By Roselyn Fauth
Cited from contemporary newspaper articles
If you wander into the Free Ground at the Timaru Cemetery, listed as Row 0 in the council database, you will notice how many graves here have no headstone at all. Among them is one recorded under the name “Bridgett Fynmore.” There is a Bridgett Fynmore in the online cemetery records but no Frederick. Apart from newspaper articles you wouldn't know he was there. I can't find any burial references anywhere else. You also can't pin point him exactly because he was buried without a marker. I wonder who Bridgett was, or if maybe its a mistake and it is actually Frederick's grave? He left behind a life where he once carried the weight of war on the other side of the world. Frederick's story is one of promise, pressure, and a very human unraveling that ended far from where it began...
Frederick’s father was Lieutenant-Colonel James Fynmore, Royal Marines. The last surviving British officer from Trafalgar. His grandfather was Major (then Captain) James Fynmore, also at Trafalgar.
There was a man named Frederick Engledue Fynmore, and the details surrounding his death fit the Free Ground burial exactly. It seems almost certain that “Bridgett” is simply a clerical muddle — a misread, miscopied, or mistyped version of “Frederick” — and that Row 0, without a marker, holds the final resting place of a man whose story once stretched across half the world.
Frederick came from a family with deep naval roots. His father was Lieutenant-Colonel James Fynmore, Royal Marines, the last surviving British officer of the Battle of Trafalgar. His grandfather had also served there. In England, the Fynmore name meant duty, rank, and tradition. It must have felt like a heavy kind of inheritance.
For a time, Frederick lived up to it. He trained as an officer in the Marine Artillery, served in the Canterbury Police Force, and later became Sergeant-Major of the Guard on the Chatham Islands. He was there the night Te Kooti and his followers escaped on the schooner Rifleman — one of the most significant moments of unrest in nineteenth-century New Zealand. He once held real responsibility.
But life can come undone in ways that are slow at first, then suddenly sharp.
By the time he took a position as Receiver of the Gold Revenue at the Lyell, something had begun to slip. A rent payment of £31 5s went missing from the government books. He wrote to the man who had paid it, asking him not to mention it, promising to repay double once funds arrived from England. That money never arrived. The case went to court. Everything was printed for the colony to read. In 1875, he was sentenced to two years’ imprisonment for embezzlement.
When he was released, he did not return to his old world. Instead, he travelled south and settled in Timaru with his wife and their seven children, perhaps hoping to rebuild his life quietly. But Timaru can be hard on anyone already carrying a burden. He drank too much. He waited for help that never reached him. And on 10 July 1878, he disappeared.
His body was found days later in the Otipua Creek, in an advanced state of decomposition. A letter to his wife was still in his pocket, asking for forgiveness. The newspapers noted that he was barely recognisable. The family he left behind had no resources for a headstone. He was placed in the Free Ground, recorded under a name that was not his.
It is a sad thing to picture.
Side Quest: Trafalgar — The Story Frederick Grew Up With
Understanding Frederick’s life means taking time to better understand the world he came from.
And for the Fynmores, well it sounds like their world was shaped by Trafalgar.
The Battle of Trafalgar, fought on 21 October 1805, was one of the most decisive naval engagements in history.
Europe was caught in the tide of Napoleon Bonaparte’s ambitions, and Britain relied on the Royal Navy to keep invasion at bay. Admiral Horatio Nelson, commanding a smaller British fleet, faced thirty-three French and Spanish ships under Admiral Villeneuve.
Breaking all naval convention, Nelson divided his fleet into two columns and sailed directly at the enemy line. The manoeuvre exposed his ships to heavy fire, but once they broke through, the battle turned to close, fierce fighting. Before the fleets clashed, Nelson sent the signal that became part of Britain’s identity:
“England expects that every man will do his duty.”
By late afternoon, nineteen or twenty enemy ships were captured or destroyed. The British lost none. Nelson died aboard HMS Victory, but knew the battle was won before he took his final breath.
The victory reshaped global history. Britain ruled the seas for a century. Trafalgar became a touchstone of national pride. And in the years that followed, the Fynmore family held tightly to the memory of their two ancestors who fought there.
Frederick was the son of one and the grandson of the other.
To carry a name tied to Trafalgar must have felt like standing in a long shadow. Perhaps that weight travelled with him to the other side of the world. Perhaps by the time he reached Timaru, it felt very far away.
After Frederick’s death, his family’s grief was quiet, and his burial seems quieter still. No stone... it seems a mistaken name. A life that once moved between warships, police barracks, courtrooms, and remote islands reduced to a few lines in the cemetery register, and nothing physical at the cemetery to link to.
Hi story teaches me that row 0 is more than what is missing. the area of graves hold stories of people like Frederick... a man who rose, faltered, tried again, and suffered. A man connected to one of the most famous battles in naval history. A man who ended his life alone beside a Timaru creek.
When you stand in the Free Ground today, it is hard not to feel the distance between who he once was and how he was remembered. But I think restoring his name, and understanding his story, in someway can brings him back into the light. When we learn about him, we learn more about ourselves.
Row 0 contains many stories.
Frederick Engledue Fynmore’s is one that finally has its name returned to it.
Side Quest: Timaru’s Seafarers’ Service — A Local Echo of That Naval World
Standing in Row 0, thinking about Trafalgar, may seem strange at first. But Timaru has its own long, layered connection with life at sea.
Every October, the community gathers for the Seafarers’ Service, a tradition that began in 1955 at St Mary’s Church. It was created to remember those who served at sea — not just naval personnel, but merchant sailors, fishermen, port workers, and rescue crews. The service soon grew to include Sea Scouts, Cadets, the Navy, and local families whose lives were shaped by the ocean.
Since 1965, the service has ended with a wreath-laying at the Benvenue Monument, overlooking Caroline Bay. The monument remembers the 1882 wrecks of the Benvenue and City of Perth, and the local men who lost their lives trying to save others through pounding surf. It stands for courage, duty, and sacrifice — the same values celebrated in the Trafalgar story, but expressed here in a way that belongs to Timaru.
In its own quiet way, the Seafarers’ Service ties Timaru to the same great maritime tradition that shaped Frederick’s family. It reminds us that the sea carries stories across oceans and through generations, even to a place as far from Trafalgar as Row 0.
Side Quest: The Night of the Rifleman
During his time on the Chatham Islands, Frederick served as Sergeant-Major of the Guard, part of a small detachment responsible for overseeing Te Kooti and his followers, who had been exiled there by the colonial government. In the early hours of 4 July 1868, the balance shifted. Te Kooti’s people overpowered the guards, seized weapons and supplies, and made their way to the schooner Rifleman, which was anchored nearby on routine government work. The vessel was small, lightly crewed, and unprepared for resistance. Te Kooti’s followers boarded her, compelled the crew to sail, and packed more than 160 men, women, and children onto a ship built for a fraction of that number. From the shore, Frederick and the remaining guards could do little but watch as the schooner pulled away into the winter dark.
Although not technically a shipwreck, the escape came close to disaster. The Rifleman was overloaded, short on provisions, and sailing a dangerous route from the Chathams to the East Coast. Yet she survived the crossing and delivered Te Kooti and his followers safely to Whareongaonga, where a new phase of the New Zealand Wars would unfold. For Frederick, the event must have been deeply unsettling — a moment where he witnessed the failure of the guard force he belonged to, and a turning point that echoed far beyond the lonely outpost where it happened. It stands as one of the most dramatic escapes in New Zealand’s history, and he was there when it happened.
Side Quest: What Happened After the Rifleman Escape?
When the Rifleman carried Te Kooti and his followers safely from the Chathams to Whareongaonga in July 1868, their return to the mainland ignited a new phase of conflict now known as Te Kooti’s War. Within weeks, Te Kooti’s group defeated government forces at Paparatu, proving they were not simply escapees but a determined resistance movement. Tensions deepened as they sought to reclaim mana and respond to years of imprisonment without trial, setting the stage for one of the most turbulent periods in the New Zealand Wars.
Over the next four years, Te Kooti led a mobile guerrilla campaign through the East Coast, the Urewera, and inland Bay of Plenty, repeatedly evading capture and drawing both followers and fierce opposition. The attack on Poverty Bay in late 1868 became one of the most remembered events of the conflict. Though Te Kooti was never taken, he eventually found refuge with the Kingitanga and was later pardoned. His escape aboard the Rifleman—the very moment Frederick Fynmore witnessed as Sergeant-Major of the Guard—became the spark that set this whole chapter in motion.
What Happened After Te Kooti Found Refuge?
After four years of pursuit, Te Kooti reached the King Country in 1872, where the Kīngitanga (Māori King Movement) offered him protection under their mana. The colonial government knew that entering the King Country would provoke a much wider conflict, so they stopped the chase. For years, Te Kooti lived in a state of tense safety — watched, mistrusted, and yet untouchable. Over time, political pressure eased, and in 1883 the government finally issued him a pardon, acknowledging that his long exile, imprisonment without trial, and the turmoil that followed could not continue indefinitely.
Te Kooti spent the rest of his life travelling, preaching, and establishing the foundations of the Ringatū faith, a spiritual movement born from the suffering and resilience of his people. He died in 1893. Today Ringatū remains a vibrant Māori faith community, and Te Kooti is remembered not only as a rebel or escapee, but as a prophet, a strategist, and a survivor. The escape Frederick Fynmore witnessed from the Chatham Islands became the catalyst for a conflict that reshaped relationships between Māori and the colonial government — its impact reaching far beyond one winter night and a small schooner named Rifleman.
After Te Kooti was pardoned in 1883, he travelled throughout the North Island as a spiritual leader, healer, and teacher. His followers continued to grow in number, especially among communities who had experienced land loss, imprisonment, and displacement. The faith he founded, Ringatū, became a powerful source of identity and resilience — a way to make sense of the suffering of the 1860s and 70s, and a path toward rebuilding what had been lost. Even today, Ringatū remains one of the most enduring Māori faith traditions, a living reminder of Te Kooti’s influence.
Meanwhile, the years following the New Zealand Wars were marked by sweeping changes. Vast areas of Māori land were confiscated, sold, or reallocated through the Native Land Court system, reshaping communities and economies across the country. The government expanded its authority into areas that had previously been independent. Settler towns grew rapidly — including Timaru — while Māori communities often faced hardship, dislocation, and new systems of law and governance that were not of their making. The echoes of the Rifleman escape, the Poverty Bay attack, and the long chase through the Urewera did not fade quickly. They shaped political relationships, land ownership, cultural identity, and the balance of power for generations.
Te Kooti died in 1893, but the consequences of the events Frederick Fynmore witnessed did not die with him. They continued to shape the legal landscape, community memory, and the relationship between Māori and the Crown well into the 20th century. His story — and Frederick’s small but significant place in it — is part of a larger arc that still influences New Zealand today.
I have tried to learn more about this, and I might have this wrong, but it seems that as the 1900s unfolded, the stories of Te Kooti, the New Zealand Wars, and the deep losses experienced by Māori communities did not disappear... but they were, for a long time, pushed into the margins. Official histories written in the early 1900s seemed to emphasise settler achievements and I think they downplayed the painful impacts of confiscation, imprisonment, and conflict. I imagine that schoolchildren probably learned about Nelson at Trafalgar long before they learned about Te Kooti at Whareongaonga. Māori knowledge, however, kept these stories alive within iwi and hapū, passed through generations despite the silence in public institutions.
By the mid-1900s, it seems to me that a shift was underway and Māori leaders called for recognition of injustices and for the Crown to uphold the promises of The Treaty of Waitangi, Te Tiriti o Waitangi. This movement grew, supported by historians. The government established the Waitangi Tribunal in 1975, opening the door for iwi to bring forward evidence about land loss, wrongful imprisonment, and Crown breaches of duty.
Over the decades, the Tribunal’s findings reshaped New Zealand’s understanding of its own history. The events sparked by moments in our past like the Rifleman escape — once seen simply as a dramatic story — were recognised as part of a broader struggle for autonomy, justice, and survival. Settlements were reached with iwi, land was returned or compensated for, and apologies were issued on behalf of the Crown. Te Kooti, once treated as an outlaw, became acknowledged publicly as a prophet and a founder of the Ringatū faith. His story is now taught in schools, included in national exhibitions, and recognised in public memory.
Today, the legacies of that era continue to evolve. Conversations about justice, identity, land, and belonging still trace their roots back to the same upheavals that began with a small schooner leaving the Chathams in the winter of 1868. Frederick Fynmore, a man now resting quietly in Timaru’s Row 0 under a mistaken name, witnessed the spark that lit one of the defining chapters of this country’s story. The effects of that spark are still unfolding — in law, in education, in community memory, and in the way New Zealand continues to reckon with its past.
I wonder, knowing all this now what Frederick Engledue Fynmore would think.
https://www.timaru.govt.nz/community/community-and-culture/cemeteries/cemetery-search?BurialId=27733
Transcriptions from newspaper articles
TRANSCRIPTION 1 — Embezzlement Charge (Nelson)
At the Resident Magistrate's Court, Nelson, Frederick Engledue Fynmore was charged with embezzling £31 5s, the property of the Crown. Mr H. Adams prosecuted, and Mr Fell defended. The facts of the case, as elicited in evidence, were that prisoner had held the office of Receiver of the Gold Revenue at the Lyell, and had received from one Antonia Zala the sum of £31 5s, as rent for some land he held. Some time afterwards the prisoner wrote to Zala asking him not to say anything about having paid his rent, and to get him (prisoner) out of "this fix,” and he would pay one hundred per cent., when he received a remittance of £500 from England. Zala was afterwards applied to for the rent by a Mr Chichester, when he produced prisoner’s receipt. Mr Chichester took over prisoner’s books in September last, but none of those books showed that any money had been received from Zala. Charles Broad, the Warden at the Lyell, should have received all moneys which prisoner had obtained, but he did not get any amount on account of Zala. The prisoner was committed for trial at the Supreme Court.
TRANSCRIPTION 2 — Supposed Suicide (Timaru)
Supposed Suicide. — The body of a man was discovered yesterday in the Otipua Creek, about ½ mile from Timaru, in a very advanced state of decomposition. The discovery was reported to the police, who at once got the body out of the creek, and had it conveyed to the police station. It was identified as that of Frederick E. Fynmore, who has been residing in Timaru with his family for about six months. Deceased was missed on July 10, and a diligent search was made for him by the police, as it was known he had been drinking hard for a long time, and was disappointed in not receiving an expected remittance from home by the last San Francisco mail. A letter written by the deceased to his wife was found in his pocket. It asked her forgiveness for the rash act he was about to commit, in making away with himself. Fynmore was formerly an officer in the Marine Artillery, and was a member of the Canterbury Police Force, in Christchurch, about 12 years ago. He was Sergeant-Major of the Guard at the Chatham Islands, when Te Kooti and his party made their escape to Poverty Bay in the schooner Rifleman. He leaves a wife and seven children entirely unprovided for and much sympathy is felt for them. It is supposed that the deceased must have gone down to the Creek and jumped off the bridge on the day he was missed, as the body is scarcely recognisable. An inquest will be held to-day.
TRANSCRIPTION 3 — The Last Survivors of Trafalgar (The Times, 1915)
The last survivors of Trafalgar
On this day: Oct 21 1915
To the Editor of The Times. Sir, The 110th anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar, occurring at the height of the Great War, provides a suitable occasion for recording the names of the last survivors of the British, French, and Spanish vessels engaged in the battle. Probably the last British survivor and certainly the last officer, was Lieutenant-Colonel James Fynmore, RM, who died at Peckham on April 15, 1887, aged 93. He was a first-class volunteer on the Africa, a battleship which suffered so severely in action with the Intrépide that she nearly foundered in the great storm that followed the battle. Col Fynmore entered the Marines in 1808 and retired 40 years later. He received the medal for Trafalgar granted in 1848, and was the son of Major (then Captain) James Fynmore, Senior Officer of Marines in the same ship at Trafalgar.
The newspaper transcriptions reveal that Frederick Engledue Fynmore had once been “an officer in the Marine Artillery,” later served in the Canterbury Police Force, and held the rank of Sergeant-Major of the Guard on the Chatham Islands during Te Kooti’s escape aboard the Rifleman. They show that while working as Receiver of the Gold Revenue at the Lyell, he received £31 5s from a man named Antonia Zala and failed to record it, later writing to Zala urging him not to mention the payment. This led to his arrest and committal for trial on a charge of embezzlement. The articles also confirm that he had moved to Timaru, was struggling with heavy drinking and financial hardship, and disappeared on 10 July, after which his body was found in Otipua Creek in an advanced state of decomposition. A letter asking his wife’s forgiveness was found in his pocket. He left behind a wife and seven children, and the community felt sympathy for the family. Nowhere in the transcriptions is he referred to as “Captain,” and no woman named “Bridgett Fynmore” is mentioned, supporting the conclusion that the Row 0 burial under that name is a clerical error referring to Frederick himself.