I was born in one of Natasha Carthew’s rough-edged coastal communities.
South Shields lived to the beat of shipyards and coalmines, while just across the river there was a fishing fleet and more coal and ships running west through Wallsend to Newcastle upon Tyne. On the south side there was Jarrow and Hebburn, Felling and Gateshead, all doing more of the same. Shields had the oldest Marine School in the world, and a great seafaring tradition. Above all, there was pride. Shields is a bonny place, with lovely beaches, but its vast industrial hinterland allowed it to look middle-­class England in the face. We didn’t want to be like them. We built ships. We lived like we meant it.

I visited the town in May and it’s hard to see what Shields lives on now, except public services and I hate to think of the rest. Basically, there’s nothing left of the old town. The ‘coastal working class’ Carthew writes about still exists, but whether it is a class