Early January has a way of inviting reflection. Before the year gathers pace, many of us take stock of the world, of work, and of what quietly stayed with us from the year just passed.
At the start of autumn, amid political uncertainty, economic recalibration and social fatigue, I found myself in northern England for something much simpler. My husband and I were there to visit our daughter in Manchester, balancing family time with a few work engagements woven quietly into the trip.
I have always found that you learn the most about the state of the world not from grand policy statements, but from small, seemingly ordinary places. It was not meant to be a business case study. And yet, it became one.
During that visit, we made our way to Buxton, a town that carries its history lightly, without spectacle.
We stepped into two family-owned businesses that have endured because they understood something more fundamental – how to remain relevant without losing themselves. What stayed with me was the realisation that longevity is rarely accidental.
Family businesses are often romanticised. We speak of legacy, tradition and continuity as though they are inevitable outcomes of longevity. They are not.
What struck me about the Buxton shops was not nostalgia, but intentionality. They were not frozen in time, but alive to their customers and to change.
At Hargreaves & Son, which celebrated 160 years in business last year, that story of resilience was embedded quietly into everyday operations.
I met Martin Coles-Evans, the managing director and fourth-generation custodian of the family business, on the first floor of the shop. Nearby, almost casually displayed, was a letter of commendation – an invitation to Buckingham Palace.
While paying downstairs, one of the assistants explained why it had been awarded and how the business had survived the pandemic. That short conversation stayed with me and prompted me to write to Martin afterwards.
In his reply, he shared how Hargreaves & Son endured that period. Deemed non-essential and forced to close its physical doors, the business received no direct financial support through the furlough scheme. It survived because Martin had to learn, quickly and largely on his own, how to keep it trading.
The turning point came through social media. What began as a practical attempt to showcase products online quickly gained traction, turning social platforms into the business’s primary channel for visibility and survival.
That resilience later led to his invitation to attend the first official reception hosted by King Charles, alongside a small group of long-established businesses recognised for having endured and adapted through Covid-19.
It was not an award in the commercial sense, but a public acknowledgement of continuity – of businesses that survived quietly, without spectacle, when many did not.
Training, in that moment, was not about programmes or credentials. It was about learning quickly, adapting decisively and communicating clearly under pressure. That distinction matters.
Not far away stood C.R. Clowes & Son Ltd, another long-established family business, quieter in presence but no less instructive.
Founded as a pharmacy, its continuity was shaped by formal training and professional discipline, with one generation studying pharmacy at the University of Sheffield.
Rather than treating the family business as an alternative to education, it was something to return to with education. It echoed the same lesson as Hargreaves – longevity is sustained not by nostalgia, but by capability renewed across generations.
The parallels were impossible to ignore. In Malaysia, SMEs form the backbone of our economy, and the question of continuity matters more than we sometimes acknowledge.
According to official statistics, almost 97 per cent of all business establishments in the country fall within the SME category, spanning micro, small and medium enterprises.
Together, they contribute close to 40 per cent of national GDP and employ almost half the workforce.
These are figures we cite often. What they obscure is the SME-reality we tend to gloss over – what life inside these businesses actually looks like beyond the headlines.
In many family-run enterprises, a small group of individuals carries the weight of decision-making, communication and crisis management. The pressure is constant. Think Datuk Seri Aliff Shukri or Khairul Aming.
Training and development are frequently treated as discretionary – something to be addressed once the business is deemed “more stable”.
Closer to home, I see this at the Taman Tun Dr Ismail market, where I have been buying ulam and sayur kampung from Kak Azizah Bibi for more than 20 years.
Long before sustainability became a talking point, she was already practising it quietly – sourcing from villages and knowing what was in season.
While she remains active, it is now her son, Al Hafiz, who leads the business. The handover has not been symbolic, but practical – a reminder that continuity depends on knowledge being transferred, systems adapting and skills renewed across generations.
But stability, as 2025 reminded us, is rarely announced in advance.
Across the training rooms I stepped into last year, a familiar pattern emerged. Whether working with SMEs directly or with organisations that still operate with an SME mindset, leaders spoke of capable teams who struggled to articulate ideas, technically strong managers uncomfortable with difficult conversations and succession plans that existed largely on paper.
What was missing was not intelligence or commitment, but deliberately designed training and development to build those capabilities.
The quieter lesson of 2025 was that training works best when it is treated not as self-improvement, but as operational infrastructure.
When learning was anchored in real scenarios – stakeholder conversations, decision-making under pressure and communicating change – it was embraced. When framed as abstract or aspirational, it was postponed.
SMEs understand this distinction instinctively, even if they do not always articulate it in those terms.
Heritage does not exempt businesses from change. There is a persistent misconception that legacy enterprises must choose between preservation and progress.
In reality, the tension lies not between old and new, but between rigidity and responsiveness. What the Buxton businesses demonstrated so clearly was that heritage becomes an asset only when it is supported by contemporary skills.
Storytelling, for example, is not about reinvention. It is about translation – the ability to explain what you do, why it matters and why it should continue, to customers, staff and the next generation.
This is where training intersects directly with sustainability. Endurance, I realised, is rarely loud.
It is built through quiet decisions – investing in people, learning new skills and adapting without abandoning one’s core.
SMEs are often discussed as vulnerable or expendable. Perhaps it is time we recognised them instead as institutions, sustained not by sentiment, but by capability deliberately renewed.
The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the writer and do not necessarily represent that of Twentytwo13.
