A call to arms for an industry in danger of forgetting itself
By Steven Jones*
Standing to deliver the key address of the Liverpool Marine Engineers’ & Naval Architects’ Guild annual dinner, the Plumbers Ball, is a peculiar kind of terror. As a former Deck Officer, I felt like a Third Mate accidentally wandering into the engine control room, faced with the suspicious glares of engineers wondering what I’d broken.
But I was there for a reason, to salute the Guild and their amazing charitable work, but also to rally our industry to a cause. To save itself. In the United Kingdom, as mirrored elsewhere, our maritime industry is in danger. Not from AI, not from automation, but from something far more insidious: we’re losing our bonds to the sea, and to each other.
The Seafarer Who Won’t Go to Sea
Recently in the Philippines, I heard brilliant stories from the children of seafarers. They spoke eloquently about how important the sea had been to their families, how their parents’ careers on ships had transformed their lives.
Then came the gut punch: none of them planned to go to sea themselves.
The offspring are not going offshore. They’re heading into IT, into other sectors – anything but ships. It’s a pattern that’s been repeating in the UK for thirty years or more, and now it’s gone global.
Recent research in the Liverpool City region asked young people about their career aspirations. Maritime didn’t even register. “I Don’t Know” made the list. But ships? Invisible.
For an island nation, this should terrify us.
What We’ve Lost
Through my work with the Seafarers Happiness Index – alongside the Mission to Seafarers, I ask seafarers how they feel. They tell us, often in quite sweary terms (it doesn’t matter the race, creed, religion, or gender of a seafarer, they’re as outspoken and foul-mouthed as they’ve been for millennia, and I love them for that).
But beneath the colourful language, there’s a consistent message: something vital has been eroded.
I saw it myself as a child, on my father’s ship, voyaging from Liverpool to the Caribbean on the MV Astronomer, the start pf container shipping was the end for a way of life at sea. What had been ships bristling with people, enjoyment, excitement, and adventure was coming to an end.
We know what happened next. Crew numbers slashed. Happiness eroded at every turn. The industry became leaner, meaner, and infinitely lonelier, a trend over decades now.
The Culture We Forgot
We’ve lost something precious: the rough and tumble of the yards, the camaraderie of Smoko, an industry built on relationships, friendship, mentoring, and support. An environment where we took work seriously, but not ourselves.
Remember the apprentice pranks? Not just jokes, but rites of passage – education that no maritime college could provide.
Some poor cadet sent to find tartan paint, a skyhook or a long weight. Off they’d trot, full of purpose, about to learn valuable life lessons about patience (and their crewmates’ sense of humour).
These weren’t mean-spirited. They taught humility, humour, and that everyone – absolutely everyone – had been caught out when they started. You earned the right to proceed because you’d been through what those ahead of you had. There’s power in that relationship with the past.
Then there were the characters, the nicknames that told a story and their real names sometimes completely forgotten as a new persona emerged.
These names weren’t cruel – they were currency, a sign you belonged, that you’d been noticed, that you were part of the tribe.
The Challenge Before Us
Looking around at events like the Plumbers Ball in Liverpool, we can still laugh, eat, drink, and be merry. But what happens when every year it gets a little smaller, a little quieter, a little less crowded? Who will occupy that last table in the corner? Will the last one out remember to turn off the chandelier?
When the list of deceased Guild Members grows longer than the list of sponsors, we have a problem. The widening gaps between tables become a sad metaphor for the growing distance between us all.
We need to inject vitality back into our industry. We need a maritime manifesto – not a corporate strategy document, but a genuine commitment to put life and soul back into what we do.
Make Us Maritime Again
Here in Liverpool’s shipping industry, we carry the professional DNA of brilliant women and men. That culture is changing, and it’s a threat we can’t ignore.
We’re not building the bonds that sustain careers and passions. An island nation without a strong shipping industry – without seafarers, engineers, naval architects, and shipbuilders – is doomed.
There are still legends working today with expertise that’s nearly impossible to replicate. Many are getting on – it won’t be long before some take the fiery longboat to Valhalla, while others head for the last ferry to Mariners Park and well-earned retirement.
Before they pay off, engage with them. Learn from them. Adapt and apply what you discover. Express your individuality. Never stop testing conventional wisdom.
Most importantly, bring back the laughter, the nicknames, the bonds that make this more than just a job – that make it a calling, a community, a way of life.
The Industry That Plays Together, Stays Together
This may sound like nostalgia, but it’s not. It’s survival.
We can’t change everything, but we can do a little. We can be proud, happy, and enjoy our lot. We can mentor newcomers. We can share stories. We can create spaces – whether formal like the Plumbers Ball or informal like a night down Mathew Street – where maritime professionals connect, laugh, and remember why they fell in love with the sea.
If we don’t stem this tide of disinterest, we’ll lose everything on our watch.
Too many nation states are forgetting the sea, forgetting their identity, losing the plan for their future. It’s time to make ourselves maritime again – not through policy alone, but through culture, community, and the simple act of giving a damn about the person standing next to you.
The maritime industry – from Mersey to Manila – needs us to step up. The sea made us who we are. Let’s not be the generation that forgets how to return the favour.
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*Steven Jones is founder of the Seafarers Happiness Index, working with the Mission to Seafarers, and a proud member of the Propeller Club Liverpool. He is a former Deck Officer and recipient of the MNM medal. He still can’t find the tartan paint.
