The days of the ‘Fishing Fleet’

by Frances Wilson

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man possessed of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”

-Jane Austen (1813)

Fortunately this quote from Jane Austen no longer applies in the 21st Century now that we have a more enlightened approach to gender. For Mrs. Bennett, the character in Pride and Prejudice whose main ambition in life is to find a suitable husband for her five daughters, this was a very real conundrum. From the dawn of civilization, parents around the world have strived to dispose of their financially burdensome female offspring in the only way possible, by marrying them off.
Before the education and employment of women in recent times, marriage had always been viewed as an economic rather than a social activity. It was the only route to security for a woman and her children; the grim alternatives were to become a governess, a paid companion, or a prostitute (in 1841 there were 55,000 prostitutes working in London, one prostitute for every twelve adult males!).
Arranged marriages are a familiar concept in India. It is an efficient system of third party management in the marriage market. For the British, no such official practice was in place.
Trade with India was the jewel in the crown of the British commercial empire. The East India Company, founded in 1600, accounted for half the world’s trade and beckoned to young British men. If they survived the arduous journey, they could look forward to riches and success. To the British middle class family, overburdened with daughters, the colonies were a godsend. With this concentration of ambitious, wealthy young men, India quickly became a land of opportunity for the poor, plain, or elderly girl – over twenty – to make a catch.

Landing in Madras.

Socially constrained and unable to mix and marry with Indian women (although, as we know, many did so), European men up until this point had been condemned to a life of extreme loneliness and sexual deprivation. In the tropical climate, this led to an understandable and unbearable frustration, one that could negatively impact their thriving commerce. In a savvy business move, The East India Company, realising the dearth of European women for their workforce, paid the passage to India for a number of willing women – they became known as the “Fishing Fleet”.
In 1671, in the first recorded instance, twenty women were sent to Bombay. The prospective brides were divided into “Gentlewomen” and “Others”. They were given one set of clothing and maintained in India for a year, during which time they had to find a mate or go home in disgrace. An allowance of three hundred pounds a year and a pension if they were widowed, proved quite an incentive. The biggest prize in the matrimonial net was a civil servant, the “Turbot” or “Halibut”. But first, they had to risk life and limb and make the treacherous journey to India.
By the time of the Raj, steam had replaced sail and unlike modern ships, there were no stabilisers and little protection from a rough sea. A ticket around the Cape only purchased an empty cabin, which the recipient was expected to fill according to their means. The traveller must provide, at the very least, a bed on which to sleep, a mirror, washstand, a chair, candles and a chest for clothing. Most of the ships were cramped and carried cargo of livestock, including, in one instance, a pack of foxhounds, and several horses. During the long journey, food would perish and there was a shortage of water. Disease and seasickness, however, were plentiful. Notwithstanding, the British stiff upper lip pervaded and social etiquette was strictly maintained; evening dress was obligatory and no respectable woman would ever go without her corset, whatever the conditions.
Rank and precedence were everything and were strictly adhered to. Distinguished people such as aristocrats and members of the Indian Civil Service sat at the Captain’s table whilst the rest of the passengers were grouped with their social equals. Children ate in a separate dining room with their ayahs. There were lavish parties with champagne and dancing for the “heaven born”, those travelling first class on the top deck. Mostly this was composed of the Indian Civil Service, the Crème de la Crème.
Early members of the Fishing Fleet were not deterred by the dangers and discomforts of the voyage. India had always fascinated the British general public, indeed Queen Victoria herself held it in such a high regard; she built and furnished a Durbar room in Osborne House containing the many gifts she received from Indian dignitaries. This exotic land breathed glamour with its silks and spices, its jewels and ivory. The tiger shoots and hunting had overtones of romance and danger, irresistible to an impressionable young girl. Whatever the hazards of the journey, the prize was a tantalising pool of eligible bachelors.
Arriving in India for these women was dazzling – all humanity, shouting and begging in an incomprehensible language. The smell of spices and sweat, curry and open drains all carried on a warm breeze, the noise, and the crowds jostling was strange and unfamiliar. Add to that the vivid colours of saree’s and exotic fruits, suffocating heat and the sheer mass of bodies, it was overwhelming.
Begun in 1890, ‘August Week’, when The Fishing Fleet arrived, was the great social event of the year. In Ceylon, the tea and coffee planters would come down to Colombo and take a look at the fifteen or twenty girls who arrived in stages and stayed at the Galle Face Hotel. They would then be asked to dances and social events and vetted for suitability. Complex social rituals existed for the introduction process – a girl’s most important accessory was her calling card, for, without one, she was socially invisible. These cards were the means by which a social aspirant could be kept at a distance while they were being assessed as suitable, or not! Cards were delivered to houses and dropped into wooden boxes called Bokkus. If the lady of the house was not receiving, a box was brought out with the inscription “Mrs. X not at home”. Nevertheless, it was necessary to drop as many cards as possible off to be assured of a welcome as a newcomer, or risk the ultimate humiliation of not finding a husband and being sent back to Britain. These poor girls were called “Returned empties”.
The ultimate goal for a Fishing Fleet girl was marriage to a man of her choice and these weddings were often extravagant occasions. The reality of married life in India, however, was very far from glamorous for most women. As Kipling said, “Marriage in India does not concern the individual but the government he serves.”
For many Raj wives, life was difficult. Apart from the physical aspects, like the difference in climate, surroundings and housekeeping, they were under the constant gaze of Indian servants but had little to occupy them. Ironically, loneliness was one of the main hazards. Separation from their children was almost inevitable because they were sent back to England to be educated, and husbands were often sent up country for long periods of time. While men at least had their work, women were often miles from their nearest neighbour and the social highlight of the week was a visit to the club and the occasional Saturday night dance.
Desperate for integration, many did what they could to take part in the life of the country and help those around them, but they were limited by government policy, designed to restrict interference with the habits and customs of ‘the natives’.
Although these girls could be sure of a rollicking good time with picnics, amateur theatricals, horse shows, and dances under jasmine scented starry skies there were many harsh and traumatic experiences for the Fishing Fleet to endure. During the British Raj, India experienced some of the worst famines and disease. Bubonic plague and Spanish flu saw off thousands of people as well as the endemic malaria, cholera was rife and apart from the general discomfort of the heat and the misery of isolation the Raj wife would have to deal with the threat of rabies, snakes and riots.
The cemetery in Fort St George is testimony to the heartbreaking realities of life for these women in Madras. The graves are a sad record of British children dying in infancy and women in childbirth.
Although plenty of criticism has been poured on the heads of the Memsahibs, what is astonishing is that most of these girls in their early twenties managed to cope, and also learned to love the strange and alien environment of India, despite the perils that life there threw at them.

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