By Virginia Winder

Since she was a baby, Gwenyth Richards only knew life as a lighthouse keeper's daughter.

That meant inhabiting the isolated, raw edges of New Zealand with sister Ceri as her closest friend.

Then in 1976, lighthouse keeper Bryan Richards and his wife Janet shifted to Cape Egmont on the western most tip of Taranaki.

For Gwenyth (then 9) and Ceri (then 13) the move was a huge change to the world as they had known it.

"It really felt like I was walking into civilisation," says Gwenyth, now 35. "I remember for us it was really something to have a tar-sealed road right to the door. It was really exciting."

And there were other luxuries.

"We could go up to the shop and get a 20-cent mixture – that was really living it up."

At the other lighthouse stations, provisions came every two weeks by boat. "And you got your one treat," Gwenyth says.

But mother Janet says her lifestyle remained the same, with cooking, cleaning and caring for her family. "It was no real difference to me."

This woman of simple needs also carried on making lace, knitting, crocheting, spinning, weaving and embroidery work; all ideal skills for a life of suspended isolation.

"But I didn't have to make bread," she says, sitting at the table tatting lace, ginger-white hair pulled back into a ballet dancer's bun.

Social isolation

For Bryan the Taranaki move was dramatic.

"It was nice to know the children were going to school and were learning how to react to other children," he says.

But in many ways, Bryan found Cape Egmont a hard place to fit into.

This fell into line with comments from previous keepers of the station. When he quizzed them about living there, they all answered the same thing: "It's different."

One of the biggest changes was suddenly being thrust into an area populated with people. And, because he wasn't a farmer, or a man of the land, and because of his constant tie to the lighthouse the keeper's social isolation continued.

His human contact came in the form of sightseers and school parties, keen to hear his tales about the tall tower.

Pedestrian pilgrimage

One visitor even had a cross to bear.

Back in about 1980, Max Lines took his Christian beliefs to great lengths by carrying a wooden cross from Cape Reinga to Bluff and then from East Cape to Cape Egmont. On the western bump, the end of his arduous journey, he chose to leave the symbolic sign behind.

Bryan erected it below the lighthouse, put a wee fence around it and would tell people the story of the remarkable journey of Max and his cross.

In those days, Bryan kept himself well dressed and was always a clean-shaven fellow. Now, he possesses the wizard beard that sets him even more apart from folk.

But there are some things that have not changed for this once orderly man.

Stroke of cleanliness

While the tower is bleeding rust down its steep sides, the Richards' house below is splashed bright white.

Gwenyth remembers dressing up in child-sized overalls to paint alongside her dad as he brushed the buildings.

"Living so exposed, the paint peels off in no time and you had a certain standard to adhere to. So it was a constant battle to keep the stations spic and span – and they did," says the woman, who now lives outside London.

All the tasks were clearly stated in the Instructions to Lighthouse Keepers, and a works programme was written out for each station. This involved a once-a-month check of the flashing white light, and all the back-up illumination systems.

The engine room was constantly monitored, fences fixed, building work done and the station minders also kept an eye on the environment.

Bryan says it was important for lighthouse keepers to stay busy. If they didn't, they easily became unmotivated. "Some even had nervous breakdowns."

There's no chance of that now. The last lighthouse in New Zealand became automated in 1990. That was Brothers Island on the western side of Cook Strait, which like all the rest of the nation's towers, are monitored electronically by Maritime Safety from Wellington.