Must everything go?

To re-fashion an old joke, the closure of an historic department store feels symbolic - on so many levels.

After more than 150 years in the centre of Cardiff, House of Fraser (formerly Howells) is preparing to switch off the escalators for good.

In truth, for some time it has had the appearance of a moth-eaten cardigan, once saved for “best”. Whole sections closed off, franchises being shuffled around, bits of sticky tape holding down the flooring. A store that had definitely seen better days. I was there for some of them, mainly on '70s Saturdays.

My family's shopping was largely on a rotational basis - mostly Cwmbran (free parking, you see) or sometimes Newport. Both had entry-level department stores, David Evans and Wildings. But then every so often we’d head to Cardiff for a proper day out. My parents would always dress smartly and would certainly never dream of eating in the street, which was a particular bugbear of my father.

We’d take in Howells for a bit of glamour. My dad would buy the occasional smart shirt or perhaps a new cummerbund for his choir concerts. And we might head to the neighbouring department store, David Morgan, so my dressmaking mother could get some material or a reel of cotton from the haberdashery. Cummerbund and haberdashery - two words rooted in a bygone age. Maybe they could re-emerge as one of those contrived new names for a pub. Fancy a swift half in the Cummerbund and Haberdashery?

The current preponderance of eateries was a far-off land in those days. To eat our tea (we never called it dinner), it was either a visit to the department store café or the Louis restaurant, also now gone. A Tardis of a building in which the aproned-waitresses added a Ritz-lite dress code to the plaice and peas special. Then, we’d get back in time to watch the Generation Game or, in all innocence, the Black and White Minstrel Show (some things are best consigned to the dustbin of history).

In adulthood, my visits became less of on occasion and blur into the unremarkable. Though the first and one of the few times I was ever recognised as that bloke off the news was by a fellow customer in Howells carpet department. My quip about wall-to-wall coverage produced a weak smile that matched its merit.

One of my wife’s favourite anecdotes is set in David Morgan which always prided itself on being “The Family Store”. Something she quoted back to the assistant who rudely shouted at her for the behaviour of our three year old son on his escape from the pushchair. He’d been spotted playing with the hat pins. My wife, while pointing out that pins should be above toddler reach, sought a meeting with the manager over the assistant’s manner. Behind his office desk, he offered a sympathetic ear until they both spotted our son emptying out the staff filing cabinet. A mother's moral high ground now reduced to hat-pin level. As he was dragged home, our son repeatedly cried out “I want my daddy”. A conclusion I greeted with a mixture of sympathy and pride.

So with Howells/House of Fraser following a well-trodden path through perfumery and menswear to Closing Down sales, it has an era-ending feel about it. Cardiff’s relative newbie John Lewis now stands as a lone standard-bearer of the traditional department store.

Of course nostalgia is a powerful force, masking any nagging pains with a warm after-glow, like a psychological Deep Heat. (I was going to put Ralgex here but I’m after a younger audience). One day, we’ll look back fondly at how we used to gather round Amazon boxes, diving through the layers of packaging while trying to remember what we’d ordered.

The evolution of online shopping has produced a simplicity and range of options that were unimaginable in the department store heyday.

True, there has been a mini boost to local shopping as a consequence of lifestyle changes during the pandemic. But the high street needs partly to re-invent itself if it is to thrive once more.

And yet the familiar can be resilient. Just as Happy Valley showed the demise of linear TV is far from complete, so the shopping trip can remain a Saturday afternoon experience. And next time out, I might try to buy myself a cummerbund, for old time’s sake. Admittedly, I’m not entirely sure what to do with it.