WHAT THE ARCHIVE HOLDS

The first step for any research project always begins in the archive.

For The Last Foundations, that step feels especially vital. The Ravenscraig site—once one of Europe’s largest hot strip steel mills—has all but disappeared. Where there was once fire, labour, noise, and industry, there is now absence. Because of that disappearance, the archive becomes more than reference material; it becomes a missing visual foundation—a way to begin rebuilding what is no longer physically there.

The North Lanarkshire Heritage Centre is a treasure trove for this kind of work. I had spent time there a few years ago while researching Concrete Dreams – The Rise and Fall of Cumbernauld Town Centre, but returning with a new focus revealed just how deep and expansive the Ravenscraig material truly is.

Scrolling through thousands of photographs, newspaper clippings, and documents, I moved between different eras of the site—images of the steelworks in full operation, the surrounding towns shaped by its presence, and quieter moments that hinted at its eventual disappearance. 

A significant portion of the photography archive was captured by John McKillop—a retired Monklands District Librarian who edited and produced Lanarkshire Legacy. His work stands as a remarkable labour of love. Born in 1942 and raised in Wishaw, McKillop spent decades documenting the everyday and the extraordinary across Lanarkshire—from political campaigns to housing developments, and crucially, the decline of heavy industry.

When he passed in 2023, he donated his entire archive to the Heritage Centre. In doing so, he ensured that these histories—often overlooked, often at risk of being forgotten—would remain accessible. Many of the structures he photographed have since disappeared from the landscape: Glencairn Tower, the Odeon cinema, and Ravenscraig itself. Without his work, much of this visual history would simply not exist.

While searching through the archive, I was introduced by staff to someone else navigating this same terrain of memory—David Neilly. A former Ravenscraig worker, now living in South Wales, he had returned to the archive in search of a photograph of himself.

By coincidence, we found ourselves looking at the same image on the same afternoon. A reminder of how deeply Ravenscraig is woven into individual lives.

David shared the story behind the photograph:

“The photograph was taken inside Ravenscraig around late 1991, early 1992, as I transferred to South Wales in June 1992. The last tap was around July ’92. I started in September 1984 as a production apprentice—95% of my working life was spent on converter operations, boy and man as they would say.”

The image had been used in a Heritage Centre exhibition in the mid-1990s. Decades later, David returned to find it again. I took a photograph of him holding that image—himself, 35 years earlier, captured in a place that no longer exists.

As we spoke, he told me that during the final days of Ravenscraig, he filmed footage on an 8mm camcorder. He promised to share it once it’s ready.

What becomes clear through both John and David is that an archive is never fixed. It is not only built by institutions, but by individuals—by those who document, and those who remember. Through people like John McKillop and David Neilly, Ravenscraig is not simply remembered. It is still being made visible.