'He was born navy blue': Real-life stories behind Toxic Town Netflix series

James Grant, a BBC Northamptonshire reporter, reports that Netflix's new series, "Toxic Town," recreates one of Britain's biggest environmental scandals: the Corby toxic waste case. The series tells the story of residents in a small town in Northamptonshire fighting for justice, their children born with birth defects believed to be caused by industrial pollution. The show aims to shed light on the long-term effects of environmental negligence.

Corby's steel industry expanded rapidly in the 1930s with the construction of the Stewart & Lloyds steelworks. By the 1970s, half the town's population worked at the factory. However, when the steelworks closed in the 1980s, the toxic waste generated during demolition was improperly handled, leading to widespread contamination. This mismanagement had devastating consequences for the community.

After a lengthy legal battle, the High Court ruled in 2009 that Corby Borough Council was negligent in its management of the waste. The affected families received an undisclosed financial settlement in 2010, which was held in trust until the children turned 18. Meanwhile, a podcast series by BBC Radio Northampton delves into the real-life events, using original court records and newly discovered documents. The podcast offers a deeper understanding of the legal and ethical complexities of the case.

The podcast is hosted by 32-year-old George Taylor, who was born with an upper limb defect related to the case. The podcast includes testimonies and interviews from those directly affected. These firsthand accounts provide powerful insights into the human cost of the environmental disaster. Here are some of the voices behind the story. "The first person you blame is yourself." George Angus Taylor was born in Corby on March 11, 1992, to parents Fiona and Brian. Brian worked at Stewart & Lloyds, a job that left him covered in dust and debris every time he came home from work.

Fiona, a former Boots No7 beauty consultant, vividly remembers George's birth, an event that changed their lives. Due to a fetal circulation problem before birth, George was born "navy blue" and was immediately put on a ventilator and sent to intensive care. It was then that Fiona noticed something unusual. "I remember just seeing his little hand; his little finger, ring finger, and middle finger," she said. "Like a fist; you know how babies clench their fists? And then his index finger; his thumb stuck out." This observation marked the beginning of a long journey of understanding and coping with George's condition.

"I kept thinking, 'He's here because of me,' you look for blame. You look, the first person you blame is yourself." At the age of 14, doctors discovered a tumor in George's hand, so large that amputation was a possibility. The surgery at the time was experimental and extremely brutal. "When I woke up, I was full of morphine," he recalled. "They said it was like climbing Everest without any training – my body just shut down." The experience left him with both physical and emotional scars.

This experience, especially the smell, left him with a lasting memory. "They would cauterize flesh [during the surgery]: a very quiet sizzle, like sausages in a pan. That smell still comes back to me from time to time." Despite everything, George was determined to move forward. "When I first saw my hand, I wasn't shocked. I wasn't sad. It was better than it was before." But George was not alone. Other children in Corby were also born with similar conditions. "Did I do this?" The community sought answers and accountability.

Lisa Atkinson was a security guard at the Corby steelworks, her duties including external patrols, checking parking permits, and frequently having to clean the dust that settled on everything. On June 27, 1989, she gave birth to her daughter Simone at Kettering General Hospital. Simone was born with only three fingers on each hand. Doctors reassured Lisa, saying the only thing she wouldn't be able to do was play the piano. Like Fiona Taylor with George, Lisa initially questioned whether she was responsible for her daughter's condition.

"There was probably a part of me that sat there and thought, 'What did I do? Did I do this?'" she said. "Because before Simone, I had a couple of miscarriages... I always thought maybe I was lucky; maybe I got Simone... but she wasn't perfect. But I was lucky to have this baby, rather than the first two." Despite some initial self-doubt, Lisa "knew" she hadn't done anything wrong, as she neither drank nor smoked during her pregnancy. She grappled with the question of cause and effect.

She recalled the lack of follow-up care or investigation into her daughter's condition at the time. "You get put back into the world with a child who is a little bit different," she said. "But there's nowhere to go. There's no follow-up or any 'we'll investigate' kind of thing. So you just deal with it. You do deal with it, because you have to deal with it." Lisa quickly adapted to Simone's condition, saying, "Other people were more shocked than I was. I got used to it really quickly." The lack of support left families feeling isolated and overwhelmed.

Winning the subsequent lawsuit against the borough council brought immense attention. "I'm not a celebrity, but I feel like that's what celebrities must feel... it was crazy." Simone, now 35, faced relentless bullying growing up. "I had a great family and friends... but [school] was tough. I wasn't a very confident child, I was an easy target," she recalled. The legal victory, while significant, did not erase the personal challenges she faced.

Simone coped with humor. She would joke that her mum chopped her fingers off, or that she was part alien, turning her differences into something funny. "It was a bit of a smokescreen, because if I made fun of myself, no one else could. Accept that this is you; it's not going to change." At 18, she was offered surgery to reshape her hands, but she declined. "They admitted they didn't really know if it would help. By that point, I'd adapted. I'm in pain every day, but I didn't want to risk making it worse." She chose acceptance over the uncertainty of medical intervention.

When meeting her current husband, she initially hid her hands, subtly adjusting her position to avoid being noticed. Eventually, she told him through a long message and sent him a link to the 2020 Horizon documentary about the case. His response? "It's really not a big deal." Today, she expresses gratitude for the legal battle her family fought. "It set me up for life," she said. "I was able to start my own life, I went to university. I have my own house, my daughter has the best start in life." The settlement provided her with opportunities and security.

"It felt like we were a nuisance." Lewis Waterfield was born in 1994 with deformed hands. His father, a roofer, worked near the contaminated sites, and his pregnant mother often went there to see him. "My dad noticed straight away that something wasn't right," Lewis recalled. As a child, he endured disruptive hospitalizations, including an unsuccessful attempt to transplant a toe onto his hand to create a functional finger. "I've had extensive surgery, but there's only so much that can be done." His experiences highlight the lasting impact of the contamination on individuals and families.

During the legal battle, Lewis's parents struggled to prove the link between industrial pollution and birth defects. "I remember the council being dismissive. It felt like we were a nuisance to them." Now a senior lecturer in public health at the University of Northampton, Lewis acknowledges that his experiences shaped him. "Every now and then, someone will ask about my hands, and it takes me straight back," he said. "But I don't mind. It's part of me." He has channeled his personal challenges into a career dedicated to improving public health.

Corby Borough Council ceased to exist in 2021 after merging with other local authorities to become North Northamptonshire Council. In 2010, then-chief executive Chris Mallender issued a formal apology for the scandal. "The council expresses its deepest sympathy to the children and their families," the statement said. "Whilst I acknowledge that no amount of money can adequately compensate these young people for their disabilities and for all that they have suffered to date and for their future problems, the council sincerely hopes that this apology, coupled with today's agreement, will mean that they can now put their legal battle behind them and move on with their lives with greater financial certainty." The apology, while welcomed, could not fully erase the past or undo the harm caused.