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Outsider on the contrasting fate of two local Jhoots branches

It was the best of branches, it was the worst of branches. It was a time of growth, it was a time of struggle. It was a pharmacy of promise, it was a pharmacy of uncertainty. 

Such is the story of two community pharmacies, in the same northern city, separated by a housing estate or two, but united by the lessons they tell about community healthcare in England. 

The first is a Jhoots pharmacy, opened over 10 years ago in a growing residential area. The new pharmacy wasn’t really news – this was a time when new pharmacies were ten a penny, but this wasn’t a distance selling or 100 hours chancer.

It was a normal 40-hour contract opportunity in every sense: streets of new homes, young families moving in, and a genuine gap in local healthcare provision.

There were the usual teething troubles but over time the pharmacy grew with the community. Staff knew their patients, anticipated their needs, and became part of the fabric of the neighbourhood. It is a story of steadiness and quiet triumph—no headlines, no rapid expansions, no spectacular acquisitions.

Just a pharmacy that serves its community reliably, day after day. Its success is not flashy, but it is enduring, proving that consistency, investment in people, and responsiveness to local need are far more powerful than corporate theatre.

In stark contrast stands a LloydsPharmacy in a more deprived area, only a lunchtime’s stroll away. Here, the story is almost Dickensian in its turbulence. Struggling with historical underinvestment, high operational pressures, and a patient base with complex needs, the branch teetered for years as the parent company slowly disintegrated. 

When it became one of the tranche of pharmacies acquired by Jhoots—there was optimism that fresh branding, new systems, and ambition could turn things around. 

Yet ambition alone was insufficient. The pressures of constrained contracts and absence of investment proved too great, and the branch closed shortly thereafter, leaving a gap in a community that had relied on it for years. The streets waited, patients wondered, and a once-promising healthcare provision lay dormant. 

This month, however, brings a new chapter. Allied Pharmacies has acquired the site and reopened it. There is a sense of resurrection here, a chance for rebirth under careful, considered stewardship. We still don’t know what went wrong at Jhoots, perhaps we’ll never know. 

Was it always a bad idea or was it a good idea executed poorly – Icarus flying too high and too close to the sun? Which begs the question of our new owners: are they Daedalus to Jhoot’s Icarus?

Allied’s track record appears to have been more pragmatic up to this point. Yes, they’ve grown from a small group to a not-inconsiderable 150 pharmacies before the Jhoots acquisition. They appear to have done so while maintaining staff retention, operational stability, and measured investment.

No dramatic fanfare, no headlining ambition—just the slow, steady work of making a pharmacy serve its people consistently. One can only hope that their newest pharmacy can become a dependable presence. 

The contrast between the two branches could not be more striking. One is a quiet success, thriving through years of careful service; the other has weathered storms of ownership, closure, and uncertainty.

 Yet both reveal the same axioms about community pharmacy: success comes not from speed or size alone, but from resources, management, and a focus on patient care.

Where ambition falters, careful stewardship can succeed. Where neglect dominates, revival requires more than optimism—it requires sustained investment and a strategy grounded in reality. 

The tale of these two pharmacies is emblematic of the wider sector. Without policy changes there will be policy failures. The recent All Party Parliamentary Group report on pharmacy may have made headlines but it achieves nothing.

What needs to change is policy—this tale simply illustrates the reality of the current policy.

As Allied reopens its pharmacy, there is hope that it can finally achieve the stability its community needs.

The quiet triumph of its former sibling across the city offers a roadmap: a reminder that enduring success comes from consistency, attention to detail, and a commitment to serving people, not chasing expansion. 

In the end, the story of these two pharmacies is a tale of contrasts, of highs and lows, and of the enduring importance of steady service. 

Both remind us that community pharmacy is ultimately about people. For the patients who rely on these services, the hope is that, under Allied’s stewardship, the troubled branch can finally join its quieter counterpart in delivering consistent, reliable care. 

It is the best of pharmacy. It is the worst of pharmacy. And perhaps, at last, both of these pharmacies can serve their communities well. 

Outsider is a community pharmacy commentator