The Last of the Herring Men

... and how you can help save part of this heritage

Herring Means Christmas to Me

In November 2014, I made my way to Clovelly in Devon to visit Stephen Perham – the last of the village’s herring men. As well as being Harbourmaster, Stephen is the only fisherman still living in Clovelly and the only one who sells his catch. His brother Tommy fishes too, but he left the village years ago. Traditional, sustainable fishing is fading fast here, and making a living from a small boat grows harder with each passing year.

Stephen and his betrothed, Joy, live in his grandmother’s old house, a place steeped in stories. Joy herself is a singer in the Fishwives Choir, a lifeboat volunteer, and a trainee doctor. Next door lives Stephen’s sister Rachel, in the house where their parents lived and died, as generations before them did. These homes feel alive with ghosts of the past – their presence strongest when we sat around Stephen’s kitchen table, drinking port by the Rayburn that warmed the room, dried tea towels, and steamed the coats of three soggy dogs.

Everywhere in his cottage are photographs of ancestors and long-lost villagers. Many more, I was told, had been passed to him by the elderly when they died, entrusting him with the faces of a vanishing Clovelly. At one point, Joy laughed and pointed to a souvenir plaque on the kitchen wall. It showed a young boy on the cobbled street. “Guess who the little lad is?” she asked.

Stephen is that boy – and now he is the last of the herring men, the last link between old Clovelly and the new. The one who keeps the village’s souls alive, carrying with him the weight and memory of hundreds of years

Echoes in the Village

Even when visiting the local pub in Clovelly, we find a lingering echo of Stephen and Tommy’s ancestors. The pictures on the wall of the snug bar tell the story of a Clovelly long gone, of fishermen gathering around the table smoking pipes, and pictures of the most beloved wooden boats, of which only a few still remain in the harbour. These boats are unique to Clovelly and built to get out to sea faster than the larger boats when the herring arrives.

Clovelly, as a community—like many other similar coastal villages—once depended on the herring trade. Records show that two hundred years ago there were a hundred herring boats in the harbour with amounts around nine thousand herrings, or ‘Silver Darlings,’ brought in from sea. The days of the large herring fleet are long gone, and today there are just a few fishermen who still go out for the herring, using sustainable fishing methods with drift nets

Heritage and Festival

Meeting Stephen, you immediately understand why the town’s herring festival each November isn’t just another food festival – it is a celebration of tradition and heritage, his heritage. Stephen is a sixth-generation Clovelly herring fisherman, and with him and his brother, sadly, the line is very likely to end.

This proud and gentle-natured fisherman is the essence of this little village; he and his family represent the past and the future. He knows all the stories – which boat got shipwrecked and who survived or was lost to the sea. He can read the waves, the sky, and the sound that the rain makes when it hits the water. Fishing is in his blood, and fishing for herring is his passion, as it has been associated with his family and this little village for centuries.

As harbourmaster and the last full-time fisherman in the village, he knows where every boat is at any given moment, and although it is hard to sell herring these days – it is now a fish unjustifiably out of fashion – he continues to go out for herring because it is what he genuinely loves to do.

Life by the Sea

The fish he doesn’t sell or eat himself, he salts down in barrels to use as bait. In the summer months he goes out to sea for lobster and crabs. To do this he needs bait, and the herring provides that. He needs a dozen barrels to get through the summer, and with the number of herring being so plentiful, he usually only goes out for herring once or twice a week to fulfil orders after the herring festival ends.

Life by the sea was so different in the old days; nearly all the men in the village were employed in herring fishing up until the 20th century. In the past, fishermen had to move away from their beloved little coastal town with its steep hills and cobbled lanes during the summer when there was no herring to be caught. They would work on the Royal Yachts further away, but by the time the herring returned to these pebbled shores, they would be home.

The season of the Silver Darling runs from Michaelmas to Christmas, and that’s why for Stephen, “herring means Christmas.” It’s the build-up to Christmas, his favourite time of the year. He says once you get to Christmas it is all about the food, the puddings and the cakes. This fisherman loves to cook.

Keeping Herring on the Map

His passion for herring and the traditional methods of catching them made him think about how he could try and put herring back on the map. The Clovelly Herring Festival was originally the brainchild of Stephen, Bob Rouse and Sue Haworth, who both work for Clovelly Estate, and the author of the well-acclaimed book about the history of herring fishing, Mike Smylie.

Smylie, as a maritime historian, has done a great deal for the fishing industry, and the herring industry in particular, trying to record the traditions of a dying trade that for years had fed the nation. He and Stephen met when BBC Radio 4 introduced the two in a program about Smylie’s herring book, and they have been friends ever since.

The “Herring Ban”

Herring was plentiful until stocks collapsed in the 1970s. Smoking herring into kippers or salting it down in barrels, either for bait or consumption, had always been the most common way the herring was processed. That way it could be kept for longer and transported further inland. As herring was a main food source, it became a staple during the war. The ‘herring ban’ in 1976 caused the closure of the Celtic and the North Sea fisheries, and it lasted until 1983.

Stephen Perham and his brother Tommy were growing up during the herring ban, and their father taught them the ropes of the trade by drawing diagrams in the salt on the windows of his house. Unfortunately, their father died a year before the ban was lifted, but Stephen has been fishing for herring ever since.

The extraordinary thing about Stephen’s method of fishing is that it hasn’t changed one bit from how his ancestors did it. The boat is still the same type of small 16 ft wooden ‘Picarooner’ his forebears used, nicely painted white every year and finished off with a pretty red rim. The nets are also still the same design, although they are now made of nylon rather than cotton. The only thing that has really changed is the demand for this beautiful silver fish. The big markets like Brixham and Plymouth just aren’t interested in herring anymore.

People have become so used to buying ready-filleted fish that they have lost the knowledge of either boning a fish or even just eating it straight from a hot pan from the bone. Herring contains a larger bone and tiny little long bones which you can actually just eat. These little harmless bones had provided people with much-needed extra calcium in the past.

Holding onto Heritage

If there is one thing I’ve learnt in my few days with Stephen and Joy, it is the importance of heritage. Traditional sustainable herring fishing is under threat of being lost. Fishermen have difficulty selling their catch, so they have to try and find other ways to sustain themselves and their families, or move away from their villages and learn a different trade. Their quaint fishermen’s cottages are turned into holiday homes and their boats into flower beds.

But Stephen is sure he isn’t the only one who’s at the end of a line of fishermen; there are other fishermen in other coastal villages who are also trying to hang on to small-scale sustainable methods of fishing. His dream is to take to sea with the small wooden boat and visit those other fishermen, and write down their stories like I am writing down his today.

For Stephen it is important that these old traditional methods, and the names of those who keep them alive, are noted down somewhere, so that they aren’t forgotten and lost. So that their heritage doesn’t rot away, like the old boats do on the beaches all around the British coast.

I hope that Stephen can sell enough of his catch to go on his trip. Because it is important work to write, and one I would love to read.

The little boat needs your help

A message from Stephen’s children: Neptune isn’t just a boat, she’s part of the very soul of Clovelly. Built in Appledore in 1958, she came to Clovelly in 1970 and has been working here ever since. For more than fifty years, Neptune has been a faithful worker and a proud symbol of Clovelly’s fishing heritage. She has stood the test of time and has supported three generations through her hard work. Now, after decades of loyal service, she needs our help. Without care and restoration, her story risks coming to an end. Please help us keep Neptune alive. Every donation will not just restore a boat, it will preserve a living piece of Clovelly’s history and heart. Find the Go Fund me page here > https://www.gofundme.com/f/save-neptune-the-grand-old-lady-of-clovelly-harbour

Regula