For a long time I never really got the whole lamentation over dying high streets.
I’d see auld yins greeting and girning about the closure of BHS or Debenhams or Woolworths and would be like: “What on earth is eating ye?”
I never like to see places go out of business, purely because that’s folk out of a job, and less council tax being paid to shore up stretched services.
But I never felt the slightest bit sad to see these dinosaur institutions go to the wall.
That has changed for me recently, as an institution fae ma ain childhood is away.
My granny and granda lived in Carnoustie. And Carsnoot had a class high street when I was wee.
The shoe mannie, at one end, would sort you out with a pair of solid black leather shoes.
He operated in much the same way as a farrier with horses, just hammering a pair of identical leathers onto any and all customers that came in, regardless of age, gender, style or income.
My shoes never looked that good, as far as I remember. But they were served with a smile.
And I could then hurlple oot and along the high street, passing all number of specialist traders.
Carnoustie sweet shop was the stuff of legend
A sports shop had an expert behind the counter who had advice on all sorts of equipment, and could order in anything that was not immediately to hand.
Men’s and women’s clothes were available at various places, and the shop workers would make you a cup of tea and advise on styles and help rate choices.
The barber – any of the five or six on the high street – would scrape you into a conformed little short back and sides nae bother.
But the highlight for me was Inspos.
The classic sweet shop, Inspirations in Carnoustie acted like a methadone clinic for the sugar-addicted, with lines of young folk queuing up outside at lunchtimes for their repeat prescription of 20p mix sweetie bags.
Jeff, or maybe Geoff, the owner is a local figure of wide renown, who stood like a sentry by the wall of sweets.
As youngins we would basically thieve our way along the high street, plundering crisps, creme eggs, tins of juice. But when you got to Inspos stealing was impossible.
What we need, in these times of chronic isolation and widespread loneliness, are spaces where folk can meet and to be together. A more local high street can be part of that”
My classmates of that era were such slick criminals I would have fancied them to smuggle weapons through the Soviet border into 1970s Belarus if they wanted to.
But none of us could get any unearned snash fae the shop of Jeff.
Indeed, that time a pal scanned and printed out fake £20 notes on his dad’s new colour printer, and went along the high street spending them, it was Jeff who sniffed oot the forgery and chased the young miscreant off his premises.
Sweet shop loss leaves Carnoustie poorer
And now Inspirations has closed down.
Jeff, or maybe Geoff, is going into a well-earned retirement.
And for the first time I’m feeling the pangs of loss.
It’ll be a sadness to cruise along the high street in Carnoustie and not see the blue shop with its Scots Language dishcloots, tourist trinkets and mountains of sweet treats.
Places like this are the real heart of communities.
Places where folk can work with respect and esteem. Where folk can meet and interact.
And I understand now that that is what people miss when they say they lament the loss of the old high streets.
Support your local high street – while you still can
The Street at The McManus in Dundee is a popular walkthrough exhibition that explores this a bit.
Last week The Creative Learning Team welcomed our first community group to the Museum in over 20 months! @alzscot visited us for a tour of our new exhibition 'The Street At The McManus' followed by reminiscence session in the creative learning studio. pic.twitter.com/uyiMqcaweN
— The McManus (@McManusDundee) December 3, 2021
And it’s hard to link the community touchstones like inspirations with the high street I see today.
There is no way you can make me think positively about the new Greggs range in Primark for example.
The bakers chain, which comedian Frank Skinner refers to as “the engine room of the national obesity crisis” has turned baked goods into profitable but undernourishing facsimiles of real food.
Meanwhile Primark has led a race to the bottom with clothing prices that undermined the environment and workers’ wellbeing, while spewing hundreds of millions of disposable garments into the world.
There’s a lack of “third places” where we can hang out, where we can build relationships and foster a community.
But what we need, in these times of chronic isolation and widespread loneliness, are spaces where folk can meet and to be together.
A more local high street can be part of that.
So go to Jim’s Deli Club for your tea. Get pizza fae Luigis not Pizza Hut. Skip the Tesco Meal Deal and hit Clarkies for a roll. And the sausages fae Thomsons in Coldside are unbeatable, as is the craic you get when you go in.
In these tight times, there’s a lot to be said for spending your money in places that offer more than just a product.
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