WHEN a large section of a new Tesco development collapsed on to railway tracks in the centre of Gerrards Cross a month ago, some people called it divine retribution: punishment for bully-boy tactics by the supermarket giant that had won the right to build the 34,000 sq ft store in the teeth of local opposition. “Once we realised nobody was hurt,” said one resident, “we did indulge in a little celebration. But of course it is only a temporary setback; the damn thing will still be built.”
The “damn thing” is, at present, a skeleton of white girders straddling the railway line which itself bisects the high street, “squatting like a great octopus over our village” as 80-year-old Betty Lambert put it back in 1996 when the battle lines were first drawn. The development would be out of all proportion to the surrounding buildings, claimed protesters; it would aggravate traffic problems and put small traders out of business.
The opposition was vociferous, well organised and well funded, but in the end, after several years of rejection, objection and negotiation by the local council, an inquiry was held and John Prescott’s office gave the development the go-ahead. The new store will be the third Tesco trading within a five-mile area which also includes Sainsbury’s and Waitrose stores.
Gerrards Cross is a Betjeman-esque small town in the heart of affluent Buckinghamshire commuterland, its entrance off the main A40 through a gateway flanked by beechwoods in full fig, and a velvety expanse of village green. Along its parade of shops, people are popping in and out of doorways like characters in an E.F. Benson novel, pausing to exchange news in the warm summer sunshine. It’s a tranquil, ordered world — but one that may be vanishing rapidly.
There are those who accuse supermarket chains of ruining our cultural landscape, of “ripping the heart out” of country towns, sending independent traders and their small local suppliers to the wall and depriving communities of their social glue. Others, stranded in rural areas with only a mouldering little Co-op which has run out of garlic, would give their eye teeth for a decent supermarket and claim that it would bring people into town and revitalise the economy.
Meanwhile, supermarkets are busy creating their own version of the village pump: cosy, warm and out of the rain, shoppers chat over coffee in the store’s restaurant while their children clamber on the free play equipment. Rural customers are bussed in to the store by free transport and taken home again; office workers can swing by at 9pm for a baguette and a carton of fresh soup from the chiller.
But this is not just a question of our shopping habits, it’s about how we define ourselves: are we a nation of shopkeepers and artisan bread and cheese makers, small farmers and growers, self-sufficient in food, discerning and proud of our island bounty? Or are we a fast-moving, car-dependent, essentially urban 21st-century society, grazing on a vast choice of international produce, strangers to seasonal shortages?
The more we succumb to the ease of the one-stop supermarket shop, the more we mythologise the allure of the old-fashioned high street: the deferential grocer, the rosy-cheeked butcher, the market trader’s seasonal leeks with mud still clinging to them, and early closing on Wednesdays. Our rushed lives make us nostalgic for a slower, friendlier pace: we may not live in Little Snoring or shop at the ironmonger but we like to know they are there. Most Gerrards Cross residents routinely shopped at one of the big supermarkets in neighbouring towns: “They want to shop in Tesco,” confided a regular visitor, “they just don’t want Tesco in Gerrards Cross.”
It’s a familiar tale: from Rye in Sussex to Withernsea and Castle Douglas in the north; from Ludlow and Cirencester in the west to Sheringham in the east, protesters muster and lobby while the Tesco juggernaut keeps rolling. Last year just under 100 outlets opened and there will be around the same number again this year. Occasionally local opposition prevails. More usually, Tesco gets its way and the store is built. Even with the (possibly inflated) claim that 90 per cent of Gerrards Cross opposed the Tesco development, it is never enough for a community not to want a store; proper planning objections must be marshalled to justify a refusal which is then vulnerable to being overturned on appeal.
Talk to communities bruised by a controversial Tesco development and the same story crops up: planning committees reluctantly approving an application to avoid the expense of defending an appeal. Even a fighting fund in a wealthy area such as Gerrards Cross cannot hope to match the financial muscle of the nation’s biggest and most successful retailer. “Tesco tramples on planning people and on local residents, and is determined to beat natural forces to get what it wants,” says Pat Fea, a South Bucks district councillor. “Hubris is the word for it, I believe.”
Once Tesco had permission to build at Gerrards Cross and had started site work, the company applied for a 30 per cent increase in floor space. Still alert, despite having lost the original fight, a small group of anonymous, influential dissenters paid for an independent survey which predicted an unacceptable increase in traffic; Tesco withdrew the application the day before the hearing.
“We must continue to be vigilant,” says the group’s leader, “because Tesco are adept at mission creep. Their Amersham store, just a few miles from here, is a classic case: the original planning permission stipulated that the store should not sell petrol or operate a pharmacy. Now they have both.”
Charles Roffery, white-coated manager of Fisher’s, the village grocery store, is putting on a brave face: “We will not take Tesco on across our whole product range,” he says. “Instead we will concentrate on our strengths — gold award-winning sausages, a revitalised cheese and deli counter, specialist wines and, most importantly, personal service.” But many fear that Fisher’s will not survive. Arvind Gautama owns the local chemist. “Commercially, I am happy to face the competition,” he says, “but there are other businesses in the town which are more vulnerable: bakers, wine shops, Fisher’s. The fruit and vegetable shop has gone already. We don’t need this massive Tesco — there are plenty of others in the immediate area.”
EIGHT YEARS AGO, residents and traders in the elegant market town of Stow-on-the-Wold entertained the same misgivings. An application to build a Tesco store had been turned down seven times when, finally, the local planning officer urged councillors to approve the proposal or face the heavy costs of an appeal — for which each of them, he warned, could be personally liable.
A hardcore group of protesters with private funding applied for a judicial review and, when that was turned down, appealed in the High Court. They lost, and the edge-of-centre superstore with its Cotswold stone cladding and colourful hanging baskets opened for business in October 1997. Have the protesters’ worst fears been realised?
On the face of it, yes. The fruit and vegetable shop in the square has gone, as has the greengrocer in neighbouring Bourton-on-the-Water, and the Pick Your Own farm shop a mile out of town closed this year. The organic butcher shut 15 months after Tesco arrived, as did the long- established ironmongers; the old-fashioned newsagent which sold everything from jampot covers to sparklers has become a down-at-heel branch of Dillons.
The beautiful market square is dominated by Scotts of Stow (six outlets selling household unnecessities from retro bed linen to leaf blowers); smaller shops sell trinkets to the tourist trade and there are some serious antique dealers. The two delis and one butcher have survived by concentrating on provenance and quality. But rents are high — between £35 and £50 per sq ft: a barrier to entry for a small food business. The small Co-op “convenience” store in the centre, with its ill-arranged shelves and plastic packs of Dutch tomatoes, is unlikely to trouble Tesco. Meanwhile, thousands of shoppers a day stream through the doors of the superstore. “It’s great,” says Shirley Hall, who lives in the nearby village of Oddington where the only shop closed several years ago. “Shopping was bloody awful in Stow before Tesco came.”
Her daughter, Nikki, agrees: “And they are good on specialist stuff, like gluten-free food.” Many shoppers we spoke to on a wet and windy Monday morning said that they wished the store was bigger. Mother-of-four Aloyse Packe says: “When Tesco came I was quite pleased — I thought it would make my life more convenient and you could buy sundried tomato paste, which everyone seemed to need at that time. But now I find it terribly boring: the fruit and vegetables are disappointing and I have to go further afield again.”
Janet Smith, a local dairy farmer, claims that Tesco does not pay a decent price for anything, especially milk. “They have such a stranglehold that they are taking the livelihoods from farmers. But I shop there like everyone else — mainly because of the parking.”
Tesco claims that a superstore encourages new customers to a town and keeps those residents who would otherwise drive to a supermarket elsewhere, thus benefiting local trade. “By understanding their customers and offering something different, good retailers of all sizes can do well alongside Tesco,” says Jonathan Church, of Tesco.
Terry Leahy, the superstore’s chief executive, has often argued that Tesco mirrors society rather than shaping it, giving consumers what they want and providing local employment. And the company says: “We’re proud to be UK agriculture’s biggest customer, and already offer 7,000 local and regional lines including 600 Welsh lines, 1,500 Irish lines and 1,000 Scottish lines. We have buying teams in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland to seek out and develop relationships with local suppliers. We stock lots of locally-sourced products. Dent’s special lemonade is a good example; it is sold in only four stores — Workington, Whitehaven, Carlisle and Barrow. Smokies are sold in 39 stores, and traditional oatcakes are available across Scotland.”
But Pat Fea objects: “In the mixed economy of a small town, money circulates within the community; hardly any of the wealth that supermarkets generate stays in the area. We have an obligation to protect a community for the future. We should be addressing competition, predatory pricing and sourcing. How much does the person get paid who makes a pair of jeans selling in Tesco for £3? What happens to the small farmers and growers when all the independent traders have gone to the wall?” Critics say the supermarkets are not interested in small producers with low output and inconsistent supply. In Shopped, her book on supermarket power, Joanna Blythman related the tragic tale of the Thames Valley Vegetable Growers. When they set up in the 1960s they grew an enormous diversity of crops.
At first they supplied the early supermarkets but then the demands grew tougher and tougher for this length of carrot, that diameter of leek. A grower would be contracted to a major growing programme, invest heavily and then be dropped the next year. Now, only five of the 70 members are left; one of them, Charles Secrett, told Blythman: “The supermarkets have destroyed British horticulture.”
It is ironic that in an urban conglomerate such as London, miles from the nearest orchard or greenhouse, we can get practically anything we want: Gloucester Old Spot pork, hand-picked purslane, Kent greengages: a vast choice of fresh, fully traceable English produce. Meanwhile, in a market town like Stow, which once echoed to the bleating of sheep and the cry of the auctioneer and is surrounded by richly productive Cotswold pasture and arable land, there is a hardly a locally grown broad bean or strawberry in sight.
Small retailers who survive the arrival of a superstore are usually pretty good. They have to be. So while few Gerrards Cross residents may be sufficiently strong-minded to resist their shiny new Tesco, they should make sure to patronise local traders as well.
As Joanna Blythman says: “If consumers took even 5 per cent of their shopping from supermarkets and redistributed it among independents, it would make an enormous difference. Don’t worry if you can’t swap the lot. Just remember Tesco’s own words: Every Little Helps.”
COMING YOUR WAY?
Sheringham, Norfolk: Permission granted for new store subject to conditions which protesters claim Tesco is trying to “wriggle out” of. Decision expected on Thursday.
Castle Douglas, Dumfries and Galloway: Community deeply divided over proposed Tesco store on site previously occupied by garden centre which has been refused planning permission for new premises.
Rye, Sussex: County council refuses to name the prospective purchaser of former school playing fields but Tesco allegedly owns options on the land controlling access to the site. Traders and residents want a new GP’s surgery and affordable housing on the site. Tesco would be welcomed by many shoppers who currently drive 20 miles to Hastings supermarket.
Saddleworth, Lancs: Well orchestrated community campaign opposes Tesco supermarket on site of former woollen mill. Public inquiry held in June; result expected November.
Carlisle: Tesco appeals against county council’s delay over application to build a massive 71,000 sq ft store on stilts in Viaduct Estate. Public inquiry likely.
