THE PRICE OF FISH

I don't know if you're allowed to write a two part blog but as there's no one here to tell me I can't here's the first part....

My grandma would say, quite sharply, when anyone changed the conversation from one she'd obviously been enjoying "And what's that got to do with the price of fish?" Well, this first blog is necessary as a prelude to the second so bear with me!

Many, many moons ago I worked at the National Fishing Heritage Centre and was approached by my friend Austin Mitchell to do a joint book. "Fishermen - The Rise and Fall of Deep Water Trawling" was born and I spent my spare time during the new few months on my part of the project, tracking down and visiting ex fishermen in Fleetwood, Hull and Grimsby, to interview them. The world I entered was very much a man's one and to begin with the fishermen were suspicious and tacit. But I found that if I smiled, nodded encouragingly, sat back, listened and didn't interrupt (yes, that bit was hard!) they would open up and once started their stories would flow out like a turned-on tap. It was sometimes boring, sometimes fascinating but mostly good fun. I stayed in Fleetwood above a Spanish restaurant, helped by a lovely lady who took time out from her dog breeding (I seem to remember poodles?) and helped me track down stories there. I trawled round the multi storey flats in Hull to find fishermen, often fearing for my car tyres. One flat in particular I will never forget. I was transfixed by the decor. The tiny front room was full to the gunnels with Spanish dancing dolls - on chairs, on walls, on shelves, on the tv, on the carpet. A huge fireplace fought for attention with the dolls, painted bright red, the bricks simulated by using bright yellow paint for the mortar. Flaming Flamenco! But I digress. The oral testamonies of the fishermen were typed up and edited, we collected up photos from the fishermen themselves or found good ones in the Welholme Galleries photographic collection (a wonderful local pictorial resource). The book was published (only a small print run but wow there it was in print) and we had a great lauch party with all the contributing fishermen coming to the Heritage Centre to celebrate. Actually they all ended up on the pub moored next to the Centre and I had to send in Father McMahon to get them off before they got totally plastered and the old rivalries between ports caused an upset bigger than the Cod Wars!

All in all it was a fascinating experience and an honour to speak to all these men - many now with chronic disease brought about through years of fishing - and record orally their memories of an industry now dead and gone and yet so central to our town's heritage. In part the book had been sparked by someone bringing in to Austin a journal they'd found in their attic of an anonymous fishermen and his life at sea. So next time you're stuck for a bit of journalling remember it really is worth trying to get some words down to go with the pictures as in years to come it will help to tell a tale! And perhaps include your name somewhere on the back! Anyway, included at the front of this anonymous journal was the following poem which says it all really.

THE PRICE OF FISH

The price of fish is very dear,

Two hundred men were lost last year.

Two hundred men in a watery grave,

That was the price, the price they gave.

Up in the land of the midnight sun,

Where the endless fight is never done.

Tired and weary, drenched and cold,

They strive to fill the iced up hold.

And many a man's gone over the rail

Lost in the teeth of an Arctic gale.

I only hope my point is clear,

the price of fish is VERY dear.