The rise and rise of Richard Kirk

RICHARD Kirk leans forward in his chair, jabs his finger on the table top and says very earnestly: 'Now let me tell you about shoes.' In staccato Derbyshire tones, he then delivers a 60-second summary of the way the shoe market has changed.

Men's shoes? Outside work, most have just a pair of trainers. Women? Their shoe-buying habits no longer follow the seasons. If fashion dictates, they will buy boots in the spring and sandals at Christmas. ' Necessity doesn't come into it, let alone warmth.'

And so on. Statistics, markets, trends, suppliers - Richard Kirk is a man who clearly knows his shoes. And that is pretty remarkable. Kirk, after all, started his retailing career selling glassware and crockery. He made his first fortune in frozen food. And now he is trying to make his second in charge of Peacocks, the cheap-and-cheerful clothes retailer that has shops in nearly 350 British High Streets.

So does that make him an all-purpose retailer? Is selling crockery different from selling frozen peas? 'Actually, I think most of the disciplines in retailing apply whatever you're selling,' says Kirk. 'I'm sorry if that sounds a bit boring.'

It is not the first time or the last during our one hour chat that Kirk apologises for sounding boring. No, he's not boring. But the story of his rise and rise through various types of retailing is at least straightforward.

He left grammar school in Chesterfield in 1966, applied unsuccessfully to join Marks & Spencer, then saw an advert for trainees at Woolworths. 'After being rejected by M&S, I have to admit it did feel a bit second-rate,' says Kirk. He joined Woolworths in Sheffield - which was where the glass and crockery came in - moved through the ranks and became a manager in Beverley, Yorkshire, by 1971.

'I was on a contract that gave me 10% of the profits of the shop,' recalls Kirk. 'On a Saturday night, I'd sit down with my notebook and work out how much I'd made.' That year, he earned £3,500 - not bad for someone barely into his twenties when the average male income was little more than £1,600.

The following year, still with Woolworths, Kirk's income hit £7,000. 'And that was serious money,' he now reflects.

It was during his next Woolworths posting, to Rhyll, North Wales, that Kirk met up with a couple of former Woolies trainees called Malcolm Walker and Peter Hinchcliffe who had left to set up their own company, Iceland.

'They seemed to have got the business running quite nicely,' says Kirk. 'And the thing that stuck in my mind was that Malcolm was driving an E-type Jag.' Kirk ploughed on with Woolworths. Walker and Hinchcliffe ploughed on with Iceland. Then in 1978, Kirk was asked to meet them at a hotel in Stoke-on-Trent where they offered him the chance to join them to help with Iceland's expansion. He accepted. 'We had 27 shops and turnover was about £1.5 million,' says Kirk. 'We were running this business out of a back street in Rhyll, and it was great, great fun. We couldn't believe how successful it was. We were all still young. And year after year, the business was clocking up double-digit growth.'

Iceland floated in 1984. It trebled its size with the takeover of Bejam in 1988. Within a few years, Kirk's job had shifted from running a 27-store business operating out of a back street to being one of the key players in a large, quoted company.

And in 1996, Kirk made the second big leap of his career. He left Iceland. Walker saw Kirk's departure as an act of betrayal: the two men haven't spoken for five years.

Kirk joined Peacocks in 1996 as chief executive. The company, established in the 19th Century, needed an injection of new life.

'I am not a very sophisticated retailer. I gathered 100-odd people from the business in a hotel in Cardiff and and said, 'I know nothing about clothing. Tell we what you think I should do''.'

Five weeks later, the group met again to deliver its verdict. Then they got on with it. 'It went like a train,' Kirk recalls.

Peacocks floated at the end of 1999. The stock market still values it at less than when it was floated, but the group has just unveiled a 25% rise in profits for last year. And Kirk is adamant that there is plenty more to go for.

'People don't give up trying to be fashionable just because they're in their thirties or forties,' he says. 'More and more things are considered must-haves. What mums buy is driven by their daughters. We should be able to push more into middle-aged groups. And our prices are half what they are in other shops.'

That, of course, is the key. Peacocks keeps costs down by siting its stores in what are euphemistically called secondary locations - in other words, away from main shopping centres where rents are high.

And it is unapologetically a discount retailer. Its rivals are the likes of Matalan, New Look, Mark One - and market stalls. Marks & Spencer and Next are aiming at a different audience.

And by buying 40% of its merchandise from what is loosely described as Europe, including places such as Turkey and Romania, the company reckons on only about six weeks from placing an order with a manufacturer to having the clothes in stores.

Kirk is clearly enthused - just as he was enthused about running a branch of Woolworths or helping to build Iceland. 'I'd hate to pack up,' he says. 'I like retailing. Sorry if that sounds a bit boring, but it's true.'