Setting Sail for a New Life
Leaving the UK: The Journey Begins
The decision had been made months before, yet the reality only truly hit as we packed the last of our belongings. I remember standing in the half-empty rooms of Mayfield Road, listening to the echoes of a life we were leaving behind, and feeling a strange mixture of relief, fear, and anticipation. In a few short days, the channel would lie between us and everything familiar. Beyond it, a new life waited β unknown, uncertain, but ours to shape.
The turning point had been when Sitmar Travel Agency had sent the letter in July 1966. We finally had the chance we had been waiting for when the SS Australis, which was leaving Southampton on January 26, 1967, offered berths for our whole family. We accepted unquestionably and got to work making plans right away. After giving notice at Townsend, we started the process of selling our house. We started packing and getting our families ready for the news. Everything was coming together perfectly, and every day increased the excitement for the trip ahead. We stayed with my mother the day before we left. I went down to Dover Priory station in the afternoon to pay for our trip to Southampton and check the train schedule. The deadline for our arrival was 4:30 p.m. To get us all, along with the luggage, to London in time for the morning train, I also reserved a taxi. We were surrounded by family that evening as we spent our last hours in the UK.
The following morning was a day of conflicting feelings. It was more difficult to say goodbye than I had thought. All the commotion and attention seemed to be confusing the kids. Being the oldest, Paul seemed to have a more profound understanding of what was going on, but Julia, Kathryn, and Phillip found it all to be quite unfamiliar and overwhelming. As we got into the taxi and headed to the station, there were hugs, tears, and a lingering sense of closure.
At Dover Priory, the first snag of our immigration journey appeared. Having explained our situation to the porter, he informed me that the train we were boarding was bound for London Cannon Street, not Charing Cross as I had been told. We were meant to make our connection to Southampton at Charing Cross. My heart sank β the very first stage of our journey was already going wrong. I was livid that I had been misinformed, despite paying for the entire route to Southampton. Thankfully, the station master was apologetic and proactive. He arranged for a taxi to meet us at Cannon Street and take us directly to Charing Cross in time for the connection. On the journey up to London, at every station stop, a British Rail employee came to find us, reassuring me that the arrangements were in place and the taxi would be waiting. Thanks to their kindness, we made it to Charing Cross, caught our connection, and arrived in Southampton on time.
Boarding the Australis was a moment I will never forget. As we walked up the gangplank, an officer greeted us by name, checked us off his list, and directed us to our cabin. A young crew member led the way, though his English was poor. From his awkwardness, it was clear this was his first day aboard β in fact, we soon learned it was the first day for much of the crew. The reason soon became clear. The Chandris Company had recently re-registered the ship under the Panamanian flag, and the Greek crew had refused to sail under it. They had walked off in protest, leaving the company to scramble for replacements. Our ship was embarking on her voyage with an almost entirely new crew still finding their feet. Despite the chaos, we found our cabin: spacious enough for the six of us, with its bathroom and toilet. Our bags soon arrived, though we left them unpacked, eager instead to join the crowds gathering on the upper deck.Β
The atmosphere was electric. Coloured streamers floated down from the rails, caught by people on the quay below. A band played β though from where we stood, it was difficult to make out the tune. People shouted messages of farewell across the widening gap between ship and shore. I stood there holding Sheilaβs hand, watching as the land of my birth slipped further from view. It was a powerful moment β thrilling, sobering, and heavy with responsibility. I could not help but ask myself whether I had made the right decision, uprooting Sheila and our four children for a life half a world away. Yet, as we explored the decks and settled the children, a wave of reassurance came. I spotted a familiar face: the young woman from Sitmar Travel who had sold us our tickets. She was aboard to Piraeus, sent to gain first-hand experience of the ship. Somehow, seeing her there β a small thread linking our old life to the new β made me feel we were on the right path. I never shared that with Sheila. Instead, I kept it to myself and focused on guiding my family into the unknown, ready to face whatever lay ahead on the long journey to New Zealand.
As the gangway was pulled away and the quay grew distant, I felt a moment of stillness settle over us. The children were laughing now, unaware of the enormity of what lay ahead, and Sheila squeezed my hand with quiet reassurance.Β
For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine the life waiting for us beyond the horizon: unfamiliar, challenging, but full of possibility. Somewhere in the distance, the sea stretched endlessly, carrying us forward β and for the first time in many months, I felt that we were truly moving toward our future.Β
The turning point had been when Sitmar Travel Agency had sent the letter in July 1966. We finally had the chance we had been waiting for when the SS Australis, which was leaving Southampton on January 26, 1967, offered berths for our whole family. We accepted unquestionably and got to work making plans right away. After giving notice at Townsend, we started the process of selling our house. We started packing and getting our families ready for the news. Everything was coming together perfectly, and every day increased the excitement for the trip ahead. We stayed with my mother the day before we left. I went down to Dover Priory station in the afternoon to pay for our trip to Southampton and check the train schedule. The deadline for our arrival was 4:30 p.m. To get us all, along with the luggage, to London in time for the morning train, I also reserved a taxi. We were surrounded by family that evening as we spent our last hours in the UK.
The following morning was a day of conflicting feelings. It was more difficult to say goodbye than I had thought. All the commotion and attention seemed to be confusing the kids. Being the oldest, Paul seemed to have a more profound understanding of what was going on, but Julia, Kathryn, and Phillip found it all to be quite unfamiliar and overwhelming. As we got into the taxi and headed to the station, there were hugs, tears, and a lingering sense of closure.
At Dover Priory, the first snag of our immigration journey appeared. Having explained our situation to the porter, he informed me that the train we were boarding was bound for London Cannon Street, not Charing Cross as I had been told. We were meant to make our connection to Southampton at Charing Cross. My heart sank β the very first stage of our journey was already going wrong. I was livid that I had been misinformed, despite paying for the entire route to Southampton. Thankfully, the station master was apologetic and proactive. He arranged for a taxi to meet us at Cannon Street and take us directly to Charing Cross in time for the connection. On the journey up to London, at every station stop, a British Rail employee came to find us, reassuring me that the arrangements were in place and the taxi would be waiting. Thanks to their kindness, we made it to Charing Cross, caught our connection, and arrived in Southampton on time.
Boarding the Australis was a moment I will never forget. As we walked up the gangplank, an officer greeted us by name, checked us off his list, and directed us to our cabin. A young crew member led the way, though his English was poor. From his awkwardness, it was clear this was his first day aboard β in fact, we soon learned it was the first day for much of the crew. The reason soon became clear. The Chandris Company had recently re-registered the ship under the Panamanian flag, and the Greek crew had refused to sail under it. They had walked off in protest, leaving the company to scramble for replacements. Our ship was embarking on her voyage with an almost entirely new crew still finding their feet. Despite the chaos, we found our cabin: spacious enough for the six of us, with its bathroom and toilet. Our bags soon arrived, though we left them unpacked, eager instead to join the crowds gathering on the upper deck.Β
The atmosphere was electric. Coloured streamers floated down from the rails, caught by people on the quay below. A band played β though from where we stood, it was difficult to make out the tune. People shouted messages of farewell across the widening gap between ship and shore. I stood there holding Sheilaβs hand, watching as the land of my birth slipped further from view. It was a powerful moment β thrilling, sobering, and heavy with responsibility. I could not help but ask myself whether I had made the right decision, uprooting Sheila and our four children for a life half a world away. Yet, as we explored the decks and settled the children, a wave of reassurance came. I spotted a familiar face: the young woman from Sitmar Travel who had sold us our tickets. She was aboard to Piraeus, sent to gain first-hand experience of the ship. Somehow, seeing her there β a small thread linking our old life to the new β made me feel we were on the right path. I never shared that with Sheila. Instead, I kept it to myself and focused on guiding my family into the unknown, ready to face whatever lay ahead on the long journey to New Zealand.
As the gangway was pulled away and the quay grew distant, I felt a moment of stillness settle over us. The children were laughing now, unaware of the enormity of what lay ahead, and Sheila squeezed my hand with quiet reassurance.Β
For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine the life waiting for us beyond the horizon: unfamiliar, challenging, but full of possibility. Somewhere in the distance, the sea stretched endlessly, carrying us forward β and for the first time in many months, I felt that we were truly moving toward our future.Β