An older man with a moustache and grey hair is smiling slightly in front of a red background with yellow tags listing names of various locations. He wears a dark suit and tie.
Image: NZ Army. Additional design: Liam Rātana

ĀteaNovember 7, 2024

Last living member of the 28th Māori Battalion, Sir Robert ‘Bom’ Nairn Gillies, dies

An older man with a moustache and grey hair is smiling slightly in front of a red background with yellow tags listing names of various locations. He wears a dark suit and tie.
Image: NZ Army. Additional design: Liam Rātana

Sir Robert ‘Bom’ Nairn Gillies has passed away at 99 years old. He was the last surviving member of the 28th Māori Battalion, the most-decorated New Zealand battalion from World War II.

Bom Gillies (Te Arawa – Ngāti Whakaue, Ngāti Kahungunu) was known for his humility, strength, and his deep sense of loyalty to the men he fought alongside. Born in Hastings in 1925, he grew up in Ohinemutu Pā, Rotorua, within Te Arawa, a close-knit community that shaped his values and dedication to his people. His journey to enlist in the Māori Battalion was a determined one – Bom was just 17 when he first attempted to join, giving a false date of birth and trying three times before being finally accepted. For Bom, the pull of war was mixed with youthful curiosity and tales from older generations: “We’d never been out of town… Never even been to Mamaku,” he told Te Ao with Moana in 2022. “We wanted to see the world.”

A journey through hell and resilience

After training in Egypt, Gillies and his comrades arrived in Italy in 1943 during the fierce battles to capture Orsogna and later Monte Cassino. In freezing conditions and under relentless fire, Bom’s resilience was tested beyond comprehension. The attack on Monte Cassino, one of World War II’s bloodiest campaigns, saw the battalion face heavy losses and brutal conditions. Bom vividly recalled the horrors of machine-gun fire over the Rapido River and the minefields that lay in wait. A comrade, Captain Monty Wikiriwhi, was significantly injured, and others, like Joe Te Whare, were lost along the way. Through it all, despite receiving wounds and facing the traumas of war, Gillies continued to fight on.

Returning to Aotearoa in 1946, Gillies and his fellow B Company members (the battalion’s four rifle companies were organised along tribal lines) were welcomed with a large gathering in Rotorua. But he spoke often about the difficult reality facing Māori veterans: “I don’t think we were treated well at all. There remained places we couldn’t go to because we were Māori. Some RSAs wouldn’t accept us.” These challenges left an impact on him and fuelled his life-long advocacy for the battalion.

An elderly man and woman are standing together, both wearing formal attire adorned with various medals and decorations. The setting appears to be a formal event or ceremony with other people in the background.
Bom Gillies and govenor general Cindy Kiro, following his knighthood in 2022.

Gillies married Rae Ratima in 1948, who he met at a dance at his local marae. They had three children together, Martin (AKA Ture), Robert and Te Taupua. 

A reluctant knight, an advocate for change

In 2022, Gillies was made a knight companion of the New Zealand Order of Merit, a title he initially declined, feeling he “wasn’t worthy” and believing the honour belonged to those who did not make it home. He eventually accepted the knighthood, viewing the recognition as a tribute to his fallen comrades. Gillies’ other honours included Italy’s Order of Merit, which he received on behalf of the battalion in 2019, again acknowledging not himself but “those who lie on foreign soil”.

Gillies’ commitment to his comrades didn’t end with the war. He tirelessly championed the campaign for the battalion’s battle honours to be displayed on its flag – an honour initially denied. He also worked to ensure that all Māori Battalion veterans received their rightful medals, even decades later. For Gillies, this was part of fulfilling a duty to his whānau and to history.

Reflections on war and legacy

Although Gillies was celebrated as a war hero, he became an outspoken critic of war, deeply reflective of its impact. “War is a waste of time. It solves nothing, but it makes some people rich… If I had my time over again, I would have been a conscientious objector,” Gillies told Te Ao with Moana.

Bom is survived by his children and six mokopuna, leaving behind a legacy of resilience, humility, and a fierce dedication to justice for his people. His passing marks the end of a monumental chapter in New Zealand’s history. With the death of Gillies, we lose the last living bridge to the 28th Māori Battalion’s heroic past.

This is Public Interest Journalism funded through NZ On Air.

‘He mea tautoko nā ngā mema atawhai. Supported by our generous members.’
Liam Rātana
— Ātea editor
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A view of Nelson Haven in 1841, painted by Charles Heaphy.
A view of Nelson Haven in 1841, painted by Charles Heaphy.

ĀteaNovember 4, 2024

Nelson’s original sin

A view of Nelson Haven in 1841, painted by Charles Heaphy.
A view of Nelson Haven in 1841, painted by Charles Heaphy.

The High Court’s ruling in the Nelson Tenths case is a huge victory for Whakatū iwi – and also for my Pākehā ancestors, who were sold a horrible lie. 

For more on the Nelson Tenths case, read Liam Rātana’s explainer: What is the Nelson Tenths case and why is it important?

On December 22, 1842, Joseph Hoult, along with his wife Rhonda and their five children, arrived in Nelson Harbour on the frigate Prince of Wales. They were the first of my ancestors to set foot in New Zealand. Joseph Hoult was a 34-year-old bricklayer from Birmingham who had never left England before. He settled in Wakefield, a day’s horse-trek from Nelson, and became a timber miller. He provided the lumber for the village’s first Catholic church, St Joseph’s.

In almost two centuries since he arrived, his descendants haven’t gone far. I grew up 12km from that church. Joseph Hoult is buried there, along with generations of my family. One day, I probably will be too. 

I don’t know much else about Joseph Hoult. His name did not leave a particularly large impact on the historical record. He was never involved in politics, he didn’t write newspaper letters. He was the archetypical example of an early settler who just got on with life. Almost every Pākehā in Aotearoa has ancestors much like him.

Joseph Hoult was one of 14,000 British settlers brought to this country by the New Zealand Company, the colonisation scheme that founded the cities of Wellington, Nelson, Whanganui, Dunedin, Palmerston North and Christchurch. Today, those early settlers have hundreds of thousands, possibly millions, of descendants. 

The company’s business model was to buy land cheaply from Māori and sell it to wealthy British colonists. To ensure there would be enough labour to work the land, the company offered free passage on settler ships for working-class people with relevant skills. Ideally, the company wanted young married couples with children to populate the new towns. 

The company sent agents across England to recruit suitable candidates. The agents promoted emigration with paintings of idyllic New Zealand landscapes, exaggerated tales about the climate, and the promise of well-paid work that would allow labourers to buy land themselves someday. 

A New Zealand Company poster promoting free emigration to Nelson.

Joseph Hoult applied for free passage on February 28, 1842, through the company’s Birmingham agent, Joseph Phipson. I don’t know what Phipson said that convinced him to take his family to a strange new country across the world. I don’t know what questions Hoult asked. I don’t know if he had ethical concerns about colonising indigenous land. It’s possible he didn’t care – but many settlers did. They knew centuries of European contact had devastated indigenous people and wanted assurance that it wouldn’t happen again. They did not want to live on stolen land.

That’s why the New Zealand Company made such an effort to promote a plan known as the Tenths, where 10% of the land it purchased from Māori in Wellington and Nelson would be set aside as “native reserves”. The Tenths was a promise to iwi and hapū that they could keep their traditional villages and fishing grounds, which would increase in value as the town grew around it. The Tenths was also a promise to the British settlers that Māori would not be unfairly dispossessed of their land, an outcome many considered morally repugnant. 

The Nelson Tenths should have totalled 15,100 acres (6110 hectares), but for complex historical reasons, only a tiny fraction of that was ever set aside. The New Zealand Company spent years arguing about where the Tenths should be and went bankrupt before ever making a decision. When the company collapsed, the Crown took ownership of all its remaining land holdings – including the land that was supposed to become the Tenths. The Crown should have continued the work to set aside the Tenths, but for complex historical reasons, it never did. Through its inaction, the Crown cheated the Whakatū hapū out of their ancestral land. 

If Joseph Phipson had told Joseph Hoult the truth about the Tenths, would he have agreed to emigrate? The New Zealand Company promised that Nelson would be founded on honourable terms. Instead, the city was founded on a massive land theft with intergenerational consequences. The stolen Tenths became Nelson’s original sin.

The Crown betrayed the hapū: Ngāti Rārua, Te Ātiawa, Ngāti Tama and Ngāti Kōata. In a smaller way, the Crown also betrayed the British settlers. They were lied to, and simply by coming here, they became complicit in a grave injustice. It is a shadow that hangs over all of their descendants, all of Nelson, all of New Zealand. 

The Whakatū hapū never stopped fighting for the land they were promised. This week, the High Court found the iwi was rightfully entitled to the Tenths. The Crown will pay a settlement, likely to be several hundred million dollars. It is a significant and well-deserved victory for the hapū. I also feel some historical justice on behalf of my ancestor, Joseph Hoult. The High Court’s decision is a victory for him, for me, and for everyone else who descends from the early British settlers. Both Māori and Pākehā were wronged by the Crown. Now, at last, there is an opportunity to put that right.