How Sheffield became Steel City

For the first time for several decades, there are grounds for optimism about the future of Sheffield’s steel industry (very much reduced in scale though it now is). Sheffield Forgemasters (now UK state owned) is building a major new facility, and Special Melted Products (with an infusion of Taiwanese capital) is also expanding. This isn’t about the standard grades of steel for use in construction – the expansion is to meet demand for specialised forgings from speciality steels and other alloys, driven by applications in defense, aerospace, civil nuclear and energy, and influenced by a new focus on UK national resilience and industrial capacity. This gives me a pretext to republish this piece I wrote nearly ten years ago about the history of the steel industry in Sheffield – and the valuable lessons this history can teach us about innovation.

As someone interested in the history of innovation, I take great pleasure in seeing the many tangible reminders of the industrial revolution that are to be found where I live and work, in North Derbyshire and Sheffield. I get the impression that academics are sometimes a little snooty about local history, seeing it as the domain of amateurs and enthusiasts. If so, this would be a pity, because a deeper understanding of the histories of particular places could be helpful in providing some tests of, and illustrations for, the grand theories that are the currency of academics. I’ve recently read the late David Hey’s excellent “History of Sheffield”, and this prompted these reflections on what we can learn about the history of innovation from the example of this city, which became so famous for its steel industries. What can we learn from the rise (and fall) of steel in Sheffield?

Specialisation

“Ther was no man, for peril, dorste hym touche.
A Sheffeld thwitel baar he in his hose.”

The Reeves Tale, Canterbury Tales, Chaucer.

When the Londoner Geoffrey Chaucer wrote these words, in the late 14th century, the reputation of Sheffield as a place that knives came from (Thwitel = whittle: a knife) was already established. As early as 1379, 25% of the population of Sheffield were listed as metal-workers. This was a degree of focus that was early, and well developed, but not completely exceptional – the development of medieval urban economies in response to widening patterns of trade was already leading to specialisation based on the particular advantages location or natural resources gave them[1]. Towns like Halifax and Salisbury (and many others) were developing clusters in textiles, while other towns found narrower niches, like Burton-on-Trent’s twin trades of religious statuary and beer. Burton’s seemingly odd combination arose from the local deposits of gypsum [2]; what was behind Sheffield’s choice of blades?

I don’t think the answer to this question is at all obvious. Sheffield has deposits of ironstone, but that’s very common across England, so the early presence of iron smelting isn’t a great selective advantage. It has abundant water power, but again it is far from unique in this. What one can say is that knives are an obvious product for somewhere to specialise in at the developing stages of an economy. They are relatively small and portable, and thus relatively transported by packhorse or bagman from a place like Sheffield, which is distant from easy water transport. They have a very large market – everyone wants a knife, and Sheffield’s products were at the affordable end of the market. And making them clearly takes some degree of craft skill and some capital investment. So perhaps there isn’t much more to say that many places could have ended up as centres of knife making, but chance and contingency pointed to Sheffield.

But once a specialisation becomes established, the advantages are clear. Skills are passed from person to person, often down families. There is a degree of shared infrastructure – water mills owned by the land-owners drove grinding wheels and operated bellows and trip-hammers. What we’d call a supply chain developed, with raw materials being brought in, and networks to distribute the products across the country would form. And finally, as the Chaucer quote indicates, “Sheffield” soon became an identifiable nationwide brand, recognisable as the origin of choice for the concealed weapon of a bullying and violent miller.

Mobilisation of energy resources

Three sources of energy were important for the early cutlery industry in Sheffield and its near hinterland (traditionally known as Hallamshire) – water power, wood and coal. The river Don and its tributaries run fast off the steep flanks of the moors to the west of the city, fed by the ample Pennine rain. By the twelfth century, water mills were becoming widely used for industrial purposes across England. The introduction of water-powered trip-hammers mechanised the repetitive beating that was required to work iron, and the blades were sharpened and polished on water-powered grinding wheels. By 1637 400-500 workman were using these wheels. The steep, wooded hillsides rising from these rivers were ideal for the production of coppiced wood for conversion into charcoal, used for the production of iron and to heat the forges.

But Sheffield also lies on a coal-field, and outcroppings of the coal-seams would have been obvious in the sides of the gorges that the streams flowed through. These seams would have been easily followed and worked from surface pits. We know that coal-mining was already being conducted in a serious way at the time Chaucer was writing. A lease for a coal mine survives from 1398, specifying a rent to the land-owner of 20 marks a year [3]. The lease specifies the scale of the mine, which employed 4 underground workers, and was deep and extensive enough to require drainage by a sough. By 1540 John Leland could comment “Hallamshire hath plenti of woodde, and yet ther is burnid much se cole”. What was this “sea-coal” (so called to distinguish it from char-coal) being used for?

One thing we can be sure of is that it was not being mined for sale outside the region. Transport from Sheffield for bulk commodities was very difficult – the moors to the west would have been passable only on foot or by pack-horse, while the nearest navigable waterway was twenty difficult miles to the east, at Bawtrey wharf. Sheffield coal couldn’t compete on national markets with coal from Newcastle, which was mined on the banks of the Tyne and Wear, from which it could be loaded straight onto ships for export to London and elsewhere. Instead, Sheffield coal was for local use – as a substitute for charcoal, for heating forges and furnaces.

By 1672 Sheffield city had 224 metal-working smithies in the town itself, and another 376 in its Hallamshire hinterland. This scale of expansion was only made possible by the large-scale availability and use of coal as a substitute for charcoal. By this time all available woods were intensively coppiced, for white-coal (kiln-dried wood) and charcoal. White-coal and charcoal needed to be reserved for the more sensitive metallurgical operations that its sulphur content makes coal unsuitable for (smelting the lead from the nearby Derbyshire ore fields, in the case of white coal, and for the smelting iron and converting iron to steel for charcoal). These constraints on the use of coal as a substitute for charcoal were relaxed by the development of the coking process. Although the use of coke in iron-making is associated with Abraham Darby in Coalbrookedale in the early 18th century, its first large scale industrial use in England was recorded in 1640 in nearby Derby, for the drying of malt for beer. Certainly by the early 18th century coke was being extensively used in Sheffield in smiths’ hearths.

Meanwhile water power continued to grow in importance with the expansion of the industry; by 1660 at least 49 sites on the Don and its tributaries had been dammed for industrial purposes, with two thirds of these used for grinding wheels. By 1794 all sites for water wheels were occupied, & steam engines were being installed alongside the watermills to increase capacity, marking the point at which coal became the primary energy source for almost all aspects of the industry (some charcoal was still needed in the cementation process of making steel).

New technologies, new markets, new products

It wasn’t until the 18th century that Sheffield produced a radical innovation that had a significant impact on its industry; before that cutlers undoubtedly produced incremental improvements to their products and processes, and new techniques and technologies were adopted from elsewhere. One shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking that technological innovation only began in the 18th century in general, though, despite the impression one might get from reading some economists.

To go back to the beginning, using the methods of iron making developed in the Iron Age, experimental archaeology suggests that to produce a single kilogram of smithed bar iron would take 25 person days of work and 100 kg of charcoal [4]. By the fifteenth century, in the Weald, at the time the most advanced iron making region of England, a bloomery might produce about 14 kg of iron a day, using 110 kg of charcoal and the labour of 4 workers (mostly to operate the bellows) [5]. On top of this nearly 90-fold increase in productivity, the use of water-power increased productivity by another factor of 6. Another jump in productivity came with the introduction of blast furnaces from the continent in 1491 – early blast furnaces would produce 6 or 7 tonnes of iron in a 6 day run (though the much higher carbon content of pig iron compared to bloomery iron required further processing to convert it into wrought iron, done in a finery forge with charcoal heating and a water-powered trip-hammer).

This is a perhaps a digression in the industrial history of Sheffield, though. Sheffield was an iron-making region, though it wasn’t in the forefront even of the British industry. The cutlers of Sheffield had no hesitation in buying in better quality bar-iron from Spain and the Baltic to make their products. More relevant to the cutlery trade was the cementation process to convert bar-iron to steel in large batches. This had been invented in Germany in the 1580’s, introduced to Coalbrookdale in 1615, and reached Sheffield in 1709. The key point is that before the 18th century, Sheffield was an adopter of technology, not a creator (and for that matter, most of these techniques would have been familiar in China almost a millennium earlier).

This changed with the invention of crucible steel by Benjamin Huntsman, which provided the first way of producing steel of consistent quality at scale, by melting it in coke-fuelled furnaces. There are three things about Huntsman that are worth noting here. Firstly, his background – he was not a cutler or iron-master, he was a clockmaker. His motivation, then, was frustration at the shortcomings of the existing materials for fine work such as making springs. Secondly, he wasn’t from Sheffield. He moved from Doncaster to Sheffield in 1742, specifically to take advantage of Sheffield’s specialisation in steel and products made from it. Finally, it’s worth noting that having perfected his process and established a factory to make crucible steel in 1751, the local cutlers were not willing to use his material, as it wasn’t compatible with existing manufacturing processes.

Huntsman managed to keep his process secret for a decade or so, during which his material found success. It was exported to manufacturers elsewhere in England and abroad, it was used by the Sheffield cutlers, when they eventually adapted to the new material, and it provided the driving force for an expanding Sheffield tool-making industry. Crucible steel wasn’t the only innovation in materials at the time; in 1743 Thomas Boulsover invented a method for fusing a coating of silver onto a body of copper, to make what became known as “old Sheffield plate”. This allowed the development of a large market in lower cost flatware [6] and hollow-ware – silver plated forks and spoons, candlesticks, snuff-boxes, coffee pots and so on – to fulfil the rising demand for affordable luxuries from an expanding middle class.

The development of a new Atlantic empire also provided new markets – the slave plantations of the Caribbean and the Americas were equipped with plantation knives and machetes made in Sheffield. After independence, the USA continued to be a major market, many Sheffield companies had agents there, and new products were designed in response to its demands. One colourful example from the 1830’s was the Bowie knife – an icon of the old West, but largely made in England. Bowie knives were a centre-piece of the catalogues that were produced for the American market, and best-sellers right up to the time when they began to be superseded by handguns as the preferred artefact for interpersonal violence, from the 1850’s onward. Even as the capacity of the USA’s own industry grew, much of the tool steel for their machine shops came from Sheffield, with as much as one third of Sheffield’s steel output being exported across the Atlantic in the first half of the 19th century.

The “second industrial revolution” – state power and the invention of R&D

Industrialisation in England and the development of the USA between them fuelled a substantial expansion of the Sheffield steel industry in the first half of the 19th century. But it was another technological innovation that transformed steel from being a material for making small, high value artefacts to building the infrastructure of the modern world – in railways, bridges, ships and sky-scrapers. In 1856, Henry Bessemer announced the invention of a new way of converting pig iron into steel. The Bessemer converter converted 25 tonnes of iron into steel in half an hour; it reduced the price of steel by a factor of five and greatly increased the volumes produced. Like Huntsman before him, Bessemer moved to Sheffield to build a factory to implement his invention. Unlike Huntsman, he encouraged other manufacturers to build Bessemer converters of their own, under license.

The railway booms in England and the USA provided massive markets for the new mass-produced steel, but Sheffield’s first-mover advantage didn’t last long. Within a decade or two, competition from other parts of the UK and from a rapidly developing US steel industry, together with a slowing of the railway boom, made life harder for the new, industrial scale Sheffield steel makers. They chose to respond by moving up-market, making innovative, higher quality alloy steels, for higher value markets.

In this they were helped by three factors. Firstly, a new process for making steel – the Siemens open hearth process, developed in South Wales by 1870, was rapidly adopted in Sheffield. This was slower than the Bessemer process to make steel – it took 10-12 hours to convert a 100 tonne batch. But the quality of the steel was higher, and significantly it was possible to analyse the material as it was being converted, to do in-line quality control. Secondly, an important new market had appeared. The late nineteenth century saw a naval arms race between Britain and Germany, with bigger, more heavily armed ships being built, and more powerful guns and armour-piercing shells being made in response. Sheffield firms dominated these new, government driven markets for armour plate and guns, which accounted for much of the expansion of the industry in the second half of the nineteenth century.

The third factor was the development of a scientific understanding of the metallurgy of steel. It’s fair to say that until the mid-nineteenth century, innovation in steel had been pretty much entirely empirical. It was a Sheffield scientist who changed this. Henry Sorby was the son of a wealthy Sheffield family, and he used his private income to support a career as a gentleman scientist. He made distinguished contributions to geology and natural history, for which he was elected to the Royal Society, but his biggest contribution – both to Sheffield and science more widely – was the invention of the techniques of metallographic microscopy, in 1863.

Formal institutions in support of science-led innovation were slow to arrive in Sheffield. Traditionally, the industry was regulated by the Company of Cutlers in Hallamshire – a guild incorporated in 1624, whose traditional purpose was to control entry to the trade by apprenticeship. It’s fair to say that the Cutlers’ Company is a guardian of standards and protector and advocate of the Sheffield brand, rather than a promoter of innovation [7]. A Mechanics Institute was set up in 1832, though the motivation for this seems to have been as a response to the political unrest of the time as much as a desire for improvement through education. It wasn’t until the late nineteenth century that technical education was pursued seriously, through the foundation of Firth College in 1879, and Sheffield Technical School in 1884. It was these institutions, promoted both by Henry Sorby and a local steelmaker, Mark Firth, that in 1905 came together with the medical school to form the University of Sheffield, which from the outset had a strongly technical character [8].

The key innovations, however, took place in industry. In 1882, Robert Hadfield invented Manganese steel, an alloy which maintains its toughness on hardening, has very high impact strength and great resistance to wear. Another steel alloy invented in Sheffield achieved even greater prominence: stainless steel. Harry Brearley discovered this chromium alloy of steel in 1912, while looking for a material able to resist the hot and corrosive environment found inside the barrels of rifles and naval guns. The applications in Sheffield’s traditional, and still important, cutlery industry were very quickly realised. Brearley’s discovery was refined by William Hatfield, who developed the mostly widely used modern grade of stainless steel, 18/8.

It’s worth stepping back from these individual inventions to consider the institutional framework in which they were made. Robert Hadfield was, like Sorby, the gifted son of a local manufacturer. Having decided to stay in the steel industry rather than going to University, his father encouraged him to set up a laboratory. When his father died, he took over the business, but continued, in effect, both to lead its research and development activities and to contribute personally as a scientist, as well as running the company. He collaborated extensively with academic scientists throughout Europe, and was elected to the Royal Society in 1909. Harry Brearley, on the other hand, was an employee – a steel-worker’s son who left school at 14 to become a labourer, and became a bottle-washer in the chemical laboratory in Thomas Firth’s steel-works. From there, he was able to learn enough science at evening classes to rise to a leadership position in a new R&D laboratory jointly supported by two Sheffield steel companies, Firth and Brown. After his discovery of stainless steel he left the Brown-Firth laboratories with some bitterness about the patent rights, and his place was taken by William Hatfield, who had a doctorate in metallurgy (presumably one of the first) from the newly chartered University of Sheffield [10].

Between 1880 and 1918, then, industrial research and development had become institutionalised in the Sheffield steel industry. It was personally supported by the leading capitalists in the industry, institutions were in place to supply skilled scientists and technicians, and its activities were integrated into wider national and international scientific networks.

What was the cause of Sheffield’s steel pre-eminence?

The few years between the end of the first world war and the economic troubles of the 1930’s were probably the high water mark for steel in Sheffield – in the area of high performance alloy steels, its major rivals in Germany were engulfed in the chaos after the war, which itself had provided a massive and lucrative market for Sheffield’s steel industry. Its tools and cutlery industries had buoyant worldwide markets, helped by favourable treatment in Britain’s expansive overseas empire and dominions. What was the cause that led a small, provincial town to such world dominance of a major industrial sector?

Of course, there was no single cause – there were many causes, operating differently at different points in the city’s history, often reinforcing each other, usually amplifying the effects of chance and contingency. In this narrative, I’ve discussed all these as contributory factors at various times:

  • the benefits of agglomeration,
  • the ready availability of water power
  • the early exploitation of coal, to relieve the constraints of an organic economy
  • a culture of innovation
  • the opening of new, colonial markets
  • the British government as a driver of technology through armaments and the arms race with Germany
  • science-led technological advances
  • the institutions for science led technology, particularly industrial R&D and technical education
  • The point goes beyond the fact that there were multiple causes, it is that these different causes were often mutually reinforcing. For example, the availability of water power contributed to the specialisation of the area in edged tools, but it was the early exploitation of coal that permitted a concentration of industry that hugely exceeded the constraints that the availability of wood and water power would otherwise have imposed. It was this concentration that drove a contagious culture of innovation, and then these innovations (e.g. Old Sheffield Plate, Huntsman’s crucible steel) in turn drove demand for yet more energy, met by the locally mined coal. It seems to me that it is understanding this process of interaction and mutual reinforcement of multiple causal factors that is essential for understanding the industrialisation of Britain.

    [1] See Dyer, Making a Living in the Middle Ages
    [2] Gypsum is calcium sulphate, which in the form of alabaster makes a soft, white, easily worked rock ideal for mass production of statues. Its presence in ground-water makes it particularly suitable for making bright, clear beers which store and travel well (I know that in this time of craft beer I’m in the dwindling minority of consumers who, rather than wanting to be overwhelmed by the crude taste of hops, prefer their beer to taste of sulphur, as is characteristic of the finest, most traditional Burton bitter).
    [3] 20 marks is £13 6s 8d. This corresponds to about £9,000 in today’s money correcting for price inflation, about £95,000 relative to average wages.
    [4] P. Crew, quoted in Barry Cunliffe’s Iron Age Communities of Britain (“Lovely boy, arrow climber” – yes, that Peter Crew).
    [5] The Iron Industry of the Weald, H. Cleere and D. Crossley
    [6] In the traditional nomenclature of Sheffield, cutlery refers to tools with an edge – knives, razors, scalpels, scissors, scythes and so on. Forks and spoons, not having sharpened edges, don’t count as cutlery – they’re flat-ware.
    [7] The Company of Cutlers in Hallamshire is still going strong, now representing all with an interest in manufacturing in the Sheffield region.
    [8] There had been an earlier attempt by the nascent institution to join the federal Victoria University, which in the late 19th century comprised what were to become the Universities of Manchester, Leeds and Liverpool. Sheffield’s application to join was rejected because of its perceived over-emphasis on engineering and other technical subjects, rather than the classics and humanities. In any case, the partnership fell apart in the early 20th century, with Manchester, Liverpool and Leeds all becoming independent institutions.
    [9] Inventors in the USA and Germany were working to develop non-rusting steels using very similar approaches, and Brearley’s priority is disputed by some. But, to use a phrase I picked up from a colleague about a more recent discovery, “he may not have invented it first, but he invented it best.
    [10] Here I’ve drawn on information in the Royal Society’s obituary notices for Robert Hadfield and William Hatfield.

    Andy Burnham, Manchesterism, and Reindustrialisation

    As the Mayor of Greater Manchester, Andy Burnham, attempts to re-enter national politics, he’s talked a lot about “Manchesterism” as an approach that underlies the relative economic success of Greater Manchester in recent years, and has argued for the re-industrialization of those parts of the country that lost much of their industry in the 1980’s and 90’s.  What is behind these arguments?  I can’t claim any direct knowledge of Burnham’s plans, but I do have some insight into the development of the Greater Manchester Combined Authority’s economic strategy, which may offer some clues.  

    Greater Manchester’s economic revival is real; the city region has had the fastest growing economy in the UK since 2019.  JP Spencer’s excellent summary breaks this down; the recovery is broad-based, in the sense that every sector has seen GVA growth greater than the UK average, but the biggest increases are in ICT and professional, scientific and technical activities.

    Nonetheless, this economic success isn’t evenly spread across the conurbation; according to the latest ONS figures, while central Manchester now has a productivity 6.9% higher than the UK average, North East GM lags the UK average by 20.8%.  So far, GM’s economic success still looks like a city centre phenomenon based on high value services and agglomeration economics.

    There’s wide agreement that central Manchester’s success owes a great deal to Sir Richard Leese and Sir Howard Bernstein, for many years the Leader and Chief Executive of Manchester City Council.  This incarnation of Manchesterism was based on a combination of highly permissive planning policy, with close partnership between the council and private sector real estate developers, and its results can be seen in the changed skyline of central Manchester, and a substantial increase in city centre residents.  

    Burnham is always careful to give credit to Leese and Bernstein for their role in Manchester’s revival.  If Manchesterism is anything, it is Richard Leese’s doctrine that there’s no point talking about wealth redistribution if there’s no wealth to distribute, so economic growth has to come first, and I think Burnham has internalised this. 

    But the creation of the metro Mayor, and Burnham’s first election to that role in 2017, has changed the dynamics in one important way.  The electorate consists of the population of the whole of Greater Manchester, not just the city centre, and Burnham’s strong mandate has come from majorities in all ten boroughs of GM.  

    This means that Burnham’s political priorities have moved towards trying to spread the economic success of central Manchester to the outlying boroughs.  North East Greater Manchester – Rochdale, Bury and Oldham – have some of the weakest regional economies in England, with very low productivity and a whole host of other social issues; in the Northwest of GM, Burnham’s home turf of Wigan and Leigh is a little stronger, but not much.  

    The biggest success so far for developing the boroughs outside central Manchester has come in Stockport, where in 2019 a Mayoral Development Corporation took responsibility for city centre development.  MDCs combine planning responsibilities with some strong powers, including compulsory purchase, and in Stockport this allowed the consolidation of a complex pattern of land ownership, often over brownfield land, to create a new transport hub, new housing, and attractive town centre amenities.

    Rochdale, Bury and Oldham are weaker economies than are to be found in South Greater Manchester, less well connected to the centre, so the problems are different.  In the spirit of Richard Leese and his insistence on the need to generate wealth, what Rochdale, Bury and Oldham need is more high productivity private sector businesses. Knowledge intensive business services work for central Manchester, but that’s a city centre, agglomeration story, hence the need to focus on high value manufacturing.

    In my view it’s important to be very clear about why one wants to support manufacturing, as I wrote in an earlier blogpost, Good reasons and bad reasons for supporting manufacturing.   Primarily it should be because it has high productivity – one supports manufacturing not for jobs, but for the value it brings, and for the activity in business services that it supports.  Increasingly, national resilience has become an important driver too.

    It seems to me that if you want to grow the high value manufacturing sector there are three possible routes, all of which should reinforce each other as a cluster develops. Firstly, one should support the existing business base, both through helping them access innovation and skills, and through helping them find the right premises, with the right infrastructure, to expand into.  Despite its overall weak economy, there are good manufacturing firms in Rochdale, Oldham and Bury.  One can go into a Victorian weaving shed, and find a bunch of looms weaving advanced materials like Dyneema and carbon fibre into high value technical textiles; one of the UK’s few remaining semiconductor fabs is located in Oldham. 

    Secondly, it will be important to attract international firms operating at the technological frontier. Inward investment is an important feature of GM’s economic strategy, but in my view this needs to be targeted, with priority given to firms whose activities will complement and add to the existing manufacturing ecosystem.

    Thirdly, one can support spin-outs and start-ups to scale and grow in the UK, helping them site their nascent manufacturing operations in the UK, rather than seeing them disappear to Germany or Taiwan or California, as so often happens now.

    What can this part of GM offer? What it does have is land for development.  This was the motivation behind the “Atom Valley” Mayoral Development Zone, linking three major development sites, the largest of which is a substantial green field area big enough for a gigafactory.  I was an inaugural board member of the Atom Valley Mayoral Development Zone, and contributed to developing its strategy under the chairmanship of the economist Paul Ormerod. Burnham was strongly committed to that project and has stayed closely personally involved. 

    How does one actually re-industrialise?  My perspective on this is shaped by my time at Sheffield, where I saw the success of the University of Sheffield’s Advanced Manufacturing Research Centre (AMRC) in rejuvenating the manufacturing economies of Sheffield and Rotherham. The measure of that success is significant new inward investment in high value sectors, with AMRC, under the visionary leadership of Keith Ridgway, having a catalytic role.  The AMRC experience was very much in our minds in planning the strategy for Atom Valley – helped by the fact that the major landowner in Atom Valley is Haworth Estates, who also owned the Rotherham Advance Manufacturing Park. Economic incentives matter, of course, so the argument that we have to use to convince them is that building a high value manufacturing cluster will bring them a bigger land value uplift than the default option of a logistics/ warehousing park.

    So this is the plan for Atom Valley.  It’s main selling point is that it is a very large and attractive development site, big enough for a gigafactory, with a commitment from local government to allow construction, supporting that with grid connections, road access, and building all the associated necessary infrastructure (including new housing and transport links). The University of Manchester is supporting that by running an innovation centre, focused on the translational research needed to support industry, in Rochdale.  The local FE colleges will be major anchors of the developing the skills system that a more productive manufacturing economy will need; the 9 GM FE colleges are increasingly collaborating through the GM Colleges group, particularly in the area of innovation, through the Further Education Innovation Programme; this is an aspect that is a particular priority for Burnham.

    Manufacturing isn’t the only priority for GM; there has been a regional industrial strategy which has been sustained with considerably more consistency than at national level.  Besides the advanced materials and manufacturing that are the priority for Atom Valley, the other areas are life sciences, digital and AI, low carbon technologies, and professional and business services. There are geographical aspects here, too; the centre of gravity for life sciences lies towards the south of the conurbation, towards the still important pharmaceutical cluster in Cheshire, while digital and AI probably benefits more from agglomeration effects in the centre of Manchester and Salford.  Within GM, other areas of geographical focus will emerge, for example the environs of Old Trafford, and Ashton Moss in Tameside.

    Manchesterism starts with an insistence on the importance of economic growth as a driver of widely shared prosperity.  From that starting point, I think it’s fair to say that the economic development aspects of Manchesterism have been evolving, from the pure city centre agglomeration story of Bernstein and Leese, to one that takes a more deliberate approach to generating value and prosperity across the whole conurbation, reflecting Burnham’s political priorities.  This is all difficult, it’s early days, and I’m not going to claim that success is guaranteed, but there has been genuine sustained commitment to this programme from the GM Combined Authority.  If Burnham is successful in his ambitions to return to Westminster, perhaps we’ll see how this might translate to the national stage.

    The slow road to digital matter

    Ray Kurzweil’s book “The Singularity is Near” is twenty years old, and its thesis has become conventional wisdom in Silicon Valley.  The Singularity is an event horizon – a date at which technological growth becomes so rapid that to look beyond it becomes quite unknowable to pre-Singularity humans, a point at which machine intelligence surpasses human intelligence and goes into a recursive cycle of self-improvement.  Kurzweil’s target date for the Singularity was 2045, and in the opinion of many in Silicon Valley we’re well on schedule.

    The evidence for the accuracy for Kurzweil’s prediction is, of course, recent rapid progress in AI.  But that’s not the only technological development that Kurzweil’s prediction depends on. The connection between machine super-intelligence and control over the physical world needs to be established through nanotechnology.

    This needs to be the radical version of nanotechnology as sketched by K. Eric Drexler, in which matter is effectively digitised.  In this new world of nanomanufacturing, materials and devices of arbitrary complexity could be assembled atom-by-atom, under software control.  As Kurzweil put it, “the revolution in nanotechnology will ultimately enable us to redesign and rebuild, molecule by molecule, our bodies and brains, and the world with which we react”.

    Kurzweil’s expectation in 2005 was that “full molecular nanotechnology” would arrive around 2025, a few years before the arrival of superhuman artificial intelligence in 2029.  Opinions can differ about whether today’s generative AI is on the road to superhuman AI, but no-one can doubt the huge progress that’s been made in AI in the last twenty years. In contrast, Drexler’s dream of “the principles of mechanical engineering applied to chemistry”, to yield a new form of atomically precise manufacturing, a radical version of nanotechnology, remains largely unrealised.  What happened?

    Explanations of this slow progress fall into three categories – the political, the practical, and the conceptual.  

    In the view of many proponents of the original vision of molecular nanotechnology, it was blocked by a conservative scientific establishment that feared disruption, and preferred to divert resources towards more conventional materials science.  While it’s true that there were some bad tempered and unnecessarily ad-hominem debates in the early 2000s, I don’t think this argument is convincing.  

    Firstly, it misunderstands the decentralised nature of science: distinguished elder scientists are influential, but proving Nobel Laureates wrong is a great route to career success.  Secondly, it is a rather parochial view – these were debates in the US science community that weren’t binding on the rest of the world, and the wider field of nanotechnology was one that the USA didn’t dominate then, and does so even less now. If developing molecular nanotechnology was easy, why would we think that it wouldn’t have been done by now in China?

    In the second point of view, the early proponents of molecular nanotechnology simply underestimated how hard in practise it would be to make their ideas work. In fact, outside the USA, the debate around molecular nanotechnology was much less heated. For many experimental scientists in related fields, the ideas were exciting, but the largely theoretical work of Drexler and his followers had simply underestimated the practical difficulties.  Back in 2005, I identified six practical challenges that, in my opinion, stood in the way of developing molecular nanotechnology, and the research that would be needed to overcome them.  I don’t think a lot of progress has been made in addressing these and other issues since then.

    A third line of argument returns to the lessons to be drawn from cell biology.  As Drexler convincingly argued, the molecular machines and intricate structures that we see in cell biology provide an existence proof for a sophisticated nanotechnology.  But what does biology tell us about the best way to create a synthetic analogue?

    We can get some insight into why the original Drexlerian vision didn’t progress, by looking at a couple of other approaches to creating structures and devices with atomic precision, which have at least progressed as far as laboratory demonstrations, if not mass application.  The supramolecular chemistry approach to molecular motors won a chemistry Nobel prize for Ben Feringa in 2016, while the persistence and vision of the late Ned Seeman founded the field of DNA nanotechnology, which has, in a restricted domain of material types, achieved a version of digitally specified molecular-scale structures and devices.  These approaches, in different ways, learn from how biology works at the nanoscale – but their operating principles look very different from the mechanical engineering inspiration of Drexler.

    The key point here is that the physics that is operative in nanoscale biology, in the warm wet world of the cell, looks very different from the physics that rules at the macroscale.  It’s dominated by Brownian motion, surface forces are very strong, and the watery environment is dominated by viscosity, with inertia being essentially negligible. Cell biology uses entirely different design principles that are optimised for this world, with mechanisms such as self-assembly and molecular conformational change that have no counterparts in the macroscopic world.

    This is especially relevant for one application of radical nanotechnology that is central to Kurzweil’s vision – the idea of tiny nanobots navigating the bloodstream fixing the body cell by cell.  It’s these nanobots that Kurzweil argues will be able to read out the state of a human brain, permitting the “up-loading” of the mind to super-powerful computers.  This provides the route to personal immortality that seems so important to Kurzweil and his followers.

    The first realisations of some approximation to the nanobot vision were in cancer treatment, where the idea of selectively delivering chemotherapy agents to cancer cells led to much research, and a few applications, based on biologically inspired principles of self-assembly and environmental responsiveness.  It was the covid epidemic that led to the coming of age of this line of research; it provided the delivery mechanisms for messenger RNA in the new vaccines from Moderna and BioNTech.  But these systems are very much “soft machines”, working by analogy with cell biology, rather than using Drexlerian nanotechnology. 

    Given the lack of progress in molecular nanotechnology, does that mean that the Singularity must be postponed? That’s clearly not the Silicon Valley view; for the evangelists, the imminent arrival of artificial general intelligence will solve everything, including rapidly developing molecular nanotechnology.  If it really was just politics that caused the slow progress to digital matter, then that might be a plausible argument. But if the problem is more fundamental, arising from taking the wrong lessons from biology, then it’s not clear that AI will help. 

    Winds of change for UK science policy

    The Conservative Party plans to cut funding for UK Research and Innovation (UKRI) by 20%, amounting to £6 billion over three years, reallocating the funding to military drone procurement, according to a report in Research Professional. Julia Lopez, Shadow DSIT Minister, says “we need to focus our remarkable British scientific and technological capabilities more explicitly on defence”.

    We’re seeing a two-decade old cross-party consensus around science funding now breaking down.  It’s notable that UKRI was a creation of the 2015 Conservative Government, with a funding increase balanced with the explicit goal of bringing the UK’s R&D programme more directly under government control. The R&D spending plans of the current government are essentially those it inherited from the 2020 Conservative Government.  But, as its leader Kemi Badenoch has taken to saying, the Conservative Party is under new management now.

    As I wrote a few months ago in my piece UK Science in a post-liberal world , the old consensus was for an essentially supply-side science policy, with government support focused on basic science and the support of commercialisation of university research, leading to a national R&D system dominated by research in universities to a degree that is unusual internationally.  

    A changing environment puts this consensus under strain. We’ve seen the return of energy geopolitics on a grand scale, a rapidly deteriorating international security situation, and potential disruption from AI.  The failure of the UK economic model – with flat-lining productivity growth and huge regional economic disparities – can’t any more be ignored.  National politics has fractured, with the Conservative Party overshadowed by a Reform Party bringing US-style culture war politics to the UK, and Labour threatened by a Green Party suspicious of corporate power.  

    Trust in science has not yet, in the UK, become politically polarised on the scale that’s currently seen in the USA.  But a recent report on public trust in science, commissioned by the Wellcome Trust and carried out by the public opinion research agency More In Common, carries some warning signals.  Amongst the British population, trust in science is becoming more qualified, and more uneven across the population. The most disaffected segments of the population – what More in Common call “Dissenting disruptors” and “Sceptical Scrollers” – are the most sceptical.  Falling trust in science is associated with a more general pessimism about progress stalling, with worries about falling personal living standards and poor public services. Significant minorities believe that science is too closely associated with particular social and political causes, or too strongly swayed by the interests of their funders.

    The latest threat to UKRI from the Conservative Party should be considered as part of a movement towards a post-liberal populism, as the Conservatives react to the threat from Reform.  The wider environment here is a growing realisation that the UK does need to act on rebuilding its infrastructure, on building a sustainable and affordable energy system, and on rebuilding its defences.  

    How should the scientific community react to this new world?  The Wellcome/More in Common report has a number of sensible recommendations, in two broad categories. Firstly, we need to do more to demonstrate the ways in which science and innovation does lead to improvements in peoples’ lives, focusing in particular on those sections of the population for whom those impacts seem the most remote.  Secondly, we need to appreciate the diversity of perspectives and circumstances of people across the UK, many of whom (not entirely unreasonably) see science as remote, pursued by people with very different attitudes and backgrounds to them.

    I would go further, though. We do need to face the facts that the drivers that are putting the science funding consensus under strain are real.  We do need to demonstrate that scientific research really can be translated into higher living standards, better public services, sustainable and affordable energy, and security in a dangerous world.  And we need to be clear that, if necessary, we’ll do things differently to deliver those goals.  

    As I described in my post UK science policy in transition, necessary changes to how UKRI organises research funding, in response to this new environment, are now happening.  These will make a much clearer delineation between basic research, research to support national priorities like life sciences and defence, and support for the economy through helping innovative companies grow.  If we are going to maintain political and wider public support for science, we must remember that “if we want things to stay as they are, things will have to change”.

    The place of UK business in the global R&D scoreboard

    My last post looked at the growth in UK government support for R&D over the last decade. But if we are interested in restoring economic growth (as we should be, given the ongoing economic stagnation that the UK has been suffering), it’s R&D carried out by businesses that is more immediately relevant in terms of its direct effect on productivity growth, through the development of new, high value goods and services, and through making existing processes more efficient.  This post takes a look at R&D done by UK-owned businesses, taking a snapshot in the year 2024.

    First, I’ll pose two similar-looking questions.  First, how much R&D do UK-owned businesses do?  Second, how much R&D is done by businesses in the UK?

    The best answer we have to the first question – how much R&D do UK-owned businesses do? – is £32.1 billion.  This comes from the EU R&D scoreboard, which uses publicly available data to list and rank the world’s top 2000 R&D performing companies.  According to the scoreboard, the world total of business spending on R&D from these 2000 companies in 2024 was £1.2 trillion, so the share of this total done by UK companies is about 2.7%.

    For the second question – how much R&D is done by businesses in the UK? – we turn to the ONS’s survey of Business Enterprise R&D, the BERD survey.  For 2024, this gives a total business R&D spend of £55.6 billion.

    Continue reading “The place of UK business in the global R&D scoreboard”

    The UK’s big bet on science and technology

    Between 2015 and 2023, UK government direct spending on research and development increased by 22% in real terms, and the current government plans a further 12% increase by 2029.  If one includes the subsidy for private sector R&D represented by the R&D tax credit (and one should) the total real terms increase in government support for R&D is even larger.  From the low point of austerity, in 2011, to 2023, the real terms increase was 65%, a remarkable – and, perhaps, little appreciated – figure in the context of difficult fiscal circumstances faced by those governments.  Underlying this increase is a broad consensus about the importance of R&D for economic growth, and the need for the state to invest in R&D, to correct the market failure that means that the private sector will invest less in R&D than is societally optimal.

    Given this economic motivation for investing in R&D, it’s inevitable that people will ask whether the increase in government spending on R&D has resulted in a measurable increase in economic growth.  So far, the answer seems to be that it hasn’t, with the UK’s economic stagnation continuing well into its second decade.  This is an important context for the changes in science policy I discussed in my earlier post – UK science policy in transition.  The question that’s going to be asked is, when is the UK’s big bet on science and technology going to pay off?

    UK government spending on R&D since 1986, expressed in real (inflation corrected) terms.  Sources: spending out-turns: UK government statistics, reduced to constant 2023 £s using GDP deflator.  Plans: 2025 Comprehensive Spending Review, corrected for anticipated inflation using OBR inflation predictions.

    Continue reading “The UK’s big bet on science and technology”

    AI and the problems of protein folding

    The problem of predicting protein structure from sequence has been definitively solved by the AI programme AlphaFold, winning a well-deserved Nobel prize for its developers. But structure prediction is just one of at least four different problems of protein folding.  Here I introduce four different problems of protein folding: protein structure prediction, the nature of the protein folding transition, the role of proteins that don’t fold at all, and the importance of protein misfolding, particularly for diseases like Alzheimer’s disease. 

    The most important contributions yet made by machine learning and artificial intelligence to science so far are unquestionably DeepMind’s AlphaFold programmes for protein structure prediction, for which Demis Hassabis & John Jumper won the Nobel prize in chemistry in 2021 (shared with David Baker, for closely related work).  Proteins are linear macromolecules; each type of protein has a unique one dimensional sequence of amino acids. For many proteins, this 1d sequence encodes a unique three dimensional structure, and it’s this 3d structure which underpins the function of the protein in the operations of the living cell.  AlphaFold takes the 1d sequence of a protein and predicts the 3d structure.  This is the problem of protein structure prediction, outstanding for half a century, now definitively solved by AI.  

    Continue reading “AI and the problems of protein folding”

    UK science policy in transition

    The way the UK government funds science is currently in the midst of a major transition, with the creation of a much more direct link between the priorities of the government of the day and the kind of research that it funds.  A few months ago I wrote about the likely prospect of a breakdown of a long period of consensus in UK science policy – UK Science in a post-liberal world.  I’m not sure whether the current changes are best thought of as the first manifestation of this breakdown of consensus, or as an attempt to make those changes in the system that are necessary to preserve it.  Here I make a first attempt to set these changes in context.  

    Some history

    UK governments have recognised the need for the State to fund scientific research since the late 19th century, and some of the principles underpinning that were articulated early in the 20th century. One innovation of that period was the Research Council – conceived as a body standing slightly apart from government, largely managed by expert scientists.  The first of these was the Medical Research Council, established in 1920 as a body incorporated by a Royal Charter.  Subsequently, other research councils, covering other fields of science – and social science and the humanities – were established on the same principles, and various reorganisations have taken place, but the basic model remained in place until 2017.

    It is important, however, to understand that for most of this period the research supported by Research Councils amounted to only a small fraction of total government R&D.  Most of this took place with the direct support of government departments, such as those responsible for agriculture, for defence and military procurement, and for atomic energy, often in government research laboratories.  Going into the 1980’s, when the UK was one of the most R&D intensive countries in the world, less than 15% of government funded R&D was supported by the research councils.

    Continue reading “UK science policy in transition”

    Rock climbing and the economics of innovation (revisited)

    The rock-climber Alex Honnold is in the news again, thanks to his live, televised ascent of a skyscraper in Taiwan.  This gives me an excuse to recycle this post from October 2019.  Here I explain that just because Honnold climbs without a rope, that doesn’t mean that his achievement doesn’t rely on technological progress over many decades, contrary to the claim of a well-known economist.

    The rock climber Alex Honnold’s free, solo ascent of El Capitan is inspirational in many ways. For economist John Cochrane, watching the film of the ascent has prompted a blogpost: “What the success of rock climbing tells us about economic growth”. He concludes that “Free Solo is a great example of the expansion of ability, driven purely by advances in knowledge, untethered from machines.” As an amateur in both rock climbing and innovation theory, I can’t resist some comments of my own. I think it’s all a bit more complicated than Cochrane thinks. In particular his argument that Honnold’s success tells us that knowledge – and the widespread communication of knowledge – is more important than new technology in driving economic growth doesn’t really stand up.

    The film “Free Solo” shows Honnold’s 2017 ascent of the 3000 ft cliff El Capitan, in the Yosemite Valley, California. The climb was done free (i.e. without the use of artificial aids like pegs to make progress), and solo – without ropes or any other aids to safety. How come, Cochrane asks, rock climbers have got so much better at climbing since El Cap’s first ascent in 1958, which took 47 days, done with “siege tactics” and every artificial aid available at the time? “There is essentially no technology involved. OK, Honnold wears modern climbing boots, which have very sticky rubber. But that’s about it. And reasonably sticky rubber has been around for a hundred years or so too.”

    Hold on a moment here – no technology? I don’t think the history of climbing really bears this out. Even the exception that Cochrane allows, sticky rubber boots, is more complicated than he thinks. Continue reading “Rock climbing and the economics of innovation (revisited)”

    Anglofuturism and the Shock of the Old

    As the UK endures the second decade of its crisis of economic stagnation, a loose group of commentators, activists and think-tanks have emerged to argue that this stagnation isn’t inevitable, and to call for more houses and infrastructure to be built, for energy to be cheaper and more abundant, and for a restoration of the technological optimism of earlier times.  It’s not an entirely homogenous movement – some call themselves “Anglofuturists”, others organise under the banners of “progress” and “abundance”.  As I wrote a year ago in my piece “Taking Anglofuturism seriously”, I am sympathetic to some of the goals of this movement. I agree that our economic stagnation isn’t inevitable and that the UK’s physical infrastructure needs upgrading, I regret the failure of recent new nuclear build plans, and I think that technological innovation is a key driver of productivity growth.  Yet to me there seems to be a gap in the movement between willing the ends and identifying the means, with the suggested remedy all too often coming down simply to calls to deregulate more and reform the planning laws.

    There is perhaps a lesson from history here, emphasised by some comments the historian David Edgerton made in a podcast last week.  The kind of nation that Anglofuturists call for looks rather like what was delivered by post-war British governments between 1950 and 1980.  Then, the UK was one of the most R&D intensive economies in the world, with a cross-party consensus that technological innovation would deliver economic growth.  Despite persistent national soul-searching about a ruling-class trained in the humanities, a number of scientists and engineers rose to powerful and influential positions.  The world’s first nuclear power station was designed and built in just four years, following which there was a large-scale roll out of nuclear power stations. A national capability for launching satellites was developed (and subsequently abandoned).  This period saw the construction of most of our current motorway network, and, as my plot shows, new houses were built at a rate that has never since been matched.  In this sense there is a certain retro quality to Anglofuturism, a harking back to a time when the UK seemed to look to the future with technological self-confidence.

    Continue reading “Anglofuturism and the Shock of the Old”