Earlier this week it was announced that the historic, family-run Ballymena shoe shop McKillens will close its doors after 100 years in business.

Established in 1926, the retailer has long been described as being at the “heart of the town”, but citing “increasing overheads, online shopping and the demise of the high street”, it has now had to admit defeat.

It is the second family-owned business in Ballymena to announce its closure in recent weeks, after discount store Wyse Byse shut down following the retirement of its co-founder.

I spent a fair bit of my childhood in McKillens. A Saturday visit was a proper outing. It was so busy you had to take a number and wait your turn, which felt deeply unfair when you were five and convinced a new pair of Lelli Kellys or Skecher’s Twinkle Toes would change your life.

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At the time, I resented the waiting. In hindsight, that was part of the experience.

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Years later, while at university, I took a part-time job in a local shoe shop. There was plenty I didn’t enjoy – reorganising shelves, chasing missing sizes, following head office visual merchandising guides to the letter – but dealing with customers was never the problem. In fact, it was the best part of the job.

Some interactions were simply interesting. I sold walking boots to a woman who had worked alongside Sir James Martin, inventor of the ejector seat. I fitted dress shoes for a man travelling to London to receive an MBE.

Others stayed with me for different reasons. I once helped a recently widowed man choose a new pair of slippers because, as he told me quietly, his wife had always done that for him. You don’t get those moments at a self-checkout.

None of these exchanges would appear in a set of annual accounts. When shops like McKillens close, the conversation understandably centres on jobs, turnover and footfall. What is less often acknowledged is the slow erosion of ordinary spaces and opportunities for people to interact.

Retail has been edging towards efficiency for years. Staffed tills are replaced by machines. Orders are placed through QR codes. More purchases happen online, with little or no human contact. The shift makes commercial sense, and consumers, myself included, have embraced the convenience. But we can’t mourn the disappearance of places like McKillens while consistently embracing the alternatives.

Convenience changes the texture of a place. It removes the waiting, the small talk, the incidental conversation. It strips out the small frictions that once made high streets feel alive.

The recent discussions regarding the future of Boucher Playing Fields as a concert venue may seem like a separate issue. One is a family-run shoe shop, the other is the country’s largest outdoor concert venue. Yet both are physical environments, places where people gathered, queued, talked and shared a common experience.

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We often talk about loneliness, disconnection and the decline of town centres. At the same time, the kind of spaces which facilitate and encourage spontaneous, ordinary interaction are becoming fewer. We notice when a landmark shuts its doors but we are less quick to notice what disappears with it.

Not every closure is preventable. Not every business model can survive unchanged. But as high streets shrink and large-scale venues are reconsidered, it is worth considering what is being lost beyond the obvious economic metrics.

Because once these spaces disappear they rarely return and that loss is a lot greater than we might think.

© The Irish News