Hull's Headscarf Heroes (2018) - full transcript

Lucy Beaumont presents this documentary marking the 50th anniversary of the triple trawler tragedy of 1968 and the protest by trawler-men's wives against the dangerous working conditions.

There are few jobs as dangerous as

deep sea fishing in the Arctic,

where gale-force winds and

mountainous seas

have claimed the lives of thousands

of men.

In January 1968,

trawlers from Hull's vast fishing

fleet

headed into these icy waters

in their quest for the biggest

catch.

It was a journey that would descend

into tragedy.

The waves must have been 30, 40 foot

high, some of them.

You know, you've got hundreds of

tonnes of water

crashing onto the ship.

And I actually thought we were going

to sink.

We was fighting for our lives.

Within three weeks, three ships had

sunk,

and 58 men had lost their lives.

For their families back home in

Hull, the news was devastating.

Your brain's thinking...

.."What was the last words they

said?

"Was he shouting for me, for his

mam, for his bairns?"

"Would he have been fighting to

get out of the water?"

All that plays with your head.

But out of this tragedy came

something extraordinary.

Fuelled by years of suffering and

loss,

in which over 6,000 of their men

had died at sea,

the women of Hull rose up

to protest against the dangerous

working conditions.

They were led by an indomitable

character called Lillian Bilocca.

My mother just looked horrified...

..and she thumped her hands and she

said, "Virginia, enough is enough!"

"I'm going to do something about

this."

I've always been concerned,

but I've never had the guts to do

owt about it.

But now I think that it's time

somebody did.

What Lillian and the others wanted

was a safer fishing industry,

and they were prepared to do

anything to get it.

But this was a man's world,

where women weren't welcome.

I got a punch in the face

when I was first doing it.

JOURNALIST: Are you a fisherman's

wife?

I'm a fisherman's daughter who

died at sea

four years ago. My mother was

widowed with six children...

But I wouldn't have stopped under

any circumstances.

I wanted something put right that

was wrong.

People should never put money before

people's lives.

This is the epic story of a disaster

that tore through the heart of

Hull's fishing community,

and of the remarkable women who

risked everything

in their fight to ensure

it never happened again.

The circumstances that led to the

women's protest have their roots

in Hull's unique fishing culture,

and the dangerous working practices

that developed

over the course of a century.

By the 1960s, the city was home

to the greatest deep-sea fishery on

earth.

150 deep-water trawlers were based

at St Andrew's Dock,

and every year, they brought in up

to a quarter of a million tonnes

of fish, 25% of Britain's total

catch.

To bring in such large quantities,

Hull's trawlermen had to take

enormous risks

because the best hunting grounds

were 1,000 miles away in the

Arctic waters around Iceland.

For the Hull trawlermen,

the North Sea was,

more or less, a highway,

a watery highway which led

to the fishing grounds,

which led to them fishing

under the Northern lights.

They went as far as a man could go

without hitting ice, basically,

without hitting the Poles, as it

were, to fish.

Of course, because they went

further,

and as far as you could go...

..the risk becomes greater.

It's the most dangerous profession

on earth.

Not the most dangerous job in

Britain...

..the most dangerous profession on

earth.

You're 17 times more likely to die

on a trawler

than if you were just

an ordinary working person.

Because of the extraordinary

distances involved,

the trawlermen were away from home

for at least three weeks at a time.

As a result, Hull's fishing

community,

which was based around Hessle Road,

developed a culture all of its own,

one where men and women lived very

separate lives.

One man who knows more about this

community than anyone else is

photographer and historian

Alec Gill.

He's been documenting people's

stories here for over 40 years.

There are many dynamic features of

Hessle Road,

and one well worth stressing is that

it was a strong matriarchy.

The women are the unsung heroes,

really, of the community.

Because, while the men were away for

three weeks,

they had to be mother and father

both to the children,

and so they did form this,

this, like, sisterhood if you like.

And it was a wonderful community

that was close-knit.

And it survived adversity

after adversity.

For Hull's women, the fact that

their loved ones could die at work

at any time was a constant worry,

made bearable only by the joy of

their return.

At St Andrew's Dock, families

gathered to welcome back their men.

But this would be only a brief

reunion,

because after just three days

at home,

they would be back to sea again.

Lil Bilocca's sister Minnie

was married to trawler skipper

Dick King.

I loved the three days.

You'd look forward to that for three

weeks, to get them three days.

It's a different world.

It's a different world from what

you've lived before.

You've got your man, your husband

or your boyfriend or whoever it

might be.

He's yours, he's back.

For children, too,

it was always a treat to have Dad

return after three weeks away.

Jean Shakesby was one of seven

children.

When Dad came home, it was really

exciting.

Especially for the younger children.

Because, as soon as he put his bag

down, he had sweets.

So we couldn't wait for Dad to come

home, you know.

I know we loved to see Dad,

but it was the sweets as well,

everybody got sweets

and we was all treat, you know?

So it was lovely.

And he was really a lovely man.

Trawlermen were prepared to put up

with this time away from home

because of the money. They were paid

a weekly wage,

plus a share of the profits from the

catch,

earning them the nickname

the Three-day Millionaires.

After three hard weeks at sea,

some of the younger men let off

steam in heavy drinking sessions,

giving Hessle Road a reputation for

trouble.

But most married men, like

Minnie King's husband Dick,

spent their time and money providing

for the family.

They didn't talk about work for fear

of worrying their wives.

And they knew they'd soon be

packing their kit bag

ready for the next journey.

And when they put that over

their shoulder,

that's not a nice feeling.

You know where they're going.

You know he's going from you and

your children.

I'm not going to see him next trip,

or whenever.

You never know. You never know.

So you always had that at the back

of your mind.

On the dreaded sailing day,

age-old superstitions kept Hull's

women out of their men's world.

It was taboo for them to go to the

docks to see their men off,

and they never waved them goodbye

for fear an actual wave might wash

them overboard.

And the strange rituals didn't end

there.

There was a little ditty in Hull

which goes,

"Never wash on sailing day

or you'll wash your man away."

And so it meant washing his clothes.

Because when you think about

washing,

if you're washing somebody's garment

or shirt or whatever,

you're washing the soul out of them,

washing the spirit out of the house.

Also you're mimicking plunging them

under the water.

And so for a seafaring family,

you know, you're mimicking drowning

them.

The hardships of a life at sea

were well known to Hull's fishing

families...

..but many of Hessle Road's boys

still wanted to go.

Among them was Ernie Bilocca.

It was tradition.

My father was in the Merchant Navy,

my uncle was a skipper on the

trawlers.

My grandad was a chief engineer on

the trawlers,

and all my friends was

all on the trawlers.

And it looked so

glamorous when they was coming home

after the three weeks, all dressed

in smart suits,

a few quid in their pockets, making

us quite jealous of what they had.

However, young Ernie faced

opposition to his plans

from his mother, Lil Bilocca.

My mum weren't very keen on the idea

at all.

Didn't want me to go. There was no

two ways about that.

Because she knew the dangers of the

sea.

But I insisted,

and in the end, she realised

that she wasn't going to be able to

stop me.

At 16, Ernie didn't need his mum's

permission to work on a trawler.

And while no boys under the age of

15 were officially allowed at sea,

some skippers did turn a blind eye.

Hessle Road boy Ken Shakesby first

worked on a trawler

when he was just 13 years old.

For me, you know, a young boy,

I thought,

"Well, this is my vision and this is

what I'd like to do."

And, of course,

you look up and you see the skipper

who's in control of the vessel

and you think, "Well, that could be

me up there in so many years' time."

And that was my intentions in life.

Both Ken and Ernie were soon heading

out towards the Arctic

as inexperienced but enthusiastic

trainee deckhands,

known in the industry

as decky learners.

It seemed, at the beginning, that it

would be a great adventure.

The reality was something quite

different.

They were about to experience some

of the dangerous working conditions

that would so anger Ernie's mum,

Lil Bilocca,

and the other headscarf heroes.

I just couldn't believe how rough

the seas were,

what the conditions was like,

the hours that we was worked.

Just the all-round working

environment.

You know, your life's in danger,

there's no doubt about that.

It's in danger.

In the 1960s,

Hull's fishing fleet was largely

made up

of old-fashioned trawlers known

as sidewinders.

On these vessels, the fish had to be

gutted on the exposed deck,

where the men often worked 24-hour

shifts in appalling conditions.

The health and safety aspect was

non-existent.

All they used to say was,

"You keep one eye on the job and one

eye on the weather."

And they were the simple,

basic "safety" tools you had.

"One eye on the job, one eye on the

weather."

Because when it was bad and

these,

what we call the white horses would

break,

they would just come on board like

nobody's business,

and they would knock...

It doesn't matter who you was,

it would knock you down like it's

anything.

Being swept overboard was a risk,

but the ship's moving equipment was

more dangerous,

and it wasn't governed by the same

safety laws as machinery on land.

Deep sea trawlers were full of

hazards

that could cause death or serious

injury

in an instant.

The wires that they used for towing

the trawler,

they're under that much strain.

You know, you're talking about maybe

50 tonnes of strain.

That snaps, it'd take your head off.

It'd cut you in half. No doubt

about that whatsoever.

Despite the dangers,

many decky learners had little to no

training before going to sea.

So they had to learn from the more

experienced deckhands.

You know, when you was young and

green, you would, like...

Like latch onto the older, mature

people and you would learn from him.

And then I used to think,

"Well, he's an old man,

"he's been doing it for many years,

and he's managed all these years.

"So what he's doing, it must be the

right thing,

"so I'm going to learn from him, and

hopefully that will get me through."

It's like, as we say in this day and

age,

it's an accident waiting to happen.

But accidents did happen,

some fatal.

And it was Hessle Road's women who

were left to suffer.

One such accident occurred

in August, 1963.

The last time I saw my dad was early

in the morning

when the taxi came for him.

He kissed us all bye-bye and that,

and then my mum went down

the passageway of our house

to the front door with him,

and he kissed her...

SOBS: Sorry.

And he said, "Bye-bye," and...

..that was it. We never saw him no

more.

He was fine, you know?

There was nothing wrong with him.

He just went out of the door

and that was it.

Jean's dad Stan was dragged

overboard

when a shark became caught in the

net.

His body was never found.

With nobody to bury,

it was almost impossible for loved

ones

to come to terms with their loss.

The thing that was sad for my mother

was, she always thought,

"He's lost,

"he'll get found, and he's lost his

memory."

And she believed that for years.

With seven children to support,

Jean's mum sought compensation from

the trawler owners.

But they claimed her father's death

was an act of God

and refused to pay out,

leaving the family with

financial worry on top of grief.

In the meantime, there was some

happiness for Jean,

as not long after her father died,

she married decky

learner Ken Shakesby.

I was 19. Jean was, like, 11 months

younger than me.

For me, in them days it was, like,

this is...

It's something there, what you get

inside of you.

This is it.

It was nice, you know?

So... The only thing was, it was his

job.

I used to worry all the time because

I used to think of my dad.

And I know it sounds silly,

but I used to think "When he gets

past 40, I'll feel better,"

because my dad was

just 40 when he died.

And I don't know why, it just stuck

in my head, that.

What happened to Jean's mother and

the family was not unusual.

Without proof of negligence against

the owners,

few accident claims resulted in a

pay-out.

But in the 1960s,

the bosses that ran Hull's fishing

fleet were all-powerful.

People would often describe the

trawler owners as almost feudal.

That's not quite accurate.

They were entirely feudal.

They couldn't be further removed

from those that worked for them.

And I'm not saying that individually

as human beings they were monstrous.

Their practices were monstrous.

To send a man...

..to sea

with scant regard or even concern

for his safety.

They're concerned only with what

they brought back.

In the quest for maximum profit,

the trawler owners put enormous

pressure on the ships' skippers

to bring back more fish than their

rivals.

They even awarded an annual trophy,

called the Silver Cod,

to the man who landed the largest

catch.

In this competitive environment,

skippers expected the trawlermen to

work even in the worst conditions.

Everybody's got a different opinion

of what bad weather is.

You get levels of storm, though,

weather forecasts ranging from one

to 12.

Up to a seven, yeah,

it's all right, but it's starting to

get a little bit dodgy, you know,

a bit naughty. Eight's "No, I don't

really work in this."

So when you get to nines, you would

get some of the skippers...

..they'd fish in that, and that was

dangerous.

Very dangerous. But you'd no option.

The bottom line was profit.

But whatever the men thought,

in the 1960s, they had few

employment rights,

and arguing with the skipper could

prove costly.

The skipper was God.

His word was God's.

Whatever he did, we did.

And that's how it was because,

you know,

they had the power to do what they

wanted.

They had the power to either make

you or break you.

It's not very often you, um,

challenge the skipper's...

..word or authority.

If you did, you could almost

guarantee

you'd get the sack when you got

home.

And what they done, they called it

walkabout.

And they made sure you stopped out

of work for two or three weeks,

until you'd learned your lesson.

This constant threat to their

livelihoods

meant the men rarely complained,

despite the working conditions.

They might have complained that,

unlike some continental fleets,

Hull's trawlers sailed without the

support of a mothership -

a rescue vessel, which carried

medical staff and equipment.

Instead, responsibility for medical

emergencies lay with the skipper,

who usually only had basic training.

In 1963,

Yvonne Blenkinsop's father had a

heart attack

while at sea on a trawler.

The skipper was a good skipper and

sent him down...

..to get in his bed and rest.

But he needed treatment.

He needed someone to get him

the right medicine.

He was never ill.

He was not once, that I can

remember, ill in his life, my dad.

Not once. I can never remember him

going to the doctors.

Nobody expected him to die,

not one in the family.

It was like a bolt out of the blue

when we got told he'd died.

He just went away a happy man,

as usual...

..and it was not that he'd been

swept overboard,

or the ship had gone down,

it's because he needed somebody who

knew what they were doing.

I know the skipper knows so much

about it but they're not doctors.

But, when you sit down to think

about it,

it's the thing that they should have

had.

They could have got him off and got

him home,

and I could even still have my dad.

I know he'd be old, he'd be

in his 90s.

But, even so, he would still have a

chance of being alive.

Yvonne's mother was left with six

children to bring up.

The women of Hessle Road had lived

with tragedy for generations.

But, in early 1968,

they were to suffer a bereavement of

such magnitude,

they could remain silent no longer.

The triple trawler disaster

would thrust the issues of their

close-knit community

to the very height of national

attention.

SHIP'S HORN SOUNDS

It began on the tenth of January

when a fleet of trawlers left

St Andrew's Dock

on the early morning tide.

Among them was the St Romanus,

a vessel with a poor reputation.

Dick King was offered the job of

skipper.

Dick was supposed to take that

ship...

..and he said to me,

"I don't fancy going, Min".

And he'd been to sea all his life.

He'd never, ever refused a ship.

He said, "I don't fancy going,

Min."

I said, "Well, don't go, love.

"Please don't go."

You know, there's something about it

he didn't like.

He said it wasn't seaworthy.

The ship was eventually taken out by

a young skipper called Jim Wealden.

As well as being considered

unseaworthy,

there was no radio operator among

his crew.

The idea of going to sea without a

radio operator

is like a blind man

going without a cane, or a dog...

..in a dark street.

In times of trouble,

a Mayday signal sent by the operator

from the powerful equipment held in

the radio room

would be heard around the world.

But the radio in the skipper's

wheelhouse

had only a limited range,

leaving the ship isolated.

Now that, in itself, is astounding.

What's even more astounding is that

that wasn't illegal.

At around 7.30am on the tenth of

January,

Jim Wealden was struggling to get

his basic radio to work.

He contacted the trawler owners to

give his position,

then called his wife

to tell her he was unhappy with the

ship.

She never heard from him again.

MORSE CODE

Over the next ten days,

the owners tried in vain to contact

the St Romanus,

but took no further action,

as skippers often maintained radio

silence

if the fishing was good,

to avoid giving away their position

to their competitors.

It wasn't until the 24th of January,

two weeks after initial contact was

lost,

that the owners finally alerted the

coastguard.

The same day, in houses off

Hessle Road,

the wives of the crew were informed

that the ship was missing.

Among them was 17-year-old

mother-of-two Denise Hilton,

whose 19-year-old husband Brian was

on board.

I sent him a telegram for our first

wedding anniversary...

..and then these two men were

knocking on the door...

..to say that

they've had no contact with the

ship for so many days

and they're hoping

everything will be all right, like.

So, you're thinking,

"Course it will be.

"Course it will be." You'll get a

telegram tomorrow, or you'll get,

as often you did, a bouquet of

flowers or a basket of fruit.

You're thinking,

"It'll be all right."

But then they come back again and

they said they still haven't heard.

And you're sort of living in a

dream.

You feel sick and you don't want to

eat.

You're looking at your babies and

you're thinking,

"He has to come back for them."

News of the missing ship spread

gloom across the community.

Ernie Blocher was about to set off

for his next voyage to Iceland.

When I was in the

Kingston Almandine,

we'd actually set sail from Hull

knowing that one ship had already

gone missing,

which was the St Romanus.

There was a lot of sadness aboard

the ship from everybody

because they all thought for the

people back home.

the Kingston Almandine's sister

ship,

the Kingston Peridot, announced

she was struggling in bad weather.

In force 12 winds, a build-up of ice

was making her top heavy.

It was every skipper's nightmare.

Ice gathers at a remarkable rate on

a ship.

A ship of 450 tonnes will turn over,

what they call turn turtle,

where the ice is packed upon it,

and it turns very rapidly and

disappears.

Although no-one received a Mayday

signal from the Peridot,

as the storm passed, and there was

no further contact with her,

nearby vessels were alerted.

We'd been fishing on the east coast

of Iceland

when we got a message from

the insurance buildings in Hull,

telling us that the Kingston Peridot

was missing

in that area where we were.

And would we keep an eye out for it

or look and see if we could find any

signs of it whatsoever?

But we never found anything at all.

On the 29th of January,

the discovery of a life raft

belonging to the ship

led to a full air and sea search.

And when three other life buoys

were found near an oil slick on the

water,

the Kingston Peridot was assumed

lost,

along with their crew of 20 men.

More bad news followed,

as the loss of the St Romanus was

officially confirmed.

Another 20 men had perished.

The people of Hessle Road were in

shock.

Everyone was talking about it.

Everybody knew one of the men on the

ships.

It was a horrible time.

You just walked down Hessle Road and

everyone,

that would be the topic of

conversation,

whatever shop you went in.

Hull was home to a fishermen's

mission,

a church-run charity that provided

emotional support in time of need.

And it was the job of the port

missionary

to break the bad news to the

waiting women.

It was a daunting task for newly

qualified Donald Woolley

who'd only recently been posted to

Hessle Road.

Many of the people who lost their

husbands or partners...

..were of no age at all.

Sometimes late teens.

As were their partners.

But nevertheless, those people,

being young people...

..must have been terribly

traumatised

by what had happened to them.

One minute, they were happy.

Another minute, they were content.

Another time, they were looking

forward to coming home.

But in actual fact, they were never

to come home.

17-year-old Denise Hilton was the

youngest of the widows.

My brain's thinking,

"Did he fall overboard?

"Was he sleeping in his bunk?

"Was he shouting for me,

for his mam, for his bairns?"

You know, "Was he all fighting

to get out?

"Was it quick?"

And you think,

"God, I hope so."

You look at your children and you

think...

EMOTIONALLY: ..excuse me...

..they're never going to see their

father, grow up.

It was...

Sorry.

Despite the shocking loss of 40

fishermen in two weeks,

it was business as usual for owners

and crews at St Andrew's Dock.

But the women of Hessle Road could

contain themselves no longer.

Wives, mothers, sisters and

daughters

now vented their anger at the lack

of safety on the trawlers.

For a start off, there should be a

wireless operator on every ship

because a skipper can't be on the

bridge

and in the wireless room at

the same time, can he?

And the owners,

they don't care.

All they're interested in, the fish.

The men, they don't mean a thing to

them.

They couldn't care less what

happened to them.

As long as they're bringing the

fish back.

There's been that many men lost in

the last five years,

that we just aren't going to put up

with it any more.

Even now the owners are trying to...

Emotions were raw.

The double tragedy touched every

woman in the community.

Lil Bilocca worked as a cod skinner

in a fish factory

off St Andrew's Dock.

Her daughter, Virginia, remembers

how her mother reacted to the news.

Even though she was such a private

person normally,

she was shocked and horrified.

She just looked at me and she

thumped her hand

and she said,

"Virginia, enough is enough".

"I'm going to do something about

this".

And I looked at me mam, and I

thought, "Whoa, she means business."

And she said, "I'm going to start a

petition

"for better safety conditions at

sea."

Lil Bilocca was not alone.

The pent-up feelings of generations

of women boiled over.

Thousands eagerly signed the

petition.

I remember Lil knocking on the doors

with the other ladies,

to sign the petition.

Those in the streets,

those on Hessle Road, clipboards and

signatures, were getting signed.

I don't think there'll be anybody in

Hull that never signed that.

I certainly signed it,

and my family signed it.

That petition got 10,000 signatures

in three days.

In an area that only has 14,000

people.

Imagine that's practically everyone

who could pick up a pen

had signed it.

On Friday the second of February,

Lil Bilocca took her petition to the

Victoria Hall,

where over 500 women gathered to

demand action.

Among them was Yvonne Blenkinsop.

After the death of her father five

years earlier,

she was desperate to get involved.

You couldn't move. It was packed

with people.

There were loads there.

And I mean loads.

There were women of all ages,

from young ones who'd just become

wives of young trawlermen,

there was older ones,

there was people who had already

lost people at sea.

There was all sorts of people there.

Lil told the gathering they were

there to talk about

what they were going to do after the

loss of the two ships.

Action was needed.

She was prepared to go to jail

if it would win better and safer

conditions

for men on trawlers.

And she intended to meet

the Prime Minister next week,

and not come back until she had.

Yvonne Blenkinsop was then called to

speak.

I just started speaking on the

microphone.

And I told them about my mum and

dad,

and being left alone with six kids,

having to bring them up, and how

hard it was.

I said, "I know how all you out

there,

"if it's hit any one of you in this

room now,

"we know exactly what you're

feeling."

I said, "And it's got to change.

"We've got to have better safety.

"We can't go on like this for ever

and ever and nobody do anything."

And I said, "We've got to see the

owners."

The meeting voted for Yvonne,

Mary Denness,

Lil Bilocca and Chrissy Jensen to

form a committee

to take their demands forward.

Jean Shakespeare was impressed by

what she saw.

Their spirit in Victoria Road,

them ladies,

when they were on stage speaking,

they were saying what we were all

thinking, and wanted to say.

And it was wonderful.

You felt as if something's going to

be done.

The women of Hessle Road were

speaking out like never before.

Do you think, as conditions are at

the moment, they're safe at sea?

Well, no, because they don't have a

regular check

of the safety equipment.

Often it's not even touched and they

don't know what condition it's in.

What do you feel about this

business?

Well, I think it's gone on long

enough.

And if we don't do something about

it, nobody will.

The men can't, because they're not

home long enough

to all get together and organise

something.

So we have to do it.

I've always been concerned,

but I've never had the

guts to do owt about it.

But now, I think it's time somebody

did.

And I've made a start. It's up to

these other people to follow me.

And to make these owners sit up and

take bloody notice.

And now, not next year, or the year

after.

Many of the women wanted action

there and then,

so Lil led over 200 of them on a

march down Hessle Road

to confront the owners at

St Andrew's Dock.

We just walked silently down

Hessle Road.

And it was fantastic.

You felt as if, "Right, something is

going to be done."

You know, it was wonderful.

While a deputation of women met with

the owners,

the rest voiced their feelings to

the press.

This was the chance for

Jean Shakesby and her mother

to speak out.

You can see my mother is really

verbal.

Because it's bad enough losing one

man,

but to lose full ships of men was

just too hard to take.

Lil and the others were fast

becoming a formidable force.

But what can be done?

Lots of things can be done, petal,

and will be done.

We need a safety ship patrolling the

areas 24 hours a day.

Are you a fisherman's wife?

I'm a fisherman's daughter,

who died at sea four years ago.

My mother was widowed with six

children.

I've been born and bred in the

fishing family.

But that's apart from the fact.

We are fighting for the fishermen

who's there now.

I was thinking about getting the job

done for the safety of the men.

That was all.

No! The thing is, our

men are hard-working men.

I wanted something put right that

was wrong.

People should never put money before

people's lives.

For the first time,

Hessle Road's women had stepped out

of their traditional domestic roles,

into a world where they'd previously

been excluded.

And they were getting noticed.

Nothing like this had ever happened

before.

It was a man's domain.

Women sort of, like, never spoke up.

But Mum, with her three other

ladies,

had the guts and the courage,

and the determination to change

something.

However, the women were about to

discover

just how hard it would be to take on

the system.

After they'd met with the owners,

Michael Burton, chairman of

the Hull Fishing Vessels Owners

Association was asked

if he was sympathetic to the women's

cause.

I have much more sympathy with the

relatives who have been lost at sea,

frankly, than...

..a lot of women who are trying

to...

Well, they're not trying,

but are getting carried away on a

wave of mass hysteria.

Well, believe you me,

I wish they'd had put me or my

mother in that room with him.

I'd have shown him what hysterical

was,

because, how dare he...?

He hadn't lost no-one.

You know, that was horrible, to say

that.

We weren't hysterical women.

We were trying to get our husbands,

sons, brothers, whatever, safe.

Dads. We wanted them safe.

But despite the women's good

intentions,

some of the trawlermen also

disapproved of their actions,

because they lived in fear of the

owners,

and were well aware that complaining

could cost you your job.

Frankly, the ordinary fisherman

is a bit sick of all these women

interfering in their own business.

The sooner we get down to dealing

with the men who matter,

rather than the women, the better.

Things took a darker turn when the

women were sent death threats,

and Yvonne Blenkinsop was attacked

in a restaurant off Hessle Road.

As I get to near the door,

he comes straight up to me and

punches me in my face.

Said something about the fishing.

I couldn't hear what he said.

And off he went. Well, I just turned

around and came back again,

didn't go into the toilet.

I said, "I've just been punched in

the face.

"A big one, right in my nose.

"It was a wallop."

They didn't like women standing up

and doing anything then.

Women should be at home,

looking after the children...

..and looking after...

You know what, cleaning, cooking.

They shouldn't be doing that sort of

thing.

That's what they were saying.

At home.

But nobody was going to tell

Lil Bilocca what to do.

She wasn't even worried about

breaking the age-old taboo

that prevented women from going to

the docks on sailing day.

She was going down on the next tide

to stop any trawler setting sail

without a radio operator.

I'm going to get aboard that trawler

and stop on unless...

I'll have to be moved off that ship,

forcibly.

I'll have to be carried off.

Unless that ship's got a full

crew, including the radio operator.

The next day, Lil was at the lock

gates

as a batch of trawlers were

leaving for Iceland.

Have you got a full crew, lads?

ALL: Yes! Radio operator?

All the best, flowers.

Then, when a crew told her they had

no radio operator on board,

her moment came.

Lil tried to jump onto the trawler.

I remember my mother struggling,

with six policemen and women.

There she is, struggling, because

she, Mum,

was trying to jump on board a

trawler

that Mum thought didn't have

a radio operator on board.

When she went on the dock, when she

was struggling,

police were holding her back. She's

a big woman, don't forget.

But she was a strong woman, an' all.

I worried about her, then.

"Oh, crikey, Lil,"

I said, "Be careful, Lil."

"I'm all right, don't worry about

me.

"I'm all right." That's all you got

from her, you know?

She's that kind of a woman.

She was strong. Whatever she wanted

to do, she'd do it.

That became the photograph on every

front page,

this woman wrestling with the

police.

But the courage involved in that,

what people missed,

had she have managed to jump,

the chances are she would have

killed herself.

It was an extremely dangerous and

headstrong thing to do.

But she was a very headstrong woman.

Do you think you're doing any good

with this vigil?

Certainly. Certainly.

What do you think you're doing?

Well, it stops a ship from going

without a radio operator,

haven't we?

That's a start. It's not the finish,

it's a start.

How much more of this do you intend

to do?

The rest of my life.

How do you regard yourself,

Mrs Bilocca?

As a sort of suffragette?

Don't be daft! How, then?

Why are you doing this?

Because I'm a mother.

As a mother, Lil had once tried to

prevent her son, Ernie,

from becoming a trawlerman.

Now she knew he was fishing in the

same treacherous waters

that had just claimed the lives of

40 men.

But what she didn't know was the

worst storm in living memory

was bearing down on the fleet.

The weather had got that bad...

..it increased from medium-heavy

weather to just unworkable.

In the space of...

..30 minutes.

It happened very, very quickly.

So what we did, we hauled

all the gear back on board the

ship...

..tied it down. What you call

lashing it down.

Tied it all down. Secured it.

And by then, it was a full-blown

raging storm.

Over a dozen Hull trawlers battled

through the waves

to get to the shelter

of a nearby fjord.

As hurricane-force winds brought

driving snow,

deadly ice started to build up on

the ships.

While his wife, Jean, was protesting

on Hessle Road,

Ken Shakesby was

on the Kingston Garnet.

The seas were absolutely ridiculous.

Everybody's off the deck,

and we have a watch looking out on

the bridge,

radar, three or four men, skipper,

mate, watch keepers, looking out,

listening and everything, you know?

Trying to get to safety, because it

was so big, the seas.

They would have just filled us.

And with the ice top-up, we would

have just eventually keeled over.

After hours spent hacking ice from

the Kingston Almandine,

in a desperate attempt to stop her

sinking,

an exhausted Ernie Bilocca had taken

to his bunk

while the storm raged on.

You get to know the motion of a ship

after a while.

You know when it goes to one side,

it'll come back up again,

goes to the other, comes back up

again.

This particular time, you can feel

the actual seas

and you can hear them pounding

aboard the ship.

You know, you've got hundreds

of tonnes of water

crashing onto the ship.

And you know, boom-boom-boom-boom,

that's OK.

Boom-boom-boom. Blimey, that's

getting a bit...

By then, you expect it to start to

come back.

I actually thought, we was going to

sink.

We were laid out at an angle,

where...

..I didn't think things were going

to come up right again.

Well, I was that exhausted at the

time,

because of the work and what we'd

been doing on the deck,

the long hours,

I never had the energy...

..to get out of my bunk.

If that ship had have sank, I would

have still been laid in my bunk.

Back on the Kingston Garnet,

Ken Shakesby heard on the radio

that the nearby Ross Cleveland was

in trouble.

And through the blizzard,

he could just about see her.

You could see the flashing

of his light.

Bearing in mind,

he's moving up and down,

and you're looking for the light.

And sometimes the snow,

it gives you false images.

But then we would say,

"There's the light."

And then we heard the skipper

saying, this Phil Gay,

he kept saying,

"She's going, she's going.

"And I can't do anything about it.

"Give my love to my wife

and to the crew's families."

We're looking, and then...

..the lights have gone.

And there's nothing on the screen

and...

It was just after midnight,

on Monday the fifth of February,

when the Ross Cleveland sank.

Another 19 fishermen

were presumed dead.

News of the Cleveland's loss

stunned the Hessle Road community.

A double trawler tragedy

now became

the triple trawler disaster.

Despite the enormous losses,

port missionary Donald Woolley

witnessed an extraordinary spirit

of resilience amongst the women.

These people were really quite

remarkable in themselves.

Some of them were older,

some of them were younger,

but I think I've never seen bravery

as I saw during those few days.

They were brave

because they had to carry on.

They were brave

because they had to manage a home.

They were brave because the children

had to go to school.

They wanted to show not only...

..their own love to their

children...

..but sometimes I think they wanted

them to...

..show their dad's love.

But he was never going to be there

again.

However, some women still struggled

to accept the loss of their men.

The local church arranged a memorial

service to help them.

And there's hundreds,

hundreds of people.

And you walk in there, and

all the flowers are laid out,

and then they start playing

Abide With Me and...

EMOTIONALLY: ..all,

all that kind of thing.

And that makes it real.

That made it real. Even though

you didn't have a body...

..all them people coming together,

not just my family,

all of the other trawlermen's

families, that's what made it real.

Meanwhile, the Government

ordered an inquiry,

and summoned the trawler owners for

discussions

on safety in the fishing industry.

But it was the women's campaign that

still drove the impetus for change.

The next day, Lil, Yvonne and Mary

travelled to London

to a special meeting

with top government ministers.

I was dead centre to this one in the

middle,

who turned out to be the head

minister.

As I sat down, I said,

"I hope we're going to get these

things,"

and just said that, as I sat down,

"All of them."

And he just smiled at

me, to begin with.

Then they started at the end

and came through.

Each of them, saying what they were

saying, the girls and whatever.

He came to me.

Then I said all my things.

I said, "I've got a lot here,

I'm afraid."

But I said, "I'm not going out of

here until I know I've got them.

"And I hope I do get them."

I said, "They should always have a

radio operator

"on board the trawler, always."

I said we needed a mothership.

We needed more modern materials

to use on our ships.

Why can't we use some of the stuff

that's used in the aeroplanes,

that's light and can be used?

Why can't they find something that

could maybe...

..stop the ice going so far

and being so heavy?

There must be something

in this day and age.

The women also wanted trawlers

designed for better safety,

restrictions placed on the use of

inexperienced decky learners

and a ban on fishing in poor

weather.

When we was coming out, I said,

"Petal, are we going to have these

things, then?"

And he said, "You are, my dear."

Real nice. With a big smile.

He agreed with everything

all of us were saying,

because it all needed doing.

Everything. Every one.

Now that was good.

There was more good news to follow.

Reports of a miracle survivor.

This is Isafjordur, the wild, icy

north-west coast of Iceland,

some of the worst weather the island

has ever seen.

Now into this remote, freezing

fishing port

has come a British seaman

who survived a dying ship.

26-year-old Harry Eddom was

the mate on the Ross Cleveland.

He survived in a life raft in which

two of his colleagues had died.

The news was broken to

Yvonne Blenkinsop

and the others while they were still

in London.

Somebody comes in the door.

"They've found one!

"They've found one!"

A survivor? A survivor?

Yes! It was Harry Eddom.

I thought that was marvellous.

"They've found one,

they've found one!"

We were all absolutely thrilled.

Harry Eddom's miraculous survival

quickly gained huge press attention,

making the triple trawler disaster

and the women's campaign for safety

an international news story.

Newsreel cameras were there to film

him reunited with his young family.

TELEVISION: Now the ordeal of

Harry Eddom was over.

He was back with his wife, Rita,

and their seven-month-old daughter,

Natalie.

The Eddom family were news,

good news in a time of tragedy.

The lone survivor will be a key

witness

in Government and Board of Trade

inquiries into the disasters.

But first, there was the happiness

of being home to enjoy.

Despite appearing in front of the

cameras,

Harry was so traumatised by his

ordeal

that he's never spoken publicly

about it.

But he did speak privately to port

missionary Donald Woolley,

who previously comforted his wife

Rita.

When Harry came back, I had the

privilege of going to see him.

And we had

a natter about the things that...

..had happened to him.

But before I left his home, he said

to me...

"I've got something for you."

And he went to the sideboard

and he took out a copy of

the New Testament,

which had been given to him in

Iceland.

And he said, "Do you have any

family?"

And I said, "Yes. We had the one

son, Richard."

And so Harry took his pen and signed

inside that New Testament,

to Richard, from Harry Eddom.

That New Testament has been on our

shelves in our little office

for 50 years.

We are proud to have received it

from Harry,

a man who I respect tremendously.

Following the success in London,

Lil Bilocca and the others returned

to Hull,

where they reported back to the

women of Hessle Road.

Of course it was wonderful to say,

"Well, I've met with Parliament,

"we've got what we've asked for."

It just erupted.

All the women, it was so lovely.

You just felt euphoric after all the

tragedy that had gone on,

that something is going to be done.

It won't bring our men back,

we know that.

But it would help maybe the future

men.

And at the time, my husband was one

of them.

But it was a wonderful atmosphere in

that hall.

88 safety measures were enacted

immediately

in response to the women's campaign.

The first to be implemented was a

mothership,

complete with up-to-date medical and

radio facilities.

Their Fishermen's Charter laid the

foundations

for safety at sea

for generations to come.

Welcomed by all, including those who

had once been resistant to change.

As Mrs Denness said upon her

return...

..to Hull, "We did more in six days

"than trade unions and politicians

have done in a century."

There's no doubt about it, there's

people walking the streets today

who otherwise wouldn't be,

countless thousands of lives,

future lives saved by making

the most dangerous...

..industry on earth that much more

safer.

Despite the success of the women's

campaign,

by the early 1970s, the future of

Hull's fishing fleet

was looking increasingly uncertain.

In 1972, the Cod War broke out,

as Iceland imposed restrictions on

fishing rights in its waters.

In the ensuing battle,

the Royal Navy was called in,

as Icelandic gunships rammed Hull's

trawlers and cut their nets.

By the end of 1976,

Iceland had won the Cod War.

With access denied to its rich

fishing grounds,

Hull's fishing industry fell into a

sharp decline

from which it never recovered.

The effect on the Hessle Road

community was devastating.

Sadly, trawlers were getting

scrapped on one hand,

and also the bulldozers were moving

in to the streets of Hessle Road.

And the fishing families and the

Hessle Roaders

were being moved out to modern

estates.

As the old fishing industry slowly

disappeared,

so too did the memory of what

Lil Bilocca

and the other campaigners had

achieved.

And when Lil died in 1988 at the

age of 59, there was little fanfare.

I said to Audrey, my partner,

"Let's go to the funeral,"

expecting there to be lots of

people.

You know? I knew it was going to be

at the Boulevard Baptist.

We thought there'd be loads there.

Anyway, nobody.

Just the family group went in,

and the hearse comes along,

and nobody in the streets.

For a woman who had fought for

trawler safety,

it was a sad way for her

to end her life.

Once home to the largest deep-sea

fishing fleet on earth,

St Andrew's Dock is now a wasteland.

But it's also a place of remembrance

for some of the families of Hull's

lost trawlermen.

Denise Hilton comes here to remember

her husband, Brian.

There's never an 18th of January

I forget,

which would have been our

wedding anniversary.

His birthday's the ninth of

September.

The time he got lost, the tenth

and the 11th of January.

And my children have always known

about Brian.

The grandchildren,

even the great-grandchildren.

My little Ayla, she's going to be

nine this week.

They've just been doing something at

school about the trawlers.

Obviously she could say, "Well, my

great-grandad was on there."

Because they don't know him,

but they know of him.

Any questions they've ever wanted

answered, I've answered them.

They say, "Will they see us, Nana?"

I say, "Yeah, but they're just

in another room."

They're always in here.

And that's all you can say about

it.

They're always in here.

Can't take that away from them.

In 1968,

Lil Bilocca led the women of

Hessle Road

on one of the most successful

protest movements

of the last 50 years.

Together with Mary Denness,

Chrissy Jensen

and Yvonne Blenkinsop,

she transformed the attitude to

safety at sea

and helped save the lives of

untold thousands of men.

They should have an award...

..for what they did.

And I was happy, proud,

and so was my mother, to march

behind them ladies.

And I'd do it again tomorrow.

Today, Yvonne Blenkinsop is the last

surviving leader

of Hull's Headscarf Heroes.

I'm so pleased

and so proud I did do it.

I just wanted to do a job, and do it

properly.

And get the safety for our men.

Because our trawlermen more than

deserved it.

More than deserved it.