At 7 a.m., the sun begins to rise between the commercial towers of Canary Wharf in London's East End, casting an inky glow over Billingsgate Fish Market, which lies just beneath. The market's porters have been here for five hours already. In white overcoats and boots, they look like ghosts in the gloom, unloading fish and setting up stalls.
Billingsgate is the oldest fish market in Britain. For over 300 years, self-employed market porters and cart minders have been the veins of the market, ferrying fish by hand from truck to stall, from stall to buyer, and minding the vehicles of customers. But times are changing. Now the city is closing in around the market, and the shiny façades of Bank of America, Citigroup, and Barclays loom overhead. Skeletal construction cranes multiply behind its yellow roof. In 10 years, Billingsgate's land value has risen from about $20 million to $1.45 billion. At the end of April, the City of London corporation will revoke the by-laws and licences that allow market porters and cart minders to operate, claiming that they're out of date.
Above, fish porters ferry crates of iced fish from the market stalls to buyers in the loading area as dawn breaks.
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Without porter licences and their protective by-laws, the City
of London Corporation will have complete control over the workforce that has long made it own rules of employment and pay structure.
Above, Ronny Smith drinks a beer with the Billingsgate fish porters in the loading area. It's 8 a.m. on the last day of his job as a cart minder.
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In the loading area of Billingsgate, hundreds of vans park and
await their orders. Groups of porters dressed in white smocks, a uniform unchanged
for centuries, tramp back and forth from the market stalls to the vans, hauling trolleys laden with thousands of pounds worth of fish.
Football scores are shouted, mock insults made (the foul language is legendary), and play fights
started as the porters joke with their customers.
Here, Mick Durell boxes in the loading area with Ronny Smith. “Billingsgate is like a way of life, you either do a year, or the rest of your life,” says Durrell. He's now 62 but, like many, began working as a porter at 16, “I grew up with most of this lot,” he says.
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On Christmas Eve of last year, each market porter received a letter of
unemployment from the City of London corporation. Since, they've been
fighting for their right to work the market, with the help of their
workers union, Unite. This month, the City of London Corporation offered
each market porter a compensation cheque of around £25,000 for the
abolition of their licence. All have accepted unemployment and
agreed to the compromise. “You can't win against someone who can change
the law,” says one of the porters.
A fish porter rests outside the cold storage unit.
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Durell shows off his endangered and well-worn fish porters license.
Without this, he's not entitled to work in the market.
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The skyscrapers of Canary Wharf, London's financial district, continue to
expand up to the boundaries of Billingsgate.
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A forgotten union newsletter.
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A bulk buyer waits for his fish to be delivered by the fish porters.
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Durell jokes with a colleague. It's a dark humor in these last days.
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Jimmy Sands, a fish porter since school, takes a rest as dawn breaks.
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A headless tuna, ready for delivery. "Twenty years ago,
these used to be twice the size," says a market worker.
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A fish porter comforts his colleague during talks of
redundancies.
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Alfie Sands, a new generation at Billingsgate, recently gave up his job as a fish porter,
preferring the stability of a regular job selling fish at a stall.
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Banging on a metal pipe and whistling, the fish porters call
their unnamed pet seal. Who will feed it when they're gone, no one knows.
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