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It was winter 1948 and I had signed-on as Wireless Operator (Sparks) aboard the 580-ton deep-sea fishing trawler "Cunningham" out of Grimsby, England, carrying a crew of 28 men. The outward passage had been rough and we were now fishing in the Arctic Sea, about 20 miles off the Russian Coast. Our Captain, or "Skipper" as they are called on trawlers, was"Stormy Bob." He said that he was scheduled for another stomach operation next month. During his "turn at the wheel" he would try to entertain Sparks by drawing crude "gutsy" diagrams on the steamed up bridge windows. The first mate told Sparks that the skipper was really very nervous and asked Sparks to try to be patient with him.

There was a pile of messages for transmission to Wick Radio Coast Station in Scotland and the Skipper was at the wheel. Radio conditions were bad with static-crashes and weak and fading signals but Sparks remained on watch to clear his traffic. The transmitter was a Marconi type TW-12 ("Tin- Willy") running about 60 watts on CW and 50 on AM phone. Suddenly, someone started singing, "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, there they are a-standing in a row..." Sparks was soon to learn that this was the usual racket made by Skipper "Stormy Bob," whenever a big storm was approaching. On trawlers one can sing, but not whistle – to whistle means you are calling for wind. Our trawler was now in the teeth of a violent storm with winds over hurricane force. The vessel was pitching and tossing like a cork, sometimes rolling so much she would surely founder.

It was the Arctic winter and the near continuous darkness made the situation even scarier - despite powerful fishing lights. Our vessel was coated from stem-to-stern with heavy layers of ice. Ice was inches thick on the antenna, stays and guy wires. To touch metal with the bare hands would be very painful because the warm flesh would tend to stick to the cold surface and become difficult to remove. Peering through the bridge windows one saw huge mountainous waves with white streaks of foam and spume blowing across them. One moment we would be high on a wave crest and the next, crashing down, down, down with a sickening thud into a deep trough. We all knew that a person falling overboard could not survive more than a few minutes in those waters. We also knew that our ship's lifeboat, with its iced-up davits, could never be launched successfully.

Finally the storm abated and we were able to go about our mission – trawling for fish. On Grimsby trawlers Sparks was given the opportunity to help on deck, usually dealing with the cod liver oil extraction process. The men would gut the fish and place the livers in one of the fishing pounds (boarded sections) on the forward deck. Three baskets of livers were emptied into a steam boiler and given a "crack–of–steam" for five minutes. Then they would be boiled for about twenty minutes and left to simmer. The oil was drained off into a large tank, below deck, and the liver remnants discharged into the sea. We would drink some of the oil because, despite the smell and taste, we understood it would be beneficial to our health to do so. The whole ship reeked of cod liver. The cod liver oil was very valuable and Sparks would get a fat bonus for his additional work. When traveling home to Derby by train, at the end of a voyage, the passengers would move away from Spark's sea bag (containing his fishing apparel).They didn't like the smell of cod liver oil. Too Bad! Like the Yorkshire farmer said. "Where there's muck, there's money!"

The food was generally good; plenty of fresh fish, straight from the sea – absolutely delicious. Unlike the so-called "fresh fish" sold at the fishmongers that have often taken about a week to reach the shop. Sparks was in charge of the bond store. Items like cigarettes and booze had to be kept in bond until we got to sea. Things like chocolate, candies, soap and other items were sold to the crew and Sparks kept the accounts. Many trawlermen hand roll their own cigarettes. The favorite tobacco was "Old Friend." (Which smelled like "Old Socks"). The crew was issued three double tots of purser's rum per day. (The REAL navy rum). The men had to drink it in front of the mate, to ensure they did not save /store the rum and have a big binge. They were too valuable, to allow that to happen. We all wore the same type of clothing. Polo neck sweaters, Fearnaughts (thick navy style trousers), seaboot stockings and seaboots. On deck we wore foul-weather gear – oilskins, sou'westers, gutting gloves and thighboots.

After a good week of fishing we were homeward bound. Through the Norwegian fjords and into the North Sea -- then Sparks was called urgently to the bridge. Another vessel was trying to communicate by the Aldis signaling lamp (on top of the bridge). Sparks chatted (by Morse code) with the other Sparks and learned that they had spotted the spokes of a partially submerged mine, slowly drifting by on their port side. The helmsman quickly changed course to avoid the mine and avoided the danger. – We were safe. Around this time, we closely monitored another dramatic situation. Later it appeared in Evening Telegraph newspaper, quote: "Jacko" as his shipmates knew him was cook aboard the ISERNIA when she was hit by shocking weather conditions while on the way home from a trip to the Norway coast fishing grounds. It was February 27, 1950, when a dramatic radio message from the Grimsby trawler Saon came asking for tugs to assist the limping and battered ISERNIA to dock. The message was to bring relief to 25 anxious families who had been waiting for news of their men folk. Mr. Jackson said the trawler had caught a good trip but was hit by a big sea off Norway. "It hit the wheelhouse and wireless rooms and gutted them. The next morning I had just turned out at five and she laid right over and filled the galley with water. I thought she was turning over. It really frightened me. I was up to my chest in water," he said. Skipper, Sid Farmery, faced a five-day struggle against the elements to bring the ISERNIA safely back to port. When she did arrive back members of the crew, though tired and shocked by the experience related their stories.

Bosun D Larn told the Evening Telegraph at the time how he had been washed out the wheelhouse by the wave. He managed to cling on and pulled himself in again. "We were in a bad way and with the transmitter useless could not send out an SOS. We dodged about with our steering gear unreliable for several days until at last we ran across the trawler Saon and flashed a message to her asking her to arrange for tugs to meet us in the river."
"It was touch and go and we were in a bad state but fortunately none of the crew were injured," he told the Evening Telegraph reporter who had gone to meet the ship. When the sea hit the Isernia broadside on and wrecked her superstructure, her wireless operator had to be rescued from the splintered woodwork of his cabin. He had a miraculous escape and was uninjured. Another crew member went on record as saying: "Another sea like that and we would have had it." The Isernia shipped a good deal of water. The vessel's owners arranged for a message to be broadcast asking other shipping to keep a watch out for the distressed vessel. Port Missioner, Mr. Albert Broughton, went round the families of the crew to warn them that a message was to be broadcast. But later a representative of the owners, Mr. A Baden Winters, was able to make a second call on the relatives to tell them: "The ship is safe." He told the Evening Telegraph the following day:"They were overjoyed and some broke down with relief. The Isernia should have docked on Friday night with her cargo of 2,500 kits of fish."
Eventually the tugs Hillman and Lady Cecilia met the badly damaged trawler off the Burcum Buoy and assisted her to the Fish Dock piers where she moored until the lock gates opened.

Back to today, Mr. Jackson remembered: During the incident the Port Missioner called at my home and told the wife that it could be bad news that we were overdue "But my wife didn't believe him - and she was right. We landed four days after we should have done." Just five years after that the Isernia was in trouble with the weather again - this time at Iceland. Severe gales caused desperate problems for vessels operating in the area and in fact brought a tragic end for two Hull trawlers. The LORELLA and the RODERIGO began icing up badly. With the weight of the ice on their superstructure both vessels were unable to turn for shelter and continued to sail north. But eventually the problem became so severe that both trawlers overturned and were lost. Throughout the incident one of the skippers, Mr. George Coverdale, kept up radio contact with a number of other trawlers in the area and they were to hear him give the last heartbreaking message that the trawler was going over. The Isernia was one of the vessels, which picked up the distress calls but she was on the west side of Iceland and not near enough to offer any practical help.

The gales smashed several rails of the Grimsby trawler's forepeak and washed them away. And one of her crewmen, Mr. J Stephen, who lived in Hope Street, Grimsby, was washed across the deck and injured. He was transferred to the fishery protection vessel, HMS Mariner, which took him to the Icelandic capital of Reykjavik for treatment. The Iberia was under the command of skipper J. Errand during that trip. She eventually landed 1,250 kits of fish. Two years later, in October 1957, tragedy struck the Isernia's crew while the vessel was operating off Fugle Bank, Faroes. Two men died and two others were rescued when a heavy net slithered over the side taking the four men with it. The men who died were the mate, Mr. Henry Jones and deckhand Mr. William Dougan. Rescued were Mr. Walter George and third hand and deckhand, Mr. William Duncan.
The trawler had left Iceland because of bad weather and was on her last day's fishing when the weight of duff - a spongy type of sea life - and the fish took the net over the side. The four men went with it. Mr. George and Mr. Duncan went overboard because they were trying to pull the mate to safety. They were pulled to safety by the Isernia's skipper Bunny Newton and the other crewmen who had seen what was happening. At the inquiry, which followed the tragedy, Grimsby's Mercantile Marine Superintendent Mr. F B Goater said the rescued men had been placed in peril trying to save a shipmate. He said once again Grimsby fishermen had lived up to their reputation of courage and bravery.

So back to my story. When we were nearing Flamborough Head Lighthouse, we encountered thick fog – a real pea souper. Flamborough Head is a headland that juts out 10 kilometers into the North Sea on the Yorkshire coast north of Bridlington. It is famous for its chalk cliffs, up to 130 meters in height, which are home to many sea birds, such as gannets, guillemots and puffins. The skipper asked Sparks to take a radio direction finding bearing. The skipper plotted the results on his charts and told Sparks that his radio direction finding equipment was faulty. Another bearing, same result. Fortunately, the fog lifted sufficiently to afford us a glimpse of the cliffs at Flamborough. The skipper quickly changed course to avoid going on the rocks. Sparks bearings were indeed correct.
When we were nearing Grimsby docks the skipper told the helmsman to turn hard a' port – which he did immediately. We crashed into the dock and caused quite a bit of damage to dock and trawler. Fortunately, Sparks was never called to the investigation. Later Sparks met the chief engineer over a pint and was told that "Stormy Bob" said he had never sailed with a better radio operator. Just goes to show, people can act in strange ways, particularly under stress. I was 17 years old, had found my "sea-legs" amongst some of the finest men that ever put to sea. (I believe I was the youngest Radio Operator ever to sail out of Grimsby or Hull).
Arthur Swain. March 2000

The following section is extracted from a Grimsby WebPages Trawling for memories

An end came to deep-sea fishing trawlers two decades ago. Once the fish docks were packed with big trawlers. Now there are virtually empty. Parts have now been filled in or have been converted into a marina. But, it seems, the image of deep-sea fishing is one that Grimsby is reluctant to put behind it, and quite right too. The excellent National Fishing Heritage Centre each year draws thousands to the area keen to know more about what it took to put a cod-and-six on the table.

The reality was the most dangerous occupation in Britain; a harsh life at sea punctuated by brief spells at home in Grimsby or Cleethorpes, time spent with the family or at the pub. It was an industry, which bred a special kind of man, and a special kind of woman he left at home for three weeks at a time. There was no danger money, no overtime. Insurance was pitiful, conditions were often appalling. Yet the men went back time and time again. Why? The easy answer was that there was nothing else for them. Grimsby was, certainly until after the war, virtually a one-industry town. But that wasn't the only reason for many. There was something about the sea, something about the life on board ship, no matter what the hardships or dangers were, that made men go back time and time again. This special section is intended as a tribute to all the men who went to sea from Grimsby and to the families they left behind. This, after all, is the town's true heritage.

The following is the Radio Officer's Story - extracted from the Daily Telegraph newspaper

Disastrous voyage - but Len is a hero

In November 1965 a young radio officer sailed aboard the Grimsby trawler Isernia with the sole purpose of making enough money to buy himself a merchant navy uniform. But just a few days later his shipmates were acclaiming him a hero after a fire ravaged the 23-year-old vessel. To this day Mr. Len Dobson, of Salisbury Avenue, Grimsby, is keen to play down his part in the drama. But there is no doubt his action played a vital part in the safe rescue of the 20-man crew. Press reports of the time told how Mr. Dobson, who was just 21, ignored any danger to himself and stood by the task of sending out messages from the stricken trawler to the rescue craft. The Isernia had left Grimsby on Wednesday, November 17, 1965, at around 1.30 pm In a statement he made to the Grimsby Steam Fishing Vessels' Mutual Insurance and Protecting Co. Ltd., Mr. Dobson recalled how he came on watch at 9 am the following morning to find things normal.

Around lunchtime the weather deteriorated. "The weather was then quite rough and the vessel was taking some seas on deck so that I had to walk along the casing aft for my dinner," said Mr. Dobson. At around 4.45 pm the lights in the radio room went out and just a few minutes later Skipper, Raymond Pepper of Hull, went and asked Mr. Dobson to send out a Mayday because the trawler was on fire. The vessel was 15 miles east of the Scottish port of Peterhead. Things got worse rapidly after that and by 5.05 pm the trawler was completely without power, had no navigation lights and called for an immediate tow and fire-fighting facilities.

"At 17.27 hours I sent another message to Stonehaven Radio reading 'Stokehold now burning fiercely and boiler in danger of exploding,'"said Mr. Dobson. Several ships had now responded to the Mayday call and were on their way to try to help the Isernia. Peterhead lifeboat was launched and an RAF Shackleton aircraft took off from Kinloss to help locate the stricken vessel. There was a further problem in that the Isernia had only three distress rockets.

Shortly before 6 pm Mr. Dobson was also in contact with the Dalewood, an Aberdeen trawler, and the Peterhead seiner Daisy. All the deckhands had lifejackets on and had been sent forward by the Skipper in case of an explosion in the stokehold. There was confusion and difficulty in finding the distress rockets when the Shackleton was in the area of the trawler. But fortunately the trawler was spotted and the aircraft returned and dropped flares. The trawler's position was established as 11 miles from Peterhead. The vessels Dalewood, Daisy, Shalimar and Icelandic trawler Jupiter and the Grimsby trawler Ross Panther all continued to head for the scene.

An attempt by the lifeboat to pinpoint the Isernia by shining his searchlight into the air failed but shortly afterwards the lifeboat came into sight and alongside the trawler. The Shalimar left for Peterhead to take on pumps and fire-fighting equipment. Nine crewmen from the Isernia then made the dangerous transfer to the lifeboat- a man oeuvre made all the more difficult because of the shocking weather conditions. Mr. Dobson told how the Dalewood offered to take the burning trawler in tow but had great difficulty in getting a line across. One link was established but parted. Eventually the seiner Daisy carried a line from the Dalewood to the Isernia. "It was blowing about force nine and she came right alongside. It was a tricky manouvre. They did very well. The crew handed us the line," recalled Mr. Dobson. At 10.45 pm the radio message went out to Stonehaven Radio that the Isernia was under tow and heading for Peterhead. The fire was out but the heat had damaged the plates and the vessel was leaking.

During the emergency the only light the crew had been able to use on deck was a hand torch and an Aldis lamp powered by it's own battery. And their problems were not over even when they were safely under tow. The Isernia had no power at all and the steering was being done by hand, which made it slow to respond o the wheel, and sluggish. As the trawler entered the harbour at Peterhead the Daisy, which had accompanied the two vessels, made fast aft to steady the Isernia. And then - calamity. "When we entered the harbour we were to be moored at the buoys but before this could be done we broke adrift. The Isernia then drifted onto rocks in the harbour," Mr. Dobson told the insurers. With the harbour seeming to offer little shelter and the wind still blowing hard the vessel's bows grounded.

It was two hours before connection was made with the Dalewood, Daisy and Shalimar. At 5.40 am on November 19 the Shalimar got a rocket line across and made a connection with a warp over the stern. But the operation seemed fated yet again when the Shalimar also ran on to the rocks. The connection parted and left 200 fathoms of warp dangling over the stern of the Isernia. To add to the problems the Peterhead lifeboat had developed engine trouble. Mr. Dobson said the Peterhead Pilot boat, which was in fact a small motor boat, carried a line from the Dalewood and also took one back to him from the Isernia. The Dalewood, Daisy and Shalimar all made connections for towing and hove together to pull the Isernia off the rocks. The grounding had forced the trawler's fish room stanchions upwards and had split the wooden decking of the main deck. There was to be one more hiccup before the Isernia was safely alongside the inner harbour.

The trawler was still six feet from the quay when the assisting ships left her. "They did not seem to realize that we had no power and could not heave ourselves alongside the quay. We therefore called the Daisy who returned to us and pushed us alongside the quay so that the slack on the moorings could be taken in and the vessel securely moored," said Mr. Dobson. Surveyors traveled northwards to inspect the damage to the trawler and she was eventually towed back to Grimsby. But her age and the extent of the damage made it uneconomic to repair the trawler and she eventually went for scrap in January 1966.

The Taboos of Yorkshire Trawlermen Who Fished The Arctic Waters

Yorkshire's heritage is rooted in the land, and anchored in the sea. Its fishermen sailed far beyond the turbulent North Sea to the perilous waters within the Arctic Circle. The crews who sailed from Hull were nicknamed 'Yorkies'. Fishermen are the last of the hunters. They 'do business in great waters' at the mercy of the elements. Their battle with Nature has always been helped by a set of primitive folk beliefs: "Of all seafarers, there's none more superstitious than fishermen". Hull once claimed to be 'The Greatest Deep-Sea Trawling Port in the World'. Its history provides a wonderful glimpse into the realm of folk magic - starting with the curious rituals of sailing day. Within a superstitious family some odd practices were performed. Taboos began from the moment a trawlerman packed his sea-bag.

The six children in the Casey Family, who lived in the bustling Hessle Road fishing community, helped dad pack for a three-week trip. Fred "was deadly serious about superstitions" his wife Edie recalls. His strongest rule was that once something was put inside his bag, "You were NOT allowed to take it out. Otherwise, he'd not go to sea". Eager little hands, innocently, dropped toys into his bag, and many a time Fred went off to Bear Island with a load of useless junk.

Bosun Thomas Palmer Jones was "superstitious, but didn't make a thing of it". His daughter was involved in a sailing-day ritual. After Tom left the house, young Edna threw dad's slippers at the front door to "ensure that he'd come back safely to wear them again". It was the women; however, who had most taboos placed upon them when the men 'departed for the hunt'. A string of superstitions dictated what women should not do on sailing day - disobeyed, their actions could place the men in mortal danger. A woman must not: 'wash' clothes otherwise her husband would be 'washed' overboard; 'wave' him good-bye or a 'wave' would sweep him away; call out after him once he sets foot outside the front door; go down on the fish dock to see him off; step aboard a trawler; or whistle, as this would cause a storm at sea: 'A whistling woman and a crowing hen / Bring the Devil out of his den'.

After he had gone some women never emptied any ashtrays, the ash-pan or teapot until the following day. They must in no way give the impression of wishing him away - otherwise, he may never return. One woman would not move any items of her husband's discarded clothing until 24 hours had elapsed. Once 'safely' on his way to the fish dock, a man could not look or turn back. It was also unlucky to meet a clergyman. Should the departing fisherman come across a pig, that was fatal and he must go back home and not sail that day. The pig taboo was the strongest and strangest of all in that it over-rode and contradicted the powerful 'don't turn back' rule. 15 Most skippers got a taxi down to the dock. Some believed it bad luck to carry their own sea-bag onto the ship, so the driver placed it on board. Youngsters hung around St.Andrew's Fish Dock to carry crewmen's sea-bags. They hoped for a generous tip and few were disappointed.

The trawler herself was riddled with superstition. It was usually referred to as 'she' - more a maritime tradition than a superstition - even if it had a male name like Joseph Conrad (H.161). The ship's bell embodied the trawler's soul. If it rang of its own accord then the ship was doomed. The fish-room hatch was symbolic. Some skippers went mad if they saw the cover turned upside down - for fear that their ship might mimic that action. A brush left on the hatch would "brush away your luck".

Tea drinking was steeped in superstition. One skipper insisted that the mess-deck teapot must not be emptied after the fishing had started. More and more tea was spooned into the pot. The pot was perhaps seen as the trawler's fish room, with the leaves as symbolic fish, filling up for a good trip. To empty it might make the ship turn over and sink, or result in a poor trip.

Some taboos were so ingrained in the trawling trade that many Yorkies did not realize they came from superstition. A good example was the tradition of hauling the nets from the starboard (right) gallows of the trawler. One explanation comes from the New Testament. After the Crucifixion Jesus visited His disciples and found them unhappy for not one single fish had been caught. Christ told them, "Cast the net on the right side of the ship and ye shall find. They cast therefore and now they were not able to draw it for the multitude of fishes" (John 21:1-11).

There was a long list of taboo words which must never be uttered at sea: Pig, Egg, Cat, Knife, Hare, Church, Good-bye, Rat, Clergyman, Dog, Salt, and Rabbit. Each of these words had imaginative alternatives such as Grunter, Long-tail, and Bunny. If any forbidden word was uttered, bad luck could be averted by 'touching cold iron'. Landlubbers might 'touch wood' for protection; but aboard ship, iron had magical properties: 'Touch wood - no good / Touch iron - rely on'.

Superstition was served up at mealtimes. Spilt salt is an obvious one; but a related belief was that the salt-pot must not be handed from one crewman to another - 'pass salt, pass sorrow' - it must be placed down upon the table. An East Riding expression is that 'for every grain spilt, a tear will fall'. On a happier note, spilt sugar meant joy. After a loaf had been cut it must not be up-ended on the breadboard. This dreaded action mimicked a sinking trawler as she plunged under the waves bow first. Green was an auspicious colour. Many a deckie-learner had his green jumper or scarf ripped off him and saw it flung into the sea by an older fisherman. Even today, there are few green cars on the streets of Hull, and the city council rarely uses this colour. The fear is that 'green will be followed by black' (widow's weeds).

Death walks in the shadow of superstition. When someone was seriously ill or injured at sea, it was said he would not pass away until land was sighted. Fisherman disliked sailing with a corpse on board. After someone was washed overboard, many skippers steamed home so that the crew could start afresh. This happened with the Hull-based Boston Lincoln (GY.1399) when the two Williams brothers were lost off Russia in January 1974. Hull trawlermen worked hard and long for their 'settling' money, but superstition ensured they got rid of it with ease. The view was that "trawlermen spent money like crazy, so as not to take any back to sea". If they failed to spend their pay, some gave or threw it away - thus their reputation of being generous. One deckhand always left money with a barman for his mates to have a final drink on him if he was lost at sea. Others gave it to children - if not their own, any in the street. Vera Turnbull recalls how "dad used to get all his loose change and said to any kids 'Who wants to play scrambles?' and threw handfuls of money up in the air. I had lots of friends when dad was home". School-kids went up to complete strangers - knowing they were trawlermen - and cheekily asked, "Are you gonna do a scramble Mister?"

When trawlers left St.Andrew's lockpit at the start of another trip, some men threw their loose change into the Humber: "fistfuls of money were slung over the side. The belief was that if you went away skint, you'd land a good trip" recalls Alf Louth. One skipper was having a run of bad hauls. In deep despair he hurled some coins into the sea and shouted, "If I can't catch your f***ing fish, I'll buy it from you!" Top skippers Dick 'Old Fox' Taylor never removed his cap, shaved or washed once the fish started coming on board. To 'change' anything might 'change' his luck - the Pagan sea gods might stop providing him with fish.

Fear of the Gods was the underlying motive for many superstitions. Unconsciously, some fishing families felt that their every action - at home or sea - was observed by all-seeing gods/goddesses. Mimic magic was performed in the hope that their little activities (not washing, waving, turning back) would please the Fates who determined life in the wider world. Superstitions, in the unpredictable Arctic waters, gave the Yorkshire trawlermen a sense of control over their own destiny.

ALEC GILL is author of five books about Hull's trawling heritage. The latest is SUPERSTITIONS: Folk Magic in Hull's Fishing Community, (Hutton Press).

Gaul was not involved - claim

DETAILS of the Hull trawlers involved in spying for the Government was published for the first Time today. Armed Forces Minister Dr John Reid said three city-based ships were used for intelligence gathering in the mid 1960s and early 1970s.
They were:
MV Arctic Galliard
MV Lord Nelson
MV Invincible
But Dr Reid repeated Government denials that the Gaul was ever involved in spying despite claims that she went down with all hands in 1974 on an undercover mission. His full answer reads: ''The three trawlers used for specific intelligence gathering operations in the mid 1960s and the early 1970s were MV Arctic Galliard, The MV Lord Nelson and MV Invincible.

"All were owned by Hull-based companies and almost certainly operated from that port. The MV Gaul was not involved in any such activity either before or at the time of her loss in 1974."
Also in the written parliamentary answer published today, Dr Reid admitted Government personnel sailed on board trawlers. He said: "Personnel did occasionally embark on trawlers during which time they were encouraged to report back any opportunity findings of interest as indeed were the trawlermen themselves." The answer came in response to questions by Great Grimsby MP Austin Mitchell who wanted to know whether spying missions centred on Hull or also operated from other ports. Dr Reid said:"While we can assume that this did not necessarily centre on Hull-based vessels there are no records to indicate whether trawlers or trawlermen from other ports were involved." Deputy Prime Minister John Prescott promised a further investigation into the loss of the Gaul earlier this month. This followed a campaign by families and the Mail to discover the truth about how the trawler went down.

The Government had said no spy operations involving trawlers took place after 1973. But this has been denied by former trawlermen who say they were still taking photographs of Soviet ships and reporting back to the authorities after 1973. It was also less than one month ago that the Government admitted for the first time that Hull trawlers were involved in spying missions at all. The names of the trawlers announced officially in the House of Commons today provide few surprises for the campaigners and investigators into the Gaul tragedy in the Barents Sea which claimed 36 lives. They await findings from a full survey of the Gaul wreck in the summer. Christmas card reveals secret

DRAMATIC new evidence today reveals Commander John Brookes, who was based on the City fish dock throughout the 1960s, WAS a Government agent. The Government still refuses to even discuss the enigmatic figure said to be the Cold War Spymaster who directed a top secret spying operation on the Soviet fleet using city trawlermen. But the Mail has now acquired a Christmas greeting card sent and signed by Commander Brookes dated 1965 bearing the Ministry of Defence name and crest. It is the first time his name has officially been linked to the Government department.

Ex-skippers claim Commander Brookes used trawlermen as his eyes and ears in the Arctic fishing grounds close to important Soviet submarine bases. He is said to have armed more than 50 skippers with cameras and radio equipment. Some relatives of the Gaul's crew believe she may have been on a spying mission at the time of her disappearance in 1974. 19 The Christmas card was sent to Frank Scott, a radio operator on trawlers, who has since died. His son Gavin Scott (46), from Withernsea, kept it as a teenager. Another letter from Brookes asks a skipper to drop off film at his dockside office.

The MoD card also bears the signature of a Michael Kyle Pope, adding another mysterious figure to the city spy network. Mr. Scott broke his 30-yearsilence to reveal how he first discovered his father's secret work. He said: "When I was about 14 or 15 years old, I came home and someone was talking to my dad. I heard my father talking about submarines. Afterwards I asked what the man was here for and I was told it was nothing to do with me. I persisted and my father called the whole family into the living room and told us of the work."

Mr. Scott senior revealed the man - Commander Brookes - provided cameras and radio equipment to monitor Soviet shipping. The equipment was taken away before he died in 1974. In 1966 Gavin saw at first hand his father take pictures of a passing Russian ship while sailing with him in the White Sea. Other skippers claim they met the Commander in the old White Fish Authority building and the top floor office of Towne C.E.A (Ship Riggers). Mr. Terry Thresh, general manager with city trawler firms Boyd Line, said: "He was a well-known figure on the docks. He often used to come into our office and check which ships were due back and which were about to head off." An MoD spokesman wouldn't comment on the role of Commander Brookes but admitted a limited number of fishing vessels assisted the government. He said it was normal for trawlermen to provide information they discovered in day-to-day activities.

Paying Homage

IT'S time to remember...
It's time to honour the Grimsby men whom died doing the world's most dangerous job. They sailed never to return. Over the years hundreds of sons of the port have vanished beneath the dark, cold waters of northern seas, many of them on wartime minesweepers. In families throughout the area, their memories live on - sometimes decades after they died. But in the port from which they sailed, no memorial exists to their memory. Hull has two. Fleetwood has two. Grimsby has nothing. Now, as the Millennium approaches, many will look back on the years and the men who made Grimsby great and realise that the time has come when the port should at last remember.

The Evening Telegraph is well aware of public opinion on the issue. Our readers have told us their views. Now is the time for action. Tonight, the newspaper launches a special Millennium appeal - to erect a Memorial to Grimsby's fishermen in a prominent place where families can go to remember in dignity their loved ones. Well-known Grimsby sculptor Trevor Harries has designed a suggested memorial which could stand 7ft high depicting a fisherman at work hauling in his nets. It is hoped that statue, or something along similar lines, will stand on a prominent site somewhere near the traditional homes of so many fishermen and their families. Lost At Sea IT was the most dangerous job in the world - a constant battle against the elements to bring home the harvest of the sea. It took a special breed of men - the sons of Grimsby - to sail to northern waters to brave the storms and the Arctic cold to net the fish that was to make the port famous. Some never returned - committed to a watery grave after disaster struck the vessels on which they served.