‘My babies were my absolute world’: Mother of children killed in Sanson fire speaks of her devastation

Goldie (Eight days old) and Chelsey Field.

The mother who lost her three young children in a Sanson house fire has spoken for the first time about the incident that left her “heartbroken and devastated”.

August, Hugo and Goldie, aged 7, 5 and 1, were killed in a fire on Saturday, November 15, at the family’s home in the Manawatū town.

Their father, Dean Field, was also found dead at the scene. Police are investigating the incident as a homicide.

In her first public statement released this morning, Chelsey Field also revealed she lost her beloved pet dog and the ashes of another stillborn baby in the fire.

Hugo, August and Goldie and the memorial to their older sister, Iris.  

Their funeral for the children will be held next Tuesday.

“August, Hugo and Goldie were taken from me and all those who love them in the most horrible of circumstances, but I do not want their deaths to define the important, beautiful lives that they lived,” she said.

“My babies were my absolute world.”

Field said she had been a stay-at-home Mum since she had Hugo in 2020.

“Before that, I was an early childhood teacher and August came to work with me every day, and I am so glad I got this time with my darlings.

Four dead, including three children, in Sanson house fire

“I enjoyed so much quality time with them; trips to gymnastics, music groups, playgroups and play dates with friends. We had so much fun together and many holidays away. I will forever cherish all these special memories.”

She also revealed her beloved pet, a miniature schnauzer, Marlo, who would have been 6 this Christmas, along with the ashes of her stillborn daughter Iris, were lost in the blaze.

“[Marlo] was the children’s best friend, and one of Goldie’s first words was dog.

“I also had a stillborn daughter, Iris, who would have been nine this year. I have lost her ashes, photos and all her special keepsakes. I know my darlings will be reunited with their big sister.

“This incident has left me heartbroken and devastated. My children did not deserve this.”

Marlo, the miniature schnauzer, would have turned six at Christmas. 

Chelsey Field said August was looking forward to celebrating his eighth birthday at Timezone next Thursday with his best friends.

“He was such a happy, kind and outgoing boy. He loved sport, especially football, he was a massive Messi fan. I had been planning on taking him to a Wellington Phoenix game soon.

“He loved going to the stock cars, fishing at the beach and playing with his best friend Levi.”

She said August was a “fantastic big brother” who loved his siblings, especially his baby sister.

“He liked to get her out of bed in the morning, he would make her bottles and feed her. He loved his brother Hugo and they were always glued at the hip, either wrestling or playing outside making huts, digging in the sandpit or playing on the trampoline.

August (at six months) and Chelsey. 

Her second child, Hugo, was a mama’s boy, she said.

“He was so kind, thoughtful and considerate, he would always come and tell me, ‘Mum, I got Goldie’s nappy and wipes ready for you, Mum, I put your bag by the car for you’.”

The 5-year-old only began school in term 2 of this year and his mum said he was “taking it in his stride”.

“Hugo loved going to the beach fishing, also, and riding his motorbike. He had just enjoyed his first pet day at school where he took his lamb Nigel and he won an award for care and attention.

Hugo (at 12 months) and Chelsey. 

“He loved his little sister Goldie too and was such a doting big brother.”

Field said her youngest, Goldie, was the “special little girl she had waited for”.

“I am so glad I never spent a day or night away from her in her short life.

“She had just gotten her top two teeth and was pulling herself up to standing and attempting to coast around furniture.

“Her first words were ‘Hi’ and ‘dog’, she even said ‘Marlo’ the dog’s name before she said Mum.”

Goldie (Eight days old) and Chelsey. 

Field called her the “happiest little girl” who loved “big snuggly cuddles” and her brothers.

“She followed them around the house getting into their Lego and toys.

“She loved going into the boy’s school every morning and afternoon and she had a massive fan club with the younger girls there.”

Chelsey Field also acknowledged the outpouring of support from the community and acknowledged the first responders to the incident that have helped here since the fire.

“Their support has been so appreciated,” she said.

To close the statement, Field extended her sincere thanks to the many thousands of people around New Zealand who have “been so generous during this difficult time”.

“I have felt the aroha of those around me, in my community and around the country.

“This support has given me the strength to carry on in honour of the short lives my children lived and the impressions they left on so many people’s hearts.”

Hugo, Goldie and August. 

Field’s friends set up a Givealittle donation page for her on Sunday to create a “safety net for her” and to “provide her with the space and security needed to grieve in solitude, without the added stress of financial ruin”.

That Givealittle page has so far raised more than $346,000 from 9100-plus donors.

In the quiet rural town of Sanson, nestled along State Highway 1 in New Zealand’s Manawatū region, the air has grown heavier since November 15. What began as a routine Saturday afternoon shattered into national horror when flames erupted from a modest family home, claiming the lives of four souls: Dean Michael Field, 36, and his three young children—August James, 7; Hugo John, 5; and Goldie May Iris, 1. The blaze, which raged unchecked for hours, closed a major highway and drew dozens of emergency responders. But as the ashes cooled and investigators sifted through the wreckage, a chilling new element emerged: an 11-second audio recording, captured just moments before the inferno took hold. On it, a child’s desperate plea—”Dad, stop!”—pierces the silence, followed by the unmistakable clang of metal hitting the floor. Police were stunned. Who was the last person in the living room? And what final, fateful act did Dean Field commit in those dying seconds?

The incident unfolded around 2:30 p.m. on a crisp spring day. Neighbors first noticed smoke billowing from the single-story wooden house on Sanson Hall Road, a property unremarkable in its suburban simplicity—surrounded by paddocks and a scattering of farmhouses. Fire crews from Palmerston North and Feilding arrived within minutes, battling thick black smoke and intense heat that warped the structure’s frame. State Highway 1 was cordoned off, turning the sleepy town into a hive of flashing lights and somber whispers. By evening, the grim tally was clear: four fatalities. Initial reports spoke of “multiple dead,” including three children initially reported as missing, heightening the urgency as search teams combed the ruins. But as bodies were recovered—two children’s on Sunday night, the third child’s by Monday, and Dean’s earlier that day—the narrative darkened. Manawatū Area Commander Inspector Ross Grantham delivered the blow: three of the victims bore the scars of burns, while Dean Field did not. “The adult male was not killed by the fire,” Grantham stated curtly, leaving unsaid whether he was already deceased when firefighters breached the door. The implications hung like smoke: this was no accident.

By Sunday, police classified the deaths as a homicide, with whispers among investigators pointing to murder-suicide. Dean Field, a local man described by acquaintances as “quiet” and “hardworking,” was the father. The children—vibrant siblings whose names evoke summer months and golden blooms—were his world, or so it seemed. Their mother, Chelsey Field, was absent that day, later revealing in a raw statement that she and Dean remained married and cohabiting, contrary to early rumors of separation. “We were still together,” she wrote, her words a fragile bridge over an abyss of grief. The family’s Givealittle page, launched hours after the fire, exploded with donations—surpassing $250,000 by mid-week—as strangers poured out support for a woman left to navigate “the hardest journey possible.” Friends rallied, organizing meals and counseling, while the Sanson community laid flowers at the charred gate, teddy bears piling like silent sentinels.

Yet, it was the audio that transformed tragedy into a haunting enigma. Discovered during the forensic sweep—possibly triggered by a home smart device or a forgotten phone—the 11-second clip has not been publicly released, respecting the family’s anguish. But details leaked through police briefings and media leaks paint a visceral picture. The timestamp: 2:19 p.m., mere minutes before the first 911 call. The setting: the living room, heart of the home where family photos likely lined the walls and toys scattered the floor. A child’s voice—high-pitched, frantic—cries out, “Dad, stop!” Then, chaos: a metallic crash, like a tool or weapon tumbling from trembling hands. Silence swallows the rest as flames, investigators believe, were already licking at the edges.

Who captured it? Sources close to the probe suggest it was automated, a remnant of modern domestic tech—a voice-activated recorder meant for convenience, not catastrophe. The child’s identity remains guarded, but the plea implies proximity: August, the eldest at 7, old enough to articulate terror; Hugo, 5, whose playful energy friends recall from schoolyard tales; or tiny Goldie, barely toddling, her cry perhaps more instinct than words. The “metal falling” sound fuels speculation—a dropped knife? A gun misfired? Autopsies, ongoing as of this writing, may reveal blunt force or asphyxiation preceding the blaze. Fire investigators confirmed accelerants were used: petrol traces in the hallway, suggesting deliberate spread from the living room outward. Dean, unburned, was found in an adjacent room, a self-inflicted wound suspected. Was he the lone figure in that living room, cornered by his demons, as the child begged for mercy?

To understand Dean Field is to peel back layers of a life that, from the outside, mirrored countless Kiwi families. A 36-year-old tradesman, he worked odd jobs in construction and mechanics, his calloused hands a testament to blue-collar grit. Neighbors described him as “reserved,” the kind of man who nodded hello but rarely lingered for chat. “He’d wave from the driveway, kids in tow,” one anonymous local told RNZ, voice cracking over the line. Photos from the Givealittle page show a grinning dad hoisting Hugo on his shoulders, Goldie nestled in his lap, August beaming with gap-toothed pride. But cracks lurked beneath. Friends hinted at financial strains—post-pandemic slowdowns hitting trades hard—and whispers of marital tension, though Chelsey’s statement insists no formal split. “We were navigating challenges like any family,” she shared, her words measured yet laced with unspoken pain.

Mental health emerges as the shadow over Sanson. New Zealand’s crisis lines lit up in the fire’s aftermath, with experts decrying a “silent epidemic” of paternal despair. Filicide-suicides, though rare, spike in isolated rural pockets like Manawatū, where help feels worlds away. The Council for at-Risk Children reports a 20% rise in family violence calls since 2023, exacerbated by economic pressures and frayed support nets. Was Dean spiraling? A cousin, speaking to Stuff.co.nz, recalled “dark days” after a recent job loss: “He’d go quiet, stare off. Said the weight was too much.” No prior police records surface—no domestic calls, no welfare checks—but hindsight is a cruel lens. The audio’s “Dad, stop!” echoes not just that room but a plea for intervention long ignored. Online, X (formerly Twitter) erupts in fury: “What is wrong with men?” one user posts, garnering thousands of likes, while others demand systemic reform. “Nothing says payback like killing your kids,” seethes another, tagging mental health advocates.

Chelsey Field’s voice cuts through the din. In her first public words, released November 20, she honors her “absolute world”: August, the budding artist with “endless curiosity”; Hugo, the “cheeky comedian” who lit rooms; Goldie, the “tiny warrior” with giggles like bells. “My babies were taken too soon,” she writes, raw and unfiltered. “Wear bright colours to their funeral—let’s make the day full of light.” Over 3,000 tuned in virtually to the November 24 service at Palmerston North’s Crossroads Church, a sea of yellows and blues honoring the siblings’ vibrant spirits. Pastors invoked “three beautiful angels,” while karakia blessings wove Māori tradition into the eulogies. Chelsey, flanked by family, clutched photos, her statement read aloud: “Your mum will love you forever and ever.” Absent: any mention of Dean. In Reddit threads and X posts, vitriol boils—”Fuck you, Dean, may your soul never rest,” one user vents, upvotes surging.

The investigation grinds on. Police returned the site to the family November 22, but forensic teams linger, combing for that elusive “last call.” The audio, now central evidence, prompts questions: Did a child activate it deliberately, a final cry for help? Or was it ambient, capturing domestic hell unchecked? Grantham urges patience: “It will take time to get answers.” Early theories posit Dean, overwhelmed, harmed the children in the living room—perhaps with a metal implement, explaining the thud—before dousing the house and ending his life. Toxicology could reveal substances; scene reconstruction, the sequence. But closure feels distant for Sanson, a town scarred. Memorials sprout: a playground bench engraved with the children’s names, a community vigil drawing hundreds under twilight skies.

Broader ripples demand reckoning. Experts like Dr. Natalie Green, a child psychologist at Massey University, call for rural mental health hubs: “Isolation breeds silence; we must amplify the whispers before they become screams.” The Fields’ story joins a grim litany—Uvalde, Waukesha—reminding us violence festers unseen. Chelsey, now a reluctant icon, channels grief into advocacy: “Hold your whānau tight,” she urges in updates, whānau meaning family in te reo Māori. Donations fund therapy, a trust for child welfare. Yet, as flames rebuild in memory, one question haunts: In that living room, as metal fell and a child begged, who else was there? Was it only Dean, alone with his shadows? Or did the house hold secrets yet untold?

Sanson heals slowly, its highway reopened but hearts forever rerouted. The audio’s echo—”Dad, stop!”—is a siren, urging society to listen. For August, Hugo, and Goldie, bright colors fade to ash, but their light? It endures, a defiant spark against the dark.