Sandy Aitchison served at Wick Radio for many years during the second cod war. In the 1960's, it was the coast radio station protecting shipping in northern United Kingdom waters and also the primary communications link for the UK's deepsea trawler fleet.
Here Sandy tells many stories and recalls many incidents because of the dangers working at sea.
Although they never visited Hull or Grimsby, they knew them well along with memories of the Arctic Corsair.
Heading North into the unknown
It was a long journey then. Me and my relatively new wife took off for the unknown. Wick was a long way north. It was December and the roads were not easy. Apart from the fact that I did not know them, they were also icy.
There was no easy roads in those days. All of them were difficult. I knew I had a long way to go when I saw a sign at Beauly, North of Inverness, telling me, that Wick was still 136 miles to the north! I still had the worst of the road to go. My old Vauxhall Viva was slipping on the ice. I went by Tain, I did not know about the Struie in those days. I hoped this was worth it!
I had left the sea very recently. I had done my training at Portishead Radio in Somerset, the very opposite end of the country, and now I was bound for a job at Wick Radio station. I had volunteered. I got the feeling at my interview in London, that I had the job as soon as I said I was willing to work in Wick! The very fact that it was so remote appealed to me.
First Impressions of Wick
We arrived in Wick in the dark of course. In the far north it gets dark very quickly in December and found our digs in Pultneytown, the old part of Wick. The digs were awful – a poor introduction, especially for my wife.
Thankfully, kindness soon followed. Margaret Scott welcomed us into her home, and later we found our own place on Northcote Street. “Ardronald” was a big old house and Susan, my wife, loved it.
A new life begins
It didn’t take Susan long to find work in a hairdresser’s beside the John o’ Groat office. Soon she was part of the community.
Her Friday tips often paid for our fish and chips. My wages came fortnightly, so we were sometimes short—but we managed.
First day at Wick Radio
I presented myself at the radio station the next day. The aerials gave it away. It was far bigger and busier than I had imagined.
I knew of Wick Radio (GKR) from college, but I assumed it was a backwater. I was wrong.
Learning the airwaves
We monitored distress frequencies, 500 kHz and 2182 kHz. Silence periods were sacred. I had once broken one at sea and never forgot the lesson.
This was serious work, lives depended on it.
Voices from the Sea
Fishing boats often ignored the rules, shouting messages home across the airwaves. “Hello lololo… Towin’ awa… Nae fish!”
Illegal but human, and often amusing.
The audience you never saw
The entire town listened in. Wick Radio was a kind of live drama for locals.
Even shopkeepers knew who you were before you introduced yourself.
Characters of the station
Sandy Mowat, Robbie Sutherland, Jimmy Begg, each with their own personality.
Respect had to be earned, but friendships followed.
Speaking in Many Tongues
Accents were a challenge - Doric, Geordie, Yorkshire. Understanding a skipper from Helmsdale could feel like decoding a foreign language.
Life on Shift
It was a 24-hour operation. Night shifts, overtime, exhaustion, it came with the job. But there was camaraderie too.
Signals Across the World
Shortwave allowed us to reach Iceland, Newfoundland, Norway. The ionosphere controlled everything. The Aurora Borealis could ruin signals for weeks.
The fishing boom years
This was a golden era. Fleets were expanding. Ships had magnificent names:
Arctic Vandal, Ross Tiger, Ranger Ajax… There was pride in every vessel.
When things go wrong
Distress calls came suddenly. “Mayday… we are on fire…” Training kicked in. Procedure mattered.
Losing a colleague
One night changed everything. Bob Duffus, a brilliant operator, froze during an emergency. Days later, we learned he had suffered a brain haemorrhage.
He died shortly after. It shook me deeply.
When ships go missing
Ships that missed reports triggered searches. The “Gillingham” was found only through faint signals during silence periods. Luck and persistence saved her. The “Gaul” vanished without warning. I was the last to speak to her. That knowledge stayed with me forever.
Life Beyond the Radio
In the midst of work, life continued. My son was born in Wick. I went straight from the hospital to my shift. It was a different time.
From emergencies to absurd conversations, no two days were the same. Every call had a story.
Christmas on the airwaves
One Christmas Eve, I stayed late to send messages to a trawler—the Ian Fleming. The next day, she was lost. The operator I spoke to died a hero.
The men behind the messages
Messages weren’t just routine, they were lifelines. “Every turn of the screw brings me closer to you…” They mattered more than anything.
Some colleagues were difficult. Others showed quiet compassion—like helping an ageing operator keep working despite failing skills.
Change on the horizon
The oil industry began to take over. Radio traffic shifted. Fishing declined.
Conflict and pressure
Workload increased. Tensions rose. Unions, management, pressure, nothing was simple anymore.
The decline of the fleet
The Cod Wars changed everything. The fleets shrank. Communities suffered.
The ships we remember
Names like:
- Arctic Corsair
- Sir Fred Parkes
- Ross Tiger
They deserved to be remembered.
The end of an era
Fishing communities across Hull, Grimsby, and beyond were changed forever.
Generations of tradition came to an end.
Leaving Wick
I left for the Merchant Navy, leaving behind friends and a life I had grown to love.
It wasn’t an easy decision.
Looking Back
I was proud to serve at Wick Radio. The memories good and bad have stayed with me for nearly 50 years.
And the names… I still remember them all.
What film here.
