Sailing in to adventure

At 90, Gulf Rise resident Joan Mill still recalls the year she and her husband, Sandy, set sail from England to New Zealand with their three children, another couple, and their brood of three. Ten souls in all – six children, the youngest just six months old – and one sturdy 43-foot ketch named Maya.

“It was a simple life at sea, but an enormously happy time,” she says.

A childhood at sea

Born in Penang in 1935 to a Dutch father and English mother, Joan’s early years were shaped by war and ships. When war broke out, her father was captured as a prisoner of war in Java, while Joan, her pregnant mother, sister and grandmother were evacuated by ship to New Zealand. For years, they lived in uncertainty, until her father returned, frail but alive.

From then on, the sea was a constant companion. At just 11, Joan crossed to Holland aboard a Dutch cargo ship, where the crew “gave me the run of the ship” and sparked in her a love of maritime life. Time living in Hong Kong added to her sense of adventure, and by her twenties, she had embraced both travel and sailing.

Planting the seed

Marriage to Sandy, an architect with a similar zest for life, only deepened that adventurous streak. While Joan wasn’t ready to immediately sail the oceans on a small boat for their honeymoon, the seed of a great voyage was planted early. Together they settled in West Auckland, and raised three children – Emily, Charlotte, and Daniel.

By 1971, with their children growing and friends David and Jen equally eager for an ocean adventure, the two families hatched a bold plan: to head back to England and sail home to New Zealand with their six children aboard.

Life on Maya

Their yacht, Maya, was a 43-foot Irish-built ketch, purchased in Lymington. Sandy and David spent months fitting her out with bunks, lee cloths, and self-steering, while Joan and Jen tackled the provisioning. “We bought cases of canned food – beans, tomatoes, even tinned mince,” Joan recalls. To keep rust at bay, they stripped the labels and varnished every tin. Sacks of rice, powdered milk, instant coffee, and porridge filled every nook and cranny.

On 22 June 1972, Maya slipped her moorings in England and pointed her bow westward. Life at sea was ordered but simple. Mornings began with correspondence school lessons, later sacrificed to the sea in a ritual of throwing exercise papers overboard. Joan kept the children occupied with crafts and games, and the group performed regular man-overboard drills, with Sandy’s hat serving as the “victim.”

There were long stretches of blue horizon but also sparkling moments of joy – dolphins racing the bow, starry nights at anchor, and impromptu parties with fellow sailors in exotic ports. “We met fantastic people along the way and always invited them aboard for drinks and dinner,” Joan recalls.

A journey remembered

From the Mediterranean to the Caribbean through the Panama Canal to the Galapagos and the Archipelagos of the South Pacific, Maya carried them safely across oceans. The children learned resilience, independence and wonder.

“They were marvellous – no real fighting. During the day, while us adults worked on the boat, the children would disappear onto the island with
my eldest daughter Emily in charge of all six of them. It was a fantastic experience and an adventure they’ve never forgotten.”

Looking back, Joan sees the voyage as the natural culmination of a life shaped by ships, resilience, and curiosity.

“It was the joy of a simple life,” she says, “and the adventure of a lifetime.”