HALF a century ago in the opening months of 1968 some of the worst ever winter storms hit the Icelandic fishing grounds.

Three Hull trawlers were lost and a total of 58 crew members died.

British life was very different 50 years ago. Fish and chips was the most popular, indeed the only take-away food available. The Hull trawler fleet was the biggest fishing fleet in the world and deep sea fishing in Arctic waters was the most dangerous work anywhere on the face of the globe.

A hull trawlerman was 17 times more likely to be killed at work than the average British industrial worker.

The St Romanus sailed from Hull on January 10 1968 without a full and experienced crew — most significantly without a properly qualified radio operator to work the ship’s powerful main transmitter. This left communications with home to the young and relatively inexperienced skipper with his much less powerful bridge-mounted radio telephone.

The last contact was a radio telephone call on the evening of the day they sailed. Despite hearing nothing the owners did not raise the alarm until January 26.

A liferaft found on January 13 had come from the St Romanus. A search began, but by January 30 the families were told that there was little hope for the vessel and her crew of 20.

The second trawler the Kingston Peridot had also sailed from Hull on January 10 with a crew of 20, and by January 26 she was fishing off north-east Iceland in foul weather.

She radioed another trawler that she was having difficulties with ice build-up on the ship and moved east to join them. No further contact was established and on January 29 one of her liferafts was washed ashore. News of her loss reached Hull on January 30, just as hope was fading for the crew of St Romanus.

The third lost trawler, the Ross Cleveland, sailed on January 20, before the loss of the first two trawlers became known. She was bound for the north coast of Iceland with a full crew, but one man was put ashore for medical treatment, leaving 19 on board.

Conditions were awful and on February 3 she made for Isafjordur, a narrow and relatively sheltered inlet on Iceland’s north-west coast.

A number of other ships were gathered here to wait out the long and hurricane-force snowy storm. A dangerous amount of ice was forming on the vessels’ superstructure and radar masts.

The Ross Cleveland’s captain attempted to move her to a safer position on the evening of February 4, but the ship was overwhelmed by the wind and sea, capsized and sank.

Skipper Phil Gay sent this final tragic radio message: “I am going over. We are laying over. Help me. I am going over. Give my love and the crew’s love to the wives and families.”

Other ships attempted to assist the Ross Cleveland but were overwhelmed by the savage storm. Two more vessels were wrecked in Isafjordur that night, one an Icelandic trawler with the loss of all hands.

News of the Ross Cleveland sinking reached Hull on February 5, six days after that of the Kingston Peridot. At first it was believed all aboard Ross Cleveland had died, but on February 6 Harry Eddom, the mate, washed ashore in a liferaft just about clinging to life — the other two men in the raft had died of exposure.

The news of the three lost trawlers and the deaths of so many men hit hard at the whole of the Hull fishing community but a group of women fishermen’s family members decided to do something more than mourn – they would fight to make the industry safer.

Lillian Bilocca, Christine Jensen, Mary Denness and Yvonne Blenkinsop called a meeting of concerned family members which resulted in the formation of the Hessle Road Women’s Committee.

The group became known as the Headscarf Revolutionaries.
Bilocca and her women comrades led a direct action campaign to prevent undermanned trawlers from putting to sea, particularly when the ship had no properly qualified radio operator.

They gathered over 10,000 signatures on a petition for a fishermen’s charter addressed to Fred Peart MP, minister for fisheries in Harold Wilson’s government.
 

Bilocca was born in Hull. She married Carmelo [Charlie] Bilocca, a Maltese sailor who worked with the Hull-based Ellerman–Wilson Line, and later as a trawlerman. Her father, husband and son all worked on the Hull fishing trawlers. She worked on-shore filleting the catch.

Traditionally because they were away at sea for long periods — usually three weeks in Arctic waters and three days at home — trawlermen were not as strongly organised in trades unions as, for instance, the Hull dockers.

The women initially attempted to prevent what they considered to be undermanned trawlers from putting to sea. Billocca had to be restrained by four policemen to prevent her from leaping aboard trawlers leaving without a proper radio operator.

As well as radio operators onboard every ship the women had other demands including improved weather forecasts, better training for trainee crew, more safety equipment and a mother ship with medical facilities to accompany the fleet.

Prime Minister Harold Wilson met the women and subsequently government ministers granted all of their demands.
 

Bilocca received death threats from some of the trawler owners and telegrams telling her not to interfere in men’s work. She lost her job and was blacklisted — she never found work in the fishing industry again.

In 1990 Hull City Council unveiled a plaque inscribed: “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.”

Now at last, a book, The Headscarf Revolutionaries by Brian Lavery; a play by Maxine Peake and an excellent BBC documentary are all telling the true but long hidden story of Lillian and the other Heroes in Headscarfs.