27/05/2026
Recent postings have demonstrated the collective reluctance to peer behind the Waikato Times paywall, quite apart from the problems posed these days with providing links to media items on Facebook.
I risk doing myself out of income if I give into the temptation of directly posting material that I am paid for. However, last week's shaggy dog history column, which I fear will interest few, can today be the exception that proves the rule.
In 1987 adventures enjoyed by myself and friends at the Okoroire Hot Springs Hotel anticipated those of the Chiefs rugby team by just under three decades. If you look back 140 years ago, another story suggests "there is something in the water" in the South Waikato that inclines the place toward sexual scandal. The divorce case of Mr & Mrs Fawcett was one of the most tittered-about news stories of 1886.
We are fast approaching the fortieth anniversary of an event that looms large in my personal memory. If this seems a strange way to begin a column about wider Waikato history, bear with me. All shall become clear.
In February 1987 two friends of mine elected to get married. Neither would today thank me for shedding any light on the circumstances involved. Suffice it to say the ceremony came together with some haste and the retaining of my services as Best Man was done at the eleventh hour. Still less thought was given over to the wedding reception, responsibility for which was taken by the venue's hostess, a mutual friend. Being a local, hailing from Tirau, though, I think, then residing in Matamata, this person, who should also remain nameless, had something specific in mind.
Now, remember this was 1987 and public houses closed on a Friday night at 11pm at the latest. Our guide's decision then to drive some distance, eating into our drinking time, was a matter of concern. Even if she was taking us to the greatest pub in the world, what would it matter if we only had a couple of hours to wet our collective whistles? If the happy couple wanted a Best Man speech I would need some warming to the task.
We should not have worried. The destination - legendary in certain Waikato circles and once or twice in its long history, as shall soon be evident, the subject of national headlines - was the Okoroire Hot Springs Hotel.
Unworldly and of a tender age, I had never experienced a pub quite like it. The old school charm and friendly staff were one thing, the merry clientele quite another. The place was packed with middle aged businessmen, on the opening night of a weekend golf retreat. As we were the only punters not so affiliated, we stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Of particular interest to these gentlemen, away from their wives for a couple days, were four ladies in the wedding party who had the aesthetic appeal and spirited demeanour of a decidedly younger generation.
In short, the free drinks flowed. It was all on the tab of the business that was shouting these would-be golfers, some of whom, I fear, fancied their chances with the females in our group. With each succeeding round purchased - and there were many - these ruddy faced, pot bellied geezers got louder and more frenzied. The clock struck eleven and it was of no consequence. We found ourselves in the Waikato equivalent of the old West Coast lock down, a magical realm where licensing hours had little relevance. The largess of our patently enamoured hosts knew no bounds.
Some of these randy chaps began hatching a plan. It started, as these things often do, as a joke. Mindful that Okoroire was renowned for its hot tubs, the idea of a nocturnal dip was casually introduced into conversation. When we responded by saying that, not anticipating such a possibility, we had failed to pack togs, the excitement levels went up a notch or two. With uncontained glee, the salivating hoards replied that they did not have bathing suits in mind, rather birthday suits. What was being proposed was a mass skinny dip.
Then as now lacking in body confidence, the very idea filled me personally with horror. I am not sure that my friends initially leapt at the notion, either. However, with inhibitions having been worn down by all manner of gratis beer, wine and spirits, around 1am, or possibly later, the jest became concrete reality.
The speed with which the disrobing proceeded caught me unawares. Suddenly, everywhere, there was portly flesh. Wobbly beer bellies, microscopic members, flabby backsides, a plethora of pasty skinned, age-wearied dudes. Or at least that's how I remember it now, very much in the same category myself. Actually, I wasn't much bothered by the mass nudity. Having grown up in squash club changing rooms there was nothing new for me in that. It was more the combination of drunkenness, misguided expectation and mock frivolity. Some I fear thought things might evolve into an o**y. Others were self conscious, hiding their bits behind white towels, pretending all was well but actually aghast at the immodesty.
Needless to say, I opted out, as did one of the informal bridesmaids. The three other young ladies, along with the groom, went with the flow, electing to participate, if not with the level of commitment that was collectively hoped for. Strategically placed towels preserved the innocence of the experience, ensuring nothing beyond the everyday was on display. When one of the salesmen crossed the unspoken line, attempting to disrobe a maiden, under the guise of playfulness, he was swiftly put in his place. It was, admittedly, a nervous moment. I suppose things could have gotten badly out of hand.
It did not take much to deflate the spirits of one or two in the hot tub. Some muttered words between the bride and her matron of honour, taken to be a commentary on a certain lack of endowment evident in a bather, was sufficient to bring the party down. The male ego is ever fragile. The gentleman in question did not linger long thereafter.
If this is my Okoroire tale, such as it is, the nation's attention would be focused upon the very same establishment some 29 years later. A decision taken by the Chiefs rugby team to hold their end-of-season celebrations of August, 2016 at the Okoroire Hot Springs Hotel, attracted unwanted publicity. The players elected to hire their own entertainment, a professional dancer by the name of Scarlette, who in the performance of her duties was manhandled, primarily by the team's 70 year old bus driver. A degree of closed-ranks loyalty to this elderly gent, in which the rugby players were disinclined to throw him under his own vehicle, initially confused some elements of this story. Another misdemeanour, in which a Chief was overheard making an homophobic slur, a transgression completely unprecedented in rugby circles, additionally sullied the reputation of the franchise, occasioning much apology and handwringing.
It would not at all enhance my own reputation as a wordsmith to suggest that there is "something in the water" at Okoroire conducive to sexual scandal. That said, an earlier narrative, dating from the formative years of the Hotel, if not concerned with it per se, does suggest as much. The divorce case of Robert and Elizabeth Fawcett, which played out in 1886, became a national sensation, reported in every major newspaper across the country. Whatever the nominal morality of the Victorian era colony, New Zealanders became fascinated with the Okoroire melodrama.
There were three distinctive periods of reportage. Initially, news broke in January that Robert Fawcett, described by the Grey River Argus and elsewhere as "a station overseer in the riding of Waikato" was petitioning for the formal dissolution of his marriage "on the ground of alleged adultery with W.E. Dowling, livery stable keeper, Waipawa, Hawkes Bay". The precise spelling of the co-respondent's name varied according to which newspaper was telling the story, with most adopting either "Downey" or "Downing". Whichever may have been correct, Mr Justice Gillies declared his intent to hear the case in April, sans jury. The adultery was said to have been committed "towards the end of last year": 1885. William and Elizabeth were additionally alleged "to be now living as man and wife in Waipawa". Given this last point, it was a fair assumption that the adultery was on-going.
As things turned out the case did not come before the Auckland Supreme Court until the third week of May. It was at this stage that peak reportage occurred, including by the Waikato Times, who dispatched a correspondent to that end.
Robert Fawcett had been born in 1854 in Governor's Bay, Christchurch and was not yet 23 years of age when he married Elizabeth Mercer in the second week of January, 1877. The couple initially resided in Mangere but later came to settle in Okokoire where Robert took a position managing a farm.
In the husband's estimation it was a happy union, albeit one not blessed with issue. When William Edward Downey - or whatever may have been his surname - was given a stockman's job in 1883, employment that came with accommodation on the farm, in the same house as the Fawcetts, Robert thought nothing of it. His suspicions were not aroused either when William twice suffered severe injury, requiring extended periods of bed rest, with Elizabeth proving herself a most attentive nurse.
On 8 September, 1885, Hugh Campbell, a fellow Okokoire resident, visited the farm in the matter of a "meat account". Campbell was evidently a curious fellow, in the habit of passing by the residence and glancing in windows. He had a firm grasp of the layout of the house, fully aware of where the bedrooms were placed.
On this occasion he knocked at the front door and after a measured interval it was opened by Elizabeth Fawcett, who looked particularly red in the face. Campbell formed the opinion that although hidden from his view, William was in the marital bedroom. Elizabeth did not want to settle the meat account, suggesting that she would send another farm employee later to make good on what was owed. As he departed the scene Campbell again did his best to peer into the bedroom window, confirming his earlier suspicions.
It was not a priority to inform Robert Fawcett that he was being cuckolded. Hugh Campbell instead shared the information with his own father. Rumours quickly spread around the neighbourhood. Mrs Coyle was one local busybody who felt it her duty to intervene. She approached Mrs Fawcett and implied that the entirety of Okokorie was abuzz with news that she, Elizabeth, was sleeping with the help. Why Mrs Coyle did not go directly to Mr Fawcett is unclear.
Elizabeth's response to the gossip was, perhaps knowingly, to let her husband into the secret. It was with some boldness that she told Robert exactly what Mrs Coyle was alleging, all the better to frame her denial. Robert, whose ignorance was sublime bliss, who consistently claimed that he had never seen anything untoward pass between his spouse and his worker, was untroubled by this conversation.
On 4 October, 1885 William left the Okoroire farm's employment, saying he was bound for Auckland and thence further north. The following day Elizabeth herself also left via the Oxford (Tirau) train to Auckland, though in her case nominally to stay with her sister for a short holiday.
The faithful Robert thought nothing of the coincidence of the twin departures. An uneasiness was soon to set in though when anticipated letters from Elizabeth did not arrive. When he did receive correspondence it was from a most unexpected and unwanted quarter. It is probable that the confusion over William's surname was grounded in his own base level literacy. Quite possibly he wrote his own name differently at every attempt.
The letter, penned on 8 October and received two days later, read as follows: "You will not be surprised to hear that Lizzie is leaving with me today. The talk that you and Mrs Kerr about her not stoping it at once maid Lizzie express her love to me, which I have no dout of. She nurst me when I was sick and no friend near me, therefore I intend to stick to her for the rest of my life. You are to get divorce as soon as you like".
One can only imagine the husband's surprise. It was a classic instance of being the last to know, as Hugh Campbell's father belatedly observed when conveying the news of his son's Peeping Tom antics. If only Hugh, Mrs Coyle or Mrs Kerr - whoever she may have been - had told him earlier.
It transpired that William, upon arrival in Auckland, had taken rooms at the Wynyard Boarding House in Official Bay. Presenting himself as a married man, who anticipated his wife the next day, he aroused some suspicion. When Elizabeth did arrive he took her up to the room they shared, where she was served breakfast in bed the following morning.
Robert took the unusual step of leaving his divorce in the hands of his brother-in-law, Edwin Reuben Piggott, who was married to Elizabeth's sister. Piggott began corresponding with William - no doubt a tortuous process - obtaining further evidence, if needed, that Elizabeth was living in sin in Waipawa with her lover.
With no defence offered by the guilty parties, the Fawcett divorce became final in the middle of December, the news again reported throughout New Zealand. With some attempt at humour the Otago Daily Times noted how "in four minutes exactly three cases were disposed of, including the separation of two persons whom, as the marriage service express it, 'God hath joined', a decree absolute being granted in the divorce case Fawcett v. Fawcett and Downing".
If Robert was downcast over this turn of events it was only temporarily so. On 10 January, 1887, under a month after his divorce, he married for a second time, to Louisa Emily Ann Richards, an Australian woman 11 years his junior. They would have four children and by 1891 he was running the Anchor Hotel in Auckland. He died a decade later, at the tender age of 47, the national scandal of which he was reluctantly a central part long forgotten.
