Four maps showing Britain’s economic divides

What you are about to read is quite depressing in places, so here are some kittens. Image: Getty.

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. 

The time has come, the writer said, to talk of many things – of wages, jobs and housing costs, and ideally at this point there’d be something that rhymed with “things” but I can’t find one and to be quite honest with you I’m not going to dwell.

Yes, it’s that time again. Those nice people at the Centre for Cities have produced a bunch of maps showing the stats on Britain’s cities. Now it’s my turn to spend rather too long pontificating about them.

These particular maps come from this year’s Cities Outlook report, and are headed, as a set, “the economic divides across urban Britain”. Let’s have at it.

Map the first: welfare spending

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First up, this one’s welfare spend per head – basically, a measure of how dependent a cities’ residents are on government support. As with all these maps, darker greens mean higher numbers.

If you’ve ever looked at any map showing the economics of Britain’s cities, then this is probably a pretty familiar pattern. Welfare spend is lowest to the immediate north, south and west of London, representing an arc of prosperity that stretches from the capital to Oxford, Cambridge and Bristol. 

A few other cities are have low welfare spend, too: Aberdeen, Edinburgh, Exeter, York. But these are more isolated cases. Generally speaking the Midlands and counties to the east of London have higher welfare spending, suggesting the local economies are not providing for residents’ living costs – while the north of England is a sea of dark green, suggesting the highest welfare spending of all. While talk of a north-south divide is an over-simplification, it is, broadly speaking, accurate.

One other notable phenomenon on this map: seaside cities tend to come out worse. Often these are port cities, which have been hit particularly hard by the decline of ship-building and the automation of the ports themselves. (Liverpool, for example, is handling more cargo than ever, but needs a fraction of the workers to do it.) In a few other cases like Worthing or Bournemouth, though, I suspect the high welfare spend reflects the presence of a lot of retirees.

Map the second: wages

This time, the colour-scheme is reversed – high wages, unlike high welfare spend, are a mark of economic strength – but it’s broadly the same geography as we saw above. London, its commuter belt, the university cities and Milton Keynes have the highest wages. The Midlands and the north are much more mixed. 

Click to expand.

There are cities in the M62 corridor, from Liverpool to Hull, that are doing better than others. Warrington – the Milton Keynes of the north, as nobody calls it even though they should – is positively booming. In Derby, average wages are pulled up by high-value manufacturing; in Leeds, by finance; in York by, well, I’m not sure exactly, but York is generally pretty posh. 

In most of the cities around them, though, wages are clearly much lower. Just look at the gap between York and Hull.

There are also signs of the agglomeration effect, in which wages are generally higher in big metropolitan areas than in the smaller cities in their orbit. Compare London to Crawley or Luton; Newcastle to Sunderland; or Manchester and Leeds to the other northern belt cities. Liverpool, alas, seems to be an exception.

There’s one other odd thing here: Exeter has quite low wages despite also having a low welfare bill. That, to me, suggests it’s a relatively cheap place to live.

Map the third: employment rates

This is where things get more complicated.

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The cities with the highest employment rates include Worthing, Swindon and Crawley, all fairly thriving cities in the orbit of London. But the next tier down includes many cities in the north which, in the 21st century, are not generally associated with prosperity: Wigan, Preston, Burnley.

Meanwhile, Basildon and Luton are much lower down the league tables despite being closer to London, and even the capital itself is only mid table. As for Birmingham, despite all the talk of a ‘Midlands engine’, it has one of the worst employment rates in Britain.

In Scotland, you can see the usual division between rich (Edinburgh, Aberdeen) and poor (Glasgow, Dundee) – but even the richer cities are doing that well. Over in Wales, meanwhile, struggling Newport has a higher employment rate than thriving Cardiff.

Generally, a city with a low employment rate will be struggling economically – but not all cities with high employment rates will boom. I suspect that what this shows is that a job isn’t everything. Some jobs are not worth very much – and we should stop pretending employment automatically leads to prosperity.

Map the fourth: housing affordability

And so at last we see the downside of living in a boom town. The housing affordability ratio represents the multiple of the average wage you’d need to buy the average house. Generally, if you want young people to have a decent start in life, you’d want this to be low.

Reader, it will stun you to learn that in many places, it isn’t.

Click to expand.

Housing is least affordable in many of those cities doing best on some of the other measures – London, Oxford, Cambridge. Even though wages there are higher, housing costs are, relatively, higher still – because a booming economy in a constrained housing market will tend to push up prices. 

The north/south divide is clearest of all here: the further from London you go, the cheaper housing becomes. The Essex town of Basildon is unlikely to top any newspaper list of property hot spots – but because it’s within a 40 minute commute of the City of London, houses there are expensive relative to wages. More so even than York, by far the least affordable city in the north.

It’s a reminder that many cities are struggling to build enough houses – and that the housing and jobs crises are two sides of the same coin.


And another thing

One last point to wrap up. There is an enormous divide in some of these figures. The figures for the city with the highest weekly resident wages (£679) is more than one a half times that of the lowest (£399). The highest welfare per capita (£4,348) is more than twice that of the lowest (£2,105), while the housing affordability ratio varies by a factor of over four (from 4.2 to 17.3).

The one exception to this pattern seems to be the employment rate, which ‘only’ varies between 64.1 and 86.6 per cent. Flip that around, though, and think of the proportion of the population being economically inactive – between 13.4 and 35.9 per cent – and the gap is huge once again. Britain doesn’t suffer from an economic divide. It suffers from an economic chasm.

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

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The media scumbag’s route of choice: A personal history of London’s C2 bus

A C2 bus at Parliament Hill. Image: David Howard/Wikimedia Commons.

London’s C2 bus route, which runs from Parliament Hill, by Hampstead Heath, down to Conduit Street, just off Regent Street, is one of the bus routes recently earmarked for the chop. It has oft been noted that, of all the routes recently pencilled in for cancellation after a consultation late last year, it was the one most likely to survive, for the simple reason that it links liberal suburban north London with BBC Broadcasting House and Soho; it’s thus the route most likely to be used by people who can convince someone to let them report on its imminent demise.

So it would come as no surprise that former Guardian editor Alan Rusbridger took to the Camden New Journal when the consultation began, arguing that it would be a disservice to the local community to discontinue a route where you can always get a seat – seemingly missing the point that the fact you can always get a seat is not a great sign of the route’s usefulness.

It wasn’t always that way. When I left university in 2000, and moved from accommodation near college to up to a rented shared house in N6, the C2 was my bus. I commuted to Soho for sixteen years: for more than a decade from flats around the Swain’s Lane roundabout, and for five years from Kentish Town. While my place of work bounced around from Golden Square to Lexington Street to Great Marlborough, it was always the most convenient way to get to, and from, work; especially given the difference between bus and tube prices.

So when it comes to the C2 I’ve seen it, I’ve done it, and bought the bus pass. And by bus pass, I mean those little paper ones that still existed at the beginning of this century. Not just before contactless, but before Oyster cards.

More importantly, it was before London buses operated a single zone. There was an outer zone, and an inner zone, with different prices. To travel from one zone to another cost £1.30, meaning an all cash commute was £2.60, whereas a paper bus pass was £2.00. That made it worth your while to divert to an early opening newsagents on your way to the bus stop (GK, in my case), even if you only got two buses a day.

It’s a measure of how greatly London’s buses have improved over the last twenty years, since first brought under control of the mayoralty, that pretty much everything about this anecdotage, including the prices, seems faintly mad. But there’s more: back when I started getting that bus down to Stop N, literally at the very end of the route, the C2 used single decker buses with a single door. It’s an appalling design for use in a crowded city, which meant most of any journey was, for most passengers, spent fighting your way up and down the middle of the bus to find a seat, and then back again to get off; or – and this was more likely – fighting your way up the bus to get into standing space the driver insisted was there, before fighting your way, etc.

Such buses – and in my former life in the English Midlands I went to school on one of these buses every day – are perfectly functional where bus stops are infrequent and buses rarely standing room only. But running through Camden Town at rush hour, they’re wholly unfit for purpose.

A Citypacer. Image: RXUYDC/Wikimedia Commons.

It could have been worse. I didn’t know this at the time, but a few years before the C2 route had been run using Optare City Pacers. Those are, let us be frank, not really buses at all, but minibuses. That’s something the reveals the C2’s origins, as a hopper route to the west end largely intended for the daytime use of Gospel Oak’s pensioners in the years immediately before bus privatisation. (The C11 has a similar origin, taking the same constituency from Archway to England’s Lane.)

Once responsibility for London Buses was moved to the newly established mayoralty, things improved dramatically. Under Ken Livingstone it went double decker in 2005, and 24 hour in 2007. Under Boris Johnson it was extended from its once, and future, terminus of Conduit Street to Victoria Station, swallowing up the cancelled sections of the 8 bus; this extension was quietly disposed of a few years later, once it was clear no one would notice. (I did.)


In those years I must have taken a C2 the best part of ten thousand times; but for all the years when I wouldn’t have been able to live without the C2, times have reduced its utility, and not just for me. I’m now a 214 sort of guy: these days the top chunk of the C2 route is duplicated exactly by that other bus, which starts up in Highgate Village and, once it gets to Swain’s Lane, follows the same path until the fork of Kentish Town Road and Royal College Street, opposite the long defunct South Kentish Town tube station.

From a few hundred metres below that point, at Camden Gardens, stop C, the 88 starts. That duplicates the rest of the C2’s route, with the exception of the run down Albany Street and onto Great Portland, for much of which the C2 is the only bus.

So the C2, old friend that it is, is pretty redundant in the age of the hopper fare, which allows you to change buses without paying a second fare. That’s even more true now the C2’s otherwise un-serviced stops are being giving over to a re-routed 88, which will pick up the C2’s most northern leg, by not finishing at Camden Gardens anymore and instead going all the way to Parliament Hill Fields. Which will be nice for it.

All this, however, ignores the best reason for getting rid of the C2 (or rather for merging it with the 88, which is what’s actually happening): that first character. The letter. Who wants a bus route with a letter in front of it when even half the night buses don’t have the N anymore? It’s relic of the route’s aforementioned origins as a ‘Camdenhopper’.

That C is twenty five years past its own utility. It’s just untidy. City Metric hates that sort of thing. Get rid.