A Unique Slice of Marlborough Whaling History

The Marlborough Sounds - Toni Cormack Slides 

In a quiet home in Renwick, Kenneth Robert Gardiner shared a vivid recollection of his childhood with interviewer Loreen Brehaut in 2007. A seasonal community of whalers, wives, and children made their way each winter to Fishing Bay in Tory Channel, where the sea brought both hardship and livelihood, a slice of New Zealand coastal life now all but gone.

Born in 1949 in Blenheim, Kenneth grew up in two worlds. For most of the year, he lived the life of a Marlborough town boy. But come winter, his family would shift to the coast, drawn by work at the Perano Whaling Station. For Kenneth, it was both an adventure and a rite of passage, one that rooted him deeply in Marlborough's whaling history. The Gardiners weren’t alone. Dozens of families made similar migrations each winter, living a kind of seasonal double life, townsfolk for part of the year, rugged coastal dwellers the next.

Family Life at the Perano Whaling Station

Kenneth’s father, Bernie Gardiner, worked on the blubber board feeding digesters, one of the grittier, more dangerous jobs at the Perano Whaling Station. Kenneth recalled him returning home waist-deep in meat and oil, exhausted but matter-of-fact. It was dirty work, but it paid well.

“It suited both parties,” Kenneth said. “Dad drove trucks for Marlborough Transport the rest of the year. In winter, when things were quiet, he went whaling at Perano Whaling Station. Then straight back to driving.”

Eventually, accommodation allowed the family to follow. His mother, Freda (née Mears), along with Kenneth and his sisters Lorna and Winifred, joined Bern in Fishing Bay Tory Channel each winter. They lived in a simple bach, two rooms, no electricity, a coal range for heating and cooking, but it was enough.

“There’s no such thing as a bach like they were,” Kenneth reflected. “But we had no problems. It was what you did.”

Lessons in the Classroom and on the Coast

Old photo of Whekenui School - Toni Cormack Slides

When Kenneth was about six or seven, he began splitting the school year between Springlands School in Blenheim and Whekenui School near the Perano Whaling Station. He remembered the disruption of switching teachers and classmates.

“You’d get used to one, then be back to the other. It was probably hard on the kids more than anyone else.”

But Whekenui offered something special. With only one teacher, a young man newly trained, and all ages sharing a single classroom, the school operated as a tiny, self-contained world. Kenneth didn’t remember disliking it. He remembered the friendship and how everyone pulled together.

“We just got on. It was good. The older kids looked after the younger ones. It all worked.”

Life near the Perano Whaling Station meant school was often interrupted by sightings of whales. Children would race up the hill to watch the chasers and tow boats bring whales into the station, a vivid part of New Zealand coastal life education.

Living Off the Sea: The Culture of Fishing Bay Tory Channel

What stands out most in Kenneth’s stories is the cultural richness of life in Fishing Bay Tory Channel. The whaling station brought together a diverse, often Maori-centred community that lived very differently from the town.

“You were dropped into it, and their way of life was just different. But we learnt from them. They survived differently than we did,” he said, describing moments that reveal a unique form of New Zealand coastal life.

Kenneth recalls watching local kids pull paua straight from the rocks and eat them raw. They scooped blind eels by the sackful and smoked them after soaking in freshwater. Seafood, from crayfish to kina, was plentiful and free. Fishermen regularly left boxes of fresh catch on the breastworks for anyone to take; this was typical of Marlborough whaling history.

“I didn’t eat the blind eels,” Kenneth chuckled, “but paua and crayfish, no problem!”

It was a kind of resilience and resourcefulness that made a deep impression. Even the living conditions, rudimentary by today’s standards, didn’t faze anyone.
“You just had a curtain, not a door. No hot water unless you boil it. But nobody complained.”

Adventure and Risk at the Perano Whaling Station

The Community- Toni Cormack Slides

For a child, the Perano Whaling Station was both fascinating and forbidden, yet Kenneth and others were allowed to roam.

“We’d be milling around the Works at weekends. It was going seven days a week, and we’d go in with Dad. They had a massive communal shower room, I remember going down with him to shower there.”

The Works were dangerous: sharp tools, slick surfaces, powerful machines. Yet, serious accidents were few. “They knew their job,” Kenneth said simply. “You wouldn’t get kids near a place like that today.”

Shark hunting was another ritual. When one was spotted in the bay, everything stopped. A lung (a floating drum) was tossed overboard, and the chase was on. Men would try to net, shoot, or spear the shark. But as risks mounted, feet being caught in the rope, the practice was stopped.

“It was a big event when it happened. The whole Station would stop and watch.”
He remembers the “pet eels” under the bridge at the Perano’s house, likely hand-fed for years. Whale meat, too, was part of their diet. His father would hang it in a shed for a week or more, letting the oil drain out. Once trimmed, the meat was dark red, beefy, and, as Kenneth said, “good as gold.”

Sledging, Fishing, and Homemade Fun

In his free time, Kenneth and his friends made their entertainment. Sledging down steep hills on boxes or nikau fronds, walking the winding track to Whekenui, or trying their hand at fishing with older relatives.

“We walked that track again recently,” he said. “I looked at it and thought, how the hell did we sled down those hills into where the baches were?”

The coastline near the Works wasn’t suitable for swimming, not in winter, and not with the pollution. The sea would turn red from the waste: digester sludge, whale offal, oil. But up near Whekenui, the water remained cleaner, and life carried on.

“It didn’t worry us. That was just how it was”

Toni Cormack Slides

The End of an Era in Marlborough Whaling History

Today, Kenneth reflects on the whaling years with warmth, not nostalgia. He recognises that whaling wouldn’t be accepted now, environmentally, ethically, or industrially, but he is proud to have been part of that time.

“It was a special little community thing that won’t be repeated. You’ll never see it again,” he said, referencing the end of an era in Marlborough whaling history.
He sees value not just in the work, but in the experience, in growing up around hard-working people, learning how different communities lived, and knowing what it meant to do things the tough way.

“There’s too much pressure on education now. Too much focus on exams. Back then, we just learnt life. And we learnt to read and write just fine.”

Preserving the Voices of a Vanishing Coast

Kenneth’s memories are more than personal stories, they are pieces of a shared past, a chapter of Marlborough and New Zealand history that is slowly fading. The baches are mostly gone. The Works are quiet. But the spirit of that community, its resourcefulness, warmth, and grit, still lingers in the voices of those who lived it.

And in Kenneth’s words: “We just done it. It was the way of life.”

Do you have memories or photos from Tory Channel or the Perano whaling station era? Please share them with us and help keep this unique piece of Marlborough’s history alive.
This blog post draws upon the transcript from an interview conducted and transcribed by Loreen Brehaut (2007).
For inquiries about the Whekenui Oral History Project or to contribute your memories, please contact Picton Museum.