Tracing Ravenscraig

On 28th July 2026, it will be thirty years since the demolition of Ravenscraig’s three cooling towers and two gas holders — four years after the steelworks closed in 1992. These dates remain etched in the memory of Motherwell and Wishaw. Their collapse into twisted steel and dust marked more than the loss of familiar landmarks; it symbolised the end of an industry, a community, and a way of life. Ravenscraig — known locally as “the Craig” — was once home to what was widely regarded as the largest hot strip steel mill in Western Europe.

At its peak, the integrated steelworks and its associated operations employed thousands of people, shaping the identity and economy of the towns. Today, traces of the former site have almost completely vanished. Yet the area remains one of the largest derelict sites in Europe, covering more than 1,125 acres. So, how do you begin a visual arts project documenting something that is no longer there?

This visit marked my first extended tour of the site and the starting point for my new visual arts project, The Last Foundations. Working with former workers and members of the local community, the project will document both the physical remnants of Ravenscraig and the lives of the people of Motherwell and Wishaw thirty years after its demolition.  Once a vast industrial complex — effectively a self-contained industrial town — Ravenscraig was divided into three main operational areas: the ironworks, the steelworks, and the mills, supported by laboratories, planning, drawing purchasing and projects offices, canteens, technical services and a pay office. All of it has now disappeared. The land has largely been reclaimed by nature, forming an expanding urban woodland punctuated by fragments of concrete and scattered traces of foundations — faint reminders of what once stood here.

Martin Brown — a writer and former Ravenscraig employee — was widely recommended as my first guide to the site, someone who could help me grasp its enormity and legacy.  Armed with his memories and mobile phone with archive photography we begin at the former security entrance, now replaced by a street of new housing in Craigneuk. Martin recounts how his Ravenscraig story began. He entered as an apprentice maintenance fitter, completing eighteen months of training at the British Steel Training Centre before moving into the steelworks and eventually progressing to the planning office.  “When you signed up as an apprentice, you expected it to be a job for life — or so we all thought.”

As we walk, Martin explains how he navigates the terrain. Breaks in the tree line and subtle shifts in the ground reveal the hidden outlines of former buildings.  “There’s nothing to show this place was a steel mill — nothing really left apart from foundations. I don’t think that’s right at all.”  We continue along surviving roadways and old junctions, guided by Martin’s memory and a gallery of archive photographs on his phone as he attempts to reconstruct the buildings and spaces that once stood here.

“Some people are interested in how the land has recovered — how nature works. That’s not really my thing. I come here for the memories. It’s great that nature has reclaimed the land, but trees do nothing to commemorate the past.”

Many of the middle-aged dog walkers we encounter may still remember what once stood here. Martin worries, however, that younger generations in Motherwell and Wishaw may grow up with little understanding of the site’s significance or its lasting impact on the town. He believes a physical reminder should have been preserved.  “I worked in Japan, and when a steelworks there was shut down they left a huge blast furnace as a monument — a testament not just to those who worked there, but to those who died there.”

The dangers of working at Ravenscraig remain central to Martin’s memories. Near the former main entrance, he recalls a noticeboard that recorded accidents and casualties, as well as the presence of at least three ambulance rooms across the site.  “The steelworks were a very dangerous place. You could get killed at your work. It was very dangerous — but we never took that danger for granted. We went in every day, took care of each other, and otherwise simply accepted the risk.”  In 2015, those who died or were injured at Ravenscraig were commemorated through the Steel Man sculpture by artist Andy Scott, located at the entrance to the Ravenscraig Regional Sports Facility — a lasting tribute to workers in Scotland’s steel industry.

Martin Brown at the foundations of the Ravenscraig Cooling Towers

We finish our tour at the vast concrete bases of the cooling towers and gas holders — the most dramatic surviving structures. Hidden beyond the beaten track and partially obscured by trees, their scale is best appreciated from above.  “There are bits and pieces left, but this is the most powerful. It gives you a perfect sense of the size of the towers — and the scale of the whole site.” Standing within the outlines of the towers, dwarfed by their immense footprint, I wonder whether Ravenscraig could ever have survived. Why did it have to close? Was its fate shaped by political decisions or global economic pressures? These questions remain — perhaps the focus of another day, another tour.  Martin explains that he and his colleagues never really believed the plant would close. Production levels were high, and the scale of the operation seemed to make closure unthinkable. Yet when the workforce was made redundant, many felt deeply let down by the government of the time — a legacy that continues to shape the community today.

“I survived the closure of Ravenscraig, but it wasn’t easy. There was a terrible period — no job, no money, a young family, spending life savings just to get by. That was the reality for much of the community. But from the ashes, you had to diversify. Life goes on.”

Thirty years after its demolition, Ravenscraig remains a site of memory — a place where industry once defined a town and where its absence continues to shape what comes next. For Martin, however, the landscape is never empty. Beneath the trees and quiet ground, he still sees the works as they once were — not merely as structures, but as the lives, labour, and community that gave them meaning.