The making of BBC’S Steeltown Murders
THE four-part miniseries was filmed in and around Port Talbot and was written by Ed Whitmore (Manhunt, Safe House) and made by Severn Screen (The Pembrokeshire Murders, Hidden/craith).
We spoke to producer Hannah Thomas and Ed Talfan, pictured right, ahead of the airing on Monday, about making the factual drama, which is set in both 1973 and the early-2000s and centres on the hunt to catch the killer of three young women in the Port Talbot area and the remarkable story of how – in the first case of its kind – the mystery was solved almost 30 years later using pioneering DNA evidence.
On making a real-life crime drama, Ed spoke about the thought process that goes on when putting the series together.
He said: “I think you always have reservations, but you go through a process of asking yourself, ‘Why do you want to tell this true story?’
“I think it’s probably true of any true story. It could be true of a war story, it could be true of a crime story, but especially stories where bad things have happened. And you have to ask yourself, why are you telling the story?
“And if you convince yourself that there’s good reason to tell it you just have to do that job with as much integrity and sensitivity as you can muster. And I think we definitely tried to do that every step of the way with this project.”
Hannah added that at the core of telling the story was the forensic-level research done into the project, which shows how developments in DNA helped to answer the question of who murdered Pauline and Geraldine, as well as Sandra, three decades later.
“We worked with the actual police who were on the case with Paul Bethell and Phil Rees, who were there in the 1970s and in the noughties when Operation Magnum [the name of the operation that reopened the cases] started and they were just a brilliant source of information and guidance for us.”
Hannah went on to say that there was an extra layer of caution, care and meticulousness when making the drama because they were filming a Welsh story in Wales and they are a Welsh production company. The show was also filmed in the area where the murders took place all those years ago.
She added: “It isn’t arm’s length. It was really, really close to home. So we were very, very cautious and just meticulous in our research, really, and trying to, at every stage, do justice to the three girls who lost their lives. Because we’d met with the families, we were very aware of the reality of what had happened and what they’d gone through.
“So that, basically, was something we balanced at every stage. And Ed did so magnificently, just kind of balancing that drive to tell a really compelling story while being really mindful of people’s grief and that it’s actually happened.”
Ed added that it was Paul Bethell’s dogged determination that was inspiring to him when writing the dual-era drama.
He said: “It was Paul’s absolute determination and tenacity in the face of overwhelming odds, in the sense that they had the killer’s DNA, but he wasn’t on the database, which feels like game over.
“And he would not accept that. He would not accept it as game over. The tenacity and the determination and the spirit that he showed to overcome that massive hurdle of the DNA not being on the database. And how do you go about finding the killer in a community almost 30 years later with lots of issues and hostilities stemming from the original case? I felt, fundamentally, that was the story worth telling.”
Actor Philip Glenister, who plays DCI Paul Bethell, echoed that sentiment about his on-screen alter-ego, whom he met ahead of filming. The Life On Mars actor, like Steffan Rhodri, is used to playing coppers, but this Welsh detective is a world away from Gene Hunt.
Speaking about his role in Steeltown Murders, he said: “I think it’s a responsibility and it’s a privilege.
“It’s interesting because I haven’t played a policeman since Gene Hunt in (2008’s) Ashes To Ashes. I am so aligned with that role, so it’s really – not to use the word exciting – but I wanted to play another policeman and this was totally the opposite to Gene Hunt in many respects. Paul Bethell is a real person and Gene Hunt is fictional.”
Glenister said Mr Bethell had been “so laid back” and he had been able to ask him questions to prepare for the role, but he had not wanted to be “bogged down” by perfecting his mannerisms.
“I am not so much interested in that, rather his thoughts on how he worked on the case,” he said.
“What was so integral to the story and was in the script, having met Paul and talked to him in quite some detail, is that he never wanted to use the word ‘closure’,” said Glenister, whose family were from Mumbles in Swansea.
“I thought it was really interesting and became a recurring theme in my head while filming, when you’ve lost, particularly a child in horrible, horrible way you can never have closure. But it was just some form of redemption, I think, for the families and, indeed, for Phil and Paul, to have some sort of conclusion.
“What came across was this dogged determination to bring some kind of conclusion or some answers for the families and for himself.”
Glenister continued: “I think the overall feeling is that it’s a responsibility to serve the story because there are obviously family members.
“We have to serve the story and them above all and respect them. I think respect is the word. When it’s based on something that is real and so traumatic because it involves three teenage girls, and having daughters myself, it hits you.
“It’s unimaginable what the families have gone through. I haven’t sort of looked at it as a thriller, to me it’s more a drama-documentary that we are making.
“You want it to be entertaining, educational and informative, all the things you want in a good drama. So, hopefully, we have done it justice.”
Director Marc Evans said he hoped the main take away from the series would be a better understanding of the story and that it would shed light on the “brave and diligent work” of the police officers involved.
“But, equally, speaking as a Welsh filmmaker I always like to think that people come and visit us through these dramas and that they’ll get a slice of who we are as a culture, as an area,” he said. “It’s where I’m from and it’s an extra motivation for me making stuff which is from here.
“I think it’s nice on a very basic level seeing our world out there on the big screen both in terms of network and internationally.”
WHAT’S in a name, as the Great Bard said? But setting aside the Montagues and Capulets for a moment, when you come to think about it, names are peculiar things. They’re labels that, at one level, are not much more than handy monikers but, on the other, names are infused with great meaning and significance.
Love our names or loathe them, we’re given one or more personal ones by our parents (those tempted to name their kids after celebrities should remember what goes around comes around). We generally inherit our second names, although declining rates of marriage – and a reduction in the rather weird, gendered tradition of male last names taking precedence when heterosexual couples wed – means an exponential growth in double-barrelled names (including my own kids, the Mcallister-joneses).
If nothing else, we’re likely to require bigger official forms in future to cope with the number of letters!
In some cultures, people inherit first names and even use different names at different points in their lifetimes. We acquire nicknames from family, friends or teammates (no one with whom
I grew up in Bridgend knows me as
Laura, always as Lal). We can even change our names by deed poll.
Then there are titles or prefixes which reveal marital status or educational qualifications or honours like Miss,
Ms, Dr, Prof, Sir and
Lady, etc.
Evidently, names are far more than mere labels or demarcations. Whether personal or place names, they reflect language, heritage, culture and history. They reveal our backgrounds, where we are from, who we are – and not just place or location. Names are wrapped up in our socioeconomic and class roots too. They can be inclusionary or exclusionary. There’ve been powerful campaigns to change streets and buildings carrying the names from Britain’s slave trade past – like Bristol’s Colton Hall and Liverpool’s Penny Lane or the Thomas Picton statue in Carmarthen.
We’ve all heard evidence as to how non-english or Welsh-sounding names fare less well in job applications, hence the now more widely-used anonymised process.
Recently, what we call things has been front and centre of the news. You’d have to have been hiding under a rock not to have heard about the decision by Bannau Brycheiniog/brecon Beacons National Park to celebrate its 66th anniversary by changing its logo (to acknowledge climate change) and also to prioritise the ancient Welsh version of its name. A straightforward enough plan it seems, arrived at by its board after a widescale, two-year public consultation including a citizens’ assembly. A decision driven by a desire to market this stunning area of our country slightly differently, similar, in fact, to last year’s renaming of Snowdon as Yr Wyddfa and Snowdonia as Eryri.
Was this a fairly inconsequential rebranding, the normalisation of our unique language and culture for the four million-plus visitors who come from all over the world to see such natural beauty? As one tourist, whose family were from India, commentated in the ubiquitous media vox pops on this matter: “More than the name, it’s the place, [people] are coming for. I have spoken multiple languages and travelled a lot and what’s not to love about trying something new or learning something about the locals?”
An alternative take comes from the UK Prime Minister, the leader of the Welsh Conservatives, the local Conservative MP or take your pick from a range of English media commentators. It was a wasteful and sinister “Woke-driven” muscle flex by those pesky and newlyconfident Welsh folk, designed to put off visitors unfamiliar with our beautiful language.
As one English newspaper columnist whined – the Brecon Beacons have been “... replaced with something that, outside Wales at least, is difficult to pronounce, let alone fall immediately in love with”. Well, that’s telling us... Interestingly, there’s been considerably less fuss abut the renaming of the English coastal path as King Charles III England Coastal Park. The new King Charles III has skin in this game too. Remember that the second Severn Crossing is now (officially) called the Prince of Wales Bridge. No one uses that sobriquet, of course, which reveals plenty as to how delicate this whole naming business is. The proposed renaming generated a Senedd petition of some 40,000 signatures arguing against. And recently we heard from Dafydd Elis-thomas in BBC journalist Huw Thomas’ new book Charles: The King And Wales that Charles himself didn’t much fancy having the bridge named after him, suggesting a better grasp of the political temperature than some politicians.
There have been campaigns to protect and even unearth or rediscover Welsh place names. This against a backdrop of the increasing anglicisation of historic Welsh names of properties and places, the new names often bearing little connection to original historic ones.
Gwel-yr-wyddfa or ‘Sandy Retreat’? Faerdre Fach or ‘Happy Donkey Hill’? This might sound insignificant but the scale of the risks to our history and heritage is self-evident.
Welsh Government minister Jeremy Miles has
confirmed that the new Welsh Language Communities Housing Plan will investigate ways of preventing Welsh place names being changed. But, ultimately, this is about the power and voices of ordinary people – commodities in short supply.
Voice and agency come through a range of routes, of course, including political representation. But politics in Wales remains a minority pursuit. In the two decades-plus of devolution, never has more than half of us bothered to vote for who we want to make decisions for us on housing, health, schools and transport. Around 6% of all Welsh council seats were uncontested in the last local elections in 2022 and less than four in 10 of us went to the polls. We’ve allowed a local politics, especially, where disinterest reigns and where he (and it is usually ‘he’) who speaks loudest usually gets his own way.
It’s not just Bannau Brycheiniog either. I despair that, back in 2019, there was even a debate about naming the Senedd. The nonsense peddled then about our parliament requiring a bilingual name ignored both history and international evidence. As if Wales and the rest of the world couldn’t get its collective tongue around an easily pronounceable word like ‘Senedd’. It was essentially infantilising people.
And, while we’re on the subject of names, the Principality Stadium will always be the Millennium Stadium to many. In fact, if Wales were to be successful with our joint five-nation bid to host the UEFA European Championship finals in 2028, the stadium will enjoy the far better title of ‘National Stadium of Wales’. I suspect I’m not the only one hoping we can keep that name beyond 2028.
Talking of which, the idea of changing the official name for Wales to ‘Cymru’ on the international football stage has also been mooted by the FAW, which has shown a powerful commitment to both our national languages using ‘Cymru’ in an entirely natural and normalised way.
There are precedents in UEFA too, with Türkiye and Czechia. Naturally, such a change requires proper thought and serious consultation first, especially with the fans.
But, at the very least, it’d mean we are further forward in the alphabetical pecking order at UEFA and FIFA, rather than always being the last with Ukraine!
As a Welsh-speaker, I always knew my home town as both Bridgend and as Penybont-ar-ogwr. JD Cymru Premier club, Penybont has used the town’s Welsh name after it was created following the merger of Bridgend Town and Bryntirion Athletic a decade ago. Everyone knows Penybont FC is in Bridgend, it’s become normalised much like the Adran leagues title for the domestic women’s game here.
And that’s exactly it, isn’t it? Names can be an important mechanism for normalising a language for all, whether one speaks it or not.
All this might be news to Rishi Sunak and Andrew RT Davies or the good folk of the Daily Telegraph and Mail Online. I’d respectfully suggest to them that stoking culture wars is a time-limited project and potentially counterproductive. The new devolved environment means using the Welsh language as a political football is, well, so passé – especially to the younger generation. If one takes the political temperature of Wales from the angry comments sections on websites, it’s playing to the gallery but not to the majority, and certainly not to the future.
So, when we talk about names, we should remember they’re so much more than monikers. For good or ill, they’re entwined with our language, heritage, history and culture. What this means is that the ownership of names must be protected and democratised and not be permitted to be shaped just by those who hold most power and influence.
Names are unique and special, whether place or personal, local or national. Disrespecting them risks the pursuit of vanilla globalisation as we erase all that makes our nation charming and distinctive. Essentially, we’re undermining our own national character and identity – one of the most supreme acts of self-flagellation imaginable.