Growing Up in the Heart of Marlborough Sounds History

Whaling Station Opening 2010

Toni Halliday (née Cormack) sat down with interviewer Loreen Brehaut in January 2006 to share a vivid oral history of life in Tory Channel, New Zealand, a remote part of Marlborough Sounds history steeped in tradition, family ties, and whaling heritage. Her recollections offer a rare and personal glimpse into 1950s rural New Zealand, a time when isolation bred resilience and coastal communities thrived through shared effort and ingenuity.

Toni’s childhood was set against the dramatic, sea-carved backdrop of Tory Channel, New Zealand, one of the most storied and isolated waterways in the Marlborough Sounds. Growing up in Fishing Bay near the legendary Perano Whaling Station, her life was uniquely shaped by the rhythms of whaling seasons, rough weather, and the pioneering spirit that defined 1950s rural New Zealand.

A Childhood Framed by Tory Channel and the Perano Whaling Station

The boats used - Toni Cormack Slides

Toni’s story begins with her father, David Cormack, a Scottish immigrant raised in South Canterbury during the Depression. A self-made man, David became a marine engineer after working his way through the McKenzie Engineering School. His post-war gratuity was invested in a coastal shipping venture, which later led the family into a pivotal role at the Perano Whaling Station.

Her mother, Dorothy (née Milligan), was a Karitane nurse with Irish roots and a vivacious, practical nature. Bringing up a young family in remote Fishing Bay, she adapted to the challenging environment with humour, grit, and an insistence on “standards”, starched napkins, formal dinners, and crocodile shoes, even when boarding boats at low tide.

As part of the whaling community, her family played an active role in one of the final chapters of Marlborough Sounds history, contributing to the industrial and social fabric of the Perano Whaling Station, which stood as a key site in New Zealand’s now-vanished whaling industry.

Life in the Marlborough Sounds: Isolation, Ingenuity, and Community in 1950s New Zealand

In the era of the 1950s, rural New Zealand life in Tory Channel demanded adaptability. Coal stoves, outdoor toilets, and make-do homes were the norm. They stayed up at Gunyah, which was Grandma Perano's house, and soon, the Cormacks moved into a home David designed himself, modern for its time, with sliding glass doors and a specially built coal range to suit Dorothy’s height. His engineering skills improved operations at the Perano Whaling Station, modernising oil handling and storage in an era when isolation required constant adaptation.

Life down the Sounds was not for the faint-hearted. From axe injuries to childbirth attended with nothing more than a newspaper and grit, families relied on community and quick thinking. “Mum once had to bind up my brother’s chopped toe before putting him on a whale chaser to the hospital,” Toni recalled. These incidents were frequent, but rarely spoken of.

Whekenui School: Deep in Tory Channel, New Zealand

Old photo of Whekenui School - Toni Cormack Slides

Toni’s early education in Marlborough Sounds began with a brief stint at Picton Convent School, under the stern guidance of Catholic nuns. But Whekenui School shaped much of her experience. Located deep in Tory Channel, this 1950s rural New Zealand classroom often had fewer than ten students in the winter. 

Teachers came and went, Mrs. Scott, then Mr. Scott, and sometimes, when numbers were low, Mum stepped in to teach. The school was a crucial part of Marlborough Sounds history. Correspondence was needed in the end, though her younger brother had a clever trick: if he rowed out in the dinghy early enough, Mum couldn’t call him back to do his lessons. She’d stand waving a tea towel from the beach, yelling, “Come in and do your schoolwork, you little devil!”

Whekenui School eventually improved. A new building was barged in from Waikawa School, and a cottage for the teacher, no more boarding in local homes. The final teacher they had, Alan Hall, made a real impact. Young, energetic, and progressive, he brought structure and purpose. He encouraged storytelling, had a daily programme on the blackboard, and got the children engaged in their own experiences, something reminiscent of the Sylvia Ashton-Warner approach to learning. For a child just beginning to find her love for reading, it made all the difference.

And books were a lifeline in those isolated years. Her parents were avid readers, relying on the Country Library Service for bulk deliveries, big crates filled with hundreds of books. After dinner, her father would tend the garden while her mother settled at the kitchen table with a novel. It created a culture of reading that became a core memory. If the kids were lucky, they could sneak into the kitchen asking for apples or sultanas, and if Mum was deep in a book, they usually got away with it.

Those years may have been shaped by logistical challenges and unpredictable teachers, but they were also rich with warmth, humour, and resilience, and above all, a deep sense of family and learning forged in the quiet corners of the Sounds.

Legends of the Perano Whaling Station

Many of Toni’s most vivid memories stem from the people and events surrounding the Perano Whaling Station, where the community found joy in picnics, dances, and music. Parties at the Heberleys, cherry picking at Oyster Bay,  sports days at Curious Cove, and Trevor Norton playing guitar while all the kids would sing. Memories that defined this chapter of Marlborough Sounds history.

On special nights, they dressed the part, and her mum was no exception. She had her prized crocodile skin shoes and her mother’s musquash fur coat, treasured items that came out for special occasions. One night, after a party, she found herself in a bit of a predicament. They were coming home by boat, and it was low tide. To get back onto the wharf, she had to climb up using two old tyres bolted to the piling.

Her Dad was manoeuvring the boat, offering instructions, and her Mum was trying to maintain her dignity and her footing in the crocodile shoes. But the boat shifted, the shoes slipped, and suddenly she was in the water, fur coat and all.

Her Dad reached for the boat hook and hauled her out. Soaked, chilled, but still composed, her Mum had only one thought running through her head: “Keep your toes up, keep your toes up, don’t lose the shoes!”

That was her in a nutshell. Even when dripping wet in saltwater and seaweed, style came first.

Old photo of the Perano Whaling Station - Toni Cormack Slides

Ordering Stores and Outwitting Tourists

Life changed quickly when you moved from town to the isolation of the Sounds, and for someone like her mother, it meant a steep learning curve. She wasn’t used to planning meals a week or two in advance, let alone ordering everything by weight. Bread, butter, and flour all had to be thought of in pounds. And one day, while placing the grocery order by phone, she casually added, “And a pound of bay leaves.”

Now, bay leaves are dried, light as air, so when the mailboat delivered the groceries, what arrived was not a neat little packet but an enormous box. A pound of dried bay leaves! That one mistake kept them supplied for years. They used to laugh about it; it was one of those classic rookie errors, back when groceries weren’t pre-packaged, and you had to think in bulk.

When the tourists arrived, they’d sit on the grocery boxes waiting on the jetty, oblivious to what was inside. And nothing infuriated her mum more than discovering her bread crushed beneath someone’s backside. She didn’t mind tourists, but she didn’t love them sitting on the week’s food.

And then there was her sense of humour. Visitors would often ask about the tall white lead-lights in the bay, navigation aids for the ferries. Tired of the same questions, one day she responded with a perfectly straight face: “That’s the monument to Te Rauparaha.”
The tourists were awestruck.
“Listen, Johnny, this is history,” one mother whispered to her child.
“And the other one?”
“That’s his wife,” Mum replied without missing a beat.

She had no patience for foolishness, but she was quick-witted, warm, and always ready with a story, even if it meant rewriting local history on the spot.

Rowing Out for Sharks: An Eight-Year-Old on the Front Lines

Some stories from childhood seem too wild to be true, but when you grow up in the Marlborough Sounds, they’re just part of the backdrop. 

One day, Gil Perano had spotted a massive shark cruising through the bay, and back then, shark hunting wasn’t just for sport; shark liver oil was valuable and could be sold. Always quick to seize an opportunity, Gil grabbed Alec, who at the time was barely eight years old, and said, “Let’s go after it.”

So off they went, Alec manning the oars, and Gil in the bow with what was, at first, just a big lump of pipe, ready to try his luck. But halfway out, Alec piped up: “Haven’t you got a gun in the chaser?”
Gil’s eyes lit up. Of course! Back they went to retrieve the firearm, probably a .22, and then back out to where the shark had been spotted.

From Mum’s point of view, glancing out the kitchen window, the scene was the stuff of nightmares. Her small son was rowing a tiny dinghy with a huge shark, longer than the boat itself, circling nearby, and Gil standing in the bow armed with a rifle.

The shark was shot, or at least, shot at, but in the end, it swam off, unfazed. No shark liver oil, no trophy, just a wild yarn that eventually made it into a school writing exercise and lived on as a family legend.

It’s one of those stories that captures the blend of adventure, recklessness, and practical survival that was part of everyday life in the Sounds.

The Bandsaw Incident at the Heberleys’

Charlie Heberley had taken in a young fellow, possibly a distant relation or just someone needing a fresh start away from trouble in Picton. The boy was staying with the Heberleys and helping out with odd jobs.

One of those jobs was chopping firewood, and they had a bandsaw for the task. The rule was simple: keep your hands on either side of the wood, and never use the saw without supervision. As Charlie and the family were heading out to visit someone, he gave the boy a firm instruction: “Don’t touch the bandsaw.”

But, as stories like these go, the minute they left, the boy thought he’d be helpful, “I’ll run a few pieces through for Uncle Charlie,” he probably thought. Instead, he ran his finger through it.

In the chaos that followed, he wrapped the bleeding hand in a towel, scooped up the severed fingertip, and rushed over to Nan Perano. She did what she could, wrapped the hand up tight and placed the fingertip in a jar of water, while someone fetched Charlie.

When Charlie arrived, furious and alarmed, Nan showed him the jar. “Here’s the finger,” she said.
Charlie took one look and snapped, “Well, he won’t be wanting this bloody thing!” and hurled it out into the bay.

Later, when they reached the doctor, the first question was: “Where’s the rest of the finger?”
Too late. It was already drifting somewhere in Cook Strait or Tory Channel.

End of an Era, Start of a New Life

As whaling declined, the Cormacks transitioned to life in Picton and later Southland. The adjustment was tough, especially for Dorothy, but the family’s values of education and self-reliance endured. Toni would go on to attend Teachers' College, while her brothers pursued engineering.

A Final Word

Toni’s memories paint a rich tapestry of life in a bygone time in Marlborough Sounds history, one of resilience, resourcefulness, and deep community bonds surrounding the perano whaling station. Toni's stories reflect the adventurous life along the Tory Channel. These anecdotes, set against the backdrop of Marlborough Sounds history, are filled with humour and heart.

Do you have memories or photos from Tory Channel or the Perano whaling station era? 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.