Between 2023 and 2025, Sean Baillie ran Borderlands, a Substack blog documenting his drifts through Scotland’s political borderlands. Mapping spaces of shifting political allegiances before and after the 2024 Westminster election in and around the Central Belt, Baillie’s posts combine observational prose, self-deprecating humour and factual research with photographic documentation to capture a singular image of communities struggling with the effects of deindustrialisation, disinvestment, austerity and the cost-of-living crisis.
Here, we reproduce a piece from December 2025, documenting Baillie’s visit to Whitburn, a small town in the former coal-mining region of West Lothian. On the eve of a closely contested council by-election in Whitburn and Blackburn that would ultimately elect Scotland’s first councillor on a Reform UK ticket on just a 22 percent turnout, he encounters a town still negotiating its industrial past while experiencing economic stagnation and faltering efforts at political and cultural renewal.
In late 2026, Baillie founded the Harry McShane Society of Ramblers, further extending and collectivising the approach developed in Borderlands. Inspired by the practice of territorial inquiry, and named in honour of a key Scottish organiser of the Hunger Marches of the 1920s and 30s, the Society is conducting a series of walks across Glasgow, combining spatial mapping with lived experience to investigate, and influence, the social, political and economic forces shaping the city and beyond.
For more information and to join future walks, visit https://mcshanesociety.substack.com
The rain thunders off my windscreen as I make the slow climb out of the Clyde Valley along the M8 motorway towards Heartlands, an industrial estate featuring a drive-through KFC, Starbucks, and a new Home Bargains built on what may be the site of the old Polkemmet Colliery. The huge office blocks, warehouses and factories of Eurocentral that mark the boundary of Lanarkshire’s frontier towns give way to rolling fields littered with grazing black sheep. Two towering masts that help beam digital TV across the central Scotland plateau stand guard at the gateway to the East.
Turning off the motorway a row of wind turbines present themselves as white tombstones on the burial ground of Scotland’s coal industry. Passing a series of roundabouts I miss my turn towards Whitburn Main Street and drive uphill, parallel to a sprawling brown and beige housing estate on the site of one of the colliery’s bings, created from decades of coal mining. The rain eases momentarily at the top, providing a wide panorama of purple heather and green grass locked in a battle to reclaim the huge plot of land that industrial waste once suffocated. Regaining my sense of direction I turn left and down the hill back towards my desired destination of Whitburn. Parking behind the Xcite sports centre I look over the garden fences. Wooden sheds, greenhouses and ageing Honda Civics litter the gardens in front of mustard-coloured housing as the rain begins battering the windscreen once again.
The people of Whitburn and neighbouring Blackburn are heading to the polls on 11 December 2025 following the resignation of a Labour councillor. I’ve been keeping an eye on a string of council by-elections wondering where Reform UK might win their first election in Scotland. They’ve come close in recent months, finishing third in Stirling, second in Methil and polling the highest number of first preferences last month in Stranraer, where they were only prevented from being victorious when second preference transfers went to the Conservatives. When I read Reform UK candidate David McLennan’s election statement—which explained that he “had a fairly large property portfolio of 17 flats” but that
“[g]overnment regulation forced me to dispose of many”, and therefore one of his main reasons for entering politics was to address “the sheer unfairness and intolerance the SNP/Green fiasco was visiting upon landlords”—I wanted to see what constituency he was speaking to on the ground.
In 2023, West Lothian had the fourth highest number of households in temporary accommodation in Scotland. In 2024, West Lothian Council declared a housing emergency. The Council’s Homeless Strategy 2025–28, published in January 2025, states that one of the key challenges for the Council is the high demand for homeless services as a result of an “inability to access the PRS [private rented sector] due to affordability and lack of supply”. A New Economics Foundation report found that £70bn subsidy has been handed over to UK landlords in the form of housing allowance in the period 2021–26. West Lothian Council’s annual accounts for 2024–25 show that there was a £1.1 million overspend in Housing, Customer & Building Services “principally due to homelessness pressures”.
My brain is frazzled by facts, figures and budget considerations. I take the opportunity to brave the puddled streets of Whitburn. It isn’t long before I’m forced to take cover under the concrete awning outside a Ladbrokes; a few hardy souls run for cover as a particularly violent downpour thunders through. Resisting the urge to go inside and ask the odds on Motherwell winning the league this year, I begin to count the number of each type of shop on the main street. I quickly notice the disproportionate number of takeaways. Many aren’t open and I doubt all are still in business, but something intrigued me enough to try keeping a tally as I loop down and back up the main street.
One Vape shop, two nail salons, three barbers, two cafes, bookies, bakers and butchers…
The rain is starting to make my phone glitch and I’m getting a strange look from a large man in a green rain coat standing outside the butchers with a blue carrier bag. I put my phone away and try to look normal by reading a large sign that details the town’s history—the kind of sign no normal person reads in their own town. The sign tells the story of when the local landowner sank the first mine in the 1700s, and how his later philanthropic efforts ensured that kids didn’t work in the mines until they were at least 13. This was to give them some education—purely to make them better workers, of course. I notice a second sign across the road and splash my way across the torrent of rain rapidly making its way through the crossroads in the middle of the town.
This one details the names of every fatality on record at the mines and pits in the surrounding area dating back to 1845, when on February 4 of that year three men were killed in a pit at Langridge. The most recent death was shortly before the pit’s final closure in 1985. The rain is now seeping through my jacket and into my bones and I run to take shelter in the nearby library. Squeezing my way through two sets of sliding doors, I nudge past two council workers sheltering from the storm outside. A sign on the wall explains that the library is named after a local teacher and former chair of the community council, Ian Tennant. The receptionist threatens a weary smile as I notice a glass display of old miners’ lamps and paraphernalia. At the end of the corridor are further displays detailing the role the co-operative movement has played locally.
I awkwardly nod in greeting to a drained-looking man in a beige coat, rainwater dripping from his white hair onto his shoulders as he sits down to take refuge on a cushioned bench in front of a display detailing local celebrities such as singer Lewis Capaldi and the late cult footballing figure John Lambie. A wisp of blonde hair pushes past as a small boy evades the clutches of an exasperated woman juggling bags for life, a small puffer jacket and a kid’s backpack. The boy performatively bashes an interactive display that guides you through the history of how people in West Lothian built a network of membership organisations, such as the co-op, trade unions, guilds and societies. Pictures of the Whitburn Juniors Cup win are on the wall in the next section. A match ball signed by the winning team sits pride of place in a glass cabinet next to an original pair of Levi’s jeans that were once made in huge numbers on the edge of the town.
A small window at the far end of the corridor looks out onto the main street where the rain looks to have stalled for the time being. I grasp the opportunity to venture back outside and brave the elements. I continue east down the main street, squeezing between a bus stop and a solicitor’s office. I can’t help but hear a snippet of dialogue from two men locked in a passionate debate about someone who has been in jail. The old sandstone buildings on this side of the road give way to a series of five-storey flats covered in a deep brown roughcasting. The bare branches of a huge tree stretch over the courtyard between two blocks; swirling mounds of brown leaves reflect in the blacked-out windows of ground-floor retail units hosting hair and nail salons. Crossing the road and turning back on myself, I head west once again. There’s another takeaway. I pull out my phone to try to keep track. I think I’ve counted 12 so far.
A glorious claret and amber sign proclaims the site of the Whitburn Juniors FC Social Club. The single storey no-window building almost disguises the entrance to the stadium which rests down a narrow lane to one side of the social club. A makeshift smoking shelter and chicken wire fence further obscure the gates to the hallowed turf, but the bright green grass and cold grey terracing can just about be spotted from the main road. While struggling to keep a tally of the shops and awkwardly photograph anything interesting, a thundering noise erupts ahead of me. Pulling my hood up expecting a fresh downpour, I make contact with a small man with a grey beard and thick glasses, who nods in the direction of a van that has somehow bent and twisted a large road sign metres from the crossroads. Without braking the van speeds off around the corner of a pub called The Cross Tavern. Peering inside, I see a huge silver trophy standing proudly atop the bar, behind which a woman steadily cleans and stacks empty pint glass tumblers in preparation for the day ahead. Thinking this would make a great picture I self-consciously look around to make sure no one spots my opportunism.
The man in the green jacket and carrier bag from earlier stands opposite waiting to cross in my direction. I think he is looking at me as he leans in close to the man beside him speaking quietly. The second man, who is of an equal shape and stature to my friend from earlier, looks over and chuckles. My confidence rattled and my paranoia peaked, I place my phone back in my pocket and wait to cross under the watchful gaze of the two men who must be wondering who this giant weirdo is.
Once on the other side of the road, having psyched myself up, I pull out my phone again to capture an old phone booth which has been repurposed to house a public defibrillator. Just as I thought I was clear of any embarrassment, I realise that there’s a man walking towards me, mouth full of sausage roll. He’s staring at my phone, eyes wide open in alarm. Bashfully, I place the phone back into my pocket and dive for cover into the Co-op shop on the main street. Picking up a copy of the local paper I make my way to the till. The woman ahead of me in the queue explains to the worker behind the till that she is buying groceries for an elderly neighbour whose health has taken a turn for the worse in the cold wet weather.
Waiting in line, the smell of hot pies and pastries temporarily consumes me. Steak and haggis, the woman behind the counter explains. I hand over the local paper and order one of the pies. That’s last week’s paper son, she tells me, this week’s isn’t out until Thursday. This small act of human engagement settles my nerves and the pie distracts me enough to continue my walk back along the main street, once again taking a mental tally of the shops on offer. Next door, above the bookies I had used as shelter earlier, is a miniature gaming shop and two more cafes. One of the cafes in particular looks delightfully dated: all plastic-backed chairs fixed to sturdy-looking tables. There is a Polish supermarket, a Caribbean market and a huge Indian restaurant, too.
I finish the last of the crusted pie whilst reading posters in the window of the Whitburn and District Community Development Trust. There’s a Christmas coffee morning on the day of the poll and a call for volunteer drivers to collect food donations to the food pantry inside. Stacks of tinned goods and bread are displayed on shelves behind a large printout of a QR code asking me how I would spend £20 million on my neighbourhood. Intrigued, I scan the code. It’s a survey hosted by the local Labour MP Kirsteen Sullivan. It states that the Government has pledged £20 million to transform communities in West Lothian, and that prospective respondents will decide how it’s spent. “Whether it’s better, safer streets, youth programmes, green spaces or support for local businesses, we want your ideas.”
My final tally for Whitburn Main Street counted 16 takeaways, 13 beauty salons, six newsagents, five cafes/bakeries, four pubs, three mini supermarkets and a football club.
Whitburn is a town that was built on industries which required workers to come together in huge numbers; it was a town that thrived through the work of co-operative societies. What is it now? Like so many other post-industrial towns, market forces are attempting to reshape Whitburn as a hub of small enterprises. There is undoubtedly more to it than an hour’s walk up and down the main street will tell you. The town is almost perfectly placed for logistics with a few noticeable employers in the surrounding areas. Almost equidistant to both Glasgow and Edinburgh, it provides the opportunity of commuting for those who drive. What impact does this shift from industrial workplaces and co-operative societies to small enterprises have on the politics of an electoral ward that has returned two Labour councillors at each of the past four elections? With Reform UK insurgent across the country, live streaming the story of Scotland’s de-industrialisation like they did at their conference in Falkirk last week, it is Labour and the SNP who are blamed for overseeing the latest wave of closures, redundancies and de-carbonisation across Scotland.
Will the Reform UK candidate’s appeal for landlord solidarity ring true for a growing community of prospective entrepreneurs or will the SNP, who command a solid vote in the area, manage to turn them out? Whitburn does however have one interesting alternative: independent candidate, Thomas Lynch, an outspoken critic of SNP, Labour and Reform UK. Mr. Lynch came a respectable fourth last time around and has built on his previous campaign, standing against council cuts, supporting local community groups, protecting education and pushing for practical solutions to the housing crisis. This basic left-wing alternative, however, is missing for so many communities across Scotland’s political Borderlands.
All entries on Sean Baillie’s ‘Borderlands’ Substack can be read here: https://journeythroughborderlands.substack.com
