With the grinding sounds of the pitheads ringing in his ears, the boy climbed and climbed the mountain, batting the ferns away with his hands, marvelling at the tiny purple foxglove heads. When he was far above the lines of dreary grey houses, he stopped and sat on the big rock that jutted out of the mountainside. Squinting out across the valley, he breathed in and closed his eyes. For many of the mining communities in South Wales, life sped by under the heaviness of swinging picks and grinding gears. Through snapshots of life, we see how young men are influenced, how they grow, how they feel and how they watch those they love delve deep into the earth day after day. We stand beside our boy as he navigates his early life under the shadow of the greying mountains, between the lines and rows of terraced houses in the valley. Step by step through his life, his valley roots have followed him and remain ingrained within him.