My
first taste of the sea was in 1955 as cook’s mate on a
deep sea fishing trawler.
The deep-sea trawlers, based in the Dutch port of Scheveningen, fished
for herrings, called ‘the silver harvest’, in the North Sea. Seasonally, the herrings
would migrate from the Arctic Circle to the relatively warmer waters of the
North Sea, swimming near the surface in approximately 4km wide schools.
Over-fishing or ‘vacuum-cleaning’ the fishing grounds was fast becoming
a problem and the trawlers had to go steadily further North, sometimes as far
as the Shetland Islands, to catch the herrings. Herrings, a delicacy in Holland
and neighbouring Germany, have very fine soft bones that do not get stuck in
your throat. Salty herrings can be found at fish stalls in every village and
town in the land, every day of the year. They are consumed raw, with finely cut
raw onions. If you are a tourist, the tailless herring is served on a paper
plate, cut in bits with the finely cut onions sprinkled on top. Tourists don’t
touch the herring with their hands, but eat it with a toothpick. If you are a
Dutchman, you grab the whole herring by its tail, swipe it through a plate of
onions and lower the herring slowly down your throat.
The Dutch public is quite prepared to pay a fortune for the first catch
of herrings, called nieuwe haring (new herring).
The crew onboard the trawler I was on, consisted of a skipper, an
engineer, 4 deckhands, a cook and a cooksmate (me). Every crewmember had
brought their own meat on board, the only food item the company did not
supply.
The food on board was very basic, but of course, there was always plenty
of fresh mackerel and prawns. We baked our own bread in a small oven. Drinks
were usually coffee, but after a good catch or any other excuse for a
celebration, the jenever (Dutch schnapps) came out. There was a
choice of 2 jenevers, i.e. Jonge (young) jenever from a clear glass
bottle, consumed with a spoonful of sugar, or Ouwe Klare (old Dutch gin) from a brownish stone bottle.
Although a potent drink, Jenever is especially beautiful on a cold day.
It warms the cockles of the heart and makes you definitely more sociable.
However, it can be a dangerous drink when you consume too much and is aptly
called a kopstoot (head knock) when chased with beer.
After a trawl that lasted about 4 hours, the net, now full of fish, was
hauled in. For a short while the full net swung, suspended from a derrick boom,
above the deck till the cod end was opened and the catch of glistening
and flip-flopping herrings, the more sedate mackerels and other stunned sea
creatures tumbled on deck. Once emptied, the drift net was lowered back into
the sea for the next catch. With everybody working hard, it took about 2 hours
to clean and gut the herrings. The cleaned herrings were dumped in holds filled
with ice and sprinkled with a layer of course salt. When that was done, we all
tried to have 2 hours sleep or rest, before the next catch was hauled in and
all hands, including the cook, the engineer and me, were called on deck again
to gut another lot of herrings.
And so it went on and on, day and night for many days. It was hard,
exhaustive, cold, wet and backbreaking work. You just removed your boots and
oilskins and slept in your clothes. There was never enough time or inclination
to have a proper wash. It was certainly a young man’s game and you didn’t
expect to see many crew over the age of 50 on
trawlers, as they were usually worn out by then.
The only rest day for the crew was on Sundays when our trawler and all
other Dutch trawlers in the North Sea stopped work. The ship’s radio receiver
was tuned to the 10am Protestant church service, transmitted from the
Hospital-Church vessel de Hoop, which stayed nearby the fleet of fishing
trawlers. We all came together in the mess room and listened attentively
to the vicar’s monotonous sermon. After the church service jenever was served
and after lunch the crew went to bed or played cards. On the dot of midnight
the fishing recommenced.
The trawler’s sleeping quarter, surrounded by double bunks, featured a
red-hot iron potbelly stove in the middle. In one corner of the floor was a
large wooden spittoon, for the sailors who chewed tobacco. Some of the chewers
could swallow the juice, but most couldn’t. Even when lying in their bunks and
chewing away, they would aim their spittle at the spittoon and in almost every
case the spittle would land fair smack in the middle of it. Obviously they had
plenty of practice.
As there was no factory ship to unload the harvest, the trawlers had to
go back to Holland. Depending on the catch, the voyage was about 3-4 weeks,
during which time nobody bothered much with bathing or showering. The big
scrub-up was just before entering port. After a week’s leave ashore, the crew
went back to sea again.
Herman
Willemsen