Arthur Reynolds is a former civil servant and government speechwriter.
Publicans don’t work 80-hour weeks to become millionaires; they do it to put smiles on people’s faces. But crippling increases to business rates, employers’ National Insurance contributions, and the minimum wage mean the sums no longer add up.
This year, two pubs have closed every day. Much has been written on the impact this has on communities, on the meeting places, traditions, and centuries-old buildings that have been lost, on the loneliness epidemic it will exacerbate. While this is a tragedy of epic proportions – most pubs that close once, close for good – another ruinous long-term consequence is being overlooked: the cost to social mobility.
On the watch of a government that promised to put ‘working people at the heart of everything they do”, more than 100,000 jobs have been lost in the hospitality sector. This doesn’t need much explaining: if there are no businesses, there can be no jobs.
Kemi Badenoch is right to argue that this means young people are missing out on jobs that give them confidence and the skills to get on at work. But growing up above a rural gastropub showed me another side of the hospitality industry, the chance it gives for people who don’t excel in the classroom, who can’t think of anything worse than working in an office, to make something of themselves.
My father was severely dyslexic in an era when that just meant you were written off as thick. Becoming a chef allowed him to excel in a field where spelling didn’t matter; where he could be creative, run his own business, champion local farmers, employ local people, and pass on his skills to the next generation.
Both Gordon Ramsay and Marco Pierre White grew up on council estates, and a number of young people who walked into our pub from humble beginnings have gone on to achieve great things. A lad who started washing dishes at 16 – incredibly shy and unsure where he wanted to go in life – is now the Head Chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant, attending glamorous award ceremonies and hanging out with the country’s best chefs.
I was studying for my A-Levels when he turned up, dreaming of university and the bright lights of the city: he’ll make more money as a great cook, and make more people happy, than I ever will tapping away behind a desk.
Another who began as a teenage waitress went on to become a hostess on luxury yachts – living a life many could only dream of. Some have travelled the world as private chefs, others have stayed local, using their skills to command good wages (many a chef earns more than their employers) and get on the property ladder.
Without pubs, and the opportunities they offer, none of this could have happened. In their determination to squeeze every ounce of tax from them, Labour risks breaking an industry that offers a lifeline to thousands of young people who know the classroom isn’t for them.
Granted, the industry needs to sell itself better: the camaraderie, the adrenaline, the sense of satisfaction from doing something for someone else is unmatched. Yet all too many people hear about is bad bosses and long hours. But if the industry disappears, there will be nothing left to reform.
There are common-sense steps a business-friendly government could take today. Inflation-busting increases in the minimum wage for young people must be stopped. Why would any employer take a chance on an 18-year old with no skills, when it costs marginally more to hire an experienced older worker?
A VAT cut for the hospitality industry is also essential. Our restaurants and pubs pay it at 20 per cent, compared to an average of nine per cent on the continent – snatching away whatever little profit many make and denying them the opportunity to invest time and resources on new staff.
Regrettably, I cannot see this government changing course while Zack Polanski courts young people with snake-oil promises of a £15 an hour minimum wage. Besides, while more than 200 Labour MPs are ex-charity workers, lobbyists or political staff; none have run pubs. Like Polanski, they see profit as something to tax and redistribute, rather than something to reinvest in jobs, skills and opportunity.
The Left talks a good game on social mobility. But they cannot champion it while quietly dismantling the very industries that make it possible.
Arthur Reynolds is a former civil servant and government speechwriter.
Publicans don’t work 80-hour weeks to become millionaires; they do it to put smiles on people’s faces. But crippling increases to business rates, employers’ National Insurance contributions, and the minimum wage mean the sums no longer add up.
This year, two pubs have closed every day. Much has been written on the impact this has on communities, on the meeting places, traditions, and centuries-old buildings that have been lost, on the loneliness epidemic it will exacerbate. While this is a tragedy of epic proportions – most pubs that close once, close for good – another ruinous long-term consequence is being overlooked: the cost to social mobility.
On the watch of a government that promised to put ‘working people at the heart of everything they do”, more than 100,000 jobs have been lost in the hospitality sector. This doesn’t need much explaining: if there are no businesses, there can be no jobs.
Kemi Badenoch is right to argue that this means young people are missing out on jobs that give them confidence and the skills to get on at work. But growing up above a rural gastropub showed me another side of the hospitality industry, the chance it gives for people who don’t excel in the classroom, who can’t think of anything worse than working in an office, to make something of themselves.
My father was severely dyslexic in an era when that just meant you were written off as thick. Becoming a chef allowed him to excel in a field where spelling didn’t matter; where he could be creative, run his own business, champion local farmers, employ local people, and pass on his skills to the next generation.
Both Gordon Ramsay and Marco Pierre White grew up on council estates, and a number of young people who walked into our pub from humble beginnings have gone on to achieve great things. A lad who started washing dishes at 16 – incredibly shy and unsure where he wanted to go in life – is now the Head Chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant, attending glamorous award ceremonies and hanging out with the country’s best chefs.
I was studying for my A-Levels when he turned up, dreaming of university and the bright lights of the city: he’ll make more money as a great cook, and make more people happy, than I ever will tapping away behind a desk.
Another who began as a teenage waitress went on to become a hostess on luxury yachts – living a life many could only dream of. Some have travelled the world as private chefs, others have stayed local, using their skills to command good wages (many a chef earns more than their employers) and get on the property ladder.
Without pubs, and the opportunities they offer, none of this could have happened. In their determination to squeeze every ounce of tax from them, Labour risks breaking an industry that offers a lifeline to thousands of young people who know the classroom isn’t for them.
Granted, the industry needs to sell itself better: the camaraderie, the adrenaline, the sense of satisfaction from doing something for someone else is unmatched. Yet all too many people hear about is bad bosses and long hours. But if the industry disappears, there will be nothing left to reform.
There are common-sense steps a business-friendly government could take today. Inflation-busting increases in the minimum wage for young people must be stopped. Why would any employer take a chance on an 18-year old with no skills, when it costs marginally more to hire an experienced older worker?
A VAT cut for the hospitality industry is also essential. Our restaurants and pubs pay it at 20 per cent, compared to an average of nine per cent on the continent – snatching away whatever little profit many make and denying them the opportunity to invest time and resources on new staff.
Regrettably, I cannot see this government changing course while Zack Polanski courts young people with snake-oil promises of a £15 an hour minimum wage. Besides, while more than 200 Labour MPs are ex-charity workers, lobbyists or political staff; none have run pubs. Like Polanski, they see profit as something to tax and redistribute, rather than something to reinvest in jobs, skills and opportunity.
The Left talks a good game on social mobility. But they cannot champion it while quietly dismantling the very industries that make it possible.