This article is taken from the April 2026 issue of The Critic. To get the full magazine why not subscribe? Get five issues for just £5.
A dull City charity reception was enlivened by a chance conversation with a mellifluous stranger. As we bantered about the halcyon days before the Americans ruined the Square Mile and ruminated on the shabby wine bars that had become field-to-fork canteens, I struggled to place the appealing accent.
The backcountry of Northern Ireland, perhaps? Or maybe one of the maritime provinces of Canada? Then it dawned on me — he was a Scot. I meet so few of his countrymen south of the border these days, I had completely forgotten what they sounded like.
The encounter got me thinking. Where have all the Scots gone? Back in the day, all offices had a wee laddie on the make — dangerous to know after a couple of glasses in the evening, but the next morning still able to impress the boss with his Calvinist zeal.
Most finance directors seemed to be Scots, reassuring Gordon Jackson types able to soothe the most frazzled investors. It felt like whole sectors — life insurance, asset management and financial advice — were dominated by Caledonian migrants.
Now, you can beetle around London for a whole year without bumping into a Scot. So, what happened?
A conventional explanation is that ambitious Scots no longer come south for their education because they only benefit from free tuition if they attend local universities. (Just 51 Scots were admitted to Cambridge last year.)
But this feels like an insufficient reason when every other gilet-clad young buck promenading through Leadenhall at lunchtime is an English alumnus of Edinburgh or St Andrews.
My hunch is there is something more profound and disturbing going on. In just two generations, the very people who invented bourgeois capitalism have not only turned their backs on entrepreneurship and commercial life, they have become militantly anti-wealth.
The Scots’ deep-rooted “I kent your father” sneer at success has been weaponised by cancel culture. A glance at the Sunday Times Rich List reveals a dearth of self-made Scots in the top tier. But those precious few tend to get chopped down to size by the compatriots.
Brian Souter, the one-time bus conductor from Perth who built a family fortune of £800 million has faced calls for his transport business to be boycotted because of his evangelical Christian views. J.K. Rowling’s Hogwarts Castle is Scotland’s biggest export brand since Johnnie Walker started mixing malts in the backroom of his Kilmarnock grocery store. Yet, famously she has faced opprobrium in her adopted land for her views on trans rights.
Even the father of the free market, Adam Smith, has narrowly avoided being toppled. A plot by anti-Empire campaigners to relocate a statue of this hero of the Scottish Enlightenment from Edinburgh’s Royal Mile was foiled only when it was pointed out that Smith was in fact in favour of the abolition of slavery.
And then there is Brewdog — a cautionary tale which actually gives the Scots a rather good reason to be wary of free enterprise. The craft brewer from Fraserburgh won cult status both amongst beer lovers and financial journalists when it raised £75 million in its “Equity for Punks” crowdfunding scheme.
Then, having hit hard times thanks to over-expansion and Gen Z teetotalism, the business was broken up in February. The 200,000 small investors are likely to lose every penny. Meanwhile, I read in the Daily Mail that the self-regarding founder James Watt, who sold out at the top almost a decade ago, continues to enjoy the good life with his new bride, a former star of the Made in Chelsea TV show.
Naturally, I wish Mr and Mrs Watt every happiness. But the whole saga is a very far cry from the penny policies and cooperative schemes invented in Victorian Scotland which introduced honest investment to the working classes.
Indeed, perhaps the closest historical precedent for Brewdog is the disastrous Darien scheme to create a Scottish colony in present-day Panama, which destroyed an estimated 20 per cent of the country’s wealth when it collapsed — and eventually led to the 1707 Act of Union.
It is a shame to see the Scots turn their back on commerce and the golden streets of the City. Scottish prudence has always complemented English jingo, and the two were often an unstoppable combination. The trading houses and banks which built Hong Kong are perhaps the most enduring examples.
Now the data suggests that ambitious Scots choose instead to stay home and work for the state — the nation’s public sector employment has risen 11 per cent since 2017. Amidst the Babel of London voices, the Highland song, Midlothian burr and even the Glaswegian growl have all fallen silent.
