The stench of fish hit Amber as she neared the harbour and already she saw the herring girls were there getting into groups of three.

‘Is there a place for me?’ she asked hopefully, approaching the nearest group.

The girl looked her up and down. ‘Have yer ever done this before, lassie?’ She had a broad Scottish accent but she seemed friendly enough.

Amber shook her head. ‘No, but I’m a very fast learner an’ I ain’t afraid o’ hard work.’

‘Then join Isla and Bridget over there an’ we’ll gi’ you a trial.’

She pointed to two girls further down the harbour who were rolling the barrels they would need into place. Amber walked over to them, and after introducing herself they handed her a sharp knife.

Lifting a herring, Isla instructed, ‘Hold the fish like this an’ give one long slash like so.’ The knife flashed in the weak sunshine as she sliced straight down the fish’s belly from throat to tail. ‘Then take out the intestines an’ they go in this barrel ’ere.’

Amber knew that nothing was wasted and that the barrels of intestines would be sold to farmers to make fertiliser.

‘Then the fish goes in one o’ these barrels, an’ when you ’ave a nice tier yer cover ’em in salt and start the next layer till yer get to the top. Which barrel the fish goes in will depend on its size, see? The cooper’ll keep his eyes open to check yer puttin’ ’em in the right one so try an’ get it right.’

She pointed to a man who had a wooden gauge in his hand. He was the one who came along row after row, measuring the fish to ensure that they were all of a similar size and Amber wondered how hard it could be. However, after an hour of bending over gutting fish after fish she soon realised it was back-breaking work, and the raw smell was making her heave.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Isla told her with a grin as she saw the look on Amber’s face and Amber managed a weak smile in return. The cooper had already told her off for not getting the right size fish in the right barrels and she was nowhere near as fast as Isla and Bridget, who were gutting at least twice as many fish as she was. ‘An’ you’ll get faster,’ the girl said encouragingly, but Amber doubted she would ever be as quick as they were. Already her hands were blistered and covered in small cuts from the knife and she wasn’t sure she would ever want to eat fish again for as long as she lived. She was still sore down below and her breasts were heavy and swollen with milk, which didn’t help her mood.