Meet the former Tesco manager giving Burnham all his best ideas

Become an Independent member to bookmark this article Want to bookmark your favourite articles and stories to read or reference later? Start your Independent Membership today. Join today Already a member? Log in L istening to John Healey set out his litany of small , unexciting measures intended to help people better negotiate their lives, I experienced déjà vu. Andy Burnham has talked about his influences being his mother Eileen, father Roy, wife Frankie, brothers John and Nick, his Northern roots, his pals, Steve Rotheram , mayor of Liverpool , Hillsborough .

But, on Budget day, as he sat nodding alongside his Chancellor, there was someone else I kept being reminded of. It was there in the deadpan delivery , the soft repetitive formulation, saying “breathing space” over and over ; the tiny adjustments to people’s finances here and there, the concern for ordinary folks and their needs, the tone and mantra of this Budget. All of it brought back memories of one man: Sir Terry Leahy and, more specifically, the supermarket he used to help run.

Like Burnham, Leahy is Liverpudlian, Catholic, Everton. Solid. He is also the architect of perhaps the most successful UK advertising campaign there has ever been, certainly one of the very best anywhere: “Every Little Helps”. As Leahy said about himself: “One religion, one football team, one wife, one firm: Roman Catholic, Everton, Alison and Tesco .” open image in gallery Terry Leahy knew the power of listening – and Tesco’s bottom line benefited ( Getty ) What are we getting from Healey and Burnham today?

Every little helps. Leahy’s slogan, devised when he was Tesco’s marketing director, working with ad agency Lowe Howard-Spink, entailed understanding customers, their grievances and desires. If Margaret Thatcher was steered by being the daughter of a small-town grocer from Grantham, Burnham is now borrowing from the mass market’s finest, making folks believe he cares because he understands that every little helps. Recommended Anthropic has opened its books to the stock market and they make for terrifying reading Nothing prepares you for being editor of The Independent Racists in Reform?

They’re not a bug, they’re a feature Negative equity is here and a collapse in the housing market has already begun When Leahy launched his mantra, Tesco was languishing far behind M&S and Sainsbury . At the time, critics thought Tesco was focusing on the trivial, unable to see how a few pence from a tin of beans or a packet of cereal made a difference. As they saw it, the chain should be doing the ambitious, slick, transformative stuff.

But sweat the small stuff, and the big stuff follows. Leahy and co knew the power of listening and being on the level of those they needed to listen to. These weren’t Harvard-educated consultants sitting in a distant complex applying some business school theory. The drive was based on a huge amount of on-the-ground research, getting out, talking to shoppers, moving with them and among them in the aisles, hearing what they had to say – what annoyed them, what could be done to make them think better of Tesco, and to return, time and again.

The consumers weren’t extolling a grandiose vision, calling for total overhaul; nor were they making airy comparisons with Tesco’s rivals. They were saying how they found Tesco day-to-day, how it would help if that every day staple could be priced a little less; how they would appreciate someone who knew what they were experiencing; how they tried to make not much extend as far as possible; how they wanted to feel understood and welcomed and how they liked to believe the person, the company, they were giving their money to, was on their side. open image in gallery Every little helps: Healey isn’t extolling a grand vision – he’s looking for incremental gains ( PA ) Small discounts on carefully-chosen lines followed, accompanied always by that overriding statement.

The slogan was everywhere, in the shops, on billboards and TV. The gains were incremental, but they mattered. Slowly but surely, Tesco’s revenues climbed. Leahy added another masterstroke, the Tesco Clubcard , which was able to collect the data and communicate directly with the shopper, building on their loyalty, speaking directly to what they bought and offering something off here, a special deal there. Consistently throughout, as Leahy went on to become chief executive, his bedrock was the marginal adjustment, not major but enough, so that people, ordinary people, noticed the change and were grateful.

Burnham is now applying this supermarket philosophy to the corridors of Whitehall. He said this week: “If you’re a nurse driving for work, a parent spending those precious first weeks with your new baby, or an unpaid carer picking up an extra shift, these changes will make life a little easier and put more money back in your pocket.” You see – every little helps. Burnham will be hoping that he’ll see the rewards among the electorate, just as Leahy was rewarded by his shoppers.

Tesco’s market share rose from 10 per cent to 30 per cent. Leahy garnered a shower of praise, repeatedly winning the “Most Admired Business Leader” accolade, acquiring a knighthood and amassing a considerable personal fortune. Not bad for a boy from a council estate on Merseyside, who started out as a shelf-stacker. Burnham will be hoping that he’ll see the rewards among the electorate, just as Leahy was rewarded by his shoppers He once took me on a branch visit.

It was weird and uncomfortable witnessing the corporate commander, minus the usual attendant PRs and hangers-on, simply approaching a woman and asking about the contents of her basket. We went into a back room tasting for curry ready meals. I was desperate to hear Leahy’s plans for Tesco dominance, and he was more interested in sampling tikka masala and comparing notes on bhajis with a group of shoppers plucked straight from the shop floor.

Too spicy, too bland and could do with an extra kick – on he went, chattering away, entirely on their level. Another part of Leahy’s credo was to ensure every Tesco executive, no matter how senior, spent a period each year working in the shops, on the tills, checking stock levels, sprucing up the displays, tidying, moving trolleys. It was mandatory. They wore the same clothes as their colleagues. Leahy did it himself and relished it, learning far more, he said, than from any abstract management paper.

Watching Burnham on his trips into care homes, hospitals, factories, and schools, he is in his element, relatable and connecting just the way Leahy did. From No 10, Burnham is today advocating that civil servants get out and into local councils. Funny, that. The similarities do not stop there. Liverpool-born, Catholic, Everton-supporting (Leahy is a special adviser to the club) and Manchester. Leahy was chancellor of UMIST and co-chancellor of Manchester University, giving £1.5m towards research into regional economic disparities and founding the Sir Terry Leahy chair in urban and regional economics at Alliance Manchester Business School.

Recommended John Healey is putting the brakes on Andy Burnham’s European ambitions Burnham and Healey are learning the wrong lessons from New Labour Britain needs a bolder approach to growth, not a Budget of short-term fixes Leahy stepped down from Tesco in 2011, aged 55. By then, he’d guided Tesco to becoming six times larger than M&S and Sainsbury and the third-biggest retailer in the world. Then I wrote : “A government department has been mentioned, something he’s downplayed.”

It’s a pity, I said. “Will someone give him the NHS or Education? Please.” Today, Leahy 2.0 is in charge. Every little helps.