“Without the shipyard there’d be tumbleweed going down the street.” Jim Johnson, a 69-year-old retired shipyard worker, gestures from his armchair to the tidy row of redbrick terraced houses outside.
A lively fire flickers in the fireplace, the centrepiece of an immaculate front room decorated with delicate pieces of china. Rolling news rumbles away at a low volume from the television in the corner.
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