The British Connection?

Merthyr was the first major industrial centre in Wales, perhaps Britain, maybe the world. Today it's haunted by the abandoned ruins of its once great iron works and coal mines; yet it remains a confident, almost a cocky place. It's one of the most cosmopolitan communities in Wales and the vast majority of its people haven't spoken Welsh for years; yet it's administered by Plaid Cymru. What is it then, Welsh or British?

' Ness ' is a collection of villages huddled together at the furthest tip of the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides. Elemental in its setting, the community is softly aggressive in its protection and preservation of its own Hebridean Gaelic tradition. We see the pull of land, people and culture, through the eyes of a poet-crofter, a writer-teacher, a housewife-crofter and a boatbuilder-postmaster.

The Shankill Road -both a street and an area - was once synonymous with Loyalism, a byword, even in Belfast. From top to bottom the road was solidly unionist and monarchist and no outsiders disturbed the coherence of the community. But bulldozers are levelling the little streets, the people are moving out. Can the spirit of the Shankill survive the death of its home? And what happens to those loyalties when the actual fabric of the road disappears?

Broadchalke, a thriving farming community, lies in a magnificent sweep of Wiltshire downland. Generations of farming families growing up and working together have created a strong sense of community pride and a deep respect for traditional English country values. How far can this survive in the future?

Although John Brown 's Shipyard, traditionally builders of the world's finest ships and spiritual home of the famous UCS work-in, may now build oil-rigs as part of an American combine, the ' Bankie ' by blood and inclination has inherited a militant working-class mantle. Both town and people bear the memories of the Depression and the Blitz like duelling scars - scars borne with a pride which marks them off and binds them together.

Although it stands only a few miles from the English border and within permanent sight of the Wirrall, Ffynnongroyw was overwhelmingly Welsh-speaking until the end of the Second World War. Since then, the language has virtually disappeared not only from the village itself but from the local coal mine, Point of Ayr. Why did this happen and how did it affect the identity and values of the community?

Framed by the Tweed and Teviot rivers and the Border Hills, Kelso and its people nestle gently in the richness of the soil. Border feuds are remembered with a peacefulness which mirrors the quiet passage of their most famous of salmon rivers. Neither a quiet nor a busy place. Scottish but not Nationalist. Everything has its time, every person his place.

The Colne Valley in Yorkshire has always been associated with brass bands, chapels, male-voice choirs, and above all cloth. The tightly-knit communities cling to the steep sides of the valley, confident and down to earth. But every day there are fewer mill chimneys on the skyline.

Crossmaglen in South Armagh, on the border between Northern Ireland and the Republic, has traditionally been famous for two things: the quality of its store cattle, and the buccaneering nature of its inhabitants. Since about 1969 it has acquired a new reputation as a stronghold of Irish Republicanism, and the British Army is a constant presence in the town. But this is not a film about the troubles, but about how Crossmaglen sees itself. It's a place of Gaelic football fanaticism, endless talk and a strong sense of its Irishness.

Isolated and exposed, Trawsfynydd is a close place, whose tight social connections are cemented above all else by the use of the Welsh language. Today the village stands across the lake from an atomic power station. How does the traditional Welsh way of life react to this new pressure in its heartland?

A mile from Euston Station there's an Irish church where on Saint Patrick's Night a packed congregation hears the mass in Irish, there are Irish pubs with Irish music, Irishmen who talk together in their own language and send their wages home to their families in Connemara, and many fanatical football followers who support the Irish stars of Arsenal. An island of Irishness in the heart of London.

The last of 12 films from different parts of the UK which explore people's sense of identity. Cheam Deep in commuter country, on the edge of the green belt, Cheam has a lot going for it. Near the West End of London, but not too near, it has a village atmosphere and an air of prosperity and stability. The verges are well clipped, the sports clubs well used, and the pubs well patronised. It is a place where the traditional English virtues of decency, patriotism and self-reliance are still taken very seriously.