CORSON'S NO MORE

The transition from Corson Hardware to Mootz General Store perfectly encapsulates Stockbridge’s continuing evolution. Mootz has emerged as one of Edinburgh’s ‘hottest food spots’, known for serving up Italian deli sandwiches of dramatic scale, frequently dubbed ‘iPad-sized slabs’ and ‘absolute units’. Central to this success is their bread: schiacciata, a sturdy Tuscan flatbread described as a ‘flatter, more aerodynamic cousin’ to focaccia, which is robust enough to hold their ‘lavish fillings’. 

 

With prices starting at approximately £12, Mootz is squarely positioned as a premium treat. Consequently, its high cost and ‘cool’ factor attract a specific demographic (the young and affluent, alongside visitors), firmly cementing Stockbridge’s status on the city’s tourist and culinary map. 

 

What change this shop has seen since June 2022 …

 

The beginning of the end arrived swiftly. Within minutes on a June afternoon, the decades of accumulation began to be decanted as a shop which had stood virtually unaltered for generations finally started to disappear. An Edinburgh institution was departing the scene. As someone put it online, ‘Absolute part of Stockbridge history, sad to see it go in a strange way.’ That qualification – ‘in a strange way’ – is revealing.

 

Corson Hardware, on Raeburn Place in Edinburgh’s Stockbridge, had long been a curious fixture. To some, its static nature provided a source of gentle mirth; to others, it was a comforting, dusty symbol of continuity. On that June day, a large van pulled up and began to swallow the store’s first portions of dusty contents. Startled onlookers stopped and stared, some perhaps sensing they were witnessing a historic moment – the kind that sparks a shared memory: ‘Where were you when you heard that Corson had closed?’

 

Among the artisanal vendors and boutique charity shops on Raeburn Place, Corson stood out by refusing to change. Almost imperceptibly, the yellow plastic sign faded over time, revealing the ‘ghost sign’ beneath it – a silent testament to generations of service in this section of the city. While the Stockbridge captured in Robert Blomfield’s photography changed greatly over the last 60 years, Corson Hardware did not. For the last few years, the shop had existed in a state of suspended animation, failing to disprove the adage that ‘If we want things to stay as they are, things will have to change.’

 

The time traveller in the classic 1960 film version of H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine gauged the passing of years by the changing fashions in a ladies’ outfitters window. Observing Corson’s, however, they would have concluded their machine had malfunctioned. 

 

Fading products in the window spoke of years planted in the same location, their labels dissolved by the sun. Given the contemporary fashion for all things vintage, it is surprising that no enterprising hipster bought out the business years ago. Surely the shelving, fittings, and even Mr Corson’s traditional overalls could have been repurposed by someone peddling seaweed soap or discharging oat milk ‘flatties’ into Scandinavian stoneware cups.

 

A visit to the shop was a memorably strange experience. Upon entering, Mr Corson would emerge from a dark little nook at the rear, trundling forward in his overalls. He would wait for you to ask; a deep sense of unease often gripped the customer at this point. I recall asking him about a particular cleaning product. A calm but forceful ‘No’ was his only reaction. When queried about a particular strip light bulb, he offered: ‘This is the only one you will find.’ A quick Google search would have easily disabused Mr Corson of his certainty.

 

Corson’s customer service was, shall we say, unique. I’m sure he was charming to some of his older clientele, but for others he could come across as frosty, even rude. Online, a game called ‘Corson’ exists, playing on the somewhat ‘minimalist’ customer service he was renowned for; a game that will now inevitably carry an elegiac feel.

 

Corson Hardware was truly from a time when things operated at a different, gentler pace. It would close for lunch, with Mr Corson trudging back home through the sleepy streets of Comely Bank and up the Learmonth Steps, returning later for the afternoon shift.

 

Since Covid hit, however, there had been no sign of Mr Corson. Instead, notes were left on the window asking about the shop’s reopening and his well-being. For many months, the simple question ‘Where are you?’ was etched in the dust on the glass. Thousands of Stockbridge folk, from yoga mat-clutching young professionals to mature red-trousered gentlemen, passed along Raeburn Place daily, mildly perplexed by the fading display and the prevailing sense of mystery.

 

Then, early in the spring, it was announced: Mr Corson would be retiring, and the shop would finally close after several years gathering dust. The idea was met with scepticism. Could this potent symbol of Stockbridge folklore really just vanish? The closure began in earnest on June 9th. Corson’s customers were instructed to go to Marchmont Hardware by a small message inscribed on the window.

 

On that initial June afternoon, an elderly lady loitered around the front for several minutes. As if seeking final confirmation, she peered into the dark recesses of the shop, perhaps hoping Mr Corson would emerge from the shadows and pass her a piece of kitchenware with his characteristic, unhurried theatricality. A minute later, she shuffled away, exchanging glances with a massive turbot glowering from the fishmonger’s window next door. While some traditional shops have found a resurgence (Stockbridge now has two cheesemongers), Corson Hardware had served its last customer.

I passed the shop again in early November. Work had clearly been ongoing. The door was fractionally open, and I could peer inside. What a change! In contrast to the dark clutter of the past, the shop was bright, airy and empty. Virtually all evidence of Corson had been erased, and the external signs painted over. Thankfully, the wooden interior and the fireplace in the back have been retained – traditional shop interiors are increasingly seen as something to cherish and restore, not rip out and discard. On November 8th, a ‘To Let’ sign was abruptly erected.

 

In search of answers – and a replacement Vileda mop head – I headed, as instructed, to Marchmont Hardware. There, the owner, Liane Phillips, told me she had helped clear Corson’s. He was, she confirmed, ‘at least 80 and just felt it was time to retire … he’d been there for so many years.’ Sorting out the contents had been a ‘fascinating but sad’ experience. 

 

They had enjoyed exhuming the beautiful fireplace towards the back and had found numerous historical remnants, including business cards of people ‘long since gone’ and a phone book full of numbers from the old phone system. Marchmont Hardware absorbed the usable parts of Corson’s stock, meaning, for Phillips, that ‘part of Corson lives on’.

 

Phillips lamented that no one was found to take Corson on as a going concern, calling it a symptom of the ‘hard times’ for hardware businesses in general. She ‘would have loved to take on the shop’, but acknowledged that ‘trade is hard’. Mr Corson was ‘part of a dying breed’, definitely ‘old school’ in his customer service, but possessed of knowledge that takes years to acquire. Phillips, who was mentored in the trade by her stepfather, now runs what is, following Corson’s closure, Edinburgh’s last independent hardware shop. She hopes Marchmont Hardware can survive by profiting on its local reputation and the expert knowledge the staff provides.

 

What lies in store for the site of Corson, now just a shell? The ‘property consultants’ marketing the unit outline that it ‘occupies a prime position’ in Stockbridge among a ‘high end mix’ of shops, as well ‘as thriving independent restaurants and cafés’. The exciting new business which takes its place will no doubt attract plenty of attention.

 

But we should also mark those businesses which expire. Particularly those which epitomised a previous retail culture and a version of Stockbridge that existed before it became vogueish and ‘Instagrammable’. 

 

The passing of a fragment of Stockbridge in its previous incarnation is absolutely worth remembering.