Her final migrants' voyage was from Plantation Quay, Glasgow, Scotland, on May 27th 1958, at 7.30pm. This date is etched in my mind for a very special reason.

I had received my call-up papers to do my two year National Service in the RAF and was ordered to report to RAF Brize Norton at 08.00 on 28th May.

I explained to the defence ministry that I was already booked to sail on the SS Captain Hobson, for New Zealand, on the 27th and wondered what I should do.

It was explained to me that were I still in British territorial waters (12 miles) at midnight, I was the RAF's. If, however, I was outside British territorial waters by midnight I was free to emigrate to New Zealand. I sat up till midnight and then asked the purser to check if we were outside British jurisdiction. What an idiot ... it wasn't as if they were going to send a helicopter to get me, was it?

The voyage was more than eventful as we had an engine room fire just off Curacao, Dutch West Indies. One of the engine room officers was very badly burned in an explosion when they were transferring from one fuel tank to another.

The ship's hooter was sounded for all passengers and crew to go to lifeboat stations ready for evacuation. However, this did not become necessary as they eventually got the fire under control. It did considerable damage to the engine room equipment, including severe damage to the air-circulating system throughout the ship and that was the last we had of any sort of ventilation below decks for some time. In fact passengers were allowed to sleep on deck if they so wished, which was just about everyone as the heat conditions below deck were intolerable.

A couple of days before the incident I had slipped on a recently washed deck and knocked myself out. I was confined in the hospital quarters at the time of the fire, so saw the seriously injured officer brought in to the hospital. He was really burned about the face and upper body.

We spend six days in Curacao waiting whilst new parts were flown out from Scotland and fitted. During that time we were entertained by local inhabitants who, summoned by the local radio stations, came alongside in their cars by the hundreds, and took us into their care. You just got into the car as you walked down the gangway.

My three friends and I came up trumps when we were taken into the hospitality of the general manager to the Dutch Shell refinery. He and his wife took us to their country club and their house and royally entertained us all week. We returned to the ship each night, and went off with our new-found friends when they called for us each day.

In Christchurch Square, with my friend Terry Quinn (left), a local Christchurch lad who still lives and works there. This picture was taken in February 1959. My wife, Theresa, and I met up with Terry and his wife, Annette, during our 2002 visit. This was the first time we had met, or had any form of contact, since I departed New Zealand in December 1961.

Whilst sailing from Curacao I suffered quite serious delayed-concussion effects from my earlier fall, and was taken back into the hospital where I spent several days. At one point they were debating whether to drop me off in Panama to recover in the hospital there. The intention was to have me eventually collected when the SS Captain Cook came through on its next trip to New Zealand. Fortunately I did not have to stay in Panama!

Whilst crossing the pacific ocean we hit tremendous seas; measured at 75 feet from trough to peak. That's a really big sea for a ship of only some 8,000 tons. It was really scary I can tell you.

Incidentally, six days out from New Zealand the military authorities cancelled national service in New Zealand, which I was quite prepared to undertake. Can't say I was overly disappointed!

I remember sitting on the dockside in Wellington watching the old Captain Hobson sail away; we were told to the breaker's yard in the Far East somewhere. I was 19 at the time but still cried my eyes out. Not for the old ship, as she was well past her sell-by-date, but for the fact that I was as far away from home as I could ever possibly be on God's earth.

Two photos taken from the top of the tower of Christchurch Cathedral, in February 1959. The street layout has greatly changed since then, as I found out during my visit in 2002.