A Kiwi Home, a Flying Career, and a New Chapter for Our Family
Auckland in the 1960sAuckland, is based around 2 large harbours, is a major city in the north of New Zealand’s North Island. In the centre, the iconic Sky Tower has views of Viaduct Harbour, which is full of superyachts and lined with bars and cafes. Auckland Domain, the city’s oldest park, is based around an extinct volcano and home to the formal Wintergardens. Near Downtown, Mission Bay Beach has a seaside promenade
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 and 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 licence 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 and building a house.
In late July, Air New Zealand wrote with the news I had been hoping for: the next cabin crew intake would begin in August 1967. After a successful induction, I entered the six-week training school and proudly passed. Suddenly, I was part of Air New Zealand’s flying family. Many joked it should be called “Air England” because so many of the stewards came from the British Merchant Navy.
The work was exhilarating. I flew around the South Pacific and beyond — Australia, Singapore, Hong Kong, Fiji, Tahiti, and the USA. In Los Angeles, Air New Zealand had a base team handling the Honolulu–LA sector, and passengers continued to London with British Airways. Trips were never too long — usually three or four days — except for Tahiti, which gave us a glorious week in paradise. Being paid to live in tropical sunshine felt like a dream.
Within that first year, our imported car sold well, giving us the funds to purchase a section of land and, with the help of a government loan, begin building a home. We even designed it with an extra bedroom and bathroom for Henry, Sheila’s father, so he could live with us. At first, Henry was withdrawn, carrying troubles from his years alone in England, but over time he warmed again, making friends and even finding work and companionship. Seeing him smile again brought great relief to us all.
The privilege of discounted airline fares also allowed us to bring my mother to stay. She arrived just before Sheila gave birth to our New Zealand-born child, Carolyn, on 26 November 1970. I was on a Fiji day flight that morning but made it home just in time to take Sheila to the hospital. In a neighbour’s car after our Ford Prefect became stuck in the mud at the bottom of the driveway.
Carolyn arrived within the hour. Holding our Kiwi baby in my arms, surrounded by Sheila, Mum, and the children, was one of the happiest moments of my life. But not all moments were joyful. Just ten days before Carolyn’s birth, we took a picnic to the beach.
The children ran to the water, but soon the waves turned dangerous. Suddenly, I saw Phillip’s small body washed up on the sand, not breathing. Panic gripped me, but my Air NZ training guided my hands. I performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, desperately willing him back. At last, he coughed, sputtered, and came to life. The ambulance took him for observation, and though he recovered fully, I never forgot the nurse’s stern words about responsibility. She was right. Even now, I sometimes wake with that nightmare.
Life settled again after that. Mum eventually returned to England, and the children grew into their new schools — Paul at Rossmini College, Julia and later Kathryn at Carmel College, and Phillip eventually joining his brother.
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 and 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 licence 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 and building a house.
In late July, Air New Zealand wrote with the news I had been hoping for: the next cabin crew intake would begin in August 1967. After a successful induction, I entered the six-week training school and proudly passed. Suddenly, I was part of Air New Zealand’s flying family. Many joked it should be called “Air England” because so many of the stewards came from the British Merchant Navy.
The work was exhilarating. I flew around the South Pacific and beyond — Australia, Singapore, Hong Kong, Fiji, Tahiti, and the USA. In Los Angeles, Air New Zealand had a base team handling the Honolulu–LA sector, and passengers continued to London with British Airways. Trips were never too long — usually three or four days — except for Tahiti, which gave us a glorious week in paradise. Being paid to live in tropical sunshine felt like a dream.
Within that first year, our imported car sold well, giving us the funds to purchase a section of land and, with the help of a government loan, begin building a home. We even designed it with an extra bedroom and bathroom for Henry, Sheila’s father, so he could live with us. At first, Henry was withdrawn, carrying troubles from his years alone in England, but over time he warmed again, making friends and even finding work and companionship. Seeing him smile again brought great relief to us all.
The privilege of discounted airline fares also allowed us to bring my mother to stay. She arrived just before Sheila gave birth to our New Zealand-born child, Carolyn, on 26 November 1970. I was on a Fiji day flight that morning but made it home just in time to take Sheila to the hospital. In a neighbour’s car after our Ford Prefect became stuck in the mud at the bottom of the driveway.
Carolyn arrived within the hour. Holding our Kiwi baby in my arms, surrounded by Sheila, Mum, and the children, was one of the happiest moments of my life. But not all moments were joyful. Just ten days before Carolyn’s birth, we took a picnic to the beach.
The children ran to the water, but soon the waves turned dangerous. Suddenly, I saw Phillip’s small body washed up on the sand, not breathing. Panic gripped me, but my Air NZ training guided my hands. I performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, desperately willing him back. At last, he coughed, sputtered, and came to life. The ambulance took him for observation, and though he recovered fully, I never forgot the nurse’s stern words about responsibility. She was right. Even now, I sometimes wake with that nightmare.
Life settled again after that. Mum eventually returned to England, and the children grew into their new schools — Paul at Rossmini College, Julia and later Kathryn at Carmel College, and Phillip eventually joining his brother.
I advanced to Senior Steward, managing the economy cabin and crew, while Sheila built a new passion at home: her knitting machine. What began as a hobby soon took shape into something much larger — the foundation of what would become Magner Knitwear.
As the years passed, the North Shore became more than just a place we lived — it became home. The children grew quickly, each finding their rhythm in school and the wider community, while Sheila’s quiet hobby of knitting began to blossom into something far bigger. I, too, found my stride at Air New Zealand, balancing long flights with the stability of home life. With every passing day, the routines of work, school, and family intertwined, and the small triumphs — a child’s first steps, a house shaping into a true home, a growing business — quietly marked the passage from survival to belonging. It was in these steady, unassuming moments that we began to truly feel the fruits of the life we had fought so hard to build.
As the years passed, the North Shore became more than just a place we lived — it became home. The children grew quickly, each finding their rhythm in school and the wider community, while Sheila’s quiet hobby of knitting began to blossom into something far bigger. I, too, found my stride at Air New Zealand, balancing long flights with the stability of home life. With every passing day, the routines of work, school, and family intertwined, and the small triumphs — a child’s first steps, a house shaping into a true home, a growing business — quietly marked the passage from survival to belonging. It was in these steady, unassuming moments that we began to truly feel the fruits of the life we had fought so hard to build.