- Reality TV producer Danika was filming her grandmother when she discovered a whole side to her she’d never known
- The experience led to a lightbulb moment – and a new way to preserve family memories
- Today, Danika reveals how her films capture living history and become treasured gifts between generations
Here Danika Armytage, 39, tells her own story in her own words.
Watching my Granny Halimah, then 85, sip her wine, it gave me an idea.
‘Granny, would you mind if I asked you questions about your life and filmed you?’ I asked.
‘Good heavens,’ she laughed. ‘What on earth for?’
‘I want to know the three most influential moments of your life,’ I replied.
As a producer in reality TV, I’d travelled all over Australia, working on shows like Ready Steady Cook, Australia’s Next Top Model, and House Rules.
I was home on a short break, and Granny and I were visiting my dad, Livingston, 60, and stepmother, Miyako, 61, in Glebe, NSW.
Part of my job was to get people to open up on the most interesting facts about themselves and their experiences.
With time on my hands, I thought it’d be a wonderful opportunity to learn more about Granny’s upbringing and working life before it was too late.
When she agreed, I was over the moon.
The next day, we set up my work camera in Dad’s guest room.
Granny brushed her hair, settled into a chair and began.
‘I was 12 when World War II broke out. We were evacuated from London to Oxford,’ she said.
‘Then, when I was older, I came back and drove army trucks. Imagine that!’
It didn’t surprise me.
Granny could do anything!
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But it was what she said next that really gave me pause.
‘I worked on the code-breaking machines at Bletchley Park,’ she revealed, referring to the group of men and women employed to decode German messages during the war.
I was shocked.
My granny had been part of one of history’s greatest covert operations, and I’d had no idea.
‘It was a different world then. No-one had much of anything but life was simple and happy.’
She also talked about meeting my grandfather, Sofjan, then 20, at art school in 1947.
‘When the war ended, we moved to Australia as Ten Pound Poms,’ she said, alluding to the post-war assisted immigration scheme.
‘We both got jobs as art teachers and never left,’ she continued.
‘It was a different world then. No-one had much of anything but life was simple and happy.’
When Grandpa died in 2005, after 58 wonderful years together, Granny was heartbroken.
She lived alone for a while, then moved in with one of her children.
After an hour, I knew more about Granny than I had in my 26 years.
I was in awe of her bravery, not only during the war, but having the courage to start anew in a foreign land.
I left the recording in a drawer to be revisited at a later date.
Sadly, six years later, in September 2018, Granny passed away, aged 91.
It inspired me to go through the footage, turning it into short films to share with family.
‘Watching the video of Mum is like having her back for a while,’ my aunt Lydia, 62, said.
Dad was very proud too.
‘I finally understand what you do, and how important it is,’ he smiled.
Two months later, I met Nick, then 32, through mutual friends.
When I showed him the film after dating for a year, he was touched.
‘I feel like I know your Granny too,’ he said.
‘You could do this for other families.’
I was flattered but, busy with work, I pushed the suggestion aside.
When we welcomed our daughter, Matilda, in February 2021, our schedules became even trickier to manage.
Falling pregnant again in January 2023, I wasn’t sure how I could keep juggling work and family life.
That’s when Granny’s words echoed back to me.
I felt the process brought me closer to the whole family.
‘Find work that lets you be present as a mother,’ she’d said in the interview.
I knew she was right – my kids would only be little for so long.
So at eight months along, I stopped accepting work which often required me to travel, and launched my own business, Big Stories Little Films, creating personal documentaries for families.
Our son Atticus was born in October.
When he was three months old, I set about filming Dad, my stepmum, and my mum Lisa, 69, as well as Nick’s parents Penny, 69, and Jim, 71.
Like with Granny, I felt the process brought me closer to the whole family.
‘You have boundless potential,’ my dad said, encouraging the younger generations in our clan to follow their passions.
Nick was impressed.
‘Your dad really opened up to you,’ he smiled.
My first official client outside our family was fellow TV producer, Leonie, 34, who I’d worked with on My Kitchen Rules.
‘Can you make one for my dad?’ she asked.
She’d lost her mum to cancer and wanted to capture her dad’s life story.
It was an honour getting to know him, and Leonie was so grateful with the finished product.
Over the next few months, I filmed war survivors, teachers, farmers, restaurateurs and immigrants, as word of my business spread.
One of my favourite films was about siblings Raymond and Jennice Kersh, who ran the iconic Edna’s Table restaurant in Sydney, and were pioneers in serving indigenous ingredients.
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Their recollections of Pyrmont in the 1940s were a perfect example of how these films capture living history.
The films are often a gift between family members.
People often tell me that they learn new things about their loved ones, and how they regret not having a film like this for other family members who have already passed away.
When my kids, Matilda, now four, and Atticus, two, recently watched Granny’s film, Matilda giggled.
‘That’s my great-granny!’ she beamed, recognising her from her photos.
I was glad that even though Granny may be gone, I’m able to continue her legacy of love through film.
That’s the greatest gift of all.
