wing – ensuring I didn’t meet David Sim’s wrath when I inevitably forgot my score (which I couldn’t read and so seemed somewhat superfluous), forgot my choreography (always) or began to look completely bewildered mid scene.
“As she rushed from the costume department (the small room next door) into the rehearsal room, she always flashed me a smile and a reassuring wink. She told me I was tall, dark and handsome – which I loved but I’m sure she said that to all the boys – and ensured that I got the most comfortable Japanese style and culturally inappropriate wooden thongs – or at least she TOLD me that I had the most comfortable Japanese style and culturally inappropriate wooden thongs. Backstage she introduced me to lemon in tea, taught me a thing or two about stage makeup (the old wax sticks that took weeks to remove) and chatted to me as if I belonged, which as a 15 year old kid in a new world, meant everything.”
“There’s a Stanislavskian quote: ‘Love the art in yourself, not yourself in the art.’ This to me was Gwen. A fierce champion of the arts especially within local community and the best of allies to those within it. |
That story is not just about Simon. It is about countless people. I started seriously working alongside Gwen when I was 40 which I now realise means she was 80 – I had no idea! I just thought of her as a ‘vaguely older’ person. Her ability to connect with all ages and be a truly valued part of a production team for such a sustained period of time spoke to a deep sense of service, talent and joy in building community.
She made people feel they belonged. She made them feel capable. She made them feel that their ideas were worth backing, their talent was worth nurturing, and their place in the room was secure.
That sort of encouragement can alter the course of a life. It certainly altered mine. Gwen was incredibly important and influential in my life. I know I am not alone in that.
She made people feel they belonged. She made them feel capable. She made them feel that their ideas were worth backing, their talent was worth nurturing, and their place in the room was secure.
That sort of encouragement can alter the course of a life. It certainly altered mine. Gwen was incredibly important and influential in my life. I know I am not alone in that.
There are many people whose confidence, whose sense of belonging, whose love of theatre, whose courage to lead, or perform, or direct, or stay involved, can be traced back in some way to Gwen Derrick. It’s called legacy.
Dementia is a cruel closing chapter to a life but it does not erase the wit, the stamina, the humour, the work, the generosity, the loyalty, the mentorship, or the force of personality that came before it. It did not erase Gwen.
When we were together we talked non-stop about theatre and life - we never tired of it.
She whispered to me just before she moved into Rose Lodge that she was ‘passing the baton on’ – that was it, no fanfare, just a sentence and two beady eyes boring into mine. Message clear - it was up to the next committee and the next generation. The most proud and the most terrified I’ve ever felt.
The curtain may come down on a life, but not on its impact. Gwen’s impact remains – in this group, in this town, in the young people she lifted up, and in all of us who were changed by knowing her.
Take your bow, Gwen. We will remember you. We will laugh about you. We will tell your stories. And we will do our very best to be worthy of the baton.
Karen Milkins-Hendry is president of the Wonthaggi Theatrical Group. This is an edited version of her eulogy for Gwen.
Dementia is a cruel closing chapter to a life but it does not erase the wit, the stamina, the humour, the work, the generosity, the loyalty, the mentorship, or the force of personality that came before it. It did not erase Gwen.
When we were together we talked non-stop about theatre and life - we never tired of it.
She whispered to me just before she moved into Rose Lodge that she was ‘passing the baton on’ – that was it, no fanfare, just a sentence and two beady eyes boring into mine. Message clear - it was up to the next committee and the next generation. The most proud and the most terrified I’ve ever felt.
The curtain may come down on a life, but not on its impact. Gwen’s impact remains – in this group, in this town, in the young people she lifted up, and in all of us who were changed by knowing her.
Take your bow, Gwen. We will remember you. We will laugh about you. We will tell your stories. And we will do our very best to be worthy of the baton.
Karen Milkins-Hendry is president of the Wonthaggi Theatrical Group. This is an edited version of her eulogy for Gwen.