ON this day (August 3) 35 years ago, I answered a phone call that arguably was to change the course of my life and, years later, brought into focus the lives of four remarkable working-class Hull women who undoubtedly changed – and saved – countless lives to come with their successful safety campaign in the wake of the 1968 Triple Trawler Disaster.
The phone call was from the Obituaries’ Desk of The Times – a very well-spoken man told me he wished to commission me to write the obituary for Mrs. Lillian Bilocca, the trawler safety campaigner.
I was a young Hull-based freelance in the 1980s and I almost put the phone down, thinking the cut-glass accent of the man from The Times was a friend playing a prank.
Fortunately, I resisted the temptation!
Being a young, keen reporter, I wrote hundreds of words of the life of Mrs. Bilocca after hours of research and seeking advice from one of my mentors and former Hull Daily Mail assistant news editor, Stuart Russell.
My submission was cut to five paragraphs for the next day’s paper – and they spelled her name incorrectly.
I remember feeling disappointed and thought to myself that this woman and her co-campaigner deserved so much more. I promised myself that one day I would right this wrong.
But as John Lennon said, ‘life is what gets in the way when you are busy making other plans.
However, while a doctoral candidate at the University of Hull, I began to put things right.
I was in my early fifties by then!
Below is the entry for the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (ODNB) – “the biographers’ Bible”.
Lillian Bilocca’s life story was now alongside those of Newton, Churchill and Wilberforce et al.
I was commissioned in 2013 to write this piece (see below) during my doctoral research – it was to spark an amazing series of events…
Bilocca, [née
Marshall] Lillian [aka Big Lil] (1929-1988),
trawler safety campaigner, was born in a ‘two-up, two-down’ at Villa Terrace,
Wassand Street, Hull, East Yorkshire, in the city’s Hessle Road fishing
community on May 26, 1929, the eldest of four daughters of Ernest and Harriet
Marshall.
Ernest was a Royal Navy engineer
and later a trawlerman and Harriet was a housewife. Lillian’s education at
the Daltry Street Junior School ended aged 14 and she joined
the local fish house as a cod skinner. Like her peers she went from being a
seafarer’s daughter to a seafarer’s wife and later a seafarer’s mother.
She had two children – Ernest (b. 1946) and
Virginia (b. 1950) – with Charles “Charlie” Bilocca
(b.1902), a Maltese merchant sailor with the Hull-based Ellerman-Wilson
Line, who settled in the city and later worked as a trawlerman.
Lillian, Charlie and the children lived in a
terraced house in Coltman Street, Hull. After Charlie’s death in 1981, aged 79,
Lillian moved to the nearby Thornton Estate, where she later died aged 59 – and
that would have been her life story – had it not been for the remarkable events
of 1968.
Aged 39, Lillian became a household name as the
impromptu leader of a “wives’ army” fighting for better safety at sea following
the Hull Triple Trawler Disaster in which the St
Romanus, Kingston Peridot and Ross Cleveland sank
with the loss of 58 men between January 11 and February 4, in ferocious Arctic
waters in the Dark Winter of 1968. It was the biggest
peacetime UK maritime disaster of the 20th century.
Lillian and the Hessle Road Women’s Committee went from lobbying trawler bosses to being invited to Westminster to put their case in the glare of the world’s media, forcing huge changes in trawler safety in a short time, saving countless lives to come.
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| Lillian Bilocca leading her army of fishwives to the docks following her first speech at Victoria Hall |
The St Romanus sank with all hands on January 11, 1968,
the Kingston Peridot on January 26, and on February 4, only
one man (the mate, Harry Eddom) survived the sinking of the Ross
Cleveland. Incredibly, only one of these ships (the Peridot)
had a radio operator. There were no lifelines or adequate safety rails. Any
protective or safety clothing was to be bought by the men. Few did this.
Crew provided their own bedding, sleeping on palliasses, from a ‘company
store’. More incredibly this was not illegal in the most dangerous industry on
Earth. The Standard Mortality Rate (SMR) for UK fishermen was
17 times that of the ordinary worker and more than five times that of the next
most dangerous job – mining (Holland-Martin Report, 1968: 11). Trawling
was still governed by the final ‘master and servant’ act active in the 20th century
– The Merchant Shipping Act of 1894. Men could be fined or even
jailed for missing work.
Owners allowed skippers to double as radio
operators. This was the case with Skipper Philip Gay of the Ross
Cleveland, who transmitted this final, desperate, message: “I
am going over. We are laying over. Help us, Len, she’s going. Give my love and
the crew’s love to the wives and families.” Hull skipper Len Whur,
of the Kingston Andalusite, a cousin of Philip Gay, saw
the Ross Cleveland sink in a blizzard and hurricane in an
Icelandic fjord and was powerless to help. Lillian’s son, Ernie, was a
21-year-old deckhand under Skipper Whur.
Not since the Russian Navy’s sinking of the Hull
fishing fleet in 1904, when the Imperial ships mistook trawlers for Japanese
torpedo boats, had such shockwaves run through that community.
After the St Romanus and the Kingston
Peridot had been declared lost and before the fate of the Ross
Cleveland was known, Lillian and others gathered thousands of
signatures demanding better safety. Lillian’s friend Christine Smallbone
rganized a meeting at a local community hall on Friday, February 2, via the
local Transport and General Workers’ Union.
More than 300 women were there, and among the
speakers was seamen’s union firebrand, John Prescott, (East Hull MP
[1970-2010], Labour Deputy PM [1997-2010], and raised to the peerage in 2011).
Local Labour MP James Johnson was there too, but the women were in no mood for talk.
Lillian, in her fish worker’s headscarf and apron, addressed the
women: ‘Right lasses, we’re here to talk about what we are going to do
after the losses of these trawlers. I don’t want any of you effin’ and
blindin’. The press and TV are here.’
In the highly charged atmosphere the women marched on the owners’
offices, but the “headscarf army” was fobbed off. Lillian told the crowd:
‘There is only one way to make these people meet us and hear our case and
that’s by taking action.’
Next day, in the early morning of Saturday, February 3, she and a small
group of women tried to stop the St Keverne leaving dock.
Under the erroneous impression that no radio operator was present, Lillian
attempted to board it. Photos of the 17-stone housewife struggling with police
who subdued her, hit the headlines. A Sunday tabloid dubbed her ‘Big Lil’ and a
media star was born. She was to be lionised and patronised in equal measure by
the Press, a mix of modern Boudicca and music-hall ‘northern battleaxe’
stereotype.
Some women were angered by Lillian’s action. Superstitions were strong
and many felt a woman on the dock was bad luck who could ‘wave the men away’ to
their doom. This may seem silly to ‘outsiders’ but the feeling was strong
enough to be later used to drop Lillian from the Women’s Committee.
But the tide was turning fast.
Owners, who
recently snubbed the women, now asked to see them on the morning Monday,
February 5, to discuss their demands. The women drew up a Fishermen’s
Charter demanding:
Full crews, including radio operators for all ships;
Twelve hourly contacts between ships and owners while trawlers were at
sea;
Improved safety equipment from the owners;
A ‘mother ship’ with medical facilities for all fleets;
Better training for crews and a safety representative on each ship;
Suspension of fishing in winter on the northern Icelandic coast that
claimed the three trawlers;
And, a Royal Commission into the industry.
News of the sinking of the Ross Cleveland – apparently
lost with all hands – reached Hull that day. As Lillian and two friends waited
for the owners they saw one of their colleagues – co-organiser
Christine Smallbone – being comforted by a clergyman who had confirmed that
the Ross Cleveland, skippered by her brother Philip Gay had been
lost. A photo of that moment was on the front of the Daily Mirror the
next day, February 6. That day the women took their case to Westminster.
Grief-stricken Christine stayed in Hull. The local TGWU arranged
the meeting and the women met with Minister of Agriculture Fred
Peart and the Minister of State at the Board of Trade, J. P. W.
Mallalieu. (correct spell, all surnames)
Lillian Bilocca, Yvonne Blenkinsop and Mary Denness set off for London with ten thousand signatures, their Fishermen’s Charter and a
media circus in tow. Lillian had earlier told the Press she would march on
Downing Street or even “that Harold Wilson’s private house,” if she
was ignored. Peart and Mallalieu were told the women were to be helped.
As they left for London – the Hull Daily Mail reported:
‘The wives, led by 39-year-old Lillian Bilocca, were laughed off at first by
many in the fishing industry. But now it is accepted that they mean business.
What could have turned out to be a hysterical, disorganised protest is now
becoming regarded as something of a fighting machine, backed by hundreds.’
Mrs. Mary Denness recalled how, at King’s
Cross, the platforms were empty and that she, Lillian and Yvonne were the
only “real” passengers on the train: ‘It was full of journalists, union men,
photographers and TV folk. When we got off, the station was empty and the
platforms were surrounded by those barriers they use on royal visits.’
But when they got to the exit there were thousands
waiting and cheering. A newspaper billboard read: “BIG LIL HITS TOWN.”
The women had a meeting with the ministers during
which they learned that the mate of the Ross Cleveland, Harry
Eddom, had been found alive. The story of his survival, and how the two
crewmates he shared a lifeboat with – boatswain Walter Hewitt and galley boy
John Barry Rogers – had perished became worldwide news.
The eyes of the world were on the Hull fishing
community – and the politicians and owners knew it.
The women were delighted with the news of Eddom’s
survival and the immediate promises from the MPs. Upon their return, Lillian
told the Press – and the crowds at Hull Paragon Station – it
was the ‘happiest day of her life.’
“We’ve done it!” she said.
The action taken was impressively swift. Fishing
was suspended off Iceland immediately until the weather improved. Over the
coming weeks the Government forced owners to launch an interim ‘control ship’ –
the Ross Valiant.
Plans were drawn for a new full-time ‘mother ship’
to replace the interim one. The Met. Office also placed a
weather report ship on the fishing grounds.
The Hull Fishing Vessels Owners’
Association announced that a training ship would be set up. But the
idea of having a ‘safety shop steward’ on each trawler was rejected as it might
‘undermine the skippers’ authority.’
There were recommendations of wholesale reforms,
stopping short of ‘de-casualisation’ of the industry.
In October 1968 a public inquiry was held in Hull,
which resulted in the Holland-Martin Report into Trawler Safety.
The Report was damning saying that protective
clothing could have saved the two men who perished in Eddom’s lifeboat. Eddom
had bought a rubber “duck suit” which helped to save his life, from a company
store for seven guineas. The others had no such clothing. There were 83 safety
recommendations and a demand that life-rafts be equipped forthwith with safety
gear.
Inquiry chairman Admiral Sir Deric Holland-Martin
added the industry must “change human attitudes at every level.” All the
demands of the Fishermen’s Charter were enacted, many before
the Inquiry, the remainder soon after.
The “headscarf protestors” achieved in days
what unions and politicians had spent futile decades asking for. Their campaign
captured the public imagination and shamed the industry and the Government into
immediate action.
Shortly after her Westminster trip, Lillian lost
her job and in weeks to come some sections of the community she had fought so
hard to help turned on her.
Days of only Icelandic trawlers landing fish in
Hull during the bad weather ban, led to poison pen letters being sent to her
and her co-fighters.
Letters appeared in the local press. On February
13, Skipper Len Whur, (the “Len” appealed to in the final radio broadcast from
the Ross Cleveland), was her fiercest critic, accusing her in
the Hull Daily Mail of putting jobs at risk and “interfering
in something she knew nowt about” and calling the ban “stupid”.
A few days after Lillian’s London triumph a
TV appearance on the Eamonn Andrews’ Show saw her
star fall with stark rapidity. During banter with the show’s host Lil was
asked what fishermen did when not at sea. She quipped in her broad ’essle
road accent: “The married ones come home and take out their
wives, then go to the pubs. The single ’uns go wi’ their tarts.”
‘There was an audible gasp,’ recalled Mary Denness.
‘In Hessle Road the word “tart” has a totally different meaning. It simply
means girlfriend and is not offensive and does not have the same connotations
it has elsewhere, i.e. being a prostitute.’
The owners thought her a dangerous nuisance and
some of her peers thought she was “showing up” their community. And many of the
men thought the women had ‘made their point and should get to being wives’.
It was to be two years until Lillian found a job.
She took up various menial work for the remainder of her life.
Her final job was working in the cloakroom of a
Hull nightclub.
In 1988, she died of stomach cancer. Her obituary
was in The Times. At her funeral only a handful of those who had
once cheered her bluff oratory attended.
The protest led by Lillian Bilocca would have saved
more lives had the industry continued. Icelandic ‘Cod Wars’ of
the 1970s led to the decommissioning of the Hull trawler fleet and the community
collapsed. Owners were compensated handsomely. The men, deemed as casual
workers, got nothing, until 2001 when the Labour Government paid compensation
to the surviving trawlermen and the families of those who died in the interim.
In 1990, the local council placed a plaque on the
site of the old Victoria Hall. It reads: “In recognition of the
contributions to the fishing industry by the women of Hessle Road, led by
Lillian Bilocca, who successfully campaigned for better safety measures
following the loss of three Hull trawlers in 1968.”
AS noted in the final paragraph of this ODNB entry
there was a plaque to the women of Hull led by Mrs. Lillian Bilocca – a poor
monument to such an incredible achievement.
How things have changed since the publication of The Headscarf Revolutionaries by Barbican Press in 2015.
The book was optioned for production as a motion picture by leading British director Mark Herman (Brassed Off, Little Voice, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas et al )
In 2013, I wrote and presented a BBC Radio Four “Four Thought” talk for broadcast, introduced by writer and comedian David Baddiel, called “Courage and Effect” – which led to my book being published. (The broadcast can still be heard via my website.)
Hessle Road and other sites in the city have street art and murals in their honour – and there is even a Fishing Heritage Centre run by former trawlermen now in the heart of Hessle Road, the place where they were never forgotten. In April 2022, I had the sad honour of writing an obituary for Mrs. Yvonne Blenkinsop – the last of The Headscarf Revolutionaries.
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| Brian W Lavery |
Brian W Lavery, PhD.
Author: The
Headscarf Revolutionaries (Barbican Press 2015)
and The
Luckiest Thirteen (Barbican Press, 2018)
Hull –
August 3, 2023.
*** Images courtesy of the Hull Daily Mail,
Barbican Press and the research files of Dr Brian Lavery.
*** If you want to find out more about the
remarkable story of Hull’s Headscarf Revolutionaries you can visit Dr Brian
Lavery’s website – brianwlavery.com
Or buy his books via his publisher Barbican Press
at barbicanpress.com
He is on Twitter as @brianlavery59
Instagram @brianwlaveryauthor
Facebook Author Page as Brian W Lavery.
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