In the spring, some fish around Britain go on the move. Tiny creatures called Calanus copepods drift south through the North Sea, carried on coastal currents like confetti in a slow parade. They are rich in fat — perfect food for hungry herring. So, the herring follow.

By May, they gather around Shetland in glittering schools, feeding, spawning, pushing south. And behind them, a second migration begins: humans. For centuries, fishermen traced the herring’s silver trail, casting nets into the sea.

Herring are tricky to manage. They eat lots of Calanus, which makes them fatty fish. In turn, this means they spoil fast, often within a day. The herring industry didn’t really emerge until a proper curing standard was enforced, one that preserved the fish within a day. And that fell not to the men at sea, but to the women on shore.

They were called the Herring Lassies, and they made quite an impact.

Women and Herring

Herring is a billion-dollar industry, and it’s been big business for over a century. But most herring is cured, not sold fresh. The problem is that herring has to be gutted, salted, and packed within 24 hours. Traditionally, the men would go on boats and do the fishing, so the curing part fell on the women.

In Scotland, women already played an important role in the fishing industry. They’d often prepare the nets and boats — they also took the catch and managed the selling. So, they were treated as equal partners, which in Victorian times was extremely rare (both in Britain and abroad). But herring brought a particular challenge.

Herring move around following the Calanus. So when the swarms of Calanus start their movement, this sets up a whole chain of events. Both the herring and their predators start moving southwards along the coast of Scotland and then England, moving from Shetland in May to East Anglia by December. This meant that humans also had to be on the move, following the herring on Britain’s east coast.

The season began in Orkney in May, north-east Scotland in June, Eyemouth in July, north-east England in August and East Anglia from October to December

The “Herring Lassies,” also known as “Herring Girls” or “Scots Fisher Lassies,” represented a substantial and dynamic female workforce that moved around and followed the herring. They came from the fishing villages of Scotland and traveled by rail and by boat, carrying wooden trunks, oilskins, and knives wrapped in cotton flour sacks.

Their mobility allowed them to follow the fishing fleets, ensuring that the processing capacity was consistently available where the fish were. Without this highly efficient and mobile female labour, the vast quantities of herring caught could not have been preserved, which would have severely limited the industry’s scale and profitability. The herring lassies were indispensable to the industry.

They were also remarkably efficient.

Sharp Knives, Sharp Skills

The herring industry itself was a significant economic success story for Scotland during the 19th and early 20th centuries. By 1914, the industry employed some 35,000 people, with almost half of them being women. Again, at the time, this was very uncommon, and this was one of the largest industries in the world.

The Lassies’ unique migratory lifestyle, following the herring shoals and fishing fleets was central to its operational model. They also worked in extremely challenging conditions.

The typical work week was 6 days, with shifts often lasting 12-15 hours. They started the day early, usually around 5 am, and ended after the last fish was processed. The perishable nature of the fish demanded continuous and fast-paced work, meaning they rarely stopped to have a snack or a cup of tea.

The work itself was also grueling. Each team of three — two gutters and one packer — could process up to 60 fish per minute. Fingers were constantly nicked by the sharp knives, and the constant exposure to salt and brine was corrosive to their hands. Fish scales often flew into eyes, with some women even developing the unusual skill of using their tongues to lick and remove them. Some of them became skilled at this and became the group de-scaler.

Much of the work was performed outdoors, often in freezing cold conditions, with women standing in a “quagmire of mud and fish guts”. The accommodation they had was also rarely pleasant. Most lodgers didn’t want the pervasive smell of fish so the Herring Lassies often slept in simple, basic lodging or huts.

So, Why Did They Do It?

This type of job was hardly desirable. Yet it was one of the few jobs where women could truly be independent in the 19th and early 20th centuries. They had the freedom to work and furthermore, the freedom to travel, at a time where most women were confined to the household.

Even within a harsh industrial setting, the ability to earn an independent income and experience mobility was a powerful motivator, challenging traditional gender roles and expectations. For many women, the social and personal benefits outweighed the physical hardships.  

Their migratory lifestyle meant that crews traveled and lived together, fostering strong camaraderie and community bonds. In an age when women were expected to be quiet and domestic, these women were loud, skilled, and mobile. They kept their lodgings spotless, went to church, and then threw a good party. They formed their own traveling sisterhood, earning and spending their own money.

Girls as young as 12 or 15 years old began this work, often following in the footsteps of relatives who taught them the trade. They often worked in family units, with mothers, daughters, sisters, grandmothers, and aunts collaborating to gut and pack the catch brought in by their male relatives.

It was a very tough job. But it was a job that women could do and be justly rewarded for it. They were full of cuts and covered in fish intestines, but they were empowered, at a time when women in other places were greatly struggling to become empowered.

Each year was a new chapter in their yearly adventure — an escape from strict parents and tiny villages. It was a rare chance for economic autonomy. Paid by the barrel, they earned well when the fish were plentiful, and spent their wages on clothes, music, even education. They were so effective that “no one else had the skill or the will to gut and pack the herring,” as one account put it.

At the end of the day, they somehow found time to knit “gansies” — intricate fishermen’s sweaters that mothers and daughters made together, each with a unique family pattern. Even as they gutted fish, they stitched community.

To Victorian Society, This Was Alarming

The way they challenged societal norms didn’t go unnoticed. No one really wanted to do their job (nor was good enough at it), and yet, people didn’t like the Herring Lassies.

Victorian people in the 19th century gawked at these working women. In Great Yarmouth and Lowestoft, English towns where the women arrived in waves, they were sometimes seen as an oddity — almost unnatural.

Derogatory terms, such as “fishwife,” persisted, reflecting a societal discomfort with women who deviated from domestic norms, particularly those who were independent, vocal, and physically engaged in “dirty” work. Their independence made them targets for scorn in a society uncomfortable with women who spoke their minds and worked with their hands.

But they didn’t care. They “chose a voice for themselves,” as one historian put it. And they used it.

In November 1936, the Herring Lassies in Great Yarmouth went on strike. They demanded a better wage for their punishing work — they won. Two years later, they struck again. This time, the issue was Sunday fishing. English boats were working on Sunday. The Scottish women, bound by their Church’s rules, refused. Their absence disrupted the industry.

War, Overfishing, and a Lasting Legacy

For over a century, the Herring Lassies did their thing. In 1913, a banner year for herring, over a million crans (barrels) were landed in East Anglia. Then, World War I broke out. Trade collapsed. The fish kept swimming, but the market didn’t. Russia and Germany, once eager buyers, were at war.

The industry limped through the 1920s and 1930s, with fewer boats, fewer fish, and fewer women. By 1936, only 2,000 herring lassies remained. After the Second World War, even fewer.

Fishing practices also changed. Trawling became more common, and it was more efficient. It was too efficient in fact. Herring were overfished and populations were collapsing by 1960. From 1977 to 1981, fishing herring in the North Sea was banned. When fishing returned, there was not a single herring lass.

Yet the legacy of the herring Lassies still endures. Their arduous work, coupled with a unique migratory lifestyle, offered a unique pathway to women’s independence. The demanding labour, while physically taxing, challenged societal norms and served as the backbone of a thriving industry for over a century.

Despite the eventual decline of the industry, these women are remembered not as laborers, but as pioneers. They were a crucial, highly skilled, and independent female workforce, serving as the “backbone” of the Scottish fishing industry; powerful symbols of female strength. They are remembered with statues, museum exhibitions, and through the family stories and gansies passed down through generations.

The Herring Lassies followed the fish. And in doing so, they carved their own path through history.