I worry about what lies in store for our high streets
If I close my eyes, I can remember a winter’s day, 40-odd years ago, when I’m gazing into the windows of Lewis’s department store in Glasgow’s Argyle Street.
I’d never seen anything as magical in my whole life.
Lewis’s window displays were breathtaking, sparkling spectacles. At Christmas, we’d go into town as a family specially to see them.
Then we’d follow the crowds as they snaked through the famous food hall, examining expensive chocolates in fancy boxes and exotic produce in glass counters.
That’s where I realised the “tongue” on my sandwiches was actually “tongue of a cow”, ’cause I saw one curled up in an elaborate display of meats like Daisy the Coo was blowing me a raspberry. Vegetarianism beckoned.
We’d take the escalator (relatively rare at the time) to join the queue for Santa’s grotto, which was always the best. The store was a seven-storey wonderland, a day trip in itself.
We were genuinely sad when, in 1991, Lewis’s closed down. But its replacement, Debenhams, was a gleaming department store for the new generation, all chrome and white lights, scented with designer perfumes and with a cafe in the middle, criss-crossed by glass-fronted escalators.
Argyle Street’s pedestrian precinct was no longer like a scene from Miracle On
34th Street come December but the modern emporium was still a destination and a landmark.
So what now? What will even fill its space in the city’s beating heart?
Debenhams has been sold off and will exist online only, the name worth more than its physical presence. Internet retailer Asos is in talks to buy Topshop, Topman and Miss Selfridge out of administration on a similar basis.
Debenhams will close, not just in
Glasgow but everywhere – huge ones in shopping centres and smaller ones in provincial towns, many of which were designed around this solid, reliable anchor store. And in the week the deal was done – with 12,000 job losses likely – we also learn House of Fraser has pulled the plug on Edinburgh’s magnificent Jenners store. Trading will cease in May.
What will become of that grand Victorian edifice on Princes Street with its revolving doors, meandering floor layout and posh staff who made you feel like you’d been granted entry to a palace?
The building’s owner – Danish billionaire Anders Holch Povlsen – insists 183-year-old Jenners will survive, perhaps with a hotel included on the site.
But will it be at the expense of universal access? Department stores are incredible real estate which anyone can explore. You don’t need money or stature to go in, you may not even intend to buy anything. But they dominate our towns, they belong to us and we love them.
We use them to shop, hang out, eat, meet for dates, treat the kids, dump the lovers. We use them for jobs – full-time, part-time, weekend work. Sometimes they’re an escape from troubles ’cause distraction can be found among the pretty homeware or nice shoes.
Why has it taken retailers, landlords and local authorities so long to realise that these shops are more than commercial entities? They bind cities and towns together in a way internet sellers can never do.
On that basis, they should all have been working together for years on a plan to keep them on our high streets. Instead, Covid arrives, countless shops close for ever and we face emerging from a pandemic to find huge gaping holes instead of places we used to gather.
A year trapped at home has taught us that being together is priceless and should be treasured. We’re going to need places to mingle and heal and remember that it’s OK to touch one another or breathe the same air. We’re going to need familiarity. Those closures may prove rather hasty as we rush out to spend money again.
We’ve been in love with department stores since we first pressed noses against those shop windows. I’m not sure it’s over. Perhaps we’re on a break, maybe we both need to change.
But everyone will be happier if we get back together.