The Gifted Amateur (Part 2 of 2): Grit

By Nigel M Sainsbury

At age 44, Nigel had served in the Royal Air Force (RAF) for over 26 years. A career option point would allow him to leave the RAF and retire with a lump sum of money and a small, immediate pension. This presented Nigel and his young family with an opportunity to do something different with their lives. There were lots of things to consider befo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nigel Sainsbury Consulting LLC
• Release date: Oct 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781734966527

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Dedication

Inspired by my dear friend Squadron Leader Peter Michael Kingwill, RAF, who whilst terminally ill, wrote about his own life for his unborn grandson. Peter peacefully departed us on April 11th, 2011, aged just 64, shortly after the birth of his grandson, Alfie Mark Newton Kingwill.

Rosie & Peter Kingwill and Myself, UK, 2009

For my children; Dan, Josh and Siân, their children, and their children’s children.

To all my family, friends, and the wonderful people I have been privileged to meet over my 60+ years - you know who you are. And finally, to all my new friends, who will hopefully connect with me through reading this book.

Acknowledgements

To my work colleagues and mates for their blunt and honest feedback, and my dear friend Bob Morgan for his attention to detail, continued support to my writing exploits, and correcting my Welshisms.

Newbookauthors.com for coaching and keeping me focussed, and the worldwide web for being my fact checker.

Finally, to my wife Carol, for her unwavering belief in me, and giving me the encouragement and headspace to get the job done.

I am not a product of my circumstances. I am a product of my decisions - Stephen Covey.

Preface

Writing my autobiography was never on my 'to do' list. Like most people who decide to write about their lives, I needed to bring together two basic ingredients; a story to tell, and a will to tell it. The Gifted Amateur Part 1; Life and the Military, was initially inspired by my good friend Peter Kingwill. Peter made me realize the importance of telling your story, in your own words, for a purpose. In my case, it was for my children. That meant the good, bad and the ugly sides of my life growing up, my ancestry and my military career. Although I had a lot of fun writing the stories of my past, I wanted the book to be more than a collection of yarns from bygone years. In my writing, I did some serious reflection, identifying the influence life events had had on me, my family, and my career.

The Gifted Amateur Part 2; Grit, started out along similar lines, being a continuum of Part 1. But then I started to crave a much deeper understanding of life itself, so I took the opportunity in this book to do just that. Looking at the totality of things. I wanted to learn more about who I was, what drove me to do the things I did. What were my motivations to keep going and what kind of a person had I become. My writing then, started to become more educational, purposeful, and quite therapeutic. By taking a deeper dive into life events has undoubtedly made me understand (quote Monty Python) 'The Meaning of life'. The byproduct of this experience has, without doubt, rounded me off as a person. I have gotten to know the real Nigel Sainsbury having gone through this process. David Bowie once said; 'aging is an extraordinary process where you become the person you always should have been'.

The Gifted Amateur Part 1 was about my growing up in the valleys of South Wales, self-discovery, and the struggles I had becoming a mature adult in a grown-up world. The transition from a childish young adult to a responsible and sensible grownup did not happen overnight, and I had become middle aged before I knew it. Having enlisted in the Royal Air Force (RAF) at age 16, I was married at 25, had been blessed with three wonderful children by age 34 and had moved home 19 times. Ten years later, and approaching my 44th birthday (7th June 2004), I had moved home another four times and had notched up just over 26 years active military duty. My 44th birthday was special, it was a career option point that would allow me to leave the RAF without financial penalty. I could retire with a lump sum of money and a small, but immediate military pension, allowing us to fund almost anything we wanted to do in the short term.

We had been living in our own home in Lincolnshire, England for four years and my wife Diane and I had seriously been considering a lifestyle change. Although life was rather good in Lincolnshire, it was full on. The children were doing all sorts of different activities and our belief was that family time was suffering. I had been commuting over 120 miles a day on and off for nearly six years. Driving for so many hours left me physically and mentally drained on most weekends. Diane worked locally and we only seemed to be together briefly at mealtimes. If I opted to remain in the RAF for the next 11 years to full retirement at age 55, it looked as if my commuting would continue, and other than the children getting older, things would pretty much remain the same as we headed towards the next chapter of life. There were lots of things to consider before making any life changing decisions, and any decision would be a family affair and not purely a career choice. However, no one would have guessed what was about to unfold on our family……

Nigel M Sainsbury 2022

1

Antipodean

Time is a precious commodity. You can't see, smell, hear or touch it. Neither can you stop it, speed it up or slow it down. It is a constant, yet depending on how you are feeling, it can seem infinitely variable. The second half of 2003 from a time perspective was quite frankly a bit of a blur. There was a lot going on, and we were wrestling with several different options for my career. Each option had the ability to affect the whole family. Stay in the RAF, leave and do something different, develop my own business, family adventure – or what? I am not sure exactly when it happened, but it would have been over a glass of wine in the evening that Diane and I discussed and reviewed where we and the family were in our life, and what we should do in June 2004 when my RAF service expires. Whatever the decision was going to be, it was going to be a big one. If we decided I would remain in the RAF, it is likely that commuting would be my only choice when moving jobs, we were never going to move again any time soon, Dan would be 16, Josh 14 and Siân 10.

All the children were really settled in school and all of them had close friends in the community and so did we. Life at home was good. The thought of commuting for the next 11 years (taking me to retirement at age 55) was not attractive at all. I would have been commuting almost six years by June 2004, four of those to RAF Wyton, a ball aching 61-mile commute down the A1. RAF Wyton was never going to get any closer, traffic was getting worse, and it was slowly killing me. However, I would do it for the sake of the family if we decided that we were staying put.

Notwithstanding my career choices, when we looked at our lives through the prism of the wine glass, we found ourselves in a set of circumstances that made us question our whole way of life. Were we unhappy? No, not at all, but we did seem to be remarkably busy all the time. We were of course, grateful for the things we had in our life and were proud of what we had achieved as a family, but the pace of life was relentless. We both believed we were ready for something different which would allow us to slow things down - we thought. The children were still of school age and living at home, but Dan could potentially be leaving home in just a few years.  What about a big family adventure and then perhaps a change of tempo in our lives? There was a little more discussion than that, and it was not decided overnight, but that’s exactly what we would do. We would have an adventure that would bring us all together as a family other than just at mealtimes, which was pretty much how it was all working out at the time. But what would this adventure look like?

My option to leave the RAF at my 44-year-old point would not only give us that opportunity but I could start another career somewhere else; overseas perhaps? Diane could also try something different but most of all we thought it would be a fantastic opportunity and a great adventure for the children. Exercising my option to leave would also free up a bucket load of pension funds that had accumulated over my 26 years military service and would fund almost anything we wanted to do anywhere in the world. But where would we go, and when? And what would we do there? What would be our criteria in selecting a place and things to do? It boiled down to simplicity itself. The only real criteria we had, was that any place had to speak English as a first language. None of us could speak other languages and we did not want to put additional pressure on ourselves at this time to learn.

We immediately discounted moving to the USA because we just didn’t want to live there. We liked Europe but the language barrier would have been an issue for us all, so that really narrowed down our options. Canada (although they also speak French) and a few places in the Southern Hemisphere; Australia and New Zealand in particular. These countries were all part of the Commonwealth. Through a ‘lateral recruitment’ process, I could apply to the respective air force’s as a springboard into the country and then jump into civilian employment down track. Lateral recruitment allowed soldiers, sailors, and airmen from any Commonwealth country to join the military forces in another Commonwealth country. However, the rules of the transfer were strictly enforced in two specific areas. Firstly, the receiving country could not 'poach' personnel or actively recruit from another country without the permission of the losing countries government. Secondly, the individual had to complete their military service before enlistment into another military. You cannot serve in two militaries at the same time. We decided that we would focus on Australia and New Zealand. That is when our luck ran out.

We looked at Australia first, but the lateral recruitment program into the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) was under a moratorium on external recruitment. Australia was not interested in keeping us on the boil just in case things changed. We would have to wait for an undefined period and then try again. Our second choice was New Zealand. Our neighbour and best friends, Richard and Kay Burn, had family in New Zealand and they themselves had recently visited the place and loved it. They would have moved there in a heartbeat, but it was not quite the right time for them. However, they certainly reinforced New Zealand to us as a great place to live.

Our luck then ran out a second time. The Royal New Zealand Air Force (RNZAF) also had a moratorium on external recruitment, but they promised to stay connected and hold my details just in case anything came up or the situation changed. It was disheartening for sure, but it was far more optimistic than the Australian response. From the conversations I was having with the New Zealand recruiting staff, I felt sure something positive would happen.

By now it was November 2003, and I found myself writing to my career manager asking for a deferment of my decision to leave. I was honest and upfront in my letter citing my crazy attempt to join the RNZAF through the lateral recruitment process during an external recruitment moratorium. I also explained the slightly unorthodox method they were employing just to keep me interested. The Air Advisor (Attaché) in the New Zealand Embassy in London had decided to interview me and do all the pre-enlistment stuff in preparation of a future job offer. This was not how people were normally recruited. It was protocol to have a vacancy to fill before any lateral recruitment interview was conducted. However, the New Zealand based recruitment staff believed that the moratorium would soon be lifted, and, if I was ready to go having had a positive interview and recommendation from the Air Advisor, then a job offer would eventually flow through.

I was asking my career manager for a deferment until January 2004. I was really pushing my luck a bit, but this was the only opportunity we were considering. It was our Plan A. Our Plan B was easy, I would stay in the RAF. The more effort we put into our Plan A, the less attractive Plan B was becoming and there was no Plan C. I was not really happy about working full-time as a Health & Safety consultant; we had set our hearts on a family adventure. The RAF came good, and their response was positive, offering a deferment of my decision until 6th February 2004. Ergo, my option to leave voluntarily would lapse on that day. Saying nothing would automatically extend my career to the maximum possible which would then terminate at age 55. This formal toing and froing on exit date was significant. Leaving the military on a voluntary basis is only available on a few key dates of your career. For me, it was at my 16-year point (back to 1991) and my 44th birthday. This process allows for better resource planning within the military and gives the individual plenty of time to consider alternatives. It is a decision that is not taken lightly as it has pension repercussions leaving at other times. Also, to leave at any other time usually involves the individual 'buying' themselves out. So, it can be a costly exercise if you don’t plan your exit.

We had heard nothing from New Zealand by the beginning of February 2004 but felt confident that something would happen soon. In anticipation of our luck changing, I wrote a final letter to the career manager requesting my release from the RAF on 6th June 2004. It was a risk, but it was one we thought was worth taking because of our continuing dialogue with the recruitment staff in New Zealand. If things fell apart with New Zealand, then we would look at alternatives back in the UK. I still had my Health and Safety consultancy work as a fall-back option, and Diane could continue working too. We would have enough money to keep us going, and my pension fund would pay a chunk off the mortgage to make life a little easier financially. Also, June was still four months away. A lot can happen in four months. Our hopes were high, and our fingers crossed for a family adventure in New Zealand.

It was at this time, that we had also planned to replace our trusted seven-seater Renault Savanna family car. The Renault had served us well over the years, but she was getting old. We had budgeted for a replacement, and we found the perfect car; a seven-seater Vauxhall Zafira. We should have known that as soon as you invest a chunk of money in something new, change was sure to happen elsewhere in your life.

I was entitled to resettlement training after completing a full career which equated to around two months paid time off. I continued my commuting to RAF Wyton until my resettlement started in April 2004, then I was working full time as a safety consultant, hoping that each day would bring news from New Zealand. There were just two more pay days before my discharge on 6th June 2004. I had my final medical examination and completed my discharge paperwork at RAF Wyton a few days before my terminal date. The only hard evidence that I had served in the RAF was the award of the Queens Jubilee Medal on 7th January 2002, which the qualifying criteria was just five years’ service. I noted from my medical records that I had also accumulated a little additional body mass. I had joined the RAF in January 1977 weighing just 140 lb wet, and my leaving weight 27 years later tipped 188 lbs dry.

I had struck up an incredibly good rapport with Geoff, the New Zealand recruiter. Geoff was a typical Kiwi guy, personable, chatty and very entertaining. I knew that if we were to make it to New Zealand, Geoff and I would become friends. We shared a similar sense of humour, and I knew he was working hard on my application for enlistment. Geoff would ring me every few weeks on the progress (or lack thereof) of the lateral recruitment process. Then on 4th May 2004 a letter came through. A formal offer of service for enlistment to the RNZAF. YES! YES! YES! Seeing the formal offer in writing was uplifting and exciting to say the least, but it also made us a little anxious. Diane and I just stared at each other for a moment, as the news sunk in. I read it out a second time and we were both thinking to ourselves, what the hell have we done! I could feel my heart rate go up but was unsure if it was through the excitement or anxiety. Shit (in the nicest possible sense) was about to get real! My new career path was taking shape, and the family adventure was about to begin.

The offer of Service allowed me to retain my RAF rank of Squadron Leader and my terms of engagement would be three years and six months commuted to a total of ten years upon obtaining New Zealand Citizenship. My job would be Logistics Policy Officer 1, Air Staff, Wellington and my enlistment date was a mutually convenient date but not before my retirement from the RAF on 6th June 2004. The previous incumbent of my new job had been posted out of the position and there was no-one suitable to replace him. The external recruitment moratorium was still in place, but I was being given the opportunity to fill this vacant position. This told me a lot about the organisation I was about to be a part of and the people within it. Firstly, Geoff the recruiter. Geoff clearly had influence; he was able to get my application across the finish line during a recruitment moratorium. Secondly, this was a small and personal air force, and I was liking this brand. It seemed quite different to the way the RAF worked. I was also enjoying their Kiwi sense of humour. Let me explain.

When the official paperwork came through there was an official letter of declaration signed by Geoff, demanding that I sign allegiance to the 'All Blacks' rugby team giving up my right to support the Welsh during international rugby clashes. Without a declaration, he could not possibly process my application further. Geoff was head of the Wellington Region Recruitment Office; I was never 100% sure that it was a joke but signed it anyway - just in case. I knew that New Zealand took its rugby heritage very seriously, but this was taking things to another level. It was a good ice breaker in conversation when I met Geoff for the first time, we clearly had a similar sense of humour.

My new boss in the Headquarters and the Chief of Air Force were the only other two people who were really involved in approving my offer of service. I could imagine this taking several weeks, probably months in the RAF and dozens of people would have been involved in the process. Thirdly, this was an organisation that wanted me, valued my skill set and were happy to have me and my whole family move to New Zealand. How awesome was that?

I only remember it was a weekday. All five of us were sat around our small kitchen table eating dinner whilst sharing the news of the day and what we had planned for tomorrow. Diane and I looked at each other and decided that now was the time to float the idea to the children of moving to another country. I remember the children's silent gaze. You could have heard a pin drop for those few seconds before an eruption of noise as everyone tried to speak at once. A sense of excitement and wonder hit all three children, it was an interesting mealtime for sure. Dan was almost immediately on board with the idea which surprised both Diane and me. As a 16-year-old, Dan had the most change to deal with coming up to exams and of course maintaining a number of mature friendships. Siân was 10 years old and was right behind Dan. After all, if big brother was up for the adventure with mum and dad, then she would be too. Josh, however, was a little more reserved and had concerns about leaving behind family, friends, schools, and everything else. It was Josh’s reservations that became our conscious and made us focus much harder on the whys and wherefores of such a family adventure.

Nevertheless, a family adventure it would be but only if we all wanted it, the decision needed to be unanimous. Josh slowly came on board with the idea but needed reassuring along the way. What this reassurance did for all of us, was to think hard about the decision to leave everything and everyone behind, whilst focussing on the adventure that lied ahead. Josh’s doubts enabled us to figure out the various processes we had to go through well ahead of time and certainly before they came at us as problems. Because we had never done anything like this before, we felt that we ought to be one or two steps ahead of the game to answer the questions the children might have. Now the children were on board, all we had to do was tell the rest of our family, visit the place we were going to live in, and then just do it! How easy is that?

Telling my family (brother and sister) was simple and neither of them were surprised considering I had not lived at home since I was 16 years old. They were incredibly supportive. Diane’s family were a different kettle of fish. It was a much bigger and closer family than my own and there were mixed feelings about us moving overseas. Most of Diane's family saw it as a great opportunity (for us), but that was mixed with a great deal of sorrow/loss and perhaps even a little disappointment that we would consider such a huge move for no apparent reason other than I was leaving the RAF. Nevertheless, we talked about the opportunities for family and friends to visit along with the excitement and adventure that the children would have. We would be moving sometime later in 2004. What we did not anticipate, was the speed at which things developed and the pressure we put ourselves under to make things happen. From informal notification by phone of a job offer in late April, to moving to New Zealand in July was just 12 weeks. In those 12 weeks, I think magic happened because what we achieved was nothing short of a miracle.

Diane and I believed that we really needed to get a feel for the place we were about to move our family. Neither of us had been to New Zealand before and it was a wonderful opportunity right now to see the country for real and meet the locals. Going there with the whole family was not something we wanted to do. Having the children in tow would just turn the trip into a holiday rather than an objective and informative reconnaissance visit. We had a bit of time to do this as my enlistment date was flexible. Our focus and priority would be houses, schools, vehicles, meet the New Zealand people and evaluate my job.

A flight to the other side of the world is neither quick nor easy to arrange and execute, but we did it. Little did we realise that everything we would do for the next three months would be on a short fuse, so this was good practice. After a whole day travelling, we eventually reached Wellington, the final destination of the three flights it takes to get to the capitol city from the UK. We were more than a little tired, but so excited to be touching down in the place we would eventually call home.

May in New Zealand is Autumn, the opposite to what it is in the UK. It can get a little windy in Wellington in Autumn. Our arrival by air was classic. A fully tightened seat belt, turbulent ride in on finals for a solid slam dunk touchdown followed by what seemed like an emergency breaking manoeuvre to prevent us taking a dip into the Cook Straight. This is perfectly normal for the locals, but for first time visitors you wonder if the pilot was either blind or was still under training for the landing phase of flying. As we taxied to the middle earth terminal, I could see that the single, slightly shorter than normal runway, sits exposed on a plateau of reclaimed land. A collection of randomly spaced oversized boulders at either end of the piano keys, were being battered by the aggressive white top waves in their attempt to flood the runway. Even the comfort of our pressurized aluminium tube, I could tell that it was a little breezy outside. Welcome to the windiest little capital city of the world. As we drove around the city suburbs in our little hire car, it reminded me of the UK during my childhood days. Corrugated steel rooftops, rickety houses, small roads, and old cars - everything seemed old fashioned. My first impressions were not great, in part due to my exaggerated expectations of the place. However, the old cliché of never judging a book by the cover is relevant here.

Straight off the bat, Diane had a much more positive attitude than me and she could see right through the shallow mindset I seemed to have adopted. I was making my judgement just on the homes I could see. In my defence, I was probably tired and a little grumpy after travelling for over 24 hours. Many of the houses in Wellington are perched on what looks like protruding shelves sticking out of the rocky coastline hills, each fed by a network of steep, meandering and narrow roads that looked like varicose veins connecting the main organs of this vibrant capital city. It was very different to Caythorpe in Lincolnshire.

Over the next few days, we would meet my work mentor, members of the RNZAF and other local people who would assist us in resettling in New Zealand. By the time we had left to return to the UK we were both buzzing with excitement and thinking of the marvellous opportunities there would be for the children. My work looked interesting and remarkably familiar to what I had done previously in the RAF, and the transition into another military looked as easy as falling off a log.

The children were so excited and had a hundred and one questions for us about our experience and what New Zealand was like. Their enthusiasm made our visit complete, and we immediately felt like we were absolutely doing the right thing – and we were. Now the real hard work was about to begin. Dismantling our life and then set about rebuilding it on the other side of the world is easier said than done. There is a physical component to doing this, but the emotional element was the hardest. We had moved multiple times within the UK, but this time was vastly different. Whether it was saying goodbye to a friend, leaving behind your outdoor playhouse or selling your beloved musical instrument, it felt so very different this time. The physical part is just like any other move, pack it up and shift it. This time we were moving to another country, so it was a great opportunity to downsize, let go of stuff and start afresh in New Zealand.

Of all the family, I was probably the worst for not letting go. We did attend a couple of car boot sales and got rid of a huge amount of house, garage and children' stuff, but I really struggled letting go of my music and workshop equipment. I had already decided that I was taking my Triumph Daytona motorcycle and that ended up being taken at the expense of leaving our dining room suite behind. Some of the downsizing was cleansing, but a lot of it for me was trauma. It is my belief that some of this sorting and downsizing should be traumatic because it is a sacrifice, and if you sacrifice something for something else, you are more inclined to appreciate the something else.

On top of this downsizing, we had to work through the immigration process, which was a separate and independently administered procedure to the recruitment activity. That also needed to be completed before we left the UK. We realised that all this administration would be challenging and stressful and none of it was guaranteed. At any stage, we could hit an unforeseen roadblock and the whole deal would be in jeopardy. We decided that once we had worked through everything and we were locked into going, we would have a well-earned family holiday on our way to our new life in New Zealand. However, that just created more work and stress, but it was something that we needed to do. Then there were the trivial things like selling the house and the two cars. All in all, a shit load of stuff. To this day, I don’t know how we managed to do so much, so quickly.

For the immigration and visa process, which was a point-based system, we did not have enough qualifying points even with my job offer. It turned out that Diane’s playgroup qualification was recognised, and the points allocated for that skill got us over the line for residency. It was a little worrying knowing that the RNZAF had no influence on the immigration process. We really were on our own for this part, so if we didn’t get the points we would not be allowed to go. Once we had everything validated, we could then progress with our specialist medicals, blood tests and updated immunisations. We also needed to plan a farewell party for our friends locally and plan a send-off tour for our families back in South Wales.

What we found out during the medicals and blood test was that none of us would be allowed to give blood in New Zealand. We had all lived in the UK through the Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy (BSE) crisis which ran through 1986 to 1998. The thinking was that if you had eaten beef or beef products throughout this period, you may have contracted 'Mad Cows Disease'. This disease has an extremely long incubation period in both animals and humans. For humans, it can be upward of 25 years. The BSE epizootic was caused by cattle who were fed a meat and bone supplement in concentrated feeds that was made from infected beef carcasses, in particular the brain, spinal cord and digestive tract. Yes, they thought it was a clever idea to feed cows with parts of another cow. Really!

As a family, we were all committed to this adventure, and we discussed how we would keep in touch with our UK family and friends. We would encourage everyone to visit, so they too could share in our adventure. Emails, texts and phone calls would be our lifeline back to the UK. We really wouldn’t know until we got to New Zealand how we would all feel about being away from the UK, but we would give it 100% and support each other to make it work. We would not look back. This approach would serve us well as a number of others who moved under similar circumstances some years after us, without such a focussed commitment, failed to integrate properly and ended up returning to the UK. Some even as soon as the same week they arrived. For us, we were going to New Zealand to become New Zealanders and not Brits living in New Zealand. Sounds simple enough, but we were surprised how many other people considered New Zealand as a ‘Little Britain’. That was their mistake.

It was a huge venture for us as a family and with a focussed commitment we believed anything was possible. It was also an enormous financial investment as a large chunk of my gratuity from my RAF pension was funding everything. As I had approached New Zealand for work, funding for re-location was going to be our responsibility, and we accepted that. Had the RNZAF reached out to me, they would have funded the move and all the medical costs. I was to learn of this minor detail only after the RNZAF had decided to have an overseas recruitment campaign of their own in the UK just a year or so after our arrival. Although, a little disappointed that we missed out on around $30,000 NZD or more, we would have done nothing different. It was all about timing; and our time was then. My being on the ground in New Zealand did benefit a few others who followed us, not least of all our best friends and next-door neighbours from Caythorpe who also made the move just two years later.

New Zealand sits on a latitude range of 35 degrees in Northland to 48 degrees in Stewart Island. In the Northern Hemisphere it is the same as Charleston, South Carolina to Quebec in Canada, or from Casablanca, Morocco to Paris. So New Zealand may not be very wide, but it is extremely long and the climate over these latitudes like in the Northern Hemisphere is quite different. New Zealanders speak English or rather a slight derivative of English which you only realise when you go to live there. They drive on the left-hand side of the road and share the same core values as their motherland relatives, but that is where