High streets dying as butchers, bakers and candlestick makers close

The Herald Scotland

09-05-2025

The problem is that a lot of these traditional mom-and-pop joints have pulled down the shutters for good. Or they have rebranded as an upscale, artisan facsimile of the traditional fixtures, their till areas decorated with Torres Jamon Iberico crisps and Perello Gordal Piccante olives (which I love, don't get me wrong).
It's just too expensive to be a heritage retailer these days. Sky-high energy bills, soaring rents, the general cost of food products. The same factors that affect our own wallets and make getting the weekly shop from the new artisanal independents so cost-prohibitive.
A couple of days ago, I was in Partick in Glasgow speaking to a recently retired butcher, Billy Bishop. We met at his former shop, W. Bishop Quality Butcher on Merkland Street, and stood in the sun-drenched doorway talking about what led to his decision to close the business after sixty years. The price of doing business just got too high. It was too hard to compete with the huge Morrisons five minutes away. Most of his trade was in small sales, his customers needing only to cook for one.
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Every ten minutes during our conversation, a passerby would stop to greet him and ask if the shop was open. Sweet elderly women offered to bring round biscuits or made sure he had a cup of tea. 'I'll miss the people,' he told me. He was the only person that a lot of his customers spoke to in a day; most of them were older and living alone. Much of his shifts were spent sitting back on the counter, listening to the idle daily gossip of the area long after orders were fulfilled.
He also told me he rarely had a customer under the age of 30 come in. Us youngsters are missing a trick, I thought. There are plenty of days when I do not speak to another human being face-to-face, skirting the silent ache of isolation by ferociously voice noting my friends. If a Gen Z punter did wander into Billy's shop, I wouldn't be surprised if he was the only person they spoke to in real life that day. I actually bet the old dears, the regulars, are speaking to plenty of folk while getting their messages.
When we talk about loneliness, stock images of grey-haired widows and widowers come to mind. Heartbreaking, aged hands pressed against a heater, or narrow shoulders wrapped in blankets. The real tear-jerking stuff. But actually, according to research by the Centre for Social Justice, young people are more likely to feel lonely than older people. Older people were found to be the least lonely age cohort in Britain. The researchers suggested this could be down to their involvement with their communities and the fact that they are more likely to speak to their neighbours. I fear sometimes we don't even realise how lonely we are, lulled into a false sense of social connection over text. Only in those quiet moments does the emptiness crawl quickly up the back of the throat and choke us.
As the local traders pack up, they leave behind a hole in the community. And that hole is typically filled with hair salons, nail salons, barber shops or beauty parlours. And vape shops. The changing face of the high street says a lot about where our priorities are, where we stretch our paychecks at the end of the month. We look good in pictures, but we don't feel good in the flesh. We are a society of beautiful, anxious, lonely wrecks, so to speak.
The other reality, as Billy pointed out, is that people are time poor these days. We are working longer hours and taking home less. One of the overwhelming trappings of modernity is the importance of efficiency, hence why our supermarket shelves are stocked with ready meals, and everything is pre-cut, pre-cooked, pre-portioned and ready to go. I'm guilty of it, having recently praised the discovery of frozen pre-diced onions and garlic as one of the best things to happen to me so far this year.
But I remain steadfast that there is a romance to ambling along your own high street and seeing familiar faces, smiling and chit-chatting with the shopkeepers. The allure of slowing down and taking the time to assemble the food shop from different establishments. All while getting a kick out of the low-stakes local gossip, retold in a dozen different ways like a game of neighbourhood telephone.
It's sad to watch the decline of our butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers. So let this be a rallying cry to support yours, if you're still lucky enough to have one. Spend your Saturday getting acquainted with your local independents. And if you're stuck with a soulless chain supermarket lined with insufferable self-checkouts, keep an eye out for a manned till. If the cashier isn't too busy stocking shelves (because the overnight stock positions were axed), take the plunge and say hello. I often feel powerless under the weight of the cost-of-living crisis and the constant corporate race to the bottom line. And if boycotting the self-checkout is what it takes to combat our alienating present, so be it. To the fishmongers!
Marissa MacWhirter is a columnist and feature writer at The Herald, and the editor of The Glasgow Wrap. The newsletter is curated between 5-7am each morning, bringing the best of local news to your inbox each morning without ads, clickbait, or hyperbole. Oh, and it's free. She can be found on X @marissaamayy1