In these febrile times, there is one place to take refuge and that is in the Lakeland catalogue. Change and decay in all around I see, as John Henry Newman observed, but at Lakeland there is still a universe where you can conquer the perennial problem of taking the tops off strawberries, so tricky if they are a little underripe, with a Chef’n’Stem Strawberry Huller (£8.99), combine a blender with a separate coffee grinder with the Lakeland Blender (£69.99), keep insects off cake outdoors with a food umbrella (£4.49) and deal with wet laundry when you don’t have a washing line with the Dry Soon heated airer (from £99).
There is no problem in domestic economy that is not covered somewhere, somehow, by this house and kitchenware retail company. Lakeland has just celebrated its 60th birthday, for it began life in 1964 with the three Rayner brothers, Martin, Sam and Julian, selling plastic bags for their dad. It expanded to become Lakeland Plastics and now, while remaining a family company, has 2.5 million subscribed members (with a loyalty card) and millions of customers where you can get its heavy duty tinfoil (you can never go back).
When two or three Lakeland fanciers are gathered together, there is no stopping us. On a press trip to Naples I spent a happy time with the excellent art critic Maeve Kennedy discussing the products. We agreed that now John Lewis has utterly lost its way in customer service – get it online is what they tell you even in Peter Jones – Lakeland remains a pleasure to do business with. I once got a tour of the headquarters in the Lake District, right on Lake Windermere (no wonder they’re happy), and I found a workforce which exuded contentment, even in the packing area.
It has too a genius for moving with the times, and was onto the whole environmentally friendly thing, including packaging, before most of its competitors. It seeks to sell products that are repairable where possible. What’s more, it understands middle England – move over, stupid spiralisers, make way for air frier accessories.
If this sounds like a paid-for encomium, it’s not. It’s simply a pleasure to give credit to a company which is a pleasure to do business with. A few years ago a survey found that Lakeland was at the top of the customer satisfaction league, behind only Lush, the eco-friendly cosmetics company. The thing is, Lakeland is still a family business and does its thing without shareholder interference. I cornered Martin Rayner, one of the brothers, at the party to celebrate the 60th anniversary to ask him how he did it and he said simply it was about treating the customer well, innovating constantly in response to, or anticipating, customer demand, and looking after your staff, not least because if you do, they’ll return the favour by looking after customers. Simple, no? but funny how few people manage it.
The other thing about the company is that it’s quietly ethical. I met the homeware buyer and she was able to tell me all about the village in China where the DrySoon airers are made; lots of older women work there, it seems, and the wages and conditions are decent. OK, it was a shame that there was no UK company that could make the same product at a good price, but they’re just not out there. So better a factory with good conditions in China than the usual race to the bottom on price.
Lakeland deals properly with all its suppliers; it does its best to do business with companies that originate a product rather than those who nick the idea and sell the goods cheaper. It tries to sell UK goods when they’re available. I badgered Martin Rayner about the necessity of shoring up the remaining potteries in Stoke-on-Trent by commissioning, say, the perfect china teapot, as Fortnum and Mason did a few years back, and he reflected that what he’d actually like was one with a thermal inside to keep the tea warm. Simple, but that’s what I mean about anticipating customer needs.
So, here’s to Lakeland; when the brothers retire – and alas, their children show no signs of following them – may they bequeath the company to its workers, so it carries on. There is an unhappy world out there and I don’t know about you, but I am taking refuge from it in magnetic wooden toast tongs (£2.99); once you have them, you’ll wonder how you did without.
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