William and Betsy Ann Bocock: To the Land of Milk and Honey

"Not a farm labourer in England but should rush from the old doomed country to such paradise as New Zealand - GOOD LAND - A LAND OF OIL, OLIVES, MILK AND HONEY, A LAND WHERE THOU MAYEST EAT BREAD WITHOUT SCARCENESS… Away, then, farm labourers, away! New Zealand is the promised land for you." November 1873.

To young newlyweds William and Betsy Ann Bocock the advertisement in the Labourers Union Chronicle would have seemed too good to be true. The children of Lincolnshire farm labourers, there was no future for the young couple in England. Times were hard and farm labourers were the bottom of the pecking order in the harsh British class system. To farm workers labouring long hours for little pay with no hope of owning their own piece of land - New Zealand was a paradise.

Joining the great migration

Maybe William and Betsy Ann saw the advertisement and dreamed of a better life on distant shores. Perhaps the assisted passage lured them - they had no hopes of paying their own fares. Maybe their parents, seeing no hope for their children's future, urged them to grasp the opportunity with both hands.

Whatever happened, in May 1875 21 year old William and Betsy Ann, a year younger, made the huge decision to leave their home nestled in the Lincolnshire Wolds and emigrate to the other side of the world. It was a journey many were to take in the 1870s and 1880s, encouraged by the New Zealand Government, eager to boost the little colony's population with skilled labourers . It was a time known as the great migration.

The journey for William and Betsy Ann began like most assisted migrants, packing everything into a single trunk - what to take and what to leave behind? New Zealand in the 1870s had shops providing the basic necessities - but the couple had to be prepared for anything - they had no idea what life in New Zealand would bring.

The Halcione

At the dockside in London the Halcione was preparing for boarding. That spring morning the 842 ton fully rigged iron barque was to take 220 immigrants on a 99 day journey to the other side of the world.

The wharf was a mass of crowding, pushing and confusion: pigs squealing, chickens squawking, sailors shouting, piles of luggage strewn around, children crying and the frantic hammering of nails as carpenters finished putting up partitions and bunks for steerage passengers.

For William and Betsy Ann it would have been a time of mixed emotions. They were leaving their home and loved ones, perhaps never to see them or to set foot in ‘dear old Mother England’ again. But the sadness would be tinged with excitement and hope for the future.

They stowed their luggage and inspected their living quarters for the next three months. Steerage passengers slept below deck in tiers of bunks. Bunk space was cramped, privacy was only provided by what curtains the passengers could rig between the beds. They had to eat, sleep and dress in full sight of everyone. Tables and forms occupied the space between the bunks. The area was divided into compartments. Married couples and families slept in the middle division, flanked by single men at one end and single women at the other.

William and Betsy Ann passed the ship surgeon's medical examination with flying colours but others were not so lucky - a family of five were found to have the measles - and sent back on shore, their plans for migration ground to a heart-breaking halt.

Finally the Halcione was ready, a little steam tug towed it away from the bustling dock full of tearful relatives waving goodbye to their loved ones - perhaps for ever. The ship made its way down the Thames to Gravesend and a last glimpse of England.

A diary

William wrote a diary covering the voyage out to their new homeland. A man of few words, his notes still give us an insight into the daily happenings on board a migrant ship to New Zealand. Five days into the journey and some passengers were still gaining their sea legs: "30 May: Got into the Bay of Biscay. Some beautiful waves as high as our ship. Saw some sea pigs. Going 9 knots an hour. Ship rolls very much. A few sick. Wife very bad. Another pig dead. Lost 3 or 4 of our pigs. The tins and raisins, butter and all sorts of things rolling all over the ship. We cannot stand by ourselves unless falling."

The haves and the have not's

British class distinctions continued on board ship. Cabin passengers enjoyed more space, privacy and better food including fresh meat and fruit.

Steerage was down below the waterline meaning no portholes and little ventilation. The bare hull sweated with condensation, making everything damp. Lice and fleas were a problem as William commented: "We have been pulling our shorts off to look for lice. There is a lot lousy." Steerage passengers were given a fairly plain diet of salted meat, biscuits, soup rice, oatmeal and raisins. They supplemented their diet by catching birds such as albatross to cook up.

Writing of the conditions in steerage, one cabin passenger commented "Poor creatures, it is a horrible place between decks, so many people in so small a space, I wonder how they live."

What to do for three months?

The monotony of ship board life was eased by keeping busy. Bored people cooped up in a cramped boat tend to get on each other's nerves: "26 July: Had another fight. We are tired of being prisoners. We should all like to be on land. It is a tiring job being at sea you may depend. You have no idea at all what there is to put up with. Only them knows that it has to do with. It's rough there's no mistake."

William and Betsy Ann were staunch Methodists, they didn't take part in the rowdy singing and dancing that took place most evenings, nor the betting over domino games. But the daily routine of cooking and cleaning and washing itself took up time. They had books, Betsy Ann did needlework, maybe they took part in simple debates, joined the choir, or taught at the school set up for all the children on board. A fireworks display was held and concerts were put on.

The couple attended Sunday church services and held regular prayer meetings though found themselves in slightly bizarre situations: "13 August: Had a prayer meeting tonight. It is a strange sight as there are some playing at dominoes just by the side of us and a little further on they are playing at cards and on the other side they are supping their gruel. We are all in one place and some of them won't let us pray where they are. They are carrying all sorts of things such as dancing over our heads while about a dozen of us pray."

Passing ships, whale sightings and the occasional flying fish provided a welcome diversion.

Burial at sea

"2 August: A raw cold morning. Betsy Ann in bed with Cholera… several have diarrhoea… Betsy is vomiting. She went into hospital tonight but she is to come out when she likes. It is only to be more private."

While many adults got sick those who died on board the immigrant ships were mainly young children. The Encyclopaedia of New Zealand notes that in the 1860s and 1870s one in five infants below the age of one died on the voyage. That was because children were vulnerable to infectious diseases such as scarlet fever, diphtheria, whooping cough and measles. Often these diseases came on board the ship then spread like wild-fire through the poorly ventilated and cramped conditions in steerage.

Food aboard the ship wasn't suitable for small children - the surgeon of a ship on which 18 children died in 1874 declared more preserved milk and foods containing protein, such as eggs, cheese and beef tea, should be carried on ships with large numbers of children.

On the Halcione eight children never made it to New Zealand. Death was dealt with perfunctorily: the parents were given a few hours to grieve over their child's body, a short funeral service was held and the dead child, sewn into a sack, was tipped over the ship's side into the ocean. William notes briefly in his diary: "29 July: A child died at 12 o'clock last night. Buried at 7 this morning." And just a day later: "Henry Alenby's child died about half past four this morning and buried at seven. It is hard to bury them at sea. Some flock around to see it while others take no notice…"

A safe arrival

At long last, after enduring a becalming in the sweltering tropics and a gale that brought waves crashing down into the hold and water swimming up around their beds, Mount Taranaki was sighted in the distance. A 99 day voyage had come to an end, and all on board the Halcione breathed a sigh of relief. "2 September: A lovely morning and all out on deck to see the mountain. It is a splendid sight covered in snow. They are all nearly wild they are so pleased to see land. This morning they are out of patience to be there."

The Halcione was lucky - other ships arriving in New Zealand had to be quarantined for several days before they could set foot on the new colony's soil. But all aboard the newly arrived ship were classed as healthy.

The people of New Plymouth turned out in force to welcome the new residents - helping the first two boatloads of eager passengers through the surf onto dry land. William and Betsy Ann were among the first to set foot on New Zealand soil, and like many others, they knelt down and gave thanks for their safe arrival. But the weather turned rough and the Halcione dragged her anchor. The newly arrived immigrants were abandoned without any luggage as the ship with the remaining passengers headed to the safety of Wellington Harbour.

The land of milk and honey

But William was unperturbed and walked with the townsfolk to the immigration barracks on Marsland Hill. "It took us 10 minutes to walk to the barracks. We had our breakfast then. We had a good look at the town. We was welcomed by all we met… They are all wooden houses and wood slates like your flat tiles that you can roof with. We had a good blow out with beef and taters but we had to lie on the boards at night. Our beds were in Wellington."

Betsy Ann and William landed on their feet. Within a week William had found employment at Hurworth Cottage, eight kilometres out of New Plymouth. William was paid: "30s a week, a house, a garden, two cows and firing found us."

An excited William wrote back to his family: "There was a pig in the sty for us when we got there, and we have had no furniture to buy, for they have found us some, and buckets and pancheons, and all sorts of useful things, and he has brought us a nice little clock, they are so kind and good to us, they have given us lots of things, they sent us a fowl the other day for dinner. The day we came they had a fire in the house and kettle boiling; they brought us some butter and eggs for dinner, and they are going to give us a hen and a seat of eggs, so you know they are very good to us."

The couple's son Robert (Bob) was born at Hurworth in November that year, followed in later years by Thomas Alford (Alf), twins Frank (Ern) and George (Ned), Harry, and two girls Ivy and Fanny. They later moved to Ōmata and Egmont Village, continuing farming until their retirement when they shifted into New Plymouth. William died in 1926 and Betsy Ann in 1933. They are buried together in the family plot in Te Hēnui cemetery.

For William and Betsy Ann the decision to move across the world to New Zealand was a story with a happy ending. They brought up a strong and healthy family, no longer classed as farm labourers... in the land of milk and honey.