From a Feudal Isle to Aotearoa

By Christine Davies Curtis

After seven years of running their guest house and smallholding on the tiny feudal Island of Sark in the British Channel Islands, Chris and Ken Davies decided to have a two-year break.

In 1972 they packed their suitcases and booked passage, with young son Roy,to New Zealand, calling at many exotic places en route.
Arriving in Auckland, they bought a Bedford 18cwt delivery van and the three Davies set off to drive all over the two Islands, from Cape Reinga to Stewart Island, living mainly in the van.

'From a Feudal Isle to Aotearoa'is the second in a trilogy. The first 'So You Want to Live on Sark' tells of the Davies Sark adventures. This book starts where the other finishes and tells the true story of the trip out by ship, the many places visited and jobs the Davies took on the way, from Matron of a small Auckland hospital, to running a motel and giving horse and carriage rides, in the South Island.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christine Davies Curtis
• Release date: Apr 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458026491

Christine Davies Curtis

Chris Davies Curtis now lives in the north of Auckland, in Whangaparaoa, Auckland, New Zealand to be near son Roy and family. Much of her very adventurous life has been spent as a community nurse, in London, the tiny feudal Island of Sark in the British Channel Isles, and New Zealand. She also ran a guest house and smallholding in Sark and toured New Zealand for two years in a Bedford van. She has travelled extensively, and now is writing about her experiences, self-illustrating her books.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Here we go again, I thought, as the cabin heaved around me and I hung onto the bedpost, will I never learn that I am just not cut out for sea travel?

I remembered back to the day we arrived in the British Channel Isles, when we had moved to the tiny feudal Island of Sark, seven years previously. The overnight ferry from England had been almost as rough as this big liner.

It seemed a lifetime ago. So much had happened since we followed our dream to have our own business. The guest house and smallholding at Camp Farm had been a great success, until I became pregnant. I looked over at the tousled fair head peeping from Roy’s bunk, and thanked my lucky stars that I had not lost my son to severe toxaemia of pregnancy as I nearly had.

The resulting depression had taken a long time to heal and was the main reason for our now being on our way to New Zealand. I was still not sure if my reticent husband would have suggested this mad adventure, had I been well after Roy’s birth.

I poked the bunk bed mattress above my head. Are you awake, Ken?

Mmm ... What’s the matter? Are you still feeling sick?

Ken hung his head over the side of his bunk, thick dark hair dishevelled and his beard bristling. Just lie still and take deep breaths and try to think of something else.

It’s OK for you. You never get seasick. How can you hang your head over like that? Just looking at you ... I took off my spectacles and grabbed for the bowl by my bed, but there was nothing left to bring up. I tried to do what my sensible husband told me and concentrated on thinking about the past few months.

Our decision to lease off the business came after many discussions. We had worked so hard to establish our guest house and smallholding. Our sales of eggs, poultry, honey, goat’s milk and cheese and vegetables had grown with their popularity. Our many visitors had loved the fresh produce, and the guest house had thrived, giving us long, twenty-eight week seasons. That had been the problem. After Roy’s birth I had found it all far too much to cope with.

We had both long been interested in New Zealand, even before our move from London to Sark. When a friend, Mary, had decided to work there for a few years, her glowing tales of life in ‘Godzone,’ (as they called it), had rekindled the spark that had lain dormant throughout the years of our Sark adventure.

So Ken had gone to the library, brought some books home and that was the beginning. We investigated routes by sea and air, and were finally seduced by the idea of the many stops and shore trips in going by sea.

It will be a nice long holiday. Do you realize we have not been away together for five years? Ken commented during our discussions. With animals to look after, it had been impossible for us both to be away at the same time.

Look at this brochure; you can go via South Africa. The ship stops at Lisbon, Casablanca, Canary Islands, Cape Town, Durban, Perth, Melbourne, Sydney and Brisbane. It takes five weeks.

My heart had quailed at the thought of five weeks on board a ship but, I reasoned, a huge liner would be pretty stable. Little did I know.

What will we do, when we get to New Zealand? I don’t just want to work and stay in one place, do you?

No, of course not. We’ll get transport and drive around, and get jobs when we need to. Mary says they are crying out for English trained nurses, and I am pretty handy at building work. Ken had obviously been giving it some thought.

So, from the first tentative ideas we started to plan. We had decided to allow ourselves two years to explore New Zealand thoroughly. This meant taking extra time to install managers at Camp Farm, pack and spend a few weeks visiting Ken’s mother in London and my parents in Yorkshire. We also needed time for the long boat trips there and back, so we decided to offer a lease of three years, for a lump sum payment. We hoped that would be enough to enable us to pay our sea trip, buy transport and get ourselves started.

Ken’s past experience as an advertising executive came in handy again when we sought a suitable couple to run the guest house and smallholding. We had several enquiries, though some had obviously not ‘done their homework,’ as my Dad would say.

You’d think people would find out where Sark is, before writing, wouldn’t you? I remarked to Ken after reading an enthusiastic letter from someone who said they had always wanted to live in the Scottish Islands!

Finally, we decided to interview a few couples, offering them overnight accommodation, for their effort in travelling to Sark. One couple, disappointingly, got no further than the neighbouring Island of Guernsey, after the inevitable strong winds and churning seas discouraged them.

The letter from Amy and Fred Trumpton came from Jersey and seemed promising. They had run guest houses before, and kept a few chickens. At least they would know the Islands.

When they arrived for an interview we got a shock. They were well into their sixties and Fred was bent with arthritis. Mary however was spry and certainly knew about the guest house business. They seemed the best bet, but it was not without problems.

You didn’t say you had all those chickens, I don’t think we could cope with them or the goats, but we adore Hugo, he’s just like a Labrador we had; and I think we can look after the donkey, I am sure someone could help. We would just love it here and it is only for three years. I do hope you decide to let us come here to this lovely little place. You wouldn’t mind a few changes, now would you? Amy hardly seemed to draw breath, and I felt rather glad I would not have to live with her for long. Fred was either stoical or deaf.

So we asked Paul our retired vet friend to look after our goats and gradually culled the chickens, just leaving a few for the Trumptons. They stayed with us for a few weeks to learn the ropes, while we made our final plans for departure.

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2

skirts, one black and the other my favourite colours of blue and cream, with interchangeable tops, would do for the ship. I thought I would shorten them after reaching New Zealand to get more use out of them Having decided that a sea route would be best for our trip to New Zealand, we now needed to choose a company to travel with. Finally, we picked an Italian line that went via Cape Town. It had been the first Ken looked at, and was quite a small ship.

It is actually a ‘Round the World’ cruise, but we would only do a half, Ken pointed out.

What on earth will you do, for all that time? I can’t see you joining Bridge or Bingo, and you know you hate dancing! I had exclaimed as we looked at the glossy brochures, with pictures of women in long dresses and men in dress suits.

Well, I’ll read. Look, it says there are films and talks about the ports of call. There will be shore trips too; I think we can afford a few of those.

I should hope so. I don’t expect we will do anything like this again.

When we contacted the shipping line, we discovered that if we returned to England within two years, there was a reduction in fares.

They said we can return by a different route, via Panama. The ship calls at Melbourne and Sydney again and Hawaii. It then goes through the Panama Canal and has a stop actually at Panama. I had always wanted to travel more and found this planning very exciting. It calls in at Curacao ... hope we get to sample the liqueur, and then there is a long spell across the Atlantic and we call in at Tenerife in the Canary Islands. It all seemed like a dream when we had looked at the brochures, but hard planning and the many practical decisions we needed to make had soon brought my feet firmly back on the ground.

If we are going to be travelling around, we must just keep to one suitcase each. The ever-sensible Ken announced while I was deliberating over my clothing.

Yes, but I want something nice to wear on the ship, I wailed. Everyone will be smartly dressed.

In all our years on Sark, I had made most of my clothes myself: shift dresses for the summer and trousers and blouses for the winter. Most people on Sark wore the thick oiled wool ‘Guernsey’ jumpers which were almost a uniform for Islanders. They were very heavy though and would take up too much room in our luggage.

We were not sure what the weather was going to be like on the other side of the world. Our friend Mary had said that winters in Auckland, where she lived, were almost non-existent but we were planning to go to the South Island, and that was supposed to be cold, with high snow-clad mountains.

Finally I made my choices. A visit to the sales in Guernsey, our nearest large shopping area, resulted in some purchases that thrilled me. I could not remember when I had last bought luxury clothing. Two long. For the rest I would rely on layers of cotton tops, blouses, a couple of sweaters and waterproofs. I also decided to visit a hairdresser while in Guernsey, to have my long hair shortened; no more pony tails, this was a new life.

Ken and Roy’s clothes choices were easy by comparison. Roy was still not reliably dry at night, and we had to pick him up to potty him, but at least he was not still wearing nappies. I wondered how mothers managed if they had to include bulky terry nappies in their luggage.

Finally our day of departure arrived. We said our goodbyes to friends on Sark and made the muddy trek down to Maseline Harbour to catch the boat over to Guernsey.

It had been February, the same month as our arrival; it seemed a lifetime ago. For once the weather was fine and a wintry sun glinted off the waves and burnished the gorse flowers high on the towering cliffs.

There is a Sark tradition that if a bunch of wild flowers is thrown into the water on departure, a return to the island was ensured.

As I leant over the rail with Ken beside me and Roy’s sticky little hand clasped in mine, I watched my offering floating away ... and wondered when we would see Sark again.

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3

The visits to our parents in freezing English February weather had made our anticipated cruise all the more appealing. The sleet and snow of Yorkshire, where my parents lived, soon moderated to the freezing drizzle and grey skies of London and we spent some precious days with them all. Ken and I felt we were living in limbo but our day of embarkation came at last. Ken reluctantly agreed to splash out on a taxi to the boat train that departed from Liverpool Street Station and also agreed to have a porter’s help with our luggage. Despite our self imposed limitations of one suitcase