Episode 1 Return to Forgotten Britain

12 years ago, as a new millennium beckoned,

I travelled across Britain to meet

people in some of the country's most hard-pressed communities.

These were the early years of Blair's Britain.

-TONY BLAIR:

-A new dawn has broken, has it not?

And for most of us, the official story was of hope.

It was the longest boom in British history.

No return to Tory boom and bust.

But my journey took me into another Britain,

to places that seemed forgotten in the new age of prosperity,

among people who felt they belonged to a different nation,

talked about by politicians, but whose own voices were rarely heard.

Everybody tells you to tighten your belts.

You know, it's on the last hole now,

so we can't tighten it any further.

'And they would turn out to be some of the most powerful voices

'I'd ever encountered.'

-Do you think your dream is dying in front of you?

-No, but it's in intensive care.

In Scotland, I met shipyard workers fighting to stop decades of industrial decline

and save their jobs.

In Wales and Cornwall, I met rural communities ravaged by

the crisis over BSE-infected cattle and crippling debt.

In Leeds, I found families trying to build a community

on a housing estate blighted by crime and drugs.

In the 12 years since I made that journey,

the world has been transformed.

With Britain struggling to emerge from the deepest recession

since the Second World War, I want to see how the families

who made such an impression on me back then are coping now.

Country houses, you knock and then you can go in.

Tonight, I'll be visiting the countryside of Cornwall and North Wales.

I'm going back to find out what's changed for the people and places

that felt like part of a Forgotten Britain.

I'm coming. I'm coming.

I feel quite nervous, you know that, about meeting these people.

I feel quite nervous about meeting them.

Cornwall is, to visitors,

one of the most beguiling parts of the British landscape.

But when I first came here 12 years ago,

it was the poorest county in the nation.

Tourism and agriculture were the mainstay of the local economy.

But back in the late '90s,

British farming faced its worst crisis in half a century.

Farmers were borrowing to keep their businesses going,

like Cornish dairy farmer, Ben Bailey.

When I met him, his world seemed to be closing in, as the debts escalated.

I owe...somewhere in the region of 130,000 to the bank.

They are getting a bit nervous, cos it's not just me,

but there's a lot of farmers out there who owe them a lot of money,

and the interest charges on the money I owe them

are more than my profit, let alone me making a living out of it.

The Baileys had borrowed to increase their herd.

Only large herds produced enough milk to make a living.

But when the milk price collapsed, so did their income.

Ben and Jackie continued to work all hours,

but the farm wasn't breaking even.

We wouldn't have thought that this would ever happen to us, but it has.

I don't even mind working for nothing,

but when you're working for less than nothing,

you just lose all enthusiasm. It just goes, really.

The Baileys were tenant farmers.

They couldn't even hope to buy the land they lived on.

For Ben and Jackie, and their daughters Alice and Eloise,

the cattle were their only wealth.

I watched as they were forced to sell their herd to pay off the bank.

'We need the money. Cows are our assets. They'll have to go.'

To us, on most days, they're just a herd of cows,

but they mean everything.

When you've had 'em as babies, you know, you've reared them,

you've watched them being born, and some of them do...

Well, they've all got characters,

they're all individual and they're our life.

Once our cows are gone, our security's gone.

Things looked so bleak back then and I think their own sense,

you know, no matter how brave a face they were putting on things,

there was a sense coming from them that it wasn't going to last.

Do you think your dream is dying in front of you?

No, but it's in intensive care. It's suffering pretty seriously.

What we're doing is trying to keep the dream alive.

Here it is, same yard.

It was just down in there, I remember,

we were there for the sale of the cows.

Right, there you are, lot one, lot one,

27.2 on the weigh-in. 27.2 on the weigh-in.

I feel quite nervous, you know that, about meeting these people.

I feel quite nervous about meeting them. I do, yeah.

I think because, when you come into peoples' lives,

after, you know, and you witnessed them in extremis...

Normally, what I do is I vanish,

and I never go back into people's lives.

It's the nature of foreign correspondents -

you flit in and you flit out.

-Anyone home?

-Hello.

Hi, how are you?

Good to see you, man. Fantastic. How are you?

-Well, I'm still here. Are you all right?

-I'm good, fantastic.

-We're a bit happier this time.

-I'm glad to hear it.

I was coming down and I was remembering the time of the sale

and, er, and I just said,

"Maybe it was the sun was shining,"

THEY TALK OVER EACH OTHER

It was the middle of November, wretched weather.

-It was a disgusting day.

-It was terrible.

Everything was sort of combining in an atmosphere of gloom.

I remember the tension and the anger.

At the moment, I'm just bitter, fed up, exhausted, defeated slightly.

We're going to come out of it much the wiser.

Come back and start milking again, which is our ultimate goal,

to start milking our own cows again.

By selling the herd and reducing their debts,

the Baileys were at least able to pay their rent

and stay with their children in the family home.

But I doubted then that they'd get back to dairy farming.

I should have had more faith.

Put your body on the line.

How about that, look at that, how about that?

It's probably been 40 years since I had anything to do farming.

I can't help that and it isn't that long,

because you were here last time.

-Yeah, but I did no work the last time.

-No, probably not.

Go on, shift, shift, shift!

Hey! Scram!

After the sale of the cattle, the family began an epic struggle.

At one point, Ben juggled five different jobs.

Away from the farm, Jackie, too, found other work.

In the years since I've last seen you,

how much of a struggle has it been to pay off that debt?

Well, it's been a never-ending struggle, and it still is.

How much do you owe now?

Well, probably 75,000, I guess.

75,000. Do you think you'll ever pay that off?

Oh, yeah.

Why wouldn't I?

People wouldn't lend it to me if they didn't think I'd pay it back, would they?

Half of Britain's dairy farmers went out of business in the decade

the Baileys were fighting to come back.

Their farm is the last of seven in the area.

I'm not one to just walk away at the first bit of trouble,

and I don't think Ben is.

Well, Ben obviously isn't, cos he could have walked.

It's a lot of pressure

and could have gone so differently wrong, if we'd wanted it to,

I suspect. We could have just walked, but we didn't. We chose to stick it out.

920!

The Bailey's eldest daughter, Alice,

was 16 at the time of the sale of the herd.

Those animals were not my livelihood directly,

but they were important to me.

You're not supposed to have to be patient!

It's an old-fashioned one. It just takes a minute to warm up.

Now aged 29, Alice lives in the nearby town of Truro.

As a child, she didn't fully understand her parents' money problems.

Mum and Dad have always kept the farm and the house

as two, sort of, separate things, really.

We still, we always ate and we didn't, you know...

We were never denied anything.

We were from, you know...

I worked, I started my first job when I was 14,

but I think that's mostly because Mum and Dad wanted me

to get a work ethic, rather than money.

I wondered what the Baileys would make now

of the events I'd filmed back then.

'Amid the final preparations for the sale,

'I can sense the growing tension.

'Gotta put a brave face on it tomorrow and smile for the buyers,

'and make them think they're buying some very profitable animals.

'Although everybody knows that the reason we're selling them

'is cos we're not making any profit.

'So, dunno what, I don't know.

'It's miserable.'

I thought I'd got more eloquent, but I don't think I have.

Dangerously eloquent.

LAUGHTER

'Lot 34.'

Oh, my God.

This is shit.

Hopefully, Ben's going to be able to find some work.

He'll find work, I know he will.

And we're going to come out of it much the wiser.

Giddy aunt!

That was good.

-Good?

-Well, it was well made.

Oh, I found that quite upsetting.

I suppose that was the object of it.

I think it was good.

Good, in what way?

Well, cos you're still here.

You were strong then and you're even stronger now.

That's what I think.

Yeah. Didn't feel strong, though.

No, but look, we're still in the same house,

whether you like it or not. We're still on the same farm.

-Are you proud of your parents?

-I'm so proud of them.

What's it like to hear that from your daughter?

It's brilliant.

THEY TALK OVER EACH OTHER

We like to think they think to be proud of us,

but we don't really... We just assume we all love each other,

but when it's actually said out loud,

it makes such a difference, doesn't it?

Cos we're very proud of them.

When you look at the prospect of the future, you know,

so much of that film was about the disaster that was occurring at that time,

and things turned out a lot better than you expected.

-Yeah.

-They really did.

But I still don't feel secure.

No.

No, there's always...

You just get up there and something comes

and smacks you back down again,

and then you start climbing back up again.

It's partly the nature of farming, as a job -

you're always only as good as the next thing

that's going to knock you back.

Experience has made Ben wary

and, this summer, events would justify his caution.

-NEWSREADER:

-Dairy farmers from across the country will

gather in Westminster today to protest against further cuts

to the price they're paid for milk.

-NEWSREADER:

-The National Farmers' Union says some supermarkets,

including Morrisons, Asda and the Co-op,

are squeezing farmers' margins.

When you depend on the price of milk,

there's no guarantee of security.

Falling prices took the Baileys to the brink 12 years ago,

and global prices have fallen again.

Now they're in a situation where it can cost them more to produce

a litre of milk than they get paid for it.

From the 1st of June,

our milk price went down a penny and a half per litre.

That is going to mean about £1,000 less in my milk cheque.

What benefits the shopper hurts you.

Well, I don't know if it will benefit the shopper.

Well, it's cheaper milk.

Well, is it? Will it be cheaper in the shop,

or will it benefit the shareholders of some supermarket?

Do you feel you're being screwed over?

Yeah, I think we are, up to a point. I mean, it's voluntary.

I don't have to do this job, but...

We make quite a good living now,

now we're financially relatively stable again,

but for us to make quite a good living...

We have to do the work of three people,

you know, from seven in the morning till eleven at night,

and that's not necessarily right.

The Baileys are paid little more than 25p a litre for milk,

about what dairy farmers were being paid 15 years ago.

And in the last two years, the cost of feeding their herd has doubled.

To stay financially stable, they must watch every penny.

I worry much more about over-committing ourselves,

and getting back into the situation that we were in,

so I'm the one who nags, I suppose.

You're the person in charge of the finances, in the sense that you...

He calls me the financial controller, yeah.

In today's world,

the British farmer must develop the skills of an accountant.

-Have you got a bill?

-Yeah, sixty quid.

Cos they rung up yesterday.

Yeah, I do, but I do need to add up and take away.

Yeah, well, you've got to do it properly.

You've got to do it properly.

Don't let me tell you who to pay, cos you'll only snarl at me.

I know!

All around him in the last 12 years,

Ben has seen other dairy farmers go out of business,

and across England, nearly a quarter of small farms

have vanished in the last decade.

Falling prices are a real threat,

but also the influence of nature.

as I'll find out when I return to Cornwall.

For now, though,

I have another journey to make, to a different rural family.

Theirs was also a story of struggle -

to preserve not just their livelihood, but their way of life.

This is Cwmpenanner - the valley of the Calf's Head - in North Wales.

It's the home of a Welsh-speaking community, proud of its identity.

They lived in what felt to me the most remote part of Britain

when I came here 12 years ago.

Returning after a decade, I'd forgotten the sense of isolation.

The mobile signal vanishes in this place of mountains and valleys.

It's so magic here.

The colours change every day, no matter what time of year it is.

If I stop talking, you won't hear nothing,

and it clears your head. It's beautiful.

Here, I'd met a family of tenant farmers,

for whom land and language were at the core of their identity.

It was a story about belonging,

as much as it was about financial survival.

That survival was in doubt when I last visited here.

The BSE crisis of the 1990s cost the British economy billions.

It hit both beef and sheep farmers who exported to the Continent.

The family I met here made their living farming sheep.

And in those days, the price of lamb was collapsing.

You should be able to make a living out of it, but we're not.

Everybody tells you to tighten your belt.

You know, it's on the last hole now, so we can't tighten it any further.

I dread to think what will happen in five years' time.

When I met the Roberts family, the sense of crisis was palpable,

as Arwyn worked impossible hours,

trying to pay the family's rising debt.

During lambing, he's lucky if he gets four hours' sleep.

As a family, we hardly ever see Arwyn, anyway.

He starts at seven o'clock in the morning,

he won't come home till half past midnight.

Starts again, seven o'clock the next morning.

He's like a robot.

It began for me as a journey to a rural community,

but it would also become the story of a mother

and her struggle against loneliness.

How difficult is it, just getting by on a day-to-day basis?

Pressure sometimes - oh, it's terrible. Really is terrible.

And I'm young. I feel I've aged 40 years, really!

Country houses, you knock and then you can go in.

Who's there?

Aha, jeepers! Good to see you.

Hello!

LAUGHTER

-Good to see you.

-How are you?

-I'm great. Hello, my dear.

God almighty, look at the size of you guys!

How are you?

-He's new.

-Yeah.

Cai!

He's right, he's doing what he should be doing -

getting in the way.

That's what young fellows are for, to get in the way.

What's that? Wahey!

What's that?

'I was a very welcome visitor, but I did wonder

'if I represented memories of a time they would rather forget.'

Gwlithyn, what, it's 13 years since I last saw you.

-An awful lot has changed in that time.

-Yes.

What did you imagine the future was?

I didn't know then.

-You told me you thought you weren't going to survive here.

-Yes.

Well, we're here.

-Can you watch the film now?

-No.

No, I can't. I can't, no.

-Why?

-It's still raw, you know.

Farming then - it was tough, the prices were tough.

You just felt like you were in a big black hole,

and there was no light at the end of the tunnel then.

This is a receipt Arwyn had for selling the ewes from Ruthin yesterday.

-At the market, right.

-Yes.

-How much did he get again?

Er, £420.

-That's six months' work, amounting to £420.

-Yeah.

It isn't a lot.

And how much a kilo do you pay for your meat afterwards?

It's a lot more than 56 pence.

Really, we're just the bottom end of the chain.

Arwyn worked constantly, on his own and other farms,

to supplement the family income.

At home with the children, preoccupied with debt,

Gwlithyn was depressed.

You seemed quite isolated and alone at that time.

Mm, yes.

Yeah, and Nest - she started school full-time

and then suddenly you're going from all the children here wanting your attention to nothing.

I've got nobody really to talk to until Arwyn comes home,

and the last thing he wants to know is about me, really.

CLEARS THROAT

So...yeah.

It's a lonely life.

How difficult is it, just getting by on a day-to-day basis?

I have good days, I have bad days and I have very bad days.

-Tell me about the very bad days.

-Oh, I just cry.

Really, really cry all the time.

How did you get out of the mess that you were in?

We've just worked incredibly hard,

made lots of sacrifices.

And then it came through.

This seems to be the one section of the economy that's doing well...

-Yes.

-..at the moment.

Market prices are really good at the moment.

Better than we've ever seen.

But nothing's certain in life.

It all depends on the market.

That's what governs our livelihood.

The BSE crisis ended and the global market improved dramatically.

In the 12 years since I last came to the valley,

the price of a leg of lamb has increased by 75%.

But the farm's survival wasn't simply the result of better prices for lamb.

The Roberts came from a community whose very remoteness has

helped create strong family bonds.

'I am really proud of my children's achievements.

'Mali - she's going to do her A levels next year.'

-She's a very good artist?

-Very. Her and Alo are very good artists.

Alo, the Roberts' eldest daughter, has left home since I last visited.

Like her mother before her, she's getting married to a young farmer.

And then Nest - she's just a comic for me.

-She's just, just crazy.

-She has a great sense of humour?

She makes me laugh, anyway. All of them.

Cai - he wants to shear. He like his tractors.

You know, give him a spanner or a hammer and some nails,

and he's happy, happy as Larry.

And I found here a shift in attitudes -

the idea that the farm might be taken over by one of the girls, rather than their son.

Do you think he'll be the one running the farm in the future?

Er, out of the four, I think Nest will.

But girls don't normally inherit the tenancy, do they?

No, but what I say is, just because he's a boy, it's not fair.

Because Nest and Mali... All four of them have worked hard.

Arwyn is still the shy and quiet man I remembered,

a man who lets his work, rather than his words, speak for him.

When I last spoke to you,

you worried that Arwyn would work himself into the ground.

-Mm.

-But he strikes me as someone who loves work.

-I know!

-I think it's the thing that will keep him going.

That's what keeps him going.

Yes, his whole family, they're exactly the same.

He thrives on it.

-He does come across as the strong silent...

-Oh, yes!

Very traditional man.

He's not confident in speaking English,

even though it's perfect and he can.

You know, he doesn't feel comfortable.

It's our second language, remember.

Very proud, very hard-working. Wouldn't have him any other way.

The Roberts family are financially better off,

but something deeper has happened.

Gwlithyn is a transformed person.

BEEPS HORN

Last time I came, there was this very honest,

very vulnerable person sitting opposite me.

I still am.

You're very honest, but I sense that you're much stronger.

Oh, yeah. Yes.

What's made the difference?

I made myself like myself.

I think to myself if I don't like me,

nobody else will.

I'm not bothered about what people think of me any more.

I was trying to please everybody, then.

Work has made THE difference.

Gwlithyn's found a job with the National Farmers' Union.

She's no longer alone at home, but part of a wider community.

In work, I'm not anybody's wife, sister, mother, daughter.

I'm just me there.

I just love it.

-And the sense of being wanted?

-Yes.

Yes, and you feel like you've got something to offer.

That's what I like.

The Roberts' farm has survived.

12 years ago, I didn't think it would.

They'd been saved because they worked so hard,

and the market delivered better prices.

But I knew this was one family's experience.

There is a bleaker narrative of rural communities across Britain,

a story I'll come back to later.

Back in Cornwall, the Baileys have a serious problem.

A disease that had been controlled for decades

is now threatening the herd.

-NEWSREADER:

-There's been a rise

in the number of cattle in England infected with bovine TB.

Last year, 25,000 cattle were destroyed because of the disease.

Bovine TB now affects around 8,000 farms across Britain,

and it'll cost the taxpayer up to

£1 billion to control over the next decade.

12 years ago, the Baileys had to sell the herd to pay their debts.

This time around, they can't, and the farm is overcrowded.

To prevent TB entering Britain's food chain,

farms with infected cattle

aren't allowed to sell them onto the open market.

It's meant keeping animals the Baileys would normally have sold.

These are all for sale, this lot. I know they are.

There's a big cost here.

I've been through 'em,

looking for ones that could potentially be for sale.

At the moment, we've got 22 that we can sell, or could potentially sell.

They're going to have to go because I haven't got any more food,

and they're lying in shit when they should be lying on straw,

and I've only got three bales of straw left, so I'm rationing them.

Since a routine TB test two years ago,

the Baileys' farm has been under restriction.

The milk can be sold, because it's pasteurised to remove any diseases,

so they do have an income.

But the cost of keeping more cattle than they can afford means mounting stress.

We know loads of people who've been under restriction lots of times,

but until we had been under it for two years,

we didn't realise quite how much they were suffering.

Well, we spend more time TB-testing than we do on holiday.

It's two days every 60 days and has been,

apart from one six-month break in two years.

-Over two years now.

-Over two years now, yeah.

But today could mark a turning point for the Baileys,

the beginning of the end of costly restrictions.

I'm on the farm to meet the vet.

Jason, what are you going to be doing exactly this morning?

I mean, how many cattle are you testing?

We are going to be testing all Mr Bailey's stock,

basically two jabs per animal,

and when we come back three days later,

we're going to compare the lumps on the two sites,

and that's going to determine the result of the test.

15 years ago, there was much less TB around.

I wouldn't say it was completely clear but much, much less.

What's bringing it in?

Erm, well, that's the big question, isn't it?

I think...probably the consensus is going to be that there's

an issue with the wildlife reservoirs, unfortunately.

The wildlife reservoirs sounds to me like

a really polite, politically correct way of saying badgers.

Yeah, I think that is basically the bottom line.

I don't hate badgers, I like badgers,

but I like healthy badgers and I'd like to meet the bloody man

who thought a badger needed anybody's protection, let alone,

you know, all badgers needed protecting, cos that's such a...

It's ridiculous.

13% of the badgers that get run over on the road are actually infected,

apparently, or they were, until they stopped testing 'em.

And to some, 13% isn't very much, but if 13% of humans had TB,

that would be a major health epidemic, wouldn't it?

I'm coming. I'm coming.

I can see the beasts coming toward us.

Have you ever been whacked by one of them?

Yes, yes. Not as often as I could have been, to be honest.

I've always been very careful, I'll be frank with you,

cos obviously they're big girls.

But, yeah, occasionally you get the odd kick and you get the odd butt,

but the thing with TB testing is you tend to get your fingers trapped,

hence the gloves and the tape, but...

So, yeah, you have to be a little bit careful.

Obviously, big animals, close confinement, sticking needles in them - rarely a happy combination.

They can get aggressive.

There won't be any results today.

The vet will be back in three days

to see how the cattle have reacted to their jabs,

and Ben and Jackie have been through enough to be able to take

today's tests in their stride.

Go, go, go, go!

Besides a limitless capacity for hard work,

humour is a vital part of life on a small farm.

This triplet hasn't had her calf yet.

-That's Britney. This is...

-Is that after Britney Spears?

-Yeah, and this is Gaga.

-Heaven forbid! After Lady Gaga?

If only she knew that one of your cows was called after her!

The other one's Beyonce.

I have to say, on first looking, I can't spot the resemblance.

No.

Well, I didn't know how she was going to develop when we named her.

But she's got quite a nice butt on her.

You've never regretted being a farmer?

No, not in the least.

I've fulfilled my lifetime's ambition.

But, unfortunately, it's turned out to be a crock of shit.

But that's beside the point.

Neighbours Frank and Maureen have come to help,

along with Rachel, the Bailey's apprentice,

whose job depends on their survival.

We didn't fully appreciate what it was like to be locked up with TB.

We had friends in Devon who were, for a while.

Whinging bastards, we used to call 'em!

LAUGHTER

Lot of moaning.

Every business has its whingers, even the bankers.

They get a million and a half bonus and they're still whinging.

So, everybody does it.

'I was struck by their sense

'of not being valued by the people of the city.

'It was a theme that had deepened in the 12 years since I'd last been here.'

Do you feel a town and country divide?

When I say town and country, people in London,

who come down here to their holiday homes,

who come down to their holiday homes.

They like a sterile, aspic-coated countryside.

That's what they think it should be like,

rather than what it actually is like.

I think the worst, though, Ben, is when they come and they just want to turn it into suburbia.

They've moved from suburbia to the countryside,

-and then they immediately want to put a...

-Change it.

-Yeah, change it,

and don't want you driving your tractor past or moving your bullocks

or something, all the things that they moved to be a part of.

If I was a builder, I wouldn't mind so much, cos they make shitloads of money out of them.

-But you resent them?

-They're just parasites to me.

I'd rather they stayed in London and ate my produce without troubling me.

LAUGHTER

-And left our countryside alone!

-Yeah.

I'll return to Cornwall for the results of the TB tests,

but rural anger isn't just about TB.

Recession has also deepened a sense of alienation.

It's increased the pressure on rural communities already struggling with decline.

In Wales, some 3,000 rural businesses have been lost in two decades.

-NEWSREADER:

-Rural parts of Britain are being hardest hit by the recession,

according to new research from the commission for rural communities.

There's a warning today that Britain's villages could die

without radical action to give more power to the people who live in them.

When I last visited North Wales,

there were already worries about what rural decline might mean for local children.

Back then, at the local school in the nearby village of Cerrigydrudion,

the Roberts' girls were being taught by Gwlithyn's aunt, Nan.

A lot of children want to be farmers,

like their parents and like grandparents.

What should I say? Should I tell them,

"No, there won't be any farming community at Cerrigydrudion.

"Don't even think about farming."

This thriving school is an exception here.

Four others in the area have closed in the last 20 years.

It's a trend threatening the identity of this community.

And it doesn't seem to augur well for the Roberts' son Cai,

or his sisters, who want to farm.

This is it, I think.

NAN TALKS TO THE CLASS IN WELSH

I recognise that voice.

-Nan.

-Hello, how are you?

-How are you doing?

-All right, thank you.

-How nice to see you.

-And you, Fergal.

You're still with young ones, even though we're all older.

Yes, year three and four. Seven to nine year olds.

I've got 19 in the class and they're flabbergasted.

-Good afternoon, everyone.

-Good afternoon.

-How do I say that in Welsh?

-Pnawn da.

-Pnawn da.

CLASS: Pnawn da.

Computers - they weren't here the last time I was here.

No, no, no. We're very lucky.

We've moved on in this technological world we're living in.

They're composing.

They're playing around with composing on the computer.

How many of the children in your class do you think

want to become farmers or work on the land?

The boys, I would think, half of them.

And how many will actually get there?

Oh, another matter. Something to do with agriculture, maybe.

How important is this school in creating a cohesion here,

and protecting your Welsh identity, particularly given the fact

that other schools in the area have closed down?

I really believe you have to have children believe in their identity.

Being Welsh is more than just learning the language.

You've got to live it.

THEY SING IN WELSH

It saddens me to see local schools around the area closing

or even going very small schools now.

Why is that happening?

Because people are moving out and no children.

Young people are moving away,

and supermarkets in the towns are taking the business.

We've only got one shop now. We haven't even got a pub.

-And what about the butcher shop?

-No. Gone.

-In a place with so much livestock?

-Couldn't... Yes.

Couldn't live on the income that they were generating.

It strikes me there's a bit of a paradox here,

because on the one level, you want to protect your identity,

and your language and everything that's been here for centuries,

but parts of the community are dying, because there isn't enough...

There isn't enough people, there's not enough new blood.

No, no. So I'm telling all the young ones,

"Come on, get some children in!"

But in reality, I know what you're saying. I can...

I haven't got the answer to it.

On so many levels, this is a very attractive place to be.

If you're a parent, you're not worried about your children,

and you've got an identity that's been with you for hundreds of years,

but I really worry about it lasting, because jobs are vanishing,

people can't fill their shops.

They're going to have problem filling their schools,

because without an infrastructure of employment for people,

you just see slow, steady decline ahead.

As more young people leave,

the Welsh language is declining in its heartlands.

The Welsh government has spent nearly £1 billion

trying to boost rural development in the last decade.

But during the recession, rural youth unemployment rose sharply.

What would you like to see them do, the girls?

I just want them to be happy and achieve their goals.

If that means leaving here to go to the city, how would you feel?

If that's their choice,

you know, I'll back them up 100%,

because if you don't get your parents' encouragement...

I'd prefer them to go from here,

knowing that they know that we're happy with them,

than going without our...

-I don't know what the English is.

-Blessing?

-Yes.

Yes.

The Roberts' girls want to be the fifth generation of their family to farm in this valley.

Who's this stranger?

'And, constantly, I was reminded of how land and language defined their identity.'

Do you think you'd like to be a farmer?

Why?

I mean, you see your parents working very, very hard.

Would that put you off the idea of being a farmer?

The girls want to stay, but may have to consider leaving.

But I wonder if the language might be a barrier

to a future for them beyond these hills.

Do you think the fact that Welsh is their first language would be a hindrance to them?

-Oh, no!

-Do you not think so?

I think it's an advantage, really.

You don't think when they're born, "Oh, I'll speak English to them,

"just to make sure that they have the right track to begin with."

Oh, no.

Whatever they might wish for, I worry that the next generation

will have to leave the hills in search of work.

The evidence points to many young people here being

forced to plan for a life in the towns and cities.

'Sitting with this happy family,

I wondered how much would be lost' with the decline of rural Britain.'

'It was a question that lingered through the good humour of our farewell meal.'

For everyone at the table, a quiz -

if somebody said to you, you could have your dream, what would it be?

-Oh, I'm living the dream.

-OK.

-ALO:

-I'd have a Range Rover.

-OK.

LAUGHTER

SHE SPEAKS WELSH

-Sheep. You want sheep of your own?

-Yeah. It's sheep from Yorkshire.

-How about you, Nest?

-World peace.

LAUGHTER

The great Welsh post R S Thomas once bleakly observed

that there was no future here, only the past.

I know the Roberts would disagree.

All are working towards a future here.

After a long struggle, they feel entitled to hope.

In Cornwall, I'd left the Baileys waiting to hear

if any of their cattle had TB.

It's results day.

Ben's apprentice Rachel helps Jason the vet

inspect the bullocks on the headland.

Jason checks for lumps that would betray the presence of infection.

Yeah, OK.

A cow found with the disease is called a reactor

and will have to be destroyed.

All good.

Good news so far, but there's a lot more cattle to go.

I think Ben is clearly nervous, waiting down there.

He got the news by phone from Rachel

and you've got 100-plus more cattle still to go.

An hour later and the family watch the rest of the herd being tested.

Just stop the third one. The first two are all right.

The first two are all right.

Just stop that third one, if that's all right.

Right, OK there.

OK for her.

Good start, anyway.

After a scare, the vet gives Jackie's favourite cows the all-clear.

Gaga and Britney went through fine. Now Beyonce's gone through fine.

-How many have we done now?

-I don't know.

Fair enough.

Just keep going.

I should think we've probably done half of the cows.

And all clear so far.

There'll be another 60 or so after this, I guess.

-But it only takes one.

-Yeah.

It could be the first one or the last one, it doesn't make any odds.

Better stop the second one, folks, I'm afraid.

Hmm, that doesn't sound so good, does it?

Yeah, She's going to be an inconclusive, I'm afraid to say.

What does that mean?

Um, essentially, she has a slightly larger lump at the bottom,

than at the top.

But there's a range of increase over which we retest.

Beyond that, they become a reactor.

She is within the range in which we retest.

Middle of the road, in terms of not that close to being clear.

But desperately close to being a true reactor.

Will you retest?

She'll be retested after 60 days, so, yeah.

Does that mean you don't get an all-clear, Ben?

I don't know. You'd better ask Jason about that.

It would mean you don't get an all-clear, yeah.

The Baileys have slaughtered eleven cows with TB in two years.

If it tests positive, this animal, too, will be killed.

-WOMAN: So, nothing's changed?

-Not yet, no.

They get paid compensation, but it doesn't cover the losses.

-It's just her isn't it?

-I don't know.

THEY TALK OVER EACH OTHER

I know Ben well enough by now

to leave him alone when he gets bad news.

He's a really proud, hard-working, decent guy,

and he couldn't be doing more to try and keep his farm, his herd,

clear of TB, and then he gets this.

You just can't help the feeling it's so unfair.

That's the word that comes to mind - it's just unfair.

Asshole!

Jason found just one cow that might have the disease.

If you can squeeze through, there's a seat over there.

But it means the entire farm must stay under restrictions.

In the old tradition of the country, there's dinner for all who help.

The cow's going dry again, look.

Been a long morning.

Particularly when you don't get the result you're after.

Disappointing but, erm, you know,

I regret to say, in good company, at the minute, so...

It's a bit disappointing, really.

Should've guessed it was all a bit too smooth.

Hope rather than expectation.

-Yeah.

-RACHEL:

-Bit too high, wasn't it?

SHE CHUCKLES

-In 21 years, we didn't have a reactor.

-Hardly a bump.

And then suddenly, like,

for no, I don't know, for no apparent reason then,

obviously there's a reason,

but you go down and you can't get out of it.

But it's just...

It makes a mess of people's cashflows and things.

So, we have to rethink our plans, Ben.

-Yeah.

-Plan B.

-So what's Plan B?

-Well, if we can sell...

Plan B is we're going to think about it and see what we can do.

It does put a bit of a downer on everything now, doesn't it?

Well, it was going to go one way or the other.

I know. I just hoped that it was going to be clear.

The farm will stay under restrictions.

The Baileys' herd will be tested every 60 days

until they get the all-clear.

For all that, there isn't the sense of siege I remember 12 years ago.

The straight-talking Baileys have defeated the odds before.

Put your head in and drink.

When I look at the changing facts in the 12 years since I last came,

the big picture is worrying.

The number of small farms

and agricultural workers has been falling.

The obstacles faced by people like the Roberts and Baileys are numerous,

but, for them, the pride they take

in producing our food is the real prize,

and they'll do it as long as their energy lasts.

What do you do when you get too old to do this?

I don't know. I don't know, Fergal.

We had a little dream...that we're going to sell everything up

and get a Winnebago,

just bugger off, and just go away.

-Where would you go?

-Probably start in Plymouth, get on a ferry

and just keep driving, till we run out of money,

or killed each other, cos we were living in a Winnebago!

I don't know.

I can't draw big conclusions about the rural future

from the experiences of two families.

And we don't know what the recession will ultimately mean for them.

But, for me, their work ethic

and faith in community is an inspiration.

And, whatever comes, they'll never settle for being forgotten.

You look, all of you,

like you really belong here, that's the thing.

THEY LAUGH

-It doesn't suit everybody.

-No, I can imagine that.

But it suits me.

I'm leaving on a high, coming away from those people,

cos they really would do you good.

'If you took reality to be what you read in the newspapers,

'what you see lined up in front of you on the nightly news,'

you'd jump off the edge of a cliff,

because you would come away with the impression there was no hope.

But that isn't the story of people on this island

or the story of people everywhere. It really isn't.

And I've played my own part in all of that, I know.

And do I regret it? Yes.

I do regret...

..seeing everything or seeing too much through the prism of misery.

Time we stopped it.

Next week, my journey around the forgotten Britain I visited 12 years ago,

will take me back to the cities of Glasgow and Leeds,

to find out what happened to the families I met back then.

I'll tell you this much - you haven't aged.

Well, I can probably say the same about you.

Put a bit of beef on, though.

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