The Headscarves That Saved the Waves: Lillian Bilocca

“Give my love and the crew’s love to the wives and families.” The Ross Cleveland vanished ten seconds after this message was broadcast. It triggered a safety campaign led by Lillian Biloccoa, no matter what it took. This is the story of The Headscarf Revolutionaries and their fight for safety at sea.

On January 10^th, 1968, the St. Romanus and Kingston Peridot left Hull on separate tides. They never returned. A little over a fortnight later, the Ross Cleveland left for Iceland.

On January 11^th, the St. Romanus sank with all hands, as did the Kingston Peridot on January 26^th. On February 4^th, the Ross Cleveland also sank with only one man surviving – the mate, Harry Eddom. It was a catalogue of errors.

The St. Romanus, commanded by 26-year-old Jim Wheeldon, had no radio operator. Yet this was not illegal. If a skipper held a telegraphy certificate, he might double up jobs. Even worse, the radio only had a 50-mile range.

After these trawlers sunk, Lillian Bilocca gathered signatures calling for improved safety. What they weren’t expecting was how the authorities reacted. This was no longer a peaceful campaign, this was a fight…

The Wives Who Fought

In the 1960s, Hull in England was one of the world’s largest and most industrialised fishing ports. The trawlers would spend weeks fishing in the frigid waters of the Arctic and North Atlantic.

The huge firms that owned trawler fleets showed a terrible disregard for human life. Wages were withheld the instant a trawler man went missing. The way compensation was distributed encouraged the trawler men to take enormous risks.

Most of the compensation was dependent on a percentage of the value of the fish caught, rather than a base rate. The skipper received the highest proportion. It was then distributed among the remaining crew members based on seniority.

Trawlers often went to sea without radio operators. Skippers saw them as reducing the amount of compensation as they didn’t catch fish. This meant that there was an incentive to continue fishing in awful conditions, rather than returning home or to a safe harbour. Combined with the animosity of the skippers and owners, this was a recipe for disaster.

It was a dangerous job. An estimated 6,000 trawler men died at sea between 1886 and 1975. Thousands more died on boats leaving other British ports. The fishing sector was deadlier than mining.

On February 2^nd, 1968, Lillian and her fellow ‘fishwives’ held a meeting at the Victoria Hall on Hessle Road in Hull.

More than 600 women attended. Among those who spoke was John Prescott, the then-local union firebrand. Local Labour MP James Johnson was also present, but the women were not in the mood for politicians or union men.

Lillian addressed the women while wearing her fish worker’s headscarf and apron:

“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.”

Chrissie Smallbone and Yvonne Blenkinsop joined Lillian onstage. The two women were well-known in Hull, particularly Yvonne, a local cabaret performer. When Mary Denness, a skipper’s wife, came to speak on the stage, the crowd booed. Lillian shouted:

“Are you booing her because she’s a skipper’s wife? Well, I don’t remember any skippers coming home!”

The crowd, now riled up, voted all four women as the Hessle Road Women’s Committee. In a fervour, the four women, led by Lillian, hit the streets in protest. Lillian shouted to the crowd:

“There is only one way to make these people meet us and hear our case, and that’s by taking action.”

Things were about to turn ugly.

The Fisherman’s Charter

The next morning, Lillian and a small group of other women tried to block the St. Keverne from leaving the docks. The police showed up. Photos from local press show the police struggling to hold her back.

Lillian tried to board the boat. She wrongly believed there was no radio man. He was to join the ship in Bridlington. Unfortunately for her, this time this boat had a radio man. Yet photos of several police officers manhandling Lillian made national headlines.

The Headscarf Revolutionaries were born that day.

The people of Hull started calling her ‘Big Lil’. The media celebrated and patronised her in equal measure after that. They compared her to a cross between Boudica and Nora Batty, a character in ‘Last of the Summer Wine’. A monument to a stereotypical ‘northern woman’, if you will.

When the Ross Cleveland sank, the management requested a meeting. They had previously ignored Lillian and her revolutionaries. They drew up a ‘Fishermen’s Charter’ demanding:

Full crews, including radio operators for all ships.
12 hourly radio contact while at sea.
Improved safety equipment.
A ‘mother ship’ with medical facilities for all fleets.
Better training for crews.
Suspension of fishing in winter on the northern Icelandic coast.
A Royal Commission into the industry.

The news of the Ross Cleveland’s loss reached Hull while Lillian and two others waited on the dockside for the owners. They saw a priest console Chrissie Smallbone, the sister of skipper Phil Gay.

It was a harrowing reminder of why the charter was so important. But would anyone listen?

Big Lil’s Threat to Downing Street

The local Transport and General Workers’ Union organised a meeting in London between the Headscarf Revolutionaries, The Minister of Agriculture Fred Peart, and The Minister of State of the Board of Trade JPW Mallalieu.

Lillian, Mary and Yvonne went to London with 10,000 signatures, their Fishermen’s Charter, and a media circus in tow. Chrissie, who was grieving, chose to remain in Hull.

Lillian threatened to march on Downing Street. Or, in her words, “That Harold Wilson’s private mansion”, if he ignored her. Prime Minister Wilson was in America. He informed Peart and Mallalieu to listen to Lillian. She terrified Wilson.

That day, 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.’

In another interview, Mary Denness recalled their arrival at King’s Cross:

“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 at the exit, thousands of people were waiting and cheering. A newspaper billboard stated, ‘Big Lil Hits Town’.”

London had no idea what hit it. The women met with the ministers, and they learnt that Harry Eddom was found alive. His survival created global news. The news of Harry’s survival and the assurances of MPs overjoyed Lillian and the other women.

When they returned to Hull, Lillian informed the press and crowds that it had been the ‘happiest day of her life’. “WE’VE DONE IT!” She shouted. The whole of Hull heard her. Mary later said:

“Three women have achieved more in one day than anything that has ever been done in the trawling industry in 60 years.”

Their campaign captivated the public’s imagination. And it shamed bosses and the government into taking action. In October 1968, a public inquiry yielded the Holland-Martin Report on Trawler Safety.

The government honoured all the Fisherman’s Charter demands. Lillian and her Headscarf Revolutionaries did it. They actually did it. But it wasn’t without pain.

The Rage of the Trawler Men

Trawler men were not happy. Lillian and her fellow revolutionaries received poison pen letters. A man punched Yvonne in a restaurant before fleeing. Letters critical of the women surfaced in the local media.

Skipper Len Whur was Lillian’s harshest critic. He accused her of jeopardising employment and intervening in something she knew nothing about. Lillian lost her job and some of the people she had battled to help turned against her. Her fame faded away after appearing on The Eamonn Andrews Show.

During the interview, the host asked Lillian what fishermen did when not at sea. She quipped in her famous thick Hull accent:

“The married ones come home and take out their wives, then go to the pubs. The single ’uns go wi’ their tarts.”

In British slang, a ‘tart’ is a woman who wears clothes and makeup to attract sexual attention in an obvious way. It could also be a female prostitute. Hence the audible gasp in the audience. What they didn’t know was that, in Hull, the word ‘tart’ means ‘girlfriend’.

It was the final nail in the coffin. Lillian never worked again in the fishing industry. Bosses thought she was a dangerous nuisance, and some felt she had embarrassed the town. It took her two years to find other work.

She died of cancer on August 3^rd 1988, aged 59.

Yet at her funeral, only a handful of those who had once cheered her on were at her graveside. She had become the black sheep. It wasn’t until 2022 when Hull celebrated one of its most famous daughters.

A blue plaque was unveiled at Lillian’s former home in Coltman Street, Hull. It honoured the woman who helped revolutionise safety at sea, not only in Hull but across the world.

The Headscarves That Saved the Waves

When three Hull trawlers sunk with 58 lives lost, Big Lil shouted to a crowd in Hull, “ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!”

Big Lil was not someone you wanted to mess with. What followed was 20^th century Britain’s most effective civic campaign. The Headscarf Revolutionaries saved countless lives through their Fisherman’s Charter. Long after the politicians gave in to their demands, the women returned to their normal lives.

The fishing industry in Hull collapsed in the 1970s and so did the community it supported. It’s only recently that we’ve rediscovered the remarkable story of the Headscarf Revolutionaries.

Chrissie Jensen (neé Smallbone), MBE died in 2001 aged of 62. Mary Denness (neé Taylor) died in 2017 aged 80. And Yvonne Blenkinsop died in 2022 aged 83. They lived in Hull for the rest of their lives and continued to work as fishing industry campaigners.

In only a few weeks, Lillian and the Headscarf Revolutionaries rallied the fishing industry to adopt reforms and safety measures. These safety reforms saved many lives. We will remember these four women for their commitment to improving safety at sea.

The Headscarves saved the waves. The countless people who are here today because of them are their legacy. Their story, like their legacy, belongs to the world.

“For years we asked what the fishermen of Hull could do for our city. Maybe now is the time to ask what the city can do for the fisherman of Hull.”
– Ernie Bilocca (Lillian’s son who was on the Kingston Andalusite not far from the Ross Cleveland on the night it sank).

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Post UJ: What do you think of the Headscarf Revolutionaries, reader?