I remember pushing open the wooden doors of Dyffryn chapel feeling a little apprehensive. I had driven up to the village of Caerau as a trainee journalist to conduct some interviews for a feature on the Llynfi valley. Maesteg and the nearby villages had received some negative publicity because of high rates of poverty and reported antisocial behaviour.
“Be careful, it’s really rough up there,” responded several people (not from the area). While I tried not to judge, I won’t pretend I wasn’t nervous. My accent is English, though since arriving in Wales it is more often described as “posh”. Was I about to get eaten alive in these former pit villages?
