09/09/2026
Dire Straits, in their magisterial hymn Telegraph Road, describe the order in which things develop in a pioneer town. "First came the churches, then came the schools," they entoned, "then came the lawyers, and then came the rules."
The horrific scenes of recent weeks in Middlesbrough have broken the hearts of those who of us privileged to live and serve in one of England's great pioneer towns. They have come as a devastating shock but not a huge surprise. Much of the 'news' has not been new to us. Headlines rarely happen in a vacuum but first grow in the relative darkness of complex ecosystems.
Middlesbrough, like most pioneer towns, is a storied place and, as so often in pioneer towns, two stories are particularly noteworthy.
The first story started with the discovery of ironstone in the Eston Hills: "Then came the mines, then came the ore". A small conurbation grew, rapidly into what Gladstone coined in 1862 as 'an Infant Hercules'.
Just a decade later, Middlesbrough had become England’s biggest source of iron, producing 35 of every 100 of the nation's tonnes. In time steel production made the town a major industrial target and the first large town to be bombed by the Luftwaffe. At its peak 91 blast furnaces burnt red hot day and night, earning townsfolk the nickname Smoggies.
This story is one of pride, dignity and the recognition that comes from making a difference. It’s the story of the birthplace of Captain Cook and Brian Clough. It's the story of how the Sydney Harbour Bridge was designed in Middlesbrough, built by people from the town and made, in part, with materials mined in the beautiful Cleveland Hills.
It's why Middlesbrough is one of the favourites to be the next City of Culture (c'mon Lisa Nandy, you know it makes sense), of why Middlesbrough this autumn is only the second place to host the Turner Prize outside of London and why Teesside University is currently University of the Year. It's why Teesworks, as the biggest brownfield site in Europe, is seeing the seeds of growth through renewable technologies, just as tens of thousands of people working in the regional chemical industries led global innovation in years past.
It is a great story of a wonderful town and a proud, salt of the earth, generous hearted community.
But, as with most pioneer towns a second, all too predictable story also lurks when single industry towns see the world change: "Then there was the hard times...". I recently licensed a new priest into a parish where 85 per cent of children are born into poverty, the highest rate in England and symptom of the lowest rate of 18-64 year olds in employment in the country.
The second story sees the most underfunded urban police force in the country seek to deal with the highest level of crime outside of London per capita. The predictable result is terror for some residents. A story where seven out of the 10 most financially deprived council wards in the whole country are within one town, fuelling painfully high levels of health inequality and devastating rates of drug addiction. Death is rarely far away in Middlesbrough, almost everyone of every age can name people close to them who have died too early.
Perhaps the famous Transporter Bridge is emblematic of this second story, having fallen into disrepair without the funds to restore. It is hard to imagine a bridge of such history being left to rot without sufficient funds in a southern city.
Government support in the years since the blast furnaces were extinguished hasn’t been non-existent but neither has it been sufficient, consistent nor with meaningful local agency. The allure of the short term sticking plaster, just enough until the press pack move on, is as tempting as it is futile. Smoggies are used to being patronised by people, often far away or with other agendas, who think they know best. The town has long been patted on the head with a ‘poor you’ and viewed through the lens of ‘poverty porn’ rather than honoured for being an entrepreneurial and resilient community too long overlooked and ignored.
As bishop living only three or four miles away from the most affected communities, I wouldn’t dream of telling clergy how to lead, serve or prioritise their time, yet some living hundreds of miles away are firm in knowing what is best. It is telling that the most effective local politicians of all stripes have grown up in the region and live and breathe its history.
Short term support and lack of agency brings inevitable real world consequence. To seek to understand an ecosystem should, of course, never be used to justify the blatant criminality that thrives within it nor should it absent those who deserve justice from its grasp, but to berate without understanding brings heat rather than light.
Why do so many young people fall into the grip of gangs? Some are forced against their will but for those who have freedom of choice, it is hard not to see the false allure of respect, identity, belonging and hope, four things often craved in a context so much overlooked, where a financial deficit is only eclipsed by a deficit of hope. That's not to suggest most gang members worked in the steel industry - you are more likely to find ex-steelworkers at the till of Aldi or directing traffic at Redcar races - but headlines happen in ecosystems not vacuums and the generational impact of these statistics can only be overcome by generational investment in education, in youthwork, in law and order, in fixing the broken windows, in jobs and opportunity - in short, in community.
As native Middlesbrough resident Steph McGovern wrote last week, "we don't need charity...places like Middlesbrough need meaningful investment, decent reskilling/training, jobs and an education system fit for purpose." As over 50 churches across the town that is what we are united in working for and what gets us up each morning. It’s what we have cried out for in prayer vigils and meetings before the headlines and since.
As a Christian I deal not in optimism, which is the crack of human emotion, but in hope. The only way out of this is to reject the easy-said easy-forgotten soundbites of empty optimism, whether of the hard-talking or hand-holding variety, and invest in the slow growing, life changing fuel of hope.
Barry Hill is the Bishop of Whitby and lives in Middlesbrough