On the ground in Makerfield, Andy Burnham doesn’t feel like a winner.
The constituency is a microcosm of the Britain that Labour has abandoned
Steve points morosely to the big red book hanging on the wall by beer taps, embossed with the words “Bryn Labour Club 1910-1985”. The tome, displayed in a framed glass box, contains the minutes of the political meetings that took place in the former miners’ haunt across eight decades.
From the vinyl wallpaper secreting the smell of ancient tobacco to the stubborn window marks where activist posters used to block out the light, Bryn Community Club still carries the residue of its Labour roots. But today the organisation’s treasurer, Steve, wants nothing to do with his ancestral party.
“Labour was fantastic when it was first formed. They did wonders for ordinary people, and it just got worse and watered down,” he sighs.
I ask Steve whether he thinks Andy Burnham’s Northern stardust might resurrect Labour: “Oh yes. King of the North. The man famous for painting all the buses yellow,” he scoffs.
His colleague Della chimes in: “We’re not interested in what he’s doing in Manchester. We’re interested in our community. All the potholes. They closed our library.”
Bryn Community Club is still the local agora, where residents come to chat politics with one eye on the cricket. When I popped in, locals were discussing whether to plump for Reform or Restore at the upcoming by-election. I jostle in amongst them and ask whether anyone is tempted to vote for Burnham. From the look that they shot me, I may as well have asked whether anyone was tempted to smell the inside of my shoe.
“Why do you think Reform’s done so well round here? Paints a picture doesn’t it. Two party politics is over,” declares one punter.
Silence descends as the youngest Callum pipes up: “I’m 27 and live at home. I don’t even have a car, though I’ve got a driving license. I work six days a week. I can’t build a family. Meanwhile we give away everything to people who were not born here.” The men nod meditatively between sips of their ale.
That Bryn, along with a handful of other Makerfield neighbourhoods, holds the country’s fate in its hands is a testament to the dysfunctionality of our current politics. But there is something apt about it. Having spent time with the people of Makerfield, I feel oddly at ease that they are invested with so much power. For their area is the perfect microcosm of a nation that has been badly let down by its political class.
Take Bryn. Since the mines closed, jobs have been sparse, apart from logistics gigs along the M6 corridor and retail shifts at the Iceland in town. The butchers, florist and taxi rank have all closed, but the blingy vape stores are pristine. Not that Bryn is a pit of deprivation; it is a place of frustrated aspiration, let down by Labour.
Along the mile-long stretch to downtown Sutton-in-Makerfield, grander Edwardian piles, originally built for the colliery managers, sit between the humbler terraced houses. Still the area seems neglected by the recently ousted Labour council. The immaculate gravel driveways contrast with the patched asphalt pavements and puddled roads.
Andy Burnham is the narrow favourite in this race. But I would argue the reverse: a closer examination of Makerfield’s dynamics reveals that Reform is marginally more likely to clinch it. In the working-class areas, alienation from Labour is so deep that it is hard to see how even Burnham can overturn it. Enthusiasm for Reform seems strong. Drivers slow to toot their horns in support of their canvassers as they make their way door to door. True, Restore and the Tories could dilute their vote; but the Greens could have the same impact on Labour.
A bold voice on geopolitics and economics, Sherelle specialises in analysing the "Great Stagnation" of the West and the shifting global order.