In Interview : “What Can We Learn from the Past for the Future of the High Streets”
Series 1 / Episode 1 of 10
Taking inspirations from other already aired programs where guests are asked who would like to have dinner with or be on a desert island with, Our High Streets have created a whole series of panelist interviews by using the power of AI. We hope you enjoy and find while they are a bit of fun to do, we hope they are also open to create thoughtful conversation on how we look at pioneers from the past into today’s climate.
In this first interview, we have the following panelists:
Harry Gordon Selfridge (1858–1947) – Founder of Selfridges (1909), who revolutionised retail by making shopping an experience rather than a chore, introducing window displays, open counters, and customer service innovations.
John James Sainsbury (1844–1928) – Founder of Sainsbury’s, who helped shift grocery shopping from markets to organised retail premises, introducing cleanliness, quality, and value in high street food retailing.
Ebenezer Howard (1850–1928) – Founder of the Garden City Movement, which shaped many British towns with an emphasis on planned, self-contained communities integrating green space, homes, and commerce.
Jane Jacobs (1916–2006) – While American, her influence on UK urban planning is immense. Her advocacy for people-centred placemaking and vibrant street life inspired UK regeneration efforts from the 1970s onwards.
Sir Patrick Abercrombie (1879–1957) – Urban planner responsible for the 1944 Greater London Plan, which influenced postwar urban regeneration and suburban expansion around high street centres.
The Interview:
“Good evening, and welcome to our special programme: ‘What Can We Learn from the Past for the Future of the High Streets’. I’m your host, Christina and tonight we have a truly extraordinary panel — visionaries and pioneers from the past 200 years, brought together through the wonders of imagination and historical research, to discuss the future of the UK’s high streets.
Joining us are: retail revolutionary Harry Gordon Selfridge, the man behind the grocery empire John James Sainsbury, visionary planner Ebenezer Howard, placemaking advocate Jane Jacobs, and post-war urban planner Sir Patrick Abercrombie.
Please panel, introduce yourselves to our audience including a bit about your professionalism.
Harry Selfridge
Good afternoon. I’m Harry Gordon Selfridge, though most people simply know me as the man behind Selfridges. I was born in Wisconsin, USA, in 1858, and before moving to London, I spent over 25 years at Marshall Field’s in Chicago, helping turn it into one of the most innovative department stores in America. But it was here, in the United Kingdom, where I truly found my calling.
In 1909, I opened Selfridges on Oxford Street, London. My vision wasn’t just to sell goods—it was to create an experience. I believed that shopping should be a pleasure, not a chore. The traditional British retail scene at the time was stiff and transactional. You’d walk into a shop, ask for an item, and leave. There was no room for wonder or discovery.
I wanted to change that. Selfridges was the first store in London to feature open displays, allowing customers to browse freely without pressure. We had elegant architecture, lavish window displays, and departments that catered not just to needs but to aspirations—beauty counters, bookstores, cafés, and even a rooftop terrace. I once said, “The customer is always right”—not as a slogan, but as a principle.
I also brought theatre into retail. I used marketing like no one else at the time. We held exhibitions inside the store—such as Louis Blériot’s monoplane, just days after he flew across the English Channel. People came not just to shop, but to see. Selfridges became a cultural centre as much as a commercial one.
Beyond business, I had a deep belief in the role of the high street as a community space. Retail wasn’t just about selling—it was about enriching city life. That ethos, I believe, is more relevant today than ever before.
John James Sainsbury
Thank you, it’s a pleasure to be here. My name is John James Sainsbury. I was born in 1844 in London’s Clerkenwell, and I founded Sainsbury’s with my wife Mary Ann in 1869, starting with a single shop in Drury Lane. We were grocers by trade, and our first store specialised in fresh foods—particularly butter, eggs, and milk.
Our guiding principle was simple: “Quality at low prices.” It wasn’t just a slogan. At a time when adulterated food was common—where sand might be added to sugar or water to milk—we made a pledge: everything sold in our shop would be pure, properly weighed, and honestly priced. That may sound basic today, but in Victorian London, it earned us trust—and that trust built an empire.
As demand grew, we expanded through London and the South East. What made us different was that we retained control over the quality of our goods. We built our own supply chain, worked directly with farmers and dairies, and developed our own production facilities. This helped keep prices down and consistency high.
I also took great pride in the design and order of our stores. Each one was spotless and efficient. Customers were greeted with smartly dressed staff, marble counters, and tiled walls that reflected light and hygiene. We were modernisers, even if we didn’t always shout about it.
More than a grocer, I saw myself as a servant to the community. I grew up poor. I knew what it meant to stretch a shilling. If I could help a family eat well for less, I felt I was doing something worthwhile. That belief still guides the company to this day.
Ebenezer Howard
Good day to you. My name is Ebenezer Howard. I was born in 1850 and originally trained as a shorthand writer—hardly a likely path to urban planning, but life is full of twists. In 1898, I published a book that would come to define my legacy: “To-Morrow: A Peaceful Path to Real Reform”—later reissued as “Garden Cities of To-Morrow.”
The Garden City Movement emerged from my deep concern about the appalling conditions in overcrowded, industrial cities. London, by the late 19th century, was choking on its own growth. I imagined a new kind of settlement: one that combined the best of town and country. Not a suburb, nor a rural hamlet, but a self-contained community surrounded by greenbelt, with homes, jobs, and services in balance.
The idea took hold. In 1903, the first Garden City, Letchworth, was founded, followed later by Welwyn Garden City. These weren’t just housing estates—they were holistic places designed for healthy, dignified living. They had tree-lined avenues, community centres, green spaces, local industry, and—crucially—high streets as social and commercial hearts.
Though I was not an architect or planner by training, I worked with brilliant minds like Raymond Unwin and Barry Parker to turn theory into townscapes. My goal was reform, not revolution. I didn’t want to demolish London, but to offer alternatives—to decentralise population and create new models of civic life.
I believed in cooperative ownership, local democracy, and the redistribution of land values for community benefit. Many of these ideas live on today in debates around new towns, eco-villages, and sustainable development.
Jane Jacobs
Hello, I’m Jane Jacobs. I was born in 1916 in Pennsylvania, but spent much of my adult life in New York City and, later, Toronto. I was not an architect or a planner by degree—I was a journalist, an observer, a citizen—and perhaps that’s why my work struck a chord. I looked at cities not from the top down, but from the street up.
My 1961 book, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, was a direct challenge to the planning orthodoxy of the time—especially the bulldozer mentality of urban renewal, highways, and sterile zoning. I believed cities were not machines to be engineered but ecosystems of human activity—complex, vibrant, and full of spontaneous interaction.
At the heart of my thinking is the idea of the sidewalk ballet—the daily dance of people walking, watching, talking, trading. This informal choreography is what makes neighbourhoods safe, lively, and adaptable. Zoning that separates shops from homes from workplaces destroys this vitality. We need mixed use, short blocks, varied buildings, and above all, eyes on the street.
Though my roots are in North America, my work influenced placemakers around the world—including here in the UK. In places like Brixton, Bristol, and Brighton, you’ll see my fingerprints in the fight for community-led regeneration, high street revival, and the right to the city.
I wasn’t against development—I was against thoughtless destruction. My call was for cities that honour their people, their histories, and their street life.
Sir Patrick Abercrombie
Thank you. I’m Sir Patrick Abercrombie, professor of town planning and the chief author of both the 1943 County of London Plan and the 1944 Greater London Plan. I was born in 1879 and spent much of my career trying to bring logic, order, and beauty to the chaotic sprawl of 20th-century urban growth.
My work came at a time of great upheaval. The Blitz had left large parts of London in ruins. We had a once-in-a-generation opportunity to reimagine the city. With my colleagues, I drafted comprehensive plans to address congestion, poor housing, and unbalanced growth.
My 1944 plan called for a green belt to contain urban expansion, the decentralisation of population into new towns, and the rebuilding of war-damaged high streets and civic centres with better infrastructure and amenities. The goal was a more liveable, equitable city—one that balanced mobility with community.
I was deeply influenced by both the Garden City Movement and classic urban ideals. My vision was rooted in zoning and structure—clearly defined neighbourhoods, each with its own commercial centre, green space, and public services. The high street, in this model, was the heart of local life.
My critics argued that I was too prescriptive, too top-down—and perhaps, with hindsight, I might agree. But at the time, we needed structure. Postwar Britain couldn’t afford more chaos. We needed bold plans, and I offered one.
Christina
Thank you, Lets get down to the first question. “What were the main challenges you had to overcome to start your business or project?”
JOHN JAMES SAINSBURY:
The challenges I faced weren’t glamorous, but they were very real. My wife Mary Ann and I opened our first shop in 1869 in Drury Lane, one of London’s most densely populated and poverty-stricken districts. It was noisy, overcrowded, and competitive. There were dozens of other traders selling similar goods—meat, milk, eggs, butter—and we didn’t have money for fine displays or advertisements.
What we did have was a deep commitment to quality and honesty. At that time, many grocers routinely watered down milk, mixed margarine with butter, and sold meat of dubious origin. I resolved from the start that our shop would only sell products we’d serve our own family. That was a simple but revolutionary idea at the time.
But sourcing consistently high-quality goods wasn’t easy. So I had to build relationships directly with suppliers, farmers, and producers. I didn’t want to rely on middlemen. I travelled across England to find dairies that would supply us with clean, rich milk and honest butter. Later, we began producing many of our own goods to maintain control.
Another challenge was trust. In poor areas, customers couldn’t afford to gamble on poor produce. One mistake, and they wouldn’t come back. I made sure our prices were fair, our scales honest, and our shop spotless. Mary Ann and I were known for personally sweeping the floors and checking every delivery. That hands-on ethic built our reputation.
As we grew, opening new branches presented a new difficulty: maintaining consistency. Every shop needed to reflect our values. I developed systems for training staff, managing inventory, and supervising cleanliness. Eventually, we centralised much of our distribution to ensure quality control.
Perhaps the greatest challenge of all was keeping the soul of the business intact while scaling. For us, retail wasn’t about profit—it was about public service. That mission guided every decision we made.
JANE JACOBS:
My work wasn’t born from institutional power—it was born from fighting it. The biggest challenge I faced was standing up against powerful forces—planners, developers, and politicians—who saw cities as engineering problems rather than living places.
In the 1950s and ’60s, urban renewal was destroying the soul of communities. Highways were ploughing through neighbourhoods. Planners like Robert Moses proposed tearing down vast swathes of New York—including the area I lived in, Greenwich Village—to make way for expressways.
I had no degree in planning. I was a writer and a mother. But I began to document what I saw every day: the strength of street life, the natural order of informal economies, the safety created not by police but by neighbours watching over one another.
The biggest challenge was credibility. My voice was not welcome in planning circles. I was seen as a nuisance, a housewife meddling in big men’s affairs. But I persisted. I spoke up at hearings. I organised communities. I showed that these neighbourhoods were not slums—they were the very fabric of the city.
My book, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, challenged almost every planning assumption of the time. It was called controversial, even dangerous. But I grounded it in observation, not ideology. That’s what gave it power.
Later, when my family moved to Toronto during the Vietnam War, I continued the work. There, too, we stopped expressways, fought for neighbourhood control, and preserved local high streets.
The lesson? Sometimes the greatest challenge is being heard. But cities are too important to leave to experts alone. If you want change, you must speak—and organise.
HARRY GORDON SELFRIDGE:
The most significant challenge I faced when starting Selfridges was convincing the British public—and indeed, British investors and retail professionals—that shopping could be pleasurable, not merely practical. In early 20th-century London, retail was extremely conservative. Stores were often dark, uninviting, and entirely transactional. Customers weren’t encouraged to browse. In fact, many retailers still kept their goods behind counters, as if customers couldn’t be trusted with them.
Coming from Chicago, I had seen first-hand how department stores like Marshall Field’s (where I worked for over two decades) were transforming retail into a destination experience. I helped develop ideas like the customer being “always right,” elegant displays, and a theatre of commerce. But when I arrived in London in 1906, these ideas were seen as foreign novelties. People doubted whether they would work here.
Another considerable obstacle was securing the right location and financing. I was determined to build Selfridges on Oxford Street, which, while busy, lacked the prestige of Bond Street at the time. To many, it was an odd choice—almost provincial. But I saw its potential: excellent footfall, expanding underground connections, and proximity to the West End.
I raised over £400,000—an enormous sum in those days—through a mix of private investment and personal capital. I brought over American architects and planners, and had to work closely with London authorities to ensure the building’s ambitious design would meet codes. We created a seven-storey structure, one of the largest steel-frame buildings in Europe, with luxurious façades, wide aisles, and the then-innovative use of electric lighting throughout.
Then came the challenge of changing customer behaviour. In our early weeks, many people walked in hesitantly. So I made sure that the environment was welcoming. We trained our staff to be helpful, not pushy. We allowed free movement, introduced in-store demonstrations and exhibitions, and opened a rooftop terrace. We even added a restaurant and reading rooms so people could stay longer.
One of our first major successes was the display of Blériot’s monoplane after his historic Channel flight. That drew thousands to the store—not just for shopping, but for inspiration. That was the key: we had to make the store a place people wanted to be, not just a shop.
These challenges taught me that innovation doesn’t always come from inventing something new—it often means reimagining what already exists. I didn’t invent shopping. I simply believed it could be more human, more artistic, and more aspirational. That belief carried us through.
SIR PATRICK ABERCROMBIE
My challenge was daunting in scale: to rebuild a city traumatised by war, and to do so with both vision and practicality.
London in the 1940s was a city in ruins. The Blitz had destroyed entire neighbourhoods. Infrastructure was overwhelmed. The housing stock was inadequate. Yet we couldn’t simply patch things up—we had to reimagine what London could be.
My first difficulty was managing political and public expectations. People wanted rapid reconstruction, but I argued for a master plan. This required patience, coordination, and immense amounts of data. With John Forshaw, I authored the County of London Plan in 1943, and the Greater London Plan in 1944. These laid out a framework for decentralisation, new towns, green belts, and better public transport.
Another challenge was balancing heritage with modernity. London had centuries of organic development—winding streets, mixed-use quarters—but also dysfunction. My plans included zoning, arterial roads, and new civic centres. Critics feared this would sterilise London. In hindsight, they had a point.
We also faced massive budget constraints. Postwar Britain was bankrupt. Much of our vision had to be delayed, scaled down, or adapted. Yet elements endured: the creation of new towns like Stevenage and Harlow, the expansion of green belts, and the reshaping of local centres around high streets.
The greatest lesson was this: planning is negotiation, not blueprinting. You must guide, not dictate. And always—always—plan for people, not just structures.
EBENEZER HOWARD:
My greatest challenge was that I was not, in the conventional sense, “qualified” to propose a radical overhaul of urban life. I was a clerk, a shorthand writer—not a planner, not an architect. Yet I saw how industrial cities were failing their people: overcrowded slums, filthy air, no access to green space. I believed a better balance between town and country was possible.
The first hurdle was getting people to take me seriously. My 1898 book, To-Morrow: A Peaceful Path to Real Reform, was self-published. It proposed a wholly new kind of community: a self-contained town surrounded by a greenbelt, combining housing, industry, and agriculture. It was neither utopian nor purely economic—it was social architecture.
Convincing investors was incredibly difficult. Most thought the idea too idealistic, and some feared it was anti-capitalist. But I wasn’t against enterprise; I just believed the land value uplift from development should benefit the community, not private landlords. This was a radical idea.
To move from concept to action, I helped form the Garden Cities Association and sought allies who shared my vision. Slowly, momentum grew. In 1903, we secured enough support to found Letchworth Garden City, our first prototype.
The project was beset with difficulties: slow funding, limited housing demand, resistance from traditional planners. But we persisted. The design by Parker and Unwin embodied the principles beautifully: tree-lined streets, walkable districts, employment within reach, and a vibrant central boulevard.
Our next challenge came with scaling. Letchworth proved the concept, but could it be repeated? Welwyn Garden City followed in 1920, refining the model. Yet the state was slow to adopt these principles widely until post-WWII.
My challenges taught me this: social progress needs both vision and practicality. Dreamers must also be doers. You must build coalitions, prove your model, and stand firm in your principles.
Christina
Moving on to the next question. “If you could go back in time, is there anything you would change to improve the future of your work?”
SIR PATRICK ABERCROMBIE:
If I could return to the drafting table, I would pay more attention to existing communities, rather than treating the city primarily as a canvas for improvement. I approached planning as a form of large-scale order—zoning, circulation, population dispersal. While those are necessary in chaotic postwar conditions, they can also overlook the richness of organic city life.
For example, in trying to improve air quality and reduce congestion, we often proposed radical displacements—bulldozing inner-city areas and moving people to new estates on the outskirts. In hindsight, this fragmented community networks, undermined local economies, and weakened the social vitality of many high streets.
I would also rethink the degree to which we segregated uses—putting shops in one zone, houses in another, industry elsewhere. That was the fashion at the time, influenced by the Modernist movement. But cities thrive on intermingling. Today’s planners know this well, and I would support a return to more mixed-use development and walkable neighbourhoods.
And, like Mr Howard, I wish I had pushed harder for participatory planning. Our vision was noble, but our processes were top-down. If we had engaged residents more meaningfully, the plans might have had greater social resonance—and perhaps fewer unintended consequences.
JANE JACOBS:
There’s not much I would change about my arguments or principles—but I would absolutely change the way we communicated and scaled those ideas. The grassroots victories we won—saving neighbourhoods, fighting highways, preserving mixed-use streets—were monumental. But the professional planning world often dismissed them as one-offs, not systemic solutions.
Looking back, I wish we had been more deliberate in creating networks of action, connecting citizen-led planning across cities, countries, even continents. A movement is stronger when it is organised. My writing inspired many, but more infrastructure—training, advocacy, legal tools—would have helped people resist destructive developments not just in New York or Toronto, but in London, Manchester, and beyond.
I also think we were a bit too focused on fighting bad things—slum clearance, superblocks, top-down zoning—and not enough on building alternatives. We showed what to oppose, but not always what to create in its place. A new generation of placemakers has taken that on, and I applaud them. But had we articulated clearer models for housing equity, walkable street design, or small-business-friendly policy, our legacy might have translated into more tangible structures.
Lastly, I would have built stronger bridges with planners, even those I disagreed with. Dialogue might not have prevented all missteps, but it would have humanised the debate.
EBENEZER HOWARD:
If I could revisit the foundations of the Garden City movement, I would strengthen the legal and financial mechanisms that ensured community ownership of land value. You see, one of the key principles was that any increase in land value resulting from development would return to the community—not private speculators. This was a bold idea, but the reality is that it was only partially achieved.
Over time, even Letchworth began to drift from its ideals, especially after my death. Housing became more market-driven, and the cooperative ethos waned. If I had built firmer safeguards—perhaps through long-term trusts or stronger legislation—the principles of community stewardship might have endured more robustly.
Another change would be a more deliberate embrace of mixed-use development. While our towns had employment zones, residential quarters, and civic areas, the integration between them could have been better. Later generations rightly questioned the separation of functions in planning. Had we promoted more diverse, layered uses within neighbourhoods, the vibrancy of our town centres—and their high streets—could have been greater.
Lastly, I would have worked harder to bring people from all walks of life into the planning process—not just idealists and professionals. I regret that we didn’t create a more inclusive and participatory model, which would have made our towns more adaptable and democratically managed.
JOHN JAMES SAINSBURY:
One of my great regrets is that we did not move into self-service retailing sooner. We clung to the counter-service model for too long. While it provided personal attention, it also limited customer freedom and store efficiency. By the time Sainsbury’s began rolling out self-service in the 1950s—after my time—it was clear that customers appreciated the ability to choose at their own pace.
If I had been more open to innovation in that area, we might have led that transition rather than followed. It would have allowed us to better serve the post-war generation and helped shape food retail for the new era.
Another change I would make is to deepen local community ties. We always had strong links with customers, but we could have gone further—supporting local producers more systematically, perhaps even forming co-operative supply relationships. That way, we could have created a food system more rooted in locality and trust, which would have been more resilient in the long term.
I also think about the role of women in the business. While many of our shop assistants and packers were women, their progression was limited. If I could go back, I would push for true gender equality in leadership and ownership far earlier. It would have made our business not only more just, but stronger and more forward-looking.
HARRY GORDON SELFRIDGE:
If I could return to those pivotal early years of Selfridges with the knowledge I now have, I would invest even more deeply in training and elevating the status of retail workers. At the time, while I insisted on customer service and attention to detail, the people who delivered this—our sales assistants, demonstrators, and floor managers—were still often seen by society as mere employees, not professionals in their own right.
Retail was, and still is, a people business. We created magnificent architecture and dazzling displays, but the real magic happened at the human level. If we had formalised training, career progression, and wages with greater foresight, we might have transformed retail employment into a lifelong profession with the prestige it deserves.
Another change I would make involves diversification of the model. The department store was an innovation of its time, but I saw it too much as a monument—a fixed structure rather than a flexible idea. Looking at how digital and mixed-use spaces evolved, I wish I had laid the groundwork for satellite versions of Selfridges in smaller urban centres, connected not just by rail but by community purpose.
Lastly, I would have pushed harder for sustainability and inclusivity. In hindsight, the heavy consumerism we celebrated in the early 20th century—though exciting—also set a precedent for throwaway culture. I would have used Selfridges as a platform for more responsible consumption, perhaps showcasing ethical goods or supporting emerging local designers as part of the store’s mission.
Christina
How we could have hindsight!, Next question is. “If you could time travel to today in 2025, what lessons from your time could we use to help us in your field of professionalism?”
JANE JACOBS:
Let the people shape their places. Don’t bulldoze what works. Listen to the street: to small shop owners, mums at the school gate, kids on bikes, and old men feeding pigeons. They know what makes a place tick.
Top-down planning is still too dominant. You need bottom-up energy — citizen assemblies, co-design, community land trusts. Let neighbourhoods evolve organically, with character and complexity. The lesson from my time is: cherish the messy bits. They’re the lifeblood of place.
EBENEZER HOWARD:
Plan for people — not just profit. The cities of my time suffered from industrial pollution, overcrowding, and squalor. I envisioned places that balanced town and country: with clean air, affordable homes, jobs nearby, and public green space.
The climate crisis today makes my work more relevant than ever. You need compact, walkable communities, low-impact transport, and green infrastructure. Garden cities weren’t just pretty — they were practical. The 15-minute neighbourhood you speak of today? That’s very much in my spirit.
HARRY GORDON SELFRIDGE:
Make shopping fun again! People don’t just want goods — they want experiences. In my day, we had fashion shows, live events, art exhibits inside the store. The department store wasn’t just a place to buy — it was where people went to be.
Today’s high streets must remember that: give people a reason to come. Celebrate the senses. Let people touch, taste, and be surprised. Don’t hide the magic behind algorithms. Use your windows to tell stories — make every street a stage.
JOHN JAMES SAINSBURY:
The lesson from my time is trust. Our customers returned week after week because they knew the butter would be fresh, the eggs honest, the prices fair. That loyalty is hard-won and easily lost.
Retailers today should never chase novelty at the cost of reliability. Be transparent. Know your suppliers. Honour your staff. A good high street is built on the handshake as much as the sale.
SIR PATRICK ABERCROMBIE:
Structure and vision still matter. Chaos is not creativity. But vision must be flexible. My plans aimed to shape cities for generations, but today’s planners must accommodate rapid change — from climate migration to remote working.
You still need coordination — for transport, housing, green belts. But do it in partnership with local voices. Blend regional planning with local flavour. Think ahead — but don’t forget who lives there today.
Christina
Plan, Trust, Loyalty and fun sounds like key themes here!, moving on to the next question. “With all the challenges on High Streets in the UK in 2025, what are your views and what can we do to improve them?”
HARRY GORDON SELFRIDGE:
The high street of 2025 faces many complex challenges, but to me, they reflect a single truth: we have forgotten that shopping is a human activity before it is a commercial one.
Today’s high streets often look tired, confused, or hollowed out. Chains have gone, footfall is uneven, and local businesses are struggling under rising costs. But the biggest problem, I believe, is one of identity. Many high streets do not know who they are serving, or why they matter. In my time, a store had to stand for something: excitement, quality, reliability, fashion, discovery. That’s what kept people coming back. Today, a high street must rediscover its soul.
To revive them, I believe we must start with a renewed focus on people, place, and pleasure. That means curating the high street experience with care. Shops should not merely sell — they should entertain, inspire, and serve. Why not offer live demonstrations? Spaces for children? Showrooms where people can touch and feel before buying online? The high street must embrace theatricality again.
Collaboration is key. I once brought artists and scientists into Selfridges; today, why not invite schools, local makers, theatre groups, and startups to take part in the high street? Give them space to showcase and sell. Let the town centre reflect the creativity of its people, not just the financial might of national brands.
We must also remove friction. Parking, poor public transport, high rents, inconsistent planning — these kill spontaneity. A high street should feel like the natural choice on a weekend afternoon, not a chore.
Lastly, I say this: invest in your shopkeepers. Train them well. Give them a reason to stay. Make them proud. A smiling, confident staff member is worth more than any clever window display — and trust me, I cared a lot about my windows.
JOHN JAMES SAINSBURY:
I’ve walked the high streets of today, and I must say, they remind me a bit of the East End of my early days — rough around the edges, certainly, but full of potential if one looks closely enough. The challenges you face — digital competition, inflation, high rents, and declining footfall — are real. But to my mind, the solution lies in returning to principles of service, integrity, and community relevance.
First and foremost, the high street must meet essential needs. During my time, our stores thrived because we sold the staples — butter, milk, bacon — but with exceptional quality and fair pricing. Today, many town centres lack butchers, greengrocers, fishmongers — trades that not only provide necessities but also draw repeat, loyal custom. We should encourage the return of independent food retailers, and not just cafés or takeaways. These shops become anchors, both economically and socially.
Second, I urge councils and landlords to show leniency and patience. In the 1870s and 1880s, I was able to open more shops only because landlords believed in our values and saw that we improved their streets. Today, sky-high commercial rents and inflexible leases are suffocating new businesses before they have a chance. What we need are shared-risk models and incentives for local ownership. I would like to see councils act as custodians, not just regulators — perhaps owning property and letting it affordably to the right kinds of tenants.
The high street must also adapt to how people live now. Shorter working weeks, hybrid jobs, environmental concerns — these mean people are more neighbourhood-centric than before. So, make the high street walkable, shaded, and social. Add benches, fountains, places to sit and chat, and people will come for more than just shopping.
The path forward is not to rebuild the past, but to revive its spirit: local pride, mutual trust, and everyday excellence.
EBENEZER HOWARD:
The high street, to me, must always be more than a retail zone — it should be the beating heart of civic life. In 2025, many town centres have lost this role. They have become over-retailed, under-populated, or overtaken by retail parks and virtual commerce. But I do not believe they are doomed. Rather, they need reintegrating into the full life of the community.
The answer is to re-embed the high street within a complete urban ecology. It must contain homes, workplaces, gardens, schools, halls, clinics, and shops — not segregated, but side by side. I would propose that regeneration efforts must begin with mixed-use development, ensuring people live near where they shop and have other reasons to visit the high street beyond consumption.
Additionally, we must prioritise land stewardship. In Letchworth and Welwyn, we operated under land trusts, which captured increases in land value for public reinvestment. In 2025, this principle is more critical than ever. Too many high streets suffer from absentee landlords and speculative ownership. If communities, councils, or cooperatives could own or manage their high street properties, we could guarantee long-term stewardship and reinvest profits into local amenities.
Moreover, high streets must return to serving the ordinary needs of ordinary people — not just as consumers, but as citizens. There must be meeting rooms, doctors’ surgeries, art spaces, and allotments nearby. A place to be well, to learn, and to contribute.
If we view the high street as infrastructure for everyday life, not simply retail, it will find new strength and resilience.
JANE JACOBS:
My thoughts? The biggest problem with today’s high streets is that they’ve been treated as shopping centres, not neighbourhoods. And neighbourhoods are living, breathing, unpredictable things. The moment you try to control them too tightly — with zoning, with homogenous shopfronts, with monoculture retail — they start to die.
You want to fix the high street in 2025? Stop designing it for cars, corporations, and control. Start designing it for people, purpose, and possibility.
Let’s talk diversity. You don’t need 20 clothing stores or chain coffee shops on one block. You need a childminder, a shoemaker, a newsagent, a bike repairer, a café with a back room for community events. You need buildings of different ages and sizes — old ones that are cheap to rent and new ones that bring in investment. That physical and economic mix is what allows new businesses to emerge.
And then there’s the question of power. So much planning today happens to communities, not with them. Regeneration becomes gentrification, investment becomes displacement. Local people must have a say. Better still, give them ownership — community land trusts, local business improvement districts with democratic input, neighbourhood planning boards.
Finally, the street must be safe and full of life. That doesn’t mean more policing — it means more eyes on the street, more overlapping uses, more reasons for people to be out at all hours. The high street should be where someone meets their friend, bumps into their neighbour, sees a busker, visits their aunt.
It should feel like a place where anything could happen — because that’s what makes cities magical.
SIR PATRICK ABERCROMBIE:
The high street’s predicament in 2025 is deeply intertwined with patterns of land use, transportation, and governance. In my era, the bombed-out ruins of London forced us to think big. Today’s ruins are subtler — empty units, bland architecture, and disconnected communities — but they demand the same level of vision.
To me, the first priority is strategic coherence. Far too often, regeneration is piecemeal. A few buildings get refurbished, a plaza is repaved, but without a wider regional plan, it achieves little. I would urge today’s policymakers to revive the principle of integrated planning. A high street must be connected — by rail, by footpath, by bus — to a constellation of neighbourhoods, not isolated like an island.
Second, let us restore civic architecture to its rightful place. A high street must contain more than shops. There should be town halls, libraries, youth centres, clinics — and these must be built with dignity. Too much of modern development is cheap and cynical. People respond to buildings that respect them.
I also advocate for repopulation of the urban core. Allow people to live above shops. Build modest flats for young people, elderly people, and key workers. Create town centres that support life after 6pm. With residential density comes vitality.
Lastly, we must remember that a plan is only as good as the people it serves. Ask them. Involve them. Empower them. Planning must evolve from a top-down process to one that is democratic, inclusive, and iterative.
With courage, design, and cooperation, the high street can once again become the democratic space par excellence.
Christina
Some really good thoughts there. Finally if someone starting out today in your field could sit down with you, What is the one sentence you would say to them as inspiration?”
JOHN JAMES SAINSBURY:
My message is simple: be useful, be honest, and be consistent.
When my wife Mary Ann and I opened our first shop in Drury Lane in 1869, we didn’t dream of building a national chain. We just wanted to serve people better than anyone else. We made sure our butter was clean, our bacon sliced thin and fair, and our prices honest. That simple formula — quality, hygiene, service, and value — took us a very long way.
Today’s shopkeepers, large or small, should remember that trust is your most valuable asset. It takes years to earn and moments to lose. Keep your stores clean. Weigh fairly. Treat your staff with respect and your customers with humility.
Technology is helpful — yes — but it must never replace judgement. Don’t let machines dull your sense of who you are serving. Walk your aisles. Talk to your customers. Know their names.
And don’t be afraid to start small. Our early shops were modest, but each one was a foundation for the next. The best businesses grow slowly, with care and conscience.
I’m proud that the Sainsbury name is still with you — but even prouder of the values it still stands for. Uphold them. They will never steer you wrong.
JANE JACOBS:
Here’s what I want you to remember: listen to the street.
Every spreadsheet, every masterplan, every glossy regeneration brochure is meaningless if it ignores the wisdom of the people who live and work there. Cities are not made by architects or economists — they’re made by everyone, together, every day.
If you want vibrant high streets, you need diversity — of people, of uses, of prices, of building styles. You need small and large, old and new, weird and ordinary, cheeky and solemn. You need rules that allow experimentation, not stifle it.
Planning should be iterative, not rigid. Test things. See how people respond. Keep what works, tweak what doesn’t. And always, keep it walkable, lovable, and alive.
The power to fix our high streets won’t come from ministers or megaprojects. It’ll come from the parents starting a community café, the landlord who gives a young florist a break, the teenager turning a shuttered shop into a studio. Let them. Help them.
Cities, when they work, are about freedom and connection. So loosen your grip. Let life happen. And protect what is messy, human, and irreplaceable — because that’s where the magic lives.
HARRY GORDON SELFRIDGE:
To the retailers of today: never forget that your business is about joy. It is about people, their emotions, their hopes, their self-expression. Whether you are selling a pair of gloves or furnishing an entire home, you are playing a small but meaningful part in someone’s life. Honour that.
I built Selfridges not just to sell goods, but to create a cultural institution. A destination. A thrill. I invited artists to exhibit in the store, held science demonstrations, installed elevators when they were still a novelty, and trained my staff to treat every visitor — from duchess to shopgirl — with courtesy and grace.
Today, your customers are savvy, digitally connected, and sometimes cynical. But what hasn’t changed is the human desire to feel seen and valued. Give them surprise. Give them service. Give them spaces that uplift them.
Also: look after your staff. Train them not only in transactions but in empathy, hospitality, and pride. A fine shop assistant is worth their weight in gold.
The future of the high street lies not in competing with algorithms, but in becoming more human than ever. Lead with imagination, act with integrity, and never forget: the customer is not a number — they are the reason you exist.
SIR PATRICK ABERCROMBIE:
To my fellow planners, designers, and stewards of the built environment, I offer this charge: plan not only for efficiency, but for dignity.
Your work touches every life. Whether you design a bus stop, a block of flats, or a citywide development plan, you are shaping how people move, meet, rest, and grow. Take that responsibility seriously. Your decisions must be generous — not merely functional.
I urge you to study not just policy, but history. Learn how towns evolved, how crises reshaped them, how people adapted. When we drew up the Greater London Plan, we were trying to heal a wounded city. The wounds today may be economic or social, but the need for healing remains.
Build towns that honour civic life. Give people libraries, halls, playgrounds, allotments, post offices. Make spaces where the public is welcome, even without spending money.
Plan for mixed incomes, mixed uses, and mixed ages. Avoid zoning monocultures. Let a child walk safely to school, an elder rest on a bench, a shopkeeper live near their store.
Above all, don’t just look 5 years ahead — look 50. Ask yourself: what legacy will this plan leave? Will it uplift? Will it endure?
We once rebuilt cities from rubble. You now must rebuild them from fragmentation. But the tools — collaboration, foresight, humility — are the same. Use them well.
EBENEZER HOWARD:
To those in regeneration, urban design, or community development, I leave this: let your vision be holistic, humane, and enduring.
We live in an age of specialists — housing officers, transport planners, retail consultants — but cities and towns are living organisms. You cannot fix one part in isolation. You must see the whole web of life: work, home, leisure, green space, culture, and care.
My Garden Cities were not utopias — they were pragmatic blueprints to solve the problems of industrial Britain: overcrowding, disease, disconnection. We planned for mixed incomes, mixed uses, and shared ownership. We proved it could be done, and the principles still apply.
But above all, we believed in ownership by the people. When land is treated as a commodity, you get speculation. When it is stewarded for the common good, you get community. If I could change one thing about today’s town centres, I would ensure the land beneath them was owned by trusts, cooperatives, or local councils, who reinvest the value back into the people.
So to today’s professionals: plan for balance, beauty, and belonging. Let nature and neighbourliness guide you. And remember that a town is not a market, but a home.
Christina
To our incredible guests — Mr Selfridge, Mr Sainsbury, Mr Howard, Ms Jacobs, and Sir Patrick — thank you for your wisdom, your legacies, and your enduring relevance.
The message is clear: the high street must evolve, but its heart — community, creativity, and care — must remain. We will be back next month with another interview series where our panel includes: Sir Terence Conran, Anita Roddick, Jan Gehl, Claire Dykta and Lord Richard Rogers
Good night, and keep building better streets, together.
