Words: Annita Cunnigham (she/her)
The “small town mentality” has not only grown, its parameters extending across whole parts of the country, but has been rewoven to exclude anyone who does not fit the accepted mould.
Past the school of your father, around the corner from the family butcher that has sat since the 1890s, across the bridge built by your classmate’s grandfather, and along the seafront where the working men’s club held the wake.
Simple houses, simple streets, simple people, the same faces day in and out. A “small town mentality” can be understood as a fear of change and a lack of perspective, a sheltered life lived amongst the same people. Thoughts and opinions overlap, connecting members of small communities as though tied with string. So, is it forced proximity, or is it simply that living in a town no bigger than your thumb limits your understanding of the world? Can the negative connotations of the small town be rewoven, or is there something larger at play?
My father is a proud Geordie through and through, whilst my friend Emily is a true Yorkshire lass. My father was raised on Elswick Street, Newcastle, in the early 1950s, and enjoyed the hustle and vibrant life of the industrial city. Emily, on the other hand, has always lived in a village 20 minutes outside of York, and the only way of getting to school was waking up 2 hours earlier than her friends in the centre. Despite this, she loved living rurally and knowing everyone who lived in her area. Her idea of a neighbour is not someone who lives next door, but someone she’d bring a Christmas card to, and leave half an hour later with a slice of cake.
At the age of 7, my father and his brothers moved to the popular seaside town of Whitley Bay, a place slightly bigger than Emily’s village. Despite the appearance of the town from the outside, the move was hard. He found it challenging, adjusting to a place with such a tight-knit community, which he felt was set in its ways. Though he liked his neighbours, he attended a different school from his brothers, where he was ostracised and bullied by those who couldn’t accept someone they didn’t know. He made friendships elsewhere, pushing past the barriers of the sea by joining the naval reserves. Through this, he learnt what it meant to be self-sustaining: to have people of his own connecting him not to streets, but to countries. My father moved from city to city, opening his mind to the growing world around him, and helping set up over-18s clubs, fostering what he felt he’d missed. Though he experienced the negative effects of a “small town mentality”, it caused him to create a life outside, striving to make sure that the people who came into it wouldn’t feel as secluded as he had felt.
My friend Emily’s story runs along a similar thread, though beginning from the other end. Whilst my father struggled to enter a community that wasn’t welcoming, Emily has been part of hers from the start, and has struggled to remove herself. Though she loves her home, she has known the same people for over 16 years, and many people like her wish to escape, to gain real-world experience and learn more about who they are, just like my father did. Heightened exposure to social issues because of social media shows just how backwards some towns can be. Without social media opening doors to cultures unknown to her, she admits there’s so much she wouldn’t be aware of, due to the population of her town being overwhelmingly white and old. These same elderly people now have the whole world on their phones, and the Facebook page for her village has been overrun with hostile anger towards teenagers and misinformation about migrants. A small town can be beautiful and centred around helping its own, but the idea becomes twisted when people believe only a select minority should be allowed into the community. How can anyone thrive if all that is known and accepted is the same 9 doors?
It could be argued that, due to certain platforms like Facebook, this “small town mentality” has spread further than the small town itself, and this fear of change and lack of open perspective towards the world we live in has homogenised the UK – St Georges’ flag painting towns red and white. In the small suburbs of Weoley Castle in August 2025, ‘Operation: Raise the Colours’ gained traction, where people were encouraged to fly the Union Jack nearby. It sparked mass controversy, as people began flying the flag in towns, painting roundabouts, and staging protests. What started small spread, with the Facebook group gaining 24,000 followers, and it rippled across cities like Worcester, Newcastle, and Greater Manchester, the flag hanging from streetlights and waved outside hotels housing asylum seekers. These people, whose ideals are so tightly strung together, have found comfort and common ground in their “small town mentalities” and lack of acceptance. Therefore, their flag, woven through history as a sign of “patriotism” and “Britishness”, has become divisive – an object of fear and intimidation, despite certain claims of spreading love and unity.
The “small town mentality” has not only grown, its parameters extending across whole parts of the country, but has been rewoven to exclude anyone who does not fit the accepted mould. Whilst these backwards attitudes may drive people like my father and Emily away from staying put, perhaps due to the rise of social media, the “small mentality” is no longer confined to a town, but rather represents a country.
