What went wrong in Britain’s ‘most depressing’ town

The handsome Cornish port of Falmouth was surprisingly voted the country’s worst place to live – here’s why

A seaside resort with a thriving cultural scene, a string of Blue Flag beaches, and beautiful countryside for miles around: welcome to Falmouth, the most depressing town in the UK.
This surprising and unwanted accolade has arrived thanks to a poll by ilivehere.com, a website on which users can submit reviews – generally humorous and usually negative – of the places in which they live.
The historic port on Cornwall’s south coast was a surprise entry to this year’s list of the country’s 20 gloomiest towns and cities, but a late surge saw it rocket to the number one spot, beating perennial butt-of-the-joke places such as Peterborough (second), Luton (11th) and Swindon (13th).
The number one ranking has left many in Cornwall baffled, and even the poll’s organisers seemed a little taken aback by the shock result.
“We have to admit, we know absolutely nothing about Falmouth,” the ilivehere.com team admitted. “We Googled it and it looks picturesque – but we’re sure it’s a facade it trades on, and who are we to question the wisdom of the crowd?”
I visited this week to get to the bottom of the mystery. Falmouth admittedly wasn’t looking its best on a grey February morning, but even in the winter drizzle I couldn’t see much to dampen the spirits. Rows of pretty, pastel-hued Victorian terraces tumbled down a steep hill towards The Moor, the town’s lively main square, which was lined with bustling cafés, restaurants, pubs and shops.
One shopkeeper, Julianne, laughed at the notion of Falmouth being considered in any way depressing. “Everybody’s talking about it, as you can imagine,” she said. “It’s ridiculous. I’ve only lived here five years, and compared to where I lived before it’s wonderful.”
Reviews on ilivehere.com pointed to holiday crowds, second-home owners and the proliferation of Airbnbs, turning an authentic port into a “socially cleansed fishing theme park for DFLs [Down From Londons]”. I asked Julianne how these issues had affected the mood in the town.
“That is a problem, but it’s not depressing,” she replied. “Those of us who live here love it all the same, and if you’re visiting then presumably it’s because you also find the town attractive.”
Taking my leave, I turned onto the busy high street that wends its way along the waterfront. Here and there, narrow “opes” (alleyways) lead down to the quayside, from where you can look out at the broad expanse of Carrick Roads, the deep natural harbour where, centuries ago, ships used to gather before sailing for North America in convoy. It was down one of these where I met David and Pamela, who had travelled into town for the day from their home on the Lizard. They were incredulous at the poll’s results, although they did also raise concerns that Falmouth had entered a period of decline.
“It’s going downhill, that’s for certain,” they told me. “Walking down the high street, there are a lot of shops that are empty or look very run down, with their signs falling off. There are a lot of students here and they’ve had a very positive impact. But if you’re a student, you don’t have very much money to spend.”
Both were more sanguine about holidaymakers, who they felt contributed a lot to the town financially, although they did note that it was sad to look across at night-time and see so few lights.
As I continued down the main strip towards the Church of King Charles the Martyr (Falmouth has traditionally leant towards the Royalist cause), I couldn’t help but notice a number of boarded-up shop fronts. It hinted at troubled times for local traders, although by most measures the town’s commerce seemed exceptionally healthy. There were plenty of shoppers dipping in and out of doorways, with a pleasing mix of high street chains and independent retailers. There was a welcome lack of pound shops and pawnbrokers too.
Towards the edge of the main shopping area, beside the National Maritime Museum Cornwall, I stopped in at Pysk, a family-run fishmonger. From behind a counter lined with haddock, mackerel and squid, co-owner Giles admitted he had not heard about Falmouth’s new status, and was sceptical when I offered the theory that second homes were the root cause of the issue.
“It’s an odd result,” he said. “I can name half a dozen places close by that are far worse, with way more second homes too. St Mawes is dead in winter, but Falmouth is lively all year round thanks to the students.”
Since 2005, Falmouth has been home to the only independent university in Cornwall, and recent years have seen students become integral to the town’s social fabric. With an enrollment of around 6,500, they make up a sizable portion of the population, which across Falmouth and neighbouring Penryn sits at roughly 30,000. Some fear, however, that all those students, coupled with demand for second homes and holiday lets, is creating a housing crisis – with locals pushed to the fringes by rising property prices.
With lunchtime approaching, I wandered across to the south side of town where, overlooking the shoreline, elegant Edwardian hotels sit cheek by jowl with gleaming luxury apartment complexes.
Down on Gyllyngvase Beach, dogs raced up and down the shoreline as their owners paced along behind, huddling into their waterproofs. It was here that I encountered Chris, as he attempted to steer his small terrier away from a family of holidaymakers enjoying pasties. Asked why he thought Falmouth had received so many votes, he suggested wilful self-sabotage.
“I think it’s a ruse, and some on social media have decided to use this poll to intentionally damage Falmouth’s reputation and stop people moving here,” he said.
“I’ve lived all around and can safely say that Falmouth is lush, but at the same time there are a lot of families who can’t afford to live here. It’s far worse in some of the villages outside town though. St Mawes, Flushing, Maenporth… they’ve all been gutted.”
I took the scenic route back towards the town centre, following the coast around Pendennis Point and skirting the castle built by Henry VIII to guard against marauding French privateers. I bumped into Tamara and her spaniel, Jake. The Falmouth native acknowledged that the town has its fair share of problems. Like David and Pamela, she observed that there had been a lack of economic growth in recent years, coupled with a decline in community cohesion.
“Some of my neighbours are second home owners, and they’re lovely and contribute a lot to the town when they’re here,” she said. “But there are whole streets that have been taken over by student housing or holiday lets. It’s inevitable that a lack of community will come from that lack of permanency.”
Like others, though, she laughed off the idea that anyone could seriously consider this part of Cornwall to be genuinely depressing. “It has an awful lot to offer really: good beaches, fantastic pubs, lots of really great places to eat and a really diverse mix of people.”
She glanced up at the grey skies, before adding: “The weather could be better though.”

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