British cities have weak governance, limited public transport – and terrible productivity. Coincidence?

A gratuitous picture of the Wuppertal Suspension Railway in the Ruhr. Image: Mbdortmund/Wikipedia.

The latest instalment of our series, in which we use the Centre for Cities’ data tools to crunch some of the numbers on Britain’s cities. 

Last week, over at the good ship New Statesman, I wrote about my irritation with the widespread habit among journalists of explaining everything that ever happens in terms of whatever it is they spend their lives writing about. It’s lucky I have no fear of hypocrisy, then, because I’m about to do exactly that.

For the last few weeks I’ve been trawling Centre for Cities data in an attempt to explain a mystery: why are the big British cities outside London so much less productive than cities of similar size and stature elsewhere in Europe?

Click to expand.

Digging through the numbers, I found that less productive cities have a few things in common: smaller services sectors; lower numbers of businesses; fewer patents registered; a lot of unskilled workers. Which way the causality runs is not always clear – a lot of those things could be the result of talented people leaving, to work in more productive cities where career options are wider and wages are higher. Nonetheless, it’s clear that, whether symptom or cause, there are certain characteristics that struggling cities tend to share.

Reading up on the various cities, though, I started to wonder if there might actually be other ways in which the four British ones were unlike their European peers – ways which aren’t captured by this dataset. Here are three.

1) The other countries I looked at all have regional governments

France has regions and, more recently, metropoles (collections of councils, covering entire metropolitan regions). Italy has provinces, Spain has autonomous communities and Germany has states. (Hamburg, indeed, is a state in its own right.)

In England, though, for most of recent history there’s been no administrative layer between local councils and national government. (The three Celtic nations have at least had their own administrations since 1999.) There has thus been no layer of government whose job it is to think about the needs of specific metropolitan regions.

This is, gradually, changing: Birmingham and Manchester now sit at the heart of their own city regions. But there’s still nothing on offer in Leeds, and no democratic body tasked with planning for the needs of greater Glasgow. (The closest is the Scottish Government, but that’s up the road in Edinburgh and responsible for a much, much bigger region.)


2) Mayors are standard on the continent

...but not in Britain, where the council & leader model has historically held sway. So while there are individual politicians whose job it is to speak up for Milan or Marseille or Munich, British cities have had no such representatives.

Again, this is changing: some councils are now led by directly-elected mayors; some city regions now elect metro mayors. There are individuals whose job it is to stand up to central government for the needs of Greater Manchester or greater Birmingham (Andys Burnham and Street, respectively).

This, though, is a very recent phenomenon – and once again, Leeds and Glasgow are still out in the cold.

3) Continental cities have public transport

I looked at 15 continental cities in this exercise. All but one, Hamburg, have tram networks. As far as I can see, literally all of them have heavy-rail metro networks, too – whether subways or S-Bahn commuter rail networks.

Once again, it’s the British cities that are the outlier. Glasgow has its subway, and very nice it is too, but it serves only a small part of the city, and attempts to extend it have repeatedly been abandoned. Manchester’s Metrolink tram network is now pretty extensive, but also very recent.

Birmingham, meanwhile, has only a single light-rail line, and Leeds nothing at all. All four cities are still fairly limited in their powers to regulate the buses or trains on their patch. None of them offer the sort of extensive public transport networks you’d expect when visiting almost any continental city.

Spot the difference. Image: Tom Forth.

You’re getting the point now, I hope. Most continental European cities have visible local and regional governments whose job it is to speak up for their cities and plan for its needs. They also have extensive public transport networks. British cities have not, in recent times, had any of those things.

Correlation is not causation, of course, and as I admitted above, I’m primed to see the world this way. Perhaps these are the things holding British cities back; perhaps they’re not. At the very least, we have to accept that a mayor and a subway is no magical formula for creating productivity, because if it were, Naples wouldn’t be also struggling along at the bottom of the league table.

Nonetheless, it’s hard not to spot a pattern here. The big British cities have had nobody to speak up for their needs. They’ve had limited investment in their transport networks. And they’re not as productive as their continental peers.

Perhaps these things are unrelated – but it’s a bloody big coincidence, don’t you think?

Jonn Elledge is the editor of CityMetric. He is on Twitter as @jonnelledge and on Facebook as JonnElledgeWrites

Want more of this stuff? Follow CityMetric on Twitter or Facebook

 
 
 
 

How getting a dog made me hate London less

A dog called Martha. Image: Jamie Ross.

I never have been anything but a staunch hater of London. Growing up in what a friend from Chicago called “a forest reserve”, my entire life has been split between a suburban one in a leafy town near Dayton, Ohio and an urban one, spent in stupidly pretty, and still fairly leafy, Edinburgh. I moved to London for a hot second in 2016, hated my job as well as my surroundings, and left, pretty much immediately.

And then, almost two years later, I was offered my current role at the New Statesman, and I packed up my shit and dragged my reluctant boyfriend with me to do it all over again. I sort of enjoyed my summer in London – but I felt strongly that living in the city would never feel like anything other than a necessary evil.

I live in – this is your moment to laugh and call me a posh prick – Notting Hill. It’s a decent location, has more trees and parks than other parts of the city, and, most importantly, is the closest I could get to replicating my old neighbourhood of Stockbridge in Edinburgh, which I loved dearly. But even this isn’t enough to entirely counteract the fact my physical surroundings, on my commute to the office by the Temple, made me feel constantly claustrophobic and stressed. London is cold and unfriendly, compared to many parts of this country, and it is filthy – not in a snobby, prissy, precious fuckhead way, but in a “My life expectancy has probably dropped by three years breathing in this polluted air and stepping on broken glass” way. For my first few months in London, in the middle of the heat wave, walking the streets was like walking through an endless sludge: this was not a city I liked nor one I, really, wanted to live in.

Until I got a puppy.

The one condition my boyfriend imposed when he agreed to trudge down to London with me was that we find a flat where our letting agreement said that we could have dog. So, three months after our move, we got Martha, a twelve-week-old black cockapoo.

Getting her changed our lives in a lot of ways. It’s made it impossible for us to leave the house without having a human being on attendance to watch her like a hawk. It means I now have to wake up at 6:45am every day, weekends included, so that she can take a shit. She has improved our lives remarkably - I mean, we have a living floof doing sweet and adorable shit in our house – but she has changed things a lot.

And the thing I least expected this goddam dog to change has been the way has made me feel more integrated into this godforsaken city: she’s made me appreciate London, even with its downsides.

Actually, something else happened, without which I don’t think my point of view would have changed. Almost immediately after getting Martha – and I mean, like, within hours – I contracted a disgusting cold. The day after that cold cleared up, I got violent conjunctivitis, like the disgusting seven-year-old I am, which took a week to get over.

These two illnesses, combined, lasted around two weeks, so I was trapped at home for roughly seven days of the ten I would normally have been at work. That meant I was around to relieve the puppy burden from my home-working boyfriend.

I was tasked with dragging my puss-filled eyes out to let our dog have a run around, and to get her to piss every couple of hours. This new responsibility forced me to explore the neighbourhood that, for the three months previous, I had generally ignored. What I thought was the worst timing known to man was, not to exaggerate, life-changing. I’m not sure I would have come to this realisation about my new home had it not happened.

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Another great day at the park! Pic by fellow small creature @esther.dominy.

A post shared by Martha The Dog (@heythereitsmartha) on

Happy City by Charles Montgomery is a book all about how urban planning can make or break our wellbeing – what commutes, cars, bikes, and greenspace do to our mental health. One portion of the book is spent debunking the idea that the sheer amount of greenspace in an area is what makes us happy. Montgomery argues that it’s actually the regularity of greenspace that makes a real difference – it’s not just how much grass and trees there is in the city you live in, but how often you get to see it.


Pre-Martha, my exposure to grass amounted to the occasional lunch in a garden and a visit to Hyde Park once or twice a month. But within a matter of days of getting a dog, I learned that I had not one, not two, not three, but five (five!) piss locations within five (again: five!) minutes of my house. Some were suitable for little more than the aforementioned – but others gave her enough room to run after sticks, leaves, tennis balls, and, her favourite, other dogs, so that she’d be pleasantly exhausted for the rest of the day. What I originally thought was just an expanse of buildings and pavement stretching from my flat to Hyde Park was actually filled with pockets of green spaces that made this trash-laden hell-hole feel a lot less oppressive.

Spending time at parks where other dogs also go to piss meant I started to make relationships with other dog-owners too. For the first time in any place I’ve lived in outside of my home town, I actually started to meet my neighbours, and learn about things that were happening in my neighbourhood, that I would never otherwise never known about. I now know Tiggy, Rex, Bubba, and Charlie, as well as their respective owners. I also know about good pubs, family-run restaurants, and free events that are far better than the deeply average, pretentious brunch place recommended to me by The Culture Trip. My neighbourhood has feeling like a dead space between Tesco, my bus stop, and the tube, to a place I can see as a respite from the rest of this stressful city, full of people I know and new places I’d have otherwise not thought twice about.

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Me and some new friends from the other day! Hoping for some more social time this weekend 

A post shared by Martha The Dog (@heythereitsmartha) on

And taking her out at the same time every day, around the 7am mark, means we then almost always run into the same people. A very sweet kid walks to school around the same time and always smiles at her. We see the same woman with her dog, who always greets Martha with aggressive barking, ultimately ending in a congenial ass sniff. We let her jump up at the incredibly patient builders doing construction on a building at the end of our street.

This morning ritual, seeing my neighbourhood when it’s not rammed with tourists but is quiet and reserved for people who live or work nearby, has become a way to decompress at the start of every day. And as a woman, being up and out when it’s often dark, but seeing people I now recognise, means my neighbourhood has become less intimidating. For the first time in London, I feel safe and comfortable even late at night.

Beyond the confines of my neighbourhood, Martha has made me see London, not for what it does for me, but for what it provides for her. Never have I ever had such an appreciation for London’s public transport system than when I got my dog, who wears a big stupid grin at all times when riding the bus. (Her internal monologue honestly appears to be an endless loop of, “ALL OF THIS STUFF WOW MORE STUFF OH GOD REALLY COULD THERE ACTUALLY BE MORE STUFF HELLO EVERYONE HI OH HI WOULD YOU LIKE TO PET MY HEAD?”)

Even long journeys are now a delight, because watching your puppy be amazed, fascinated, and happy at all times, eventually passing out from exhaustion at all the energy expended, is incredibly heart-warming. Faced from the bus, London, even at its busiest, feels far better with my dog than on my own: her pure, unadulterated excitement is enough to make holding a wild animal on a packed motor vehicle worthwhile.

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

dad taught me love • dad taught me patience • dad taught me pain

A post shared by Martha The Dog (@heythereitsmartha) on

I’m almost certain I will never love London. I don’t think I will ever feel charmed enough by the charming parts to outweigh the onslaught of the, often, literal shit it brings with it. Not everything about having a dog in London is great, of course: there is trash everywhere, trash I used to pass nonchalantly but now have to heave my dog away from in case she eats a used condom or even another dog’s shit. And, obviously, living in a city is probably never great for an animal compared to, say, a suburb or the countryside.

But through my dog I’ve learned what’s actually around me, not just what I narrowly perceive on my begrudging walk to work. Doing that has made London feel a lot less like my own personal hell. Slowly, Martha is making London like some kind of twisted, imperfect, home for me.

Sarah Manavis is the digital culture and tech writer at the New Statesman. She tweets as @sarahmanavis.

Martha Ross-Manavis is small and cute dog. You can follow her on Instagram at @heythereitsmartha.