Along the ancient coast of Hastings, a perfect storm has been brewing. Brexit and a global pandemic are forcing modern challenges upon a traditional fishing community. The battle to survive these unprecedented times is on.
By Leigh Malaihollo
BOYS ASHORE: FISHERMEN ON THE EDGE
Essential Worker: Fisherman outside winch hut, Hastings
Photograph: Leigh Malaihollo
BOYS ASHORE
At one ancient end of Hastings beach sit huddles of small huts, each one weather-proofed with jet black paint.
Many contain large rusty winching machines that cough fumes out into the sea air as the engines start up. These enduring contraptions gently drag small fishing boats up the beach once the day’s catch has landed.
Alongside the winches, the Boys Ashore guide vessels up the shingle. Often consisting of retired fishermen, these onshore teams ensure work for those who can no longer go to sea. Such scenes have been played out for decades in this part of Hastings, a place in which traditional fishing from small boats has been practiced for almost a thousand years.
The current global pandemic consigned some of these hardworking elders to self-isolation during the first national lockdown. Younger crew members took over the onshore work as well as fulfilling their own roles as essential workers, continuing their perilous work at sea as much of the country stayed at home.
This was just one of many bearings Covid-19 had upon this coastal community. When the hospitality industry shut down, global markets collapsed taking the price of fish down with them. This community, already shaken by the stormy political waters of Brexit negotiations, has been plunged further into a deeply unstable situation.
Inside lifelong fisherman Peter Coglan’s hut, drifting voices from a back-room radio blend with the chatter and laughter of the men who have been working here for “as long as they can remember”.
Fellow fisherman Paul White, 67, is deftly hand-weaving a net that hangs from a hook on the ceiling. Scattered all around him are tools, rope, and cuttlefish traps. Nothing looks modern here, except for the neon blue nylon of the nets.
“The best conservation tool we have is the weather” Paul tells me, never taking his eye off the task at hand. On days like these, when the weather is too wild for the boats to go to sea, the fishermen are ashore, mending and tending to their gear. This enforced break gives the fish time to replenish and thrive along the coastline. Nature has governed the fleet this way ever since small boats first began venturing out to sea from this beach.
Keyworkers: Crew land their catch on the beach, Hastings
Click play button for sounds of the beach
Photograph: Leigh Malaihollo
THE DECLINE
Despite their low impact on marine environments and consistent engagement with traditional, sustainable practices, it is fleets of traditional boats that have experienced a steady decline over the years. And this is changing the social fabric of coastal communities in the UK. According to a recent Government briefing (PDF), fishing vessels measuring under 10 metres in length account for almost 80% of the entire British fleet.
The Marine Management Organisation have noted that the number of boats in the UK fleet has decreased by as much as 50% over the last thirty years.
Peter Coglan, 63, is a member of one of Hastings’ numerous fishing families, some of which stretch back many generations. In his hut, his late brother’s oilskin fishing jacket hangs on the wall, a bright yellow memorial and symbol of his familial connection to the sea.
Only one of Peter’s two grandsons now works on his boat. The other gave it up to seek work inland as a labourer. The paltry pay of the local fisherman was just not enough to keep him in the family business.
It is a story shared by several families within this close-knit community. If there are fewer family members donning the oilskins, then there are even fewer outsiders willing to take on a job that guarantees arduous and dangerous working conditions with little financial reward.
For Peter and many of his colleagues, Britain’s exit from the EU and its Common Fisheries Policy (CFP) is the key to the door that leads back to a thriving industry they once knew.
“If we don’t get the waters back, which is what we are after, then in another 10 years there won’t be a boat here” Peter says, a combination of anger and dismay in his voice.
Behind the national headlines, amongst the nets and huts of Hastings, Brexit is at the forefront of everyone’s minds. It is never far from the tips of their tongues. There is a pervasive sense of a community teetering on the edge of a future that could make or permanently break this strained fleet. It is clear there is a desperate need for change. But questions remain over what changes would truly benefit this struggling community.
Concerned Fisherman Peter Coglan, 63, Hastings
Click play button for audio of Peter
Photograph: Leigh Malaihollo
BREXIT: FISHERMAN'S FRIEND?
Retired Fisherman and Chairman of Hastings Fishermen’s Protection Society Paul Joy is sitting in his office overlooking the huts and boats he has known his whole life.
“At the moment, there are so many rumours. We’re feeling quite vulnerable”
Paul hails from a family that have been fishing off this beach since before the infamous Norman invasion of 1066. As unofficial spokesperson for his community, he has taken the concerns and fears of the fishermen to Parliament, both here in the UK and the EU.
“We had the most abundant fish stocks in Europe” he continues “it was joining the European Union and allowing access of foreign vessels to British waters that killed it stone dead”
Most of the Hastings fishing community voted to leave the EU, with fishing high up on the campaign agenda of politicians seeking votes for an exit. For many UK fishermen, the EU's Common Fisheries Policy (CFP) that regulates the industry is the primary trigger for the decline of their industry and pay.
“Before the EU's CFP, there were no quotas. The only thing we had to worry about was the weather” Paul continues.
He tackles the complexity of Brexit talk with ease, peppering his conversation with percentages and numbers, reeling it back in when faced with confusion. He has been battling against the EU since 2006, the year in which the CFP was amended to bring small, under-10 metre boats under controversial catch quota regulations.
Past reports have shown that the British receive comparatively small amounts of annual catch quota for species that thrive in UK coastal waters. A European boat is often permitted to catch more fish within 12 miles of Hastings than a local vessel, much to the dismay of local fishermen.
News of leaving the Common Fisheries Policy has ignited optimism within the community. But this flicker of hope is not as bright as they would like it to be. For the fishermen of Hastings, leaving the EU is only half the battle won.
Awating Brexit: Fishing boat RX89 on the beach, Hastings
Video: Leigh Malaihollo
BREXIT: FISHERMAN'S FOE?
The fight then shifts to the UK as the crews of small vessels attempt to persuade the Government to distribute post-Brexit national quota in a way that is fairer to local fishing communities. In doing so, they would be supporting local economies and more sustainable fishing practices. Support that is much needed following the turbulent storms of Brexit and a pandemic.
“We have national divide. Under-10 metre boats have only limited access to the national quota.” Paul explains.
In the UK, fishing quota is currently regarded as lucrative property. An asset that can be bought sold and leased if one has the funds to do so. Owners of larger vessels, often those who do not fish sustainably, have the freedom to engage in this trade. They are even free to sell their allocated quota back to EU businesses, ironically placing more British quota in European hands.
A 2018 investigation by Greenpeace UK revealed that the lion’s share of domestic quota is under the control of a few millionaire families.
Trapped within a catch-22 situation, small boats do not have the finances to compete in this market. Having access to such a small amount of national quota has resulted in worryingly low incomes for small boats.
“Our bucket is empty” Paul says.
Should the bucket be filled through fairer national quota systems and denied access to foreign boats within 12 miles of our shoreline, deeper issues of trade still loom large on the horizon.
Hidden behind the campaigns to “take back control” of our waters is the fact that almost 80% of fish caught in our waters is exported, predominantly to the EU where the public have a taste for it and know how to cook it.
Conversely, the British have become accustomed to frozen fish imported from countries such as Norway. Although there are local and national campaigns to change this, there is still a long way to go when it comes to adjusting our eating habits.
The pandemic exposed the fragility of the UK fishing industry’s reliance on international sales and the urgent need for a thriving domestic market post-Brexit. The fleet may soon be able to catch more fish, but will heavy trade tariffs mean there is no one to sell to? Paul is optimistic.
"Let's look at it realistically. Are the French and the Belgians really going to stop eating fish if they can't get it? We've got the produce. If there's tariffs imposed on our fish, it works both ways."
Spokesman: Retired Fisherman Paul Joy (R) , Hastings
Click play button for audio of Paul
Photograph: Leigh Malaihollo
POST-PANDEMIC
There is hope amongst the huts. During the first UK lockdown, long queues stretched outside of the black beach huts selling fresh fish directly to the public of Hastings. These huts belong to some of the older Boys Ashore who are given the gift of a “stalker box” of fish from the boats they assist.
The box contains small amounts of fish that are unlikely to meet the rigorous standards of the commercial market. Rather than discard them, these specimens are prepped and beautifully presented on a bed of ice. It is an essential part of the local fishing economy and provides an income for retired fishermen.
Locals ventured down to the beach during their daily walk, stopping to buy fish they may never have attempted to cook in their busy pre-Covid lives. Outdoor shopping on a charming beach became preferable to entering large and busy supermarkets.
“We couldn’t keep up sometimes” Boy Ashore Rob Stanley says.
Rob is the son of retired fisherman Mick Stanley, known to locals as Mick the Fish. The family saw a significant uptick in new customers as the pandemic hit. The new customers remained loyal to Mick and his son as the lockdown eased.
“We become good friends with them and have a good relationship with them” Rob explains.
Local Band King Size Slim play outside fish hut, Hastings
Some of the community have embraced the benefits of social media. They advertise their business, highlighting the charm of the beach and the benefits of buying fish fresh off the boats.
Daily catch bought here often comes with a story or verbal instructions on cooking methods from those in the know.
There are hopes that investment in a thriving domestic market will widen the success experienced by the Boys Ashore during lockdown.
Local markets are not enough to sustain the industry after the potential post-Brexit, post-Covid loss of international sales.
As this coastal community prepares to embrace our exit from the EU, they also brace themselves for the storms that will follow.
Peter Coglan & friend winch Peter's boat up the shore
Photograph: Leigh Malaihollo