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It wasn’t just the convenience or the bargain prices. It was the sheer pleasure of a leisurely mooch up and down the aisles; sticking a scrubbing brush, a bird feeder, a couple of pasta jars, some pan scourers and a pack of highlighter pens in your basket because, you know, they’ll come in handy at some point.
Wilko was the place to go for the everyday stuff that makes the world go around – the cleaning products, DIY essentials, stationery, gardening tools, pet accessories, arts and craft materials and soft furnishings. It was always there if you needed some novelty stickers, a sack of compost, anti-bacterial wipes, screwdrivers, a frying pan, a tin of emulsion, barbecue tongs, a Christmas stocking-filler or a new clothes horse. It was the one-stop-shop for life’s milestones, from birthday parties to a new term at school.
You could always depend on Wilko. But for how much longer? Last week the historic homeware chain fell into administration, and bidders were given a deadline of yesterday to table offers to buy the retailer. At the time of writing this, no rescue deal had been announced.
For more than 90 years Wilko – or Wilkinson’s as I still think of it – has been something of a national treasure on the high street. Since it opened in 1930 as a hardware shop in Leicester it has supplied just about every store cupboard staple that we have needed for our homes and gardens, with some random treats thrown in.
The family business expanded to 400 stores, with more than 12,000 workers. As home ownership grew in the 20th century, and with it DIY, Wilko evolved to meet the household budgets of ordinary working people.
When I bought my first house, I discovered the simple pleasures of shopping for everyday stuff. Wilko was the place to go for a mop and bucket, storage boxes, bathroom bleach, chopping boards, cake tins and a multi-pack of kitchen roll.Over the years I’ve used it for all kinds of things. You want party balloons? Paint for your garden fence? A travel kettle? A seasonal wreath? A beanbag cushion for your student digs? A clip frame for the novelty photo montage for your co-worker’s leaving gift? A Saturday afternoon mooch, filling a basket with things you don’t exactly need but might as well have anyway? Wilko, every time.
I don’t get that kind of shopping high online. Clicking a button just isn’t the same as wandering through Wilkinson’s and laying eyes on the washing-up bowl that’s the exact colour you’ve been searching for, or the tea light wax burner you hadn’t realised you needed.
A high street without Wilko is unthinkable. Sadly, it is the accessibility and local charm of these stores, located on smalltown streets, that is a factor in their downfall. Out-of-town retail parks, those soulless palaces of consumerism, have lured shoppers and their cars. Supermarkets too have spread out into home and garden-ware, enticing us with pots, pans, electrical goods and patio accessories.
Wilko customers across the country have declared that they’re heartbroken at the chain going into administration.
But, as the Washington Post no less has pointed out, “the sad reality is, Britons just didn’t shop in all these establishments regularly enough to make a difference to their futures”.
We have a lot of affection for stores like Wilko and Woolworths, but it seems we don’t use them enough anymore. I don’t shop much online, and I rarely use retail parks because I don’t like them. But even I, a Wilkinson’s devotee, haven’t used the store so much in recent years. The loss of stores like Wilko will change our high streets forever. Will they be the high streets we deserve?
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