In 1995, Nicolette moved to Plimsoll Road in north London. Her local pub. The “ Plimsoll” had a picture of a red trainer pasted over the original sign. When a new owner changed the name she rescued the old sign and uncovered its illustration of a ship, sparking her curiosity about the man it commemorated: Samuel Plimsoll “The Seaman’s Friend”.
Victorian seamen needed all the friends they could get. Ship-owners overloaded vessels increasing profits at the risk of seaman’s lives, and “coffin ships” were notorious— insured for more than their true value and more profitable if they sank. Captains who refused to sail in such ships were blacklisted and seamen were jailed.
Police even escorted ships with unwilling crews until they were too far from land for men to swim ashore.
Samuel Plimsoll’s family and church had given him his moral compass and he fought “injustice on any scale, from the closure of a footpath ...... to widespread manslaughter through greed and negligence” As an MP he represented a landlocked constituency but his epiphany came after making a voyage in which four other ships wrecked. Surrounded by the grieving families of lost seaman, Plimsoll “resolved deep down in my heart” to end a system that put profit before lives.
His early attempts to introduce legislation were blocked in parliament, but in 1873 Plimsoll took his campaign to the nation, printing and distributing 600,000 copies of “Our Seamen” at his own expense, and barnstorming the country, addressing packed public meetings. The Times sniffily opined that his “sole stock in trade was to become fervently indignant on hearsay evidence’’; Jones more generously, describes him as thriving “on righteous outrage”.
He was a very modern hero, an indefatigable self-publicist.He had a Barnum-like gift for showmanship and PR Stunts, filling the platform of one of his meetings with the silent, black-clad widows of dead seamen. Before the “spontaneous” outburst that saw him expelled from the House of Commons , he had packed his tooth brush in case of arrest; his wife showered the press benches with ready-printed copies of his speech.
His fury was aroused as his “Unseaworthy Ships Bill” was dropped to allow the passage of the “Agricultural Holdings Bill.”---“for what are losses of life to leases for life?”— and public outrage forced Disraeli’s government into a humiliating climb-down. Yet when the bill became law in 1876 it was emasculated by an amendment allowing ship-owners to place the “Plimsoll Line”---a horizontal marking giving the point beyond which a ship is overladen— themselves. Many showed contempt by siting it on the edge of the deck: one put it on his steamer’s funnel!. It was 14 years before the anomaly was corrected; many owners then evaded regulation with that blight of modern shipping: flags of convenience.By the time of his death, Plimsoll was largely forgotten by the public (though not by those whose cause he espoused; at his funeral, seamen uncoupled the horses and hauled the hearse themselves) but the lifesaving loading mark carried by every ship is his true memorial.
Like Plimsoll’s life, Jones’ luridly titled biography loses a little direction after the culmination of his campaign, and there are occasional digressions and infelicities of phrasing. but in general she is sure-footed, never allowing her empathy with her subject to blind her to his failings. Her comprehensive biography, the first for 30 years, will be the first port of call for all future researchers.
Available at the Books First £18 (inc p & p) 0870 165 8585
Review by Richard Thurman
