The Men of the Village

I have mentioned earlier that a good proportion of the men and youths from our and the surrounding villages were fishermen. Each year the herring drifters would congregate at Lowestoft and Yarmouth, coming from various ports along the East coast including Scotland. The local men were ready and waiting for the Home Fishing to start, as it did, I believe, in late August and early September. When this had finished, some of the skippers would follow the herring through the Channel and round to the 'westward' as they called it. The majority, however, would call it a day when the Home Fishing ended. The men, I believe, got a wage while fishing, but when the ships 'made up', there would be a share of the profits, if any, to all the crews. The shares were paid out according to the status of the men. I don't know exactly what the system was, but the skipper would get perhaps a share and a half, the mate a share, the deck-hands a three‑quarter share, and the cook, usually a boy, a half share.

It was all very much of a gamble, as the herring harvest varied considerably from year to year. It was a hard, tough life. Some skippers would be blessed with a sort of intuition as to where the herring were in greater numbers, and year after year would come out among the top boats. There was always a lot of competition to try and get a berth on the top money earners, and these skippers in turn would be 'choosey' about picking their crews.

Paying off always heralded a tremendous 'binge' in whatever were the men's local pubs. Some would be sensible enough to hand a good proportion of their bonus to their wives, or save it against a rainy day. But a lot of them practically lived in the pubs for days, or maybe weeks, in various stages of drunkenness until their money was gone.

They had no lack of so‑called friends while the money lasted. We would hang around outside the pub, waiting for the right man to come along. There were four brothers from the next village who would always come, sooner or later, to the Bird‑in‑Hand. As soon as the grapevine started buzzing, dozens of us made a beeline for the pub. As the brothers arrived, to be instantly surrounded by a yelling throng, they would toss handfuls of half-pennies or pennies in the air amongst us. No doubt they came well‑supplied, knowing what was expected of them, and year after year they never disappointed us. You can imagine the commotion, as we scrabbled around on hands and knees after the coins, with the odd fight breaking out here and there. Then, of course, there was a stampede for the village shop for sweets.

I daren't say a lot about this at home. Father, who wouldn't have been seen dead inside a pub, hated me hanging around. This couldn't be wondered at, for the language there, with all the drunks around was pretty awful. It didn't last for long, of course, for as soon as the money ran out, it was a case of back to work if they could pick up a shilling or two.