Late, getting later: speeding up payments would speed up growth

£35bn is owed to small and medium businesses. That needs to fall, or it's the whole country which will pay the bill.

Sometimes parliamentary inquiries can be drab, dull affairs – events that feel compelled to occur for form's sake rather than for any great purpose. A recent special parliamentary inquiry however shone a light onto a dark and shameful corner of business culture in the UK, a culture that is undermining our economic recovery. The enquiry was looking into the UK's systemic late payment system and in particular the escalating impact overdue invoices are having on SMEs and their ability to stay afloat. As of the end of last year, outstanding debts to small and medium-sized business stood at a record £35.3bn in late payments – and large companies have been identified as the main culprits.

That the Government is aware of this issue is of course to be applauded. A couple of months ago the Late Payments of Commercial Debts Regulations 2013 came into force, designed to protect small businesses struggling with cash flow due to late payment of invoices. However, this legislation only goes halfway to addressing the problem because it does not stipulate the length of time that an invoice must legally be paid by. The Government should strongly consider imposing fines on serial late payers. Protecting SMEs with a mandatory payment time limit is a no-brainer and will surely be coming down the track at some stage.

This will take some time though. Therefore until the law is amended we need to start changing the culture in which large businesses sit on sizable cash reserves and hold SMEs hostage to their reluctance to pay in a timely fashion. My question to large businesses with ample liquidity is: what is there to gain in taking an age to pay a supplier? It engenders bad relationships, a negative perception of your brand and, worst of all; it slows economic growth – growth that you, the reluctant-to-pay business, could take advantage of. The great unintended consequence of this late payment culture is that the SME or start up – a growth engine for economic acceleration and source of so-called "green shoots" – is being strangled at birth by its neglectful elders. Cash flow problems account for a huge percentage of corporate bankruptcies: in 2008, for example, 4,000 UK businesses failed as a direct consequence of late payment. As of the end of 2011 the average small firm had approximately £45,000 of unpaid invoice debt sitting on its books, up from £39,000 from the previous half year. Furthermore, given that SMEs account for about 60 per cent of private sector employment, if their cash flow was more stable they might employ just one more person, which would make a huge difference to the overall level of unemployment. With lending shrinking at 2.5 per cent a year, despite the Government’s Funding for Lending Scheme, this is an escalating problem that, like a pestilent, is killing green shoots just as they begin to grow.

If large corporations start to pay their suppliers on time, i.e. within 30 to 60 days, we would see a sea change in business activity and, consequently, SME growth. As the saying has it, it's not rocket science, and is perhaps one of the simplest and most practical way of stimulating economic growth in our current flat lining economy.

Photograph: Flickr/miguelb, CC-BY

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The decline of the north's sporting powerhouse

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Now, things are different.

On a drive between Sheffield and Barnsley, I spotted a striking painting of the Kes poster. Billy Casper’s two-fingered salute covered the wall of a once-popular pub that is now boarded up.

It is almost 50 years since the late Barry Hines wrote A Kestrel for a Knave, the novel that inspired Ken Loach’s 1969 film, and it seems that the defiant, us-against-the-world, stick-it-to-the-man Yorkshireness he commemorated still resonates here. Almost two-thirds of the people of south Yorkshire voted to leave the EU, flicking two fingers up at what they saw as a London-based establishment, detached from life beyond the capital.

But whatever happened to Billy the unlikely lad, and the myriad other northern characters who were once the stars of stage and screen? Like the pitheads that dominated Casper’s tightly knit neighbourhood, they have disappeared from the landscape. The rot set in during the 1980s, when industries were destroyed and communities collapsed, a point eloquently made in Melvyn Bragg’s excellent radio series The Matter of the North.

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Yet today, we rarely get to hear the voices of Barnsley, Sheffield, Doncaster and Rotherham. And the Yorkshire sporting powerhouse is no more – at least, not as we once knew it.

This should be a matter of national concern. The White Rose county is, after all, the home of the world’s oldest registered football club – Sheffield FC, formed in 1857 – and the first English team to win three successive League titles, Huddersfield Town, in the mid-1920s. Hull City are now Yorkshire’s lone representative in the Premier League.

Howard Wilkinson, the manager of Leeds United when they were crowned champions in 1992, the season before the Premier League was founded, lamented the passing of a less money-obsessed era. “My dad worked at Orgreave,” he said, “the scene of Mrs Thatcher’s greatest hour, bless her. You paid for putting an axe through what is a very strong culture of community and joint responsibility.”

The best-known scene in Loach’s film shows a football match in which Mr Sugden, the PE teacher, played by Brian Glover, comically assumes the role of Bobby Charlton. It was played out on the muddy school fields of Barnsley’s run-down Athersley estate. On a visit to his alma mater a few years ago, David Bradley, who played the scrawny 15-year-old Billy, showed me the goalposts that he had swung from as a reluctant goalkeeper. “You can still see the dint in the crossbar,” he said. When I spoke to him recently, Bradley enthused about his lifelong support for Barnsley FC. “But I’ve not been to the ground over the last season and a half,” he said. “I can’t afford it.”

Bradley is not alone. Many long-standing fans have been priced out. Barnsley is only a Championship side, but for their home encounter with Newcastle last October, their fans had to pay £30 for a ticket.

The English game is rooted in the northern, working-class communities that have borne the brunt of austerity over the past six years. The top leagues – like the EU – are perceived to be out of touch and skewed in favour of the moneyed elites.

Bradley, an ardent Remainer, despaired after the Brexit vote. “They did not know what they were doing. But I can understand why. There’s still a lot of neglect, a lot of deprivation in parts of Barnsley. They feel left behind because they have been left behind.”

It is true that there has been a feel-good factor in Yorkshire following the Rio Olympics; if the county were a country, it would have finished 17th in the international medals table. Yet while millions have been invested in “podium-level athletes”, in the team games that are most relevant to the lives of most Yorkshire folk – football, cricket and rugby league – there is a clear division between sport’s elites and its grass roots. While lucrative TV deals have enriched ruling bodies and top clubs, there has been a large decrease in the number of adults playing any sport in the four years since London staged the Games.

According to figures from Sport England, there are now 67,000 fewer people in Yorkshire involved in sport than there were in 2012. In Doncaster, to take a typical post-industrial White Rose town, there has been a 13 per cent drop in participation – compared with a 0.4 per cent decline nationally.

Attendances at rugby league, the region’s “national sport”, are falling. But cricket, in theory, is thriving, with Yorkshire winning the County Championship in 2014 and 2015. Yet Joe Root, the batsman and poster boy for this renaissance, plays far more games for his country than for his county and was rested from Yorkshire’s 2016 title decider against Middlesex.

“Root’s almost not a Yorkshire player nowadays,” said Stuart Rayner, whose book The War of the White Roses chronicles the club’s fortunes between 1968 and 1986. As a fan back then, I frequently watched Geoffrey Boycott and other local stars at Headingley. My favourite was the England bowler Chris Old, a gritty, defiant, unsung anti-hero in the Billy Casper mould.

When Old made his debut, 13 of the 17-strong Yorkshire squad were registered as working-class professionals. Half a century later, three of the five Yorkshiremen selec­ted for the last Ashes series – Root, Jonny Bairstow and Gary Ballance – were privately educated. “The game of cricket now is played in public schools,” Old told me. “Top players are getting huge amounts of money, but the grass-roots game doesn’t seem to have benefited in any way.”

“In ten years’ time you won’t get a Joe Root,” Rayner said. “If you haven’t seen these top Yorkshire cricketers playing in your backyard and you haven’t got Sky, it will be difficult to get the whole cricket bug. So where is the next generation of Roots going to come from?” Or the next generation of Jessica Ennis-Hills? Three years ago, the Sheffield stadium where she trained and first discovered athletics was closed after cuts to local services.

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era