In early 1951, New Zealand’s waterfronts weren’t just bustling ports - they had become battlegrounds.
The “1951 Waterfront Lockout” was no ordinary wage dispute; it was a clash of wills between some of the country’s toughest workers and a government determined to assert its authority.
For nearly five months, the docks were a theatre of tension, straining families, friendships, and even calling in the armed forces. This is the story of how sailors, workers, and communities endured 151 days of conflict on New Zealand’s waterfronts.
The war was over, but its shadow lingered. Prices surged, food and goods were scarce, and wages lagged behind. The New Zealand Waterside Workers’ Union (NZWWU), known for its militant spirit, was among the most outspoken. That reputation made others uneasy, especially Prime Minister Sidney Holland’s National government, which feared the growing influence of organised labour.
In January 1951, the Arbitration Court granted a 15% wage increase - but waterside workers were excluded, as their pay was controlled by the Waterfront Industry Commission. The employers offered just 9%, prompting watersiders to refuse overtime from 13 February. When the employers responded by locking them out, New Zealand’s wharves quickly fell silent. Suddenly, the question wasn’t just about wages - it was about power.
On 21 February, the government declared a state of emergency. A day later, Holland warned the country it was “at war.” On 27 February, troops were deployed to Auckland and Wellington wharves to load and unload ships ... a striking symbol of how far the government was willing to go. Navy men and soldiers, trained for discipline and duty, were now hauling coal and tying ropes on concrete docks.
Among them was Redhead’s late husband, once steady at sea in the Royal New Zealand Navy and former serving member of the Royal Navy during WW II. The rhythm of naval life gave way to the clang of cargo - and the weight of being both soldier and stranger. He didn’t enjoy the personal impact, yet he understood it was vital to keep the country moving. Perhaps memories of the wharfies’ wartime actions during WWII were still fresh in the minds of those ordered to work in their place.
At a time when helping striking families could land you in court, quiet acts of courage and humanity persisted. Historian and ex-wharfie Baden Norris remembered:
“It was illegal…for a mother to feed her [striking] son. My dear old mother would have to sneak up from the depot in a big overcoat so that nobody could see what she was carrying - that really saddened me.”
Across the country, generosity was delivered in anonymity: farmers shared slaughtered sheep, market gardeners offered vegetables, tradespeople contributed services - all without expectation of recognition. Gwen Percy, in Port Chalmers, recalled:
“You’d open your front door in the morning and find rabbits, some eggs or some baking… from someone you never knew.”
Even school playgrounds became zones of conflict. At Clifton Terrace Primary in Wellington, children of striking families were separated during playtime, in case they shared school lunches. Labour MP Mabel Howard called it “a war on women.”
Other unions offered sympathy, and some even struck alongside the wharfies. Still, fear of government retaliation softened that solidarity. With goods piling up and the public growing impatient, the workers began to relent. After 151 days, on 15 July 1951, the watersiders returned - and their union was effectively broken. The NZWWU was deregistered, split into weaker port unions, and its leaders blacklisted.
The strike impacted more than the wharfies and their families. The military men and sailors called in to keep the ports open also felt the ramifications. Perhaps that is the real story: unions and governments often forget the people caught in the middle; whether striking workers, servicemen, or the neighbours simply trying to get by.
For the government, the lockout was a decisive victory, sending a message that the state would not hesitate when the economy and national order were threatened. For workers, it was a bitter blow. For servicemen like Dad, it added a strange chapter to their service - a time when being ordered to “keep the ports open” meant working against fellow citizens.
Today, the 1951 Waterfront Lockout is more than history; it is a deeply personal story, echoed in family memory, told one shift at a time. And as with so many historical events, there are always two sides - so when the big guns get involved, who truly wins?
Footnote from Monty: yes, I know that the lead image is not factually accurate but AI did its best!
