Chapter One: "Not Just One Generation"

“A boy I know, he had an application to start working there two months ago, two weeks later…”, the man, holding a half drunk pint of Guinness and wearing a tight blue cardigan, jeans and brown brogues, trails off. George and his wife are out for dinner with another couple. The four of them, all in their 60s and 70s, sit either side of a large wooden table. It's Friday evening in the Santa Maria restaurant and most seats are filled; the atmosphere is amiable and some guests lean over to talk to other tables while they wait for their food. Thinking about the steelworks, and the recent blast furnace closure, George nods wearily.

“The steelworks is not the be all and end all it used to be. This place has been industrialised for 200 years, everybody’s used to being in work, being out of work, it becomes part of the character of the town.”

Rather than talk of the recent closure news, he instinctively reflects on longer-term decline, arguing that Thatcher’s “decimation” of the town in the 1980s was far worse. In George’s opinion, Port Talbot has never been an affluent place, and people have always just been getting by. This attitude gives him a certain steeliness, and it's with a reassuring tone that he remarks: “the butcher has been saying he’s about to close for fifteen years.”

On the same evening the town’s pubs and bars are busy. Christmas is less than a month away, and it is clear that people in Port Talbot are determined to celebrate. The Rifleman on the highstreet has 187 customers, Travellers’ Den, 85. Restaurants too enjoyed a busy trade. In La Dolce Vita 28 people were sitting down to pizza and pasta, and in Luca’s Pizzeria 18 women, on their work Christmas party, took up the main room, sporting festive hats. However, underneath the merriment, many locals - like Stella - remember happier times:

“20 years ago, the Christmas parades were massive and beautiful and the lights and everything, and then, well, this year, it just didn't happen because of the weather. However, they didn't really put it on or anything. So it's just sad for the generation that are growing up here.”

It's a weekday afternoon and Stella, in her early 50s, is inside a nail salon on the high street, waiting for her aunt to finish her manicure. Stella is laden with shopping bags and layers of clothing. She’s quick to point out that she doesn’t have any family members who have lost their jobs in the closure of the blast furnace, but does know people who have. Despite this, Stella thinks that the town is “plodding along”, and there are options for people who have lost their jobs.

“Well, there's a lot of local companies that have reached out and said, come work for us. There's a lot of jobs in Bristol and Hinkley Point, Somerset. A lot have gone there to work. [They've] reached out and said, people that have lost their jobs at the steelworks come to us and giving them first refusal, more or less. Which is good, that the community have come together for that.”

She explains these offers tend to be aimed towards the younger generations, who are happy to stay away from home for a couple of nights a week. The older ones, who in Stella’s words have never known anything other than the steelworks, she is less sure about. “Sad really, isn’t it.” Still, she remains resolute. She loves her town, and explains with some pride that she will never leave Port Talbot.

“I would never move from here. If I won the lottery, £177 million on the Euro lottery. Somebody's just claimed it now, a British person. I could spend [laughs] but I wouldn't move from my area.”

People tend to place themselves in two groups: those who have lost a job in the steelworks (or are from households that have) and those, like Stella, who know somebody who has. Nobody is totally immune from the blast furnace closure. And some feel this very deeply.

Two women who are in the first camp are sitting with a friend drinking prosecco. The three of them work together at a local company. Miranda and Lucy are both in their 40s, and before working in childcare once worked in the steelworks, as did other members of their families.

“My husband was a heavy truck driver, so he drove big dumper trucks, yours [indicating her friend] was an electrician in the steelworks. My other friend's husband drives cranes. Not many jobs that you can go to as a crane driver really is there?”

Lucy’s husband started working at the steelworks at the age of 16. Initially an apprentice, he worked himself up to a management role. He was happy to take redundancy, she explains, to give a younger person a chance to stay in the job, despite Tata Steel wanting to keep him on. While Miranda’s husband had only joined the steelworks two-and-a-half years ago, he was expecting it to be his job for life, she said. He has since started a new role as a delivery driver:

“He's working for [a delivery company]. So he's driving Class 2 lorries in the night for them. He picks up a parcel, takes it to [...]. Picks up a parcel, takes it to Newport. But he did his Class 2 [training] via funding he had from the steelworks. But it was tough to get that job, loads and loads of people applied. He wasn't there [the steelworks] long. He was there for two-and-a-half years, but he went in there thinking this is my job for life.”

In Port Talbot, people would repeatedly use the same phrase when talking about working at the steelworks: ‘a job for life’. Older people lamented what they saw as a lack of job security for younger generations, and evidently considered themselves and their peers lucky to have had this stability. Miranda and Lucy are animated as they explain that it's not their husbands’ generation they are worried about. Instead, they are concerned about the future generations.

“There won’t be any jobs around this area will there? For apprentices and things I don’t think. Because a lot of friends of mine’s children have gone on to be apprentices and there's not just one generation in the steelworks, it's two or three.”

Miranda and her husband both lost their jobs within a couple of days - him at the steelworks and her in childcare. She remembers it well, and explains it was a tough period, but noted (as did others) that there was support and funding for people who were let go to help them get into new roles.

“He basically knew he's gonna be made redundant about summertime. I then found out in July I was gonna be made redundant… it was the 27th and 28th September. I was a manager of a nursery, and obviously, he was an operator, and we were basically going from quite good things to potentially both having nothing. He was out of work for two months. He's only been in his current role for a couple of weeks. He did have a lot of help with funding and things like that.”

Whilst Miranda’s story was at the harder edge of the spectrum, she and her husband were both fortunate not to have been out of work for long. Still, the shock from the sudden uncertainty had a severe impact, not least on Miranda’s wider family.

“My oldest boy, he goes to the local comprehensive school down the road. And he went to school and told his teachers that he was worried that we were going to starve because his dad’s lost his job, that wasn't the case because his dad had redundancy [pay] and so did I. We weren’t on the poverty line or anything, but he didn’t understand that.”

Elsewhere, and for many, the future is less certain. A couple are out for a meal on Sunday evening. Both spent years working in the steelworks. Lindsay still works there while John worked as a security guard for eight years. She jokes that she is “holding on”. 

“People who have left, and have found jobs - alright, they've had to travel a distance. But they’ve said back on the WhatsApp we've got going, look boys, there is jobs out there, good money. But you've got to go looking for it. But then again, are there going to be enough for all of them? You have to be one of the lucky ones.”

The conversation moves on, but a short time later Lindsay interjects with a point that many people make when discussing the steelworks and those employed there. “So many people who work in the steelworks don’t live in Port Talbot, did you know that?” She continues, “It’ll [Port Talbot] survive because there's so many people who have been made redundant from the steelworks, who don't even live in Port Talbot.”

The same observation is made again and again across the town, and Miranda agrees, “I know people, who work in Cowbridge and Barry and Cardiff, who have lost their jobs.” One man outside of the library made a similar point. “The cutbacks are now spread over a much greater area - it will affect South Wales but Port Talbot not so much.” 

These conversations suggest a number of things about the attitudes of people in Port Talbot. Firstly, the blast furnace closure has undoubtedly been a shock and left a part of the workforce out of a job. Across the town people talked of friends, cousins, nephews and neighbours who were looking for work. Secondly, the job losses were felt far beyond the town borders - with the assertion being that for a long time a large number of steelworkers had commuted from all over South Wales. Interestingly, this was seen as both a positive and a negative. Yes the losses were widespread, but this also meant that Port Talbot itself didn’t bear the full brunt of the closure. Lastly, there was hope that there were jobs out there. People rattled off examples of firms that were hiring, or family members who had found work. 

The steelworkers themselves, while resigned to an uncertain future, were not defeated. The promise of jobs in the electric arc furnace - attitudes towards which are explored in more detail in Chapter Three - left many hopeful that they would soon return to the steelworks, or stay on. Greg, for example, had worked there for many years and spoke emotively of being on shift during the infamous disaster in 2001 which tragically killed three steelworkers. He knew one of the men well, and had run towards the explosion. Initially, Greg had been let go but was subsequently brought back on a short-term contract until Christmas. He’s hoping there will be work for him with the electric arc furnace.

“I’m back working with the same firm who made me redundant, and I’ve got redundancy pay. I’m busy now up till Christmas, and then after Christmas I’ll see what goes and whether they will call me.”

Greg, and his fellow steelworkers’ attitudes towards job losses points at something deeper - the long-term decline of Port Talbot means people are used to uncertainty. For decades they have been unsure over the future of the steelworks. People in Port Talbot are well aware that the workforce has significantly declined over a number of decades. A retired factory worker glumly remarked, “It was 24,000 back in the day, then they skimmed it down to 4,000 and now 2,800, and that's including contractors.” While exact figures for peak steel employment in Port Talbot are difficult to confirm, some reports indicate that around 20,000 people were employed in the industry during the 1960s. Since then, the number has declined sharply. By 2024, only 4,000 jobs remained – and plans are now in place to cut a further 2,800 – reducing the workforce to just over a thousand jobs. 

This is merely the latest in a long line of blows which have helped mould a strong community, a theme we explore in more detail in Chapter Two. Tracey, who has lived in the Sandfields area of the town her entire life, was matter of fact when discussing this with her friends.

“We haven’t got a lot and we’re going to have a lot less. It's just charity shops. I don’t know how so many cafes survive?”

“My daughter-in-law works in the job centre, she says there’s a lot of people made redundant. Mind you [with the steelworks closing] they thought they would have a lot of people looking for work, but it's been fairly quiet, people seem to have found other employment - I know quite a few who have found other employment.”

“A lot of people have retired, Jackie.”

“A lot, with the redundancy.” 

While again, conversations such as these point to the fact that job losses were perhaps not quite as crippling as many in the town had feared, they also indicate another trend. Large numbers of workers, some who dedicated decades of their lives to the steelworks, were given redundancy packages which meant that, rather than seeking new employment, many simply retired. Throughout the town, people acknowledged that those who had been working at the steelworks for a long time were given payouts. “Some boys got a good whack redundancy packet, they’ll do alright, Tata pays out better than a lot of the others”; it was the younger generations - and those who worked sporadically and as subcontractors - who people feared for.

Chapter Two: "Everyone Knows Someone"

On a bright, cold afternoon in late November, Aberavon RFC - The Wizards - are playing against North Wales side, RGC 1404. There is a buzz in the main stand with around 1,000 mostly home supporters in the 8,000-capacity Talbot Athletic Ground. Two young children playfully weave in and out of the fans pitchside, calling out to each other with walkie talkies. Many wear Wizards merchandise and hold red-and-black umbrellas to shield from occasional spurts of rain. 

Aberavon, Port Talbot’s local rugby team, are going through a season of change and have had a poor string of results. One fan, sipping a coffee up in the stands, speaks of last week’s match, “We dropped a 12-point lead in Cardiff last week. When you have a 12-point lead over there, you have to take advantage. But it’s a new way of playing, new league.” Still, he admits resignedly, the young team “capitulated.” 

But things are beginning to look up. Another fan dressed in a full team tracksuit says they are “just starting to gel”. Aberavon can only count one win so far but, “the thinking is that the further we go on, the better we’ll do. We had quite an old team last year and we replaced about half the team.” Another, standing by the stadium entrance makes a similar point: “We’re getting used to it. How we wanna play. We’ve got a lot of youngsters.” 

The young squad, some of which have ambitions to play for Wales one day, mostly live and work locally. Right now they are semi-professional and work a range of jobs on the side, “you know, in the trades, construction, a couple in the steelworks, some on oil and gas.” 

A couple of hours later, spirits are high in the club bar as the team revels in holding on for a nervy win. There are many celebrating, old and young, as the afternoon rolls into the evening. A small pause in the drinking allows for the announcement of the man of the match, who stands up to give a short speech and say a public thank you to the retiring kit man. 

Later in the evening, at the Dog & Duck Pub on the other side of town, the mood is equally high. The pub is in a prominent steelworker neighbourhood and is well-known locally. There are two rooms either side of an adjoining bar. The main wall on the left-side bar displays a mural of a local boxer wearing shorts and gloves. Talk in the pub centres around last week’s trouble.

A few regulars describe what happened roughly the same way. “It got petrol bombed last week.” A rag had been stuffed through the pub’s letterbox and set alight in an attempted arson. The black marks from the incident stretch up the interior of the pub’s front door but there are minimal other signs of damage. Most of the drinkers casually shrug off the incident. “This is the kind of pub right, if someone gets their bike nicked, they come in here and say ‘my bike’s been nicked’ and in a day it will be back here.” A middle-aged man with white hair explains with some pride. 

A community pub. There is a strong sense among the regulars that they are self-reliant, without the good fortune of outside help. Discussing whether politics plays a role in supporting the community or others like it, one patron asks, “What are they gonna do? What are they gonna do? Labour, Tories, They’re all politicians.” 

As the night progresses the scenes become more raucous and groups of drinkers mingle with one another. There is a festiveness to the atmosphere. In the lead up to Advent, the community is embracing the season. Christmas-themed events see adults and children dress up in costumes and choirs singing carols. On one Saturday afternoon, children and families line up on the street as a truck decorated as a sleigh crawls past blaring Christmas music out of powerful speakers. Plans for these sorts of festivities are a common topic of conversation throughout Port Talbot. During a coffee morning in the local library, three men and two women, all retired, sit comfortably and discuss plans for one of these events. “We’ve got two fighters from our gym fighting next week. If you want to register you have to pay £10.” He adds, “But just to warn you, we are all dressing up as elves”. 

A middle-aged man in a leather jacket, with limited English, joins the group. He is known to them, and exchanges some basic pleasantries about the cold weather, and listens as the conversation moves onto a discussion about a local news story of a baby who had been found abandoned in an industrial park and what that says about today’s society. 

“How can you leave and walk away and leave a baby no matter what circumstances?” 

There is unanimous agreement. “It’s maternal instincts. [At least] you can leave ‘em somewhere warm or with a neighbour even.” 

One woman argues this is a symptom of cultural decline. “That culture we had back then [when we were children in the 50s and 60s] wouldn’t have allowed it.”

An older man in his mid-70s disagrees. “50, 60 years ago we were just the same. The good old days never happened.”

After a few more minutes discussing the arguments for nature versus nurture, this same man has the ‘final word’. “I think we’re much easier going today than our grandparents was, so human nature does change but that’s only if your environment allows it, if your environment is harsh, you stay harsh.”

The group takes pleasure in this debate as they finish their cups of tea. 

Across the town, conversation ranges freely across politics, local issues, employment and the state of the country. In a barbershop, a retired man sits having his haircut. The two men discuss the difference between old and young in today’s society, and the barber makes a comparison with his son. “My son’s 43 and he pays like £40 for a haircut. Young people in Swansea they’re a lot more image conscious. Even bald people, they go in [for a haircut] every few weeks even.” 

The two men, enjoying each other’s company, agree that the “image-conscious” approach to life is not for them. The barber makes the point that he’s not interested in being friends with people who are overly obsessed with image. “I’ve been bald for years and if people don’t like me because I’m bald, then fuck em.”

Finishing off the haircut, the two men reminisce over the length of their friendship. “I prefer the regular cut for a tenner, I’ve been coming here for eight years and I’m happy and hope you can cut me for another eight more.” They joke about the discount offer that’s available to pensioners in this barbershop. “I remembered my bus pass this time” adds the customer, who is 73, remarking that he is frequently challenged for looking too young. “Nobody trusts me! I have to bring my bus pass around with me. No seriously!”. He leaves, taking his receipt, before calling back into the shop, “I hope you can cut my hair for another 73 years.” 

These cheerful discussions of local and cultural issues are familiar. Most are generally interested and engaged, even if they are unhappy about the state of the world and the recent developments in Port Talbot. Although the number of people employed by the steelworks has fallen substantially over the years, many still see it as being synonymous with the town’s sense of community. “Everyone knows someone” who works there, it’s often said. 

Barbara, who moved here over a decade ago to be closer to her family, typifies this view in telling a story about her teenage grandson. He briefly served as an apprentice in the steelworks. She holds a mug of tea close to her chest, speaking with a mixture of surprise and enthusiasm.

“He didn't particularly want to go down there, but he got in there, and he is quite quiet. He doesn't talk to anybody. If you can get a grunt out of him, you're very lucky. So just before his birthday he got the job down the steelworks. He was put on an apprenticeship and he went in with this gang of men.” 

She says her grandson, “is the exact opposite” to her son-in-law, who is always “down the pub with a pint.” Continuing, “really, how [my son-in-law] produced him I don’t know.” She explains what happened on his first day in the job.

“But his first job: tea boy! Make a cup of tea. [He] Can't make tea, never made tea. Don't drink tea. Don't know how to drink tea [laughter]. So he was in for it, but they were really good for him - they really knew, because of [his dad] a bit, how much they could take the mickey out of him and how much they couldn’t. They really, they brought him out - you can have a decent conversation with him now!” 

The closure of the furnace meant his time as an apprentice was short-lived.

“But unfortunately, redundancies. Last in, first out. Apprenticeship’s gone. It’s the wrong job isn’t it? He’s training to use the one that’s knocked down. He's not being trained - they haven't even started on building the electric ones, right? “ 

In the weeks following the closure there were “no apprenticeships going, no nothing and he was looking along with two, three thousand other people.” But she explains, he was one of the lucky ones.

“He absolutely loves cars, really, he takes them apart, he bashes them up, puts them together again. He's even bought a 3D printer, and he makes the parts for his cars. So that's him and his cars. Without telling any of us, he applied [to an apprenticeship at a car factory] and he got through to the second interview and that’s when he told us, and they took him on!”

Whilst the new role is “farther away, down on the outskirts of Cardiff”, it’s clear from her voice that the apprenticeship was her grandson’s dream job, a job she credits to his time at the steelworks.

“We were worried when he went in the steelworks. What was going to happen with him? With all these big men, mouthy men. But they were really good for him. And that is the sort of thing that, I think - [is] typical of Port Talbot. That everybody knows everybody. They know their business and they support each other. And they would have gone on supporting [him] through and I'm quite sure he would have done well in the steelworks.” 

Reflecting on her grandson’s time as an apprentice, Barbara reiterates that the job, albeit brief, played a formative role in her grandson’s life.

“But I just hope he's getting the same [support now]. I'm so grateful that he did get that job, and I don't know how he got through the interview, how he talked. It was because those men had given him that confidence.”

These scenes in this chapter reveal a town with a closely-knit, resilient community. Whilst the steelworks is rarely an active part of the conversation, as a major employer it does very clearly contribute to the perception that everyone knows and supports each other and has helped to shape the community over many years. 

The closure of the last blast furnace is seen by many as one of a long line of setbacks the town has suffered in the last fifty years. There was not a feeling that Port Talbot would be decimated by the closure; although there was not always hope for the future either. Some felt the job losses would be critical, others believed they would be dealt with by a community used to overcoming these types of challenges. But whether optimistic or pessimistic about the future, nearly everyone shared a sense of great pride in the community’s strength, resilience and self-reliance.

Chapter Three: "Best in the World"

On a Saturday evening in the Margam neighbourhood, families and locals have gathered to watch the switch-on of the Christmas lights. A crowd of roughly 100 people loiter absentmindedly to the sound of a seven-strong choir singing carols, directed by a conductor in a Christmas hat. Most are wondering what the delay is. The switch-on should have happened fifteen minutes ago and the temperature hovers at around freezing. There are a number of ex-steelworkers and their families dotted throughout the crowd.

A woman in her mid-40s keeps her dog on a tight leash as it tries and fails to dash into the crowd. She worked for a number of years as a receptionist at the steelworks. “There’s so many ifs and buts for the staff. I worked there for over ten years but all I got was an email” she says, referring to her dismissal, although she has since found good employment locally. The  most common and abiding concern about the furnace closure is the uncertainty of it all - the question of who will be employed in the coming months and years. Some were still unsure if they’d be keeping their jobs. For those locally, there is also uncertainty around the coming electric arc furnace. Her husband, not of the steelworks, echoed his wife’s uncertainty. “[My wife] was in the meeting with the big kn*bs and they said they haven’t got planning permission for [the electric arc furnace], they haven’t even asked the council for planning permission.” Despite the promises and assurances, many simply do not believe the electric arc will ever arrive.

There are many questions. Will the electric arc open or not? If so, when? Will those jobs materialise, and if so, where will they go and to whom? Separate concerns - environmental or otherwise are, at best, secondary. When the environmental aspects of the arc furnace do come up they are met with scepticism. One man in his 60s wearing a Christmas jumper, who was not employed by the steelworks, nevertheless had a view, “[It’s] a bit like EVs [Electric Vehicles]. They’re the in thing for the time being. Until people start using them you’re not gonna realise what the drawbacks are.” 

The man has a soft, short white beard, and digresses often into long-winded tangents about the origins of Port Talbot and some of its more colourful mythologies. He, like others, has one big problem with the coming electric arc furnace. “[It’s] not gonna make virgin steel like we used to.” 

According to him, the town was built on virgin steel and other heavy industry, “Steel, copper and coal. Aldi used to be a copper works. Most of the names of the streets hark back to the industrial age.” Much of the town’s history, he keenly points out, can be credited to Emily Talbot (“wealthy as the Marquis of Bute” and “once the richest woman in Britain”), the philanthropist who founded the town. Being “very astute with her money and businesses” Talbot’s project was not just one of growth and industrial progress but of social reform. “She employed all the old army people who would’ve been tossed into the street pretty much like they do today.”

His speech rises and falls in volume in line with the choir so that he can be heard more clearly. Straining his voice, he asks, “Wouldn’t it be easier to produce in India? Why do [Tata] need this place? The Government have got a major problem because they’ve got to invest [to keep it open] and they don’t wanna do it.” The comparison with India, where it was often pointed out there was a new furnace opening just as Port Talbot’s had closed for good, was common. 

Shifting the production of primary steel offshore was generally understood to make some form of business sense. People acknowledged that it would be cheaper to make steel in India because of energy and labour costs, even if this was lamented and seen as damaging to the area. Many argued more should have been done to save the furnace, and that it was worth saving, but they knew this was no easy task after decades of decline in this country’s manufacturing. 

There were those such as the ex-delivery driver in the Taibach neighbourhood café who thought, even though costlier to make in the UK, keeping steel production in the country should be a priority. “We need security and steel. In case of a war we can’t rely on other countries.” Or the ex-steelworker at the rugby club who argued that with global uncertainty it was madness to give away our own supply. 

There was frustration at the idea the change would be good for the environment. For a woman in the Hope & Anchor pub, the suggestion prompted her to raise her voice in annoyance.

“It is a good thing, don't get me wrong. But they've opened a new one in India. They’re trying to make it greener, but the whole world needs to be made greener. So why are they having new furnaces out there [India] being built and they are taking ours out?!”

Many were at pains to express that global emissions would not fall if you close one blast furnace in Wales and open another in India. 

In fact, replacing the blast furnace with the electric arc was seen as a tragic downgrade by many steelworkers and retired people in the community. These were the groups who had suddenly lost, permanently, a point of great pride. For nearly everyone, the closure had taken away something essential about Port Talbot and its history as a leader of industry and progress. In the words of one middle-aged man leaving a library coffee morning, “You need primary steel. You need virgin steel. Welsh steel was world class. We were the best in the world, no doubt about that.”

In a nearby café, a Porthcawl truck driver sits waiting for his breakfast on a Wednesday morning before his shift. Overhearing talk of the closure, he speaks about it incredulously, “Disaster. I can’t think of such a ridiculous decision in this country. Why did they stop making primary steel?”  

He has ordered the Big Boy Special. He waves off the attempts of Penny, the manager, to sing him Happy Birthday as she brings him his food and a mug of tea. Outwardly unhappy at the attention, he shakes his head, gives two fingers in a swearing motion to Penny and smiles to himself as he turns to his plate. It is stacked with a baguette filled with turkey, stuffing and roast potatoes and comes with a large jug of gravy.

After a small pause, he says to his breakfast companion, “How has Penny seen that one coming this morning?” Getting back to the conversation at hand, the Germans, he points out, didn’t have the three-year window between the closure and opening of the new furnace. “And if they were going off primary steel, why didn’t Germany shut off their primary steel before they went to electric?”.  For him, this gap is an uncomfortable and unnecessary period of uncertainty. A window for the promises of the electric arc to be broken. Upon finishing the last few chips, he pushes the empty plate away from him, quietly exhaling, saying “fucking hell” to himself under his breath.

Steelworkers and ex-employees beamed when describing the classic smelting process in detail. They had great respect for the extreme power and heat that was at their fingertips every day for years. This was particularly true for two ex-steelworkers in their 70s. At the club bar after the rugby match, they sit and trade stories about the burning heat of the blast furnace over pints of Guinness. After a few minutes of explanation of the smelting process, the quieter of the two interrupts to specify that the masks they used to wear in the furnaces were made of “solid gold”. 

Many also made the point that the electric arc furnace will make steel from recycled scrap metal. For them, the quality will not be the same. Time and again we’re told the steel produced will not be usable for certain key goods, like jet engines, or types of military equipment. This is where the closure of the furnace ignites the most anger. Sipping his drink, the more chatty man adds with some frustration, “If you put shit stuff in [the furnace], you’re not gonna get good quality steel like we used to have”.

Many of these changes - to the type of steel made, jobs and supply chains - will take months and years to have an effect. But in the few months since the closure of the furnace there has been one very noticeable positive impact on the town. 

Janet is sitting with Lucy and Miranda drinking prosecco - the two women whose husbands lost their jobs, as discussed in Chapter One. Janet has been quiet for the first half of the conversation, explaining that nobody in her family works in the steelworks. But the discussion of whether the new electric arc furnace will materialise prompts her to engage.

“I'm not personally invested like you two are. So for me, as an outsider, I think the pollution in Port Talbot is really, really bad, so I think it is a positive. Obviously, I haven't got anybody in my family who works in the steelworks.”

The change in air quality and visible reduction in pollution is something most people can agree on, whatever their views are of the furnace closure. Miranda, whose husband lost his job in the steelworks, agrees.

“There is a lot less pollution. I will say that. So I lived literally on this main road [points], so my house literally faced the steelworks. And before I put my washing on the line, I had to wipe my washing line down because it was so thick with black stuff.” 

According to the three women, the pollution was so bad it had a damaging impact on people’s health, too. “[Problems] increased over the years, definitely. Asthma, you think what the air quality was, you could see it in the children.” Others made this argument, claiming there’d been a marked impact since the closure. For example, a young woman in the town’s shopping centre who suffered from asthma quietly suggested that the closure of the steelworks had been a help, and that she could now breathe more easily. 

There are similar stories. A woman in her 30s at a family get-together, newly engaged into a steelworker family, spoke about the noticeable difference she felt driving on the M4 into Port Talbot. “You used to smell it coming in, stinking. But now the smell, the dirty windows, it’s all gone now.” 

She often drove to Port Talbot from her hometown in the West Midlands to visit her fiancée. The smell from the furnace used to be so bad, she said, that you could smell the town before you could see it. But - she made clear - you soon got used to it. For her, even though it was welcome, the change comes with a greater cost. “It’s gonna be a valley. When it’s gone right, when the steel’s gone, it will just be roads everywhere and houses and nothing else.”

Not just the smell. Aberavon’s undeniably striking three-mile-long sandy beach is now a more popular viewpoint. The arrival of clear skies allows locals to see the sun rising and setting in perfect clarity for the first time in generations. This is something Janet noticed immediately.

“You can see the stars now as well, because they've turned the lights off and the flames are off and the furnaces, you can actually see the stars now.”

Above the table where this conversation takes place hangs a watercolour painting. It depicts the MV Trinity Island, sailing away from the viewer in dark blue, tarmac-like waters towards a horizon coated in storm clouds. The MV Trinity was a real ship. It delivered and unloaded thousands of tonnes of coke from Japan, the same as countless other shipments of raw material from corners of the globe over the years. But it was unique for one reason - the Trinity’s was the last shipment out of Port Talbot. With the closure of the furnace, these cargo shipments are no longer needed; the electric arc will use domestic scrap metal as opposed to imported raw materials. In the painting, the Trinity sails away from Port Talbot for good. 

Without these shipments, and the smoke and the smell, people regularly leave windows open and hang washing when they did not before. But they do this while recognising these are bittersweet signs of a town undergoing drastic changes, losing its signature marks of industry forever.

Chapter Four: "The Buses are Diabolical"

Twenty-five locals, largely women, and all retired, are taking part in a weekly Baglan community morning. Three long tables are laid out in a horseshoe shape, with the participants posted around the edges facing inward, as if part of a large committee. There is limited chatter, and most focus on their craft-making or knitting, occasionally pausing to comment on some issue that’s been raised by the group or to walk up to the refreshment table at the front of the hall. The women knit scarfs, make handbags, cards and other crafts. Profits, one organiser explained, were going towards Ukraine. But it was apparent that the opportunity to socialise was just as important as the charitable output. 

The morning has been running for decades, and the assorted regulars are perhaps more familiar with the town and its many changes than anyone else. Almost all had spent a large part, if not their entire lives, in Port Talbot. They are equivocal about the future of the town - for them there is both hope and hardship to come. When asked about the area, it was not the steelworks, but public transport that enraged two of the women who were filling shoeboxes with homemade toys for Ukrainian children.

“The buses are diabolical, one every two hours. If you miss one bus, it’s hopeless, in the winter.”

Recent cuts to bus routes made it more difficult for them to get around. Others at the craft morning immediately talked of anti-social behaviour as a plague on the town. We heard this across Port Talbot, the vandalising of a community garden, a restaurant broken into, and other well-known stories locally. These are issues felt all over Britain, and this town is no different. For many people here, it is problems like these, ones common across the country, which concern them most. In the town centre one local postman recounted one of these concerning events. 

“A group of lads broke in [to a restaurant] last night and pinched a load of Christmas decorations. You gotta try and stop people from wanting to do that. Maybe if they were given something they might stop going round pinching.” 

Older people tended to have a mixed relationship with the youth. On one hand they acknowledged their lack of opportunities whilst at the same time expressing frustration at their anti-social behaviour. Still, for most of the older generation, the future for young people in Port Talbot remains a serious worry. 

Sandra, spoke of her nephew, Jason, in his twenties and in the process of buying a house and getting married, “They’re off to Disneyland for the wedding." Jason works at the steelworks and is one of those who has kept his job. He’s going to be working on the electric arc, Sandra continues. She’s relieved by this, fearfully explaining how important it is for young people to have a job. Sandra, like everyone else, doesn’t know what the future will be like in Port Talbot, other than the fact that it will be different.

It's Friday evening and one of the bars on the Port Talbot high street is hosting an open-mic poetry night. The glass door is emblazoned with a prominent sticker which reads Support UK Steel. Inside, the venue is small, and those standing at the bar have to move aside to let others out into the cold. The crowd, which is slightly younger than at many of the pubs and bars in the town and largely dressed in black are familiar to each other and groups intermingle. The walls are adorned with Cuban art and a neon sign saying The point of beer is to create pleasure; another reads It’s 5 O’Clock Somewhere. Copies of The Light, a magazine known to promote conspiracy theories, are stacked at the bar and free to take.

After raucous clapping for the announcement of the first act, the room quietens. A man in his 60s who has been warmly introduced takes the microphone.

“I also love the fact, like the fella said earlier, the difference between us in Port Talbot, and people from other parts of this country, like in Manchester, Morrissey will say ‘we hate it when our friends become famous’ around here’, we fucking love it when our friends do well.”

The crowd cheers loudly. Next, a younger, shyer man takes the microphone, which is placed in the far corner of the bar amongst a clearing of tables. This is his first performance. Staring at the piece of paper in his hand, he says with a firm tone “This is called ‘Eat the Rich’”.

He begins.

“This dystopian future handed to us by politicians in suits, paid for by wealthy donors in the interest of self. This is theft, nothing short of, nothing more than, nothing less. It's what you voted for, the well-paid mouthpiece… I'm so sick of this two-tier class system, the working class of slaves. Your job is a plantation.”

His anger is echoed in the reactions of the crowd, who nod along to his indignation and clap enthusiastically again at the end. Some of those listening congratulate the man, and shake his hand encouragingly. Under Port Talbot’s undeniably proud and welcoming surface, there lurks a deep frustration. Younger people, limited in options, cast their own shadow on the town. The well-known spate of anti-social behaviour in the weeks before the study point to this bubbling anger.

People’s predictions for the future of the town often depended on whether they thought it was doing well today. As one woman who had worked in a florist on the high street for a number of years argued, 

“The town is on its last legs. I have no hope with this Government that they’ll turn it around. It’s getting worse since Covid. Now people have no money. They were going out and getting haircuts, going to nightclubs, restaurants, but for now, no - they have no money, wages are not going up and bills are. Energy is the worst. We used to have footfall around here but now? No.”

This bleak attitude toward the future was shared by many. For some, it was made worse by the blast furnace closure, although there was a strong sense that the wider economic picture since Covid was driving a longer and more severe decline - one that young people were bearing the brunt of in terms of a lack of opportunities and possibilities for the future. This outlook dampened hope for the future and contributed to a sense that there was no long-awaited economic recovery round the corner coming to save Port Talbot, or indeed Wales more generally. 

Still, some were more positive. A young woman working at the local Italian - only a short walk down the road - made the point that things hadn’t worked out as one member of her family had expected them to since the closure. “My nan says ‘I think [Port Tallbot’s] gonna be a ghost town everything’s gonna be closing’ - I’m like ‘I don’t think that’s how it’s gonna be at all!’ [Shaking her head], we’re doing really well. We’re full most of the time.”  These contrasting attitudes towards the state of the town were typical; the future was bleak for some and not for others. The same postman who’d spoken of the restaurant break-in, typified the more stoic view. “Only a small element is depressed - five percent or that - the rest of us, we’ve seen it all before. We’ve been here, we’ve seen worse, we just get on with it.” 

Like him, those who had lived for many years in South Wales were used to economic change. And it was those who were at or nearing retirement age who were generally the most stoic, like a recently retired heavy-set rail engineer. “We just get on with it, you do what you gotta do. It depends on how much they invest in the local area… Starmer might put a bit [in].” For some, it was not the ex-steelworkers who faced an uncertain future (in many ways, those who lost their jobs had a clearer path - retirement or alternative employment) but the wider town and its economy, because of the closure’s knock-on effects. Without more investment to keep people spending, he said,

“It may affect the shops because less people are coming for lunch. They came through the old tunnel back in the day and came back here and had lunch - that was what happened. First part: direct, second part: contractors, third part: shops in the town.”

People felt that the upheaval in employment would fundamentally change the nature of the town. Many new roles, it was pointed out, would be different to a job in the steelworks. As with the case of Miranda’s husband, plenty could name ex-steelworkers who’d found jobs as delivery drivers, a somewhat typical sign of the UK’s transition from an industrial powerhouse to an economic model based on services. “Most of them [the steelworkers] have already gone - they get a lump sum which is good so they won’t be skinny and that’s good. They [have got jobs as] gardeners and drivers. They want to work, they're not lazy.”

It was not just about the availability of new jobs for those who had lost them, but their quality. A local plumber observed this on returning from fixing a drain at one of the ex-steelworker’s houses. “It’s like you know they’re mortgaged up, leased up on the car, and all of a sudden what? They have to go find a new job! They go to Asda and then how much is that an hour? It’s nothing to compare.”  Invariably new employment opportunities were viewed as a downgrade. A job in the steelworks was well-paid, skilled and technical, requiring generations of (often passed-down) knowledge. It was common to hear that replacement roles did not. Most felt that the decline in the quality of local jobs would not just hit the local economy and the high street but the town’s sense of community. The steelworks - as seen in Chapter 2 - is a community pillar. Without that single large employer, many argued, the community suffers, especially when the new employment opportunities are in logistics, distribution and other roles further afield from Port Talbot itself. 

Although hope for the future is patchy - especially among young people - this does not stop celebrations in the present. The Princess Royal Theatre is situated within the civic centre, a typical red brick collection of administrative buildings which could be comfortably at home in any town in Britain. It’s 7:25pm and the pantomime - an adult version of Cinderella entitled Sinderella - will start in less than two minutes, but despite the cold winter air, 141 people are still standing outside drinking and smoking. The atmosphere is partylike, with roaring laughter from all corners. The crowd leans older but ranges in age from 16 to 90. Eventually, after a final call from a staff member, the audience files in. Queues for the three bars inside the venue wind around the corridors, and hardly reduce even when the performance begins. 

In the theatre hall, the audience shrieks with laughter and cheer throughout, the loudest moment comes when two young men are hauled onto the stage by the actors and made to take off their t-shirts, this is greeted by wolf-whistles.  At points a group of nine women - aged between 20-35 stand up and sing along to the music. The interval comes and they are asked to leave, four of the women, who are noticeably less drunk, are slightly embarrassed and stand to the side in the entrance hall while the rest work out where to go next. One has just ordered a drink and her friend remarks “What flavour is that?”, this instantly draws a loud rendition of What’s Your Flava by Craig David from the rest of the group. They remain in high spirits despite their forced ejection.

Port Talbot is a town that struggles with the same problems as many others in Britain - a declining local economy and sense of pride and wellbeing. But Port Talbot is different because it exists at the sharp edge of economic change: the decline of manufacturing and replacement with services; the shift from fossil fuels to clean power. These broadest of changes are felt by the people of Port Talbot more severely than most. But whatever the next few months and years hold for the town, its people clearly do not dwell on past struggles, instead they tend to look forward, to face the future with confidence that they can meet its many challenges.