the legend of the local

what do pub closures really mean to our creativity and heritage, and how do we fight for our dingy locals?

Reports have shown that in the first few months of 2026, Britain experienced roughly 2 pub closures each day, resulting in an estimated 2,400 lost jobs. This trend promptly followed the closure of 336 pubs in 2025; 88 closures in the north alone. Main news outlets quite rightly prioritise the loss of jobs in these studies and how closures reflect growing, unsustainable tax rates. Pubs are, in essence, a perfect case in point to alert the public to these economic issues. Pubs are at the heart of most communities. They are everyone’s business.

I’d say it was custom to feel at home in a pub. Like walking into your Nan’s living room at an overcrowded family reunion. You weren’t too keen on the idea at first, but thought it best to show your face out of respect (and an afternoon beer free of judgement), but you end up the last one there and all the more wiser. There’s something about the friendly hostility of a northern pub. You’re treat like family, but God forbid you forget your roots. Come in, lovely to see you, shoes off for god’s sake, sit down, do you want a drink? What the bloody hell is an IPA?

You browse through the ambivalent faces, you know most of them, a bit off with most the names, but you see the resemblance - fellow troopers paying respect. You catch up with strangers and ask they how they’ve been since last time you saw them - same again? A free for all of pool buzzing in the background. No need to put your 50p on the side, come and ‘ave a go if you think you’re ard enough.

These fragmented thoughts came to me whilst I was sitting in a London pub, Hampstead to be exact. A lovely old building steeped in history and surrounded by too many tales to count, but no one seemed to remember the stories. Everyone is a stranger - you don’t know their usual. The bar staff floated round the tables of men enjoying wagyu scotch eggs and a crisp bottle of chablis - is everything okay for you gentlemen? The barmaid bent over backwards getting me a table outside. I said I’d happily perch on the wall - no such thing, she declared. Nearly a tenner for a wine. Glass had a thin rim, very lovely. I asked if I could charge my phone behind the bar. That was a hard no. They would not take responsibility for the property of strangers. An old building this. How long have you had it, then? - A stranger I’ll remain.

Everyone here is all teeth no tales. Legend has it each glimmering gap is the mark of some back-in-my-day mythology. Pull up a stool and he’ll tell the tale, just let him roll a ciggy first.

T’was a sea of gourmet peanuts and fever-tree light,

Fussing about where to sit,

There was not a McCoy in sight.

I felt out of place. I miss my toothless wonders. I wonder if anyone here has ever accused the quiz machine of cheating and swore he’d get his mate from HMP Wakefield to sort it out. This all got me thinking just how important pubs are to a community despite the bad rep they get for fostering violence and rowdy behaviour. A sunken abyss of 9am pint guzzlers and forgotten dreams. But this isn’t necessarily true. Pubs are the four walls that bring communities together. Where legendary tales are told by glowing lights of the fruit machine. The closure of pubs is the severing of ancient folklore, the demolishing of our heritage, and the dismantling of spaces that are crucial to our collectivity.

Throughout history, pubs have been central to the formation of groundbreaking movements and have been secret meeting points for formidable figures in human rights activism. The Roebuck Inn, Bradford, home to the early Chartist Movement. The Crescent, Salford, where punters supped pints next to the likes of Karl Marx. Across Leeds, Manchester, and Sheffield in the 1950s, pubs like The New Penny, The Cossack, and The New Union were fighting against profound homophobic laws by creating a safe space for queer communities to find solidarity and change the world. These unfathomable feats of human history were not the work of one man sipping on a pint mid-way through a walk. They were the product of communities, ff collective minds and ideas, of regulars, locals, and voices the world had not yet heard. Most of us are well aware of these histories thanks to the blue plaques scattered like daisies in the well watered areas of the country. Unfortunately, some pubs are not protected by the blue plaque and their heritage is at risk of being washed away by rising taxes and decreased funding. The oral histories that constitute our communities and our unique way of life are at risk of being washed away also, meaning we are left only with the stories that are not ours to tell.

Our beloved pubs have survived history. They have made history. They survived a global pandemic and were there to pick us up when our country felt broken, only to be cast aside as monetary assets no longer serving the economy. Yet, you can still buy a pint in parliament for 50% cheaper than the pubs that are forced to close for reasons of economic unsuitability. Why does the government get to monetise our heritage in order to keep their red-faced politicians pissed as farts ready for Question Time?

So, what do we do? 

Across the north, many of you beautiful people have taken to reclaiming your heritage, reinventing it even, finding new ways to keep the spirit in some of our most dingy locals.

I have had the absolute pleasure of speaking to Amy Kitchingman, founder of the Green Carnation Film Club in Leeds, West Yorkshire. As well as being an icon and overall brainbox, Amy is a die-hard film fanatic and holds independent productions very close to her heart. You can often find Green Carnation occupying the top floor of The Cardigan Arms, Kirkstall Road; a beautiful old pub, might I add - the only surviving Tetley Heritage local out of the “Big Three” Burley pubs, along with the Rising Sun (derelict), and the Queen Hotel (now a supermarket). For six quid, you can escape into one of Amy’s chosen productions, surrounded by like-minded mates, in the comfort of an old pub.