A Kiwi Home, a Flying Career

 

Arriving in New Zealand, we quickly began exploring the local area and were charmed by the names of our new surroundings: Takapuna, Mairangi Bay, Milford, Glenfield, Northcote, Birkenhead, Beach Haven, and Devonport. 

The North Shore had a coastline of golden beaches, and with children in tow, it felt like paradise waiting to be discovered. 

One of the first things that struck me was the cars. Back in England, we were used to seeing newer models on the roads, but in Auckland, it felt like stepping back in time. Most cars were 20 to 30 years old, and the one I drove on our first day was a creaky old Ford. Still, I was grateful for the freedom of having transport at all.

 I also needed to find work quickly.

While at Townsend Ferries in Dover, I had met a New Zealand family holidaying in England. They managed a hotel and restaurant in Takapuna and encouraged me to look them up if ever I came to their country. I had also written ahead to Air New Zealand, received a reply asking me to contact them upon arrival. 

Both connections proved invaluable. 

Within a week, I was working at the cocktail bar and restaurant of The Mon Desir Hotel, perched right on Takapuna Beach. 

It was glamorous, busy, and a perfect first step while I waited to hear from Air New Zealand about cabin crew training. 

The children settled quickly. Paul, Julia, and Kathryn were enrolled in the local primary school, while Phillip stayed home with Sheila. He was too young for school but a constant companion for his mother in those first months. 

We soon developed a rhythm of work, school, and family outings: picnics in the parks, long walks on the beach, and the thrill of discovering our new country. 

Not all surprises were new ones. 

Just a few days after arriving, we were walking down Takapuna High Street when I spotted a couple coming toward us. “Sheila, don’t they look familiar?” I asked. 

Her gasp confirmed it. They were the postmaster and his wife from Whitfield, the very people we had been seeing weekly at the post office in England to collect the children’s welfare benefits. It was uncanny — one of those chance meetings that make the world feel much smaller. 

Some weeks later, we received a letter from our solicitor in Dover confirming the sale of our house had gone through. The funds were safely transferred to our New Zealand bank account. 

This gave us the chance to apply for an import license for a new vehicle, a scheme that required proof of overseas funds but often created a small profit margin on resale.

 It was a practical way to step toward our next goal: buying a section of land, building a house. 

Air New Zealand

In late July, I received the letter I had been hoping for. Air New Zealand advised me that the next cabin crew training course would begin in August 1967.

I could hardly believe it.

After successfully completing the selection process, I entered the airline's six-week training school. It was both exciting and demanding, covering everything from passenger service and safety procedures to emergency drills and airline etiquette.

Graduation day was a proud occasion.

Every member of the course—both stewards and hostesses—received their certificates and uniforms. The men's uniform resembled that of a Royal Navy officer, complete with a smart dark jacket and a peaked cap. We were even given five pounds to buy a pair of black shoes.

The hostesses looked particularly elegant in their distinctive teal uniforms, which soon became recognised throughout the South Pacific.

Suddenly, I was part of the Air New Zealand family.

Many people jokingly referred to it as "Air England", because so many of the stewards had previously served in the British Merchant Navy. It made settling in much easier, and there was an immediate sense of friendship and camaraderie.

The work was everything I had hoped for.

Before long I was flying throughout the South Pacific and beyond—to Australia, Fiji, Tahiti, Singapore, Hong Kong and the United States. Flights were generally only three or four days in duration, although our Tahiti trips often included a glorious week's stopover. Being paid to spend time in places like Tahiti sometimes felt almost too good to be true.

My very first trip was to Fiji.

We stayed there for two nights, and on checking into the hotel each crew member received an away allowance together with meal money. For me, those allowances were a godsend. Sheila and I were still establishing ourselves in New Zealand, so I spent as little as possible and saved almost every dollar to bring home to the family.

One memory from that first trip has stayed with me all these years.

I had been told that, each evening, the crew usually gathered in the hotel lounge to relax, exchange stories and talk about the flight. Wanting to fit in, I dressed casually in a short-sleeved shirt, shorts, sandals.

...and long socks.

The moment I walked into the lounge, everyone burst into laughter.

As a newly arrived "Pom", I had absolutely no idea that sandals and long socks were considered a fashion disaster.

It was my first lesson in New Zealand—and airline—culture.

Needless to say, I never wore that combination again.

Building Our New Zealand Home

Within our first year in New Zealand, our imported car sold for a healthy profit. Together with a government housing loan, it gave us enough money to buy a section and begin building our first New Zealand home.

The builder was a Dutchman named Mr Sigglecow. He was a practical man with years of experience and, although he could be blunt, he was always willing to share his knowledge. He explained things in a way I could understand, often left me with jobs to complete while I was home between flights. Every task I finished myself helped reduce the overall cost of building the house.

One of those jobs was constructing a retaining wall along the driveway. It wasn't optional; it was one of the conditions attached to the government loan. Building it myself would save us a considerable amount of money.

The trouble was, finding the time.

My work with Air New Zealand meant I was often away for several days at a time, and when I was home the Auckland weather seemed determined to work against me. Rain repeatedly delayed the job, and progress was painfully slow.

One day, Mr Sigglecow arrived to inspect my efforts.

He looked at the half-finished wall, shook his head, and was far from impressed.

I explained that I had been away flying and that the rain had prevented me from getting much done.

He wasn't interested.

"If I stopped work every time it rained," he said, "nothing would ever get built. Stop being a pussy and get on with it!"

There wasn't much I could say.

So I got on with it.

Eventually, the retaining wall was finished—much to Mr Sigglecow's satisfaction, and, I have to admit, mine as well.

Looking back, he taught me an important lesson. Sometimes the only way to finish a difficult job is simply to keep going, regardless of the obstacles.

The house itself had three bedrooms, but from the beginning, Sheila and I planned for more than just ourselves. We included an extra bedroom and bathroom so that Henry could one day come and live with us if he wished.

Henry Comes to New Zealand

Long before our new house was finished, Sheila and I often talked about bringing Henry out to New Zealand to live with us. The children adored their grandfather and always looked forward to the weekends when he came to stay. He had become a very important part of our family, and we knew he was becoming increasingly lonely in England.

One of the great benefits of working for Air New Zealand was the generous staff travel concessions. They made it possible for us to offer Henry the opportunity to join us in New Zealand.

We wrote to him with our proposal, hoping he would accept.

After giving it a great deal of thought, he finally agreed.

Henry arrived a few days before our new house was ready. Rather than wait, we all squeezed into a small two-bedroom unit until we could move into our new home.

Looking back, it must have been rather crowded with Sheila, the children, Henry and me all living under the same roof, but somehow we managed. The children loved every minute of it. Having Grandad with us again made it feel like an adventure rather than an inconvenience.

At first, Henry seemed quiet and withdrawn. Living alone in England had clearly taken its toll, and it took him a little while to settle into his new surroundings. Gradually, though, the old Henry began to reappear. He made new friends, found work, and slowly rediscovered his confidence.

Seeing him laugh again and enjoy life brought enormous relief to all of us. It confirmed that inviting him to New Zealand had been one of the best decisions we had ever made.

Carolyn Arrives

One of the other privileges of working for Air New Zealand was being able to bring my mother out to New Zealand on discounted air fares.

She arrived just before the birth of our fifth child, giving Sheila wonderful support at exactly the right time.

On 26 November 1970, our New Zealand-born daughter, Carolyn, decided she was ready to make her entrance into the world.

Fate, however, had one more challenge in store.

I had been rostered on a day flight to Fiji.

Fortunately, everything went according to schedule, and I arrived home just in time to find Sheila ready to leave for the hospital.

There was just one problem.

Our faithful Ford Prefect had become hopelessly bogged in the mud at the bottom of our driveway.

Fortunately, a neighbor came to our rescue and drove us to the hospital.

There was no time to spare.

Carolyn was born within the hour.

Holding our beautiful New Zealand-born daughter for the first time, surrounded by Sheila, my mother, and the rest of the family, remains one of the happiest moments of my life.

Our family was complete.

A Parent's Worst Nightmare

Just a few days before Carolyn was born, we decided to spend a family day at the beach.

It was a lovely day, and the children couldn't wait to get into the water. Sheila and I watched them laughing and playing as the waves rolled gently onto the shore.

Then, in an instant, everything changed.

The sea suddenly became much rougher than we had realised.

I looked towards the water and saw Phillip's small body being washed onto the sand.

He wasn't moving.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Then instinct took over.

My Air New Zealand emergency training immediately came back to me. I knelt beside him and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, desperately willing him to breathe again.

Those few moments felt like an eternity.

Then, suddenly, he coughed.

Water came from his mouth.

He spluttered...

...and began to breathe.

I cannot begin to describe the relief that swept over us.

The ambulance quickly arrived and took Phillip to hospital for observation. Thankfully, he made a full recovery, and there were no lasting effects.

Before we left, however, one of the nurses spoke to me quite firmly about the importance of keeping a constant watch on young children near the sea.

At the time, her words stung.

Deep down, I knew she was right.

Even now, all these years later, I sometimes wake from that nightmare, seeing Phillip lying motionless on the sand.

It remains one of the most frightening moments of my life.

 

A Time of Contentment

Life gradually settled into a comfortable rhythm once again. Mum eventually returned to England, leaving us with wonderful memories of her visit and the special time she had shared with the children.

The children flourished in their new surroundings. Paul attended Rosmini College, while Julia, and later Kathryn, enrolled at Carmel College. In time, Phillip proudly followed his older brother to Rosmini. They were no longer simply English children living in New Zealand—they were becoming young New Zealanders.

At Air New Zealand, I was promoted to Senior Steward, taking responsibility for the economy cabin and supervising the cabin crew. It was a position I thoroughly enjoyed and one that gave me a real sense of achievement.

Meanwhile, at home, Sheila discovered a new passion. What began as a simple knitting machine and a hobby to occupy her spare time gradually developed into something much more ambitious. Neither of us realised it then, but those first garments were laying the foundations for what would eventually become Magner Knitwear.

As the years passed, our house filled with laughter, school uniforms, birthday parties, family meals, and the ordinary routines of everyday life. Looking back, those ordinary days were among the happiest we ever knew.

Without really noticing it, we had crossed an invisible line. We were no longer a family trying to find our place in a new country.

We belonged.

New Zealand had become our home, our children were thriving, our future looked brighter than ever before, and for the first time since leaving England, life felt settled.

Little did we know that the years ahead would bring opportunities—and challenges—we could never have imagined.