Echoes from Tory Channel: Childhoods Shaped by Whales, Wind, and Family

For a generation of Marlborough children, the winter months didn’t just bring cold southerlies; they brought the call of the Channel. From the 1950s to the early 1960s, in May, families from Picton, Waikawa, and Blenheim packed up homes and habits and moved to Fishing Bay, Tory Channel, where the seasonal rhythm of the Perano whaling station dictated everything from daily meals to schooling. Children left their town schools to attend a classroom at Whekenui, lived in converted army huts, and learned as much from the sea and bush as from books.

In 2007, interviewer Loreen Brehaut captured the voices of former residents, teachers, and pupils, Arthur Huntley, Beverley Thompson, Lorna Wratt, Kenneth Gardiner, Toni Halliday, Alan Hall and Neil Breingan. Their oral histories offer a window into a fleeting but tightly woven way of life, one shaped by nature, kinship, and the rugged contours of mid-century Aotearoa. 

A Life Split in Seasons: Whekenui School

Whekenui School was a seasonal outpost, often operating with only one teacher and a dozen children spanning multiple year levels. Most of these children spent only three months of each year in Tory Channel. The rest of the time, they attended town schools, Springlands, Waikawa, or Picton. This created a yearly migration of not just people but also educational continuity. While some, like Lorna Wratt and Toni Halliday, adapted easily to the shuffle between schools, others, like Arthur Huntley and Kenneth Gardiner, felt the strain of repeating lessons or missing key transitions.

For many, the shift was more than academic. Kenneth Gardiner described the social shift as “an education on its own,” moving from a town-based life into a largely Māori whaling community where the rhythms of nature and kinship were deeply intertwined. 
Whekenui School was a one-room affair, with a pot-bellied stove, wooden desks, and a constantly changing roll. With pupils ranging from primary to standard six, and sometimes as few as six students in winter, it demanded creativity and discipline from teachers and children alike. 

Teachers such as Ray Scott and Alan Hall are remembered not only for their flexibility but for integrating the local environment into their lessons. Pupils climbed hills to observe whale chases, collected kina and nautilus shells for nature studies, and participated in Correspondence School radio broadcasts. 

Children like Kenneth Gardiner observed that while he was hesitant at first, he learned quickly from his Māori classmates. “They didn’t worry about it. They’d pull off a paua and eat it raw.”

While the classroom is a blurry memory for many, the walk to school remains etched in their minds: an exposed track skirting the hills, steep drops to the sea, and wind that “could blow a child into the bay,” as one mother warned.  Children sometimes travelled by F/V Whale Chaser, with Joe Perano himself ferrying them over. Arthur recounted vividly the memory of “White-eyes”, the bull chasing students along the hillside track, an incident that underscored both the ruggedness and excitement of school commutes in the Sounds.

Factory, Fishing, and Firsts

Despite the brutal nature of the whaling industry, children were rarely kept away from the action. Many wandered freely through the station, watched whales being flensed, or helped shovel blubber into digesters. Arthur Huntley even remembers firing a harpoon gun with blanks under the watch of family friend Trevor Norton, while Beverley Thompson, Moira Huntley, and others slipped around factory catwalks and breastworks. 

These interactions offered early, informal apprenticeships. Several interviewees noted that as boys, they aspired to become whalers themselves, viewing the profession as both honourable and inevitable.

Others, like Toni Halliday, saw more domestic heroism. Her mother, Dorothy, a former Karitane nurse, helped deliver babies, tended injuries, and insisted on full table manners even in the wilderness. Napkins, correct cutlery, and crocodile shoes remained non-negotiable.

Foodways and Adaptation

For some, it was their first encounter with Māori foodways: kina, paua, and blind eels (turiri) were harvested, shared, and sometimes reluctantly tasted. Notably, Mrs. Reeves tricked the children into enjoying baked eel, showcasing the culinary skills and cultural knowledge Māori women brought to the community. Blind eels, often dried on washing lines, were another distinctive memory of local food practices.

Nonetheless, the whaling season introduced a broader palate, shaped by local abundance and Māori knowledge. Mothers adapted too, often cooking in baches without electricity or plumbing. Whale meat stew was a common dinner; open fire cookups on the beach with cod livers and mussels became culinary rituals.

Rough Living, Strong Bonds

Accommodation varied from rugged army huts to modified cottages with kerosene lamps, long-drop toilets, and coal stoves, but most children didn’t mind. “You didn’t know any better,” said Beverley Thompson. “Now, kids would think their throats were cut!” Their parents may have faced the brunt of it, washing clothes in cold water, managing illness far from doctors, ordering pounds of groceries in bulk, but they also found friendship and solidarity.

Families brought pets, fowl, even ducks. Makeshift gardens were cultivated, and a communal cookhouse fed everyone on arrival. The Social Hall became a centrepiece for movies, parties, and birthday gatherings. "We’d just cart the food down there... and put on a great spread. Puddings, trifles, a big party for us kids." -Ria Wilson 

They remembered sledging down hills on nikau-palm boards, playing hopscotch, filling kiwi nugget tins with dirt to create games and hopping onto dinghies despite shark sightings. A vivid anecdote features Toni’s eight-year-old brother rowing Gil Perano in pursuit of a massive shark, a quintessential memory of Tory Channel adventure. 

The adult social life was lively. With downtime between whale catches, boats would ferry kegs, supplies, and partygoers. “If the weather turned bad,” Beverley Thompson recalled, “they’d ring up for a boat and we’d go to town for the day… that would be a merry trip home.”

Parties, guitars, dances, movies, and picnics formed the social glue of the bay; there was always laughter in the air.

Looking Back

The end of the whaling industry in the early 1960s marked the close of this lifestyle. As catches declined and international scrutiny mounted, families pulled out. Whekenui School closed, and children like Beverley Thompson finished their education by correspondence or returned to town permanently. The community disbanded, but the experiences remained vivid.

Why These Stories Matter

These oral histories reveal a distinct way of life, intertwined with the environment, shaped by industry, and grounded in intergenerational memory. As the Marlborough landscape continues to change, and with many original baches now gone or gentrified, the voices from these interviews preserve not just nostalgia, but a layered social history of the Sounds.

Do you have memories or photos from Tory Channel or the whaling station era? Share them with us and help keep this unique piece of Marlborough’s history alive.

This blog post draws upon transcripts from interviews conducted and transcribed by Loreen Brehaut (2007), approved by each participant.
For inquiries about the Whekenui Oral History Project or to contribute your memories, please contact Picton Museum.