Chapter Nine: Hard Times

By early 2020, Judy and I were still reeling from the loss of Ruby, our beloved dog and the original Salty Dog. She had been part of our lives, and the business, for seventeen years. Losing her left a quiet, aching space in our days. It felt like the end of an era -  though at the time, we had no idea how symbolic that moment would turn out to be.

Around then, the news began to talk about a new coronavirus, originating in China. I remember watching those early reports with mild interest rather than alarm. We’d seen scares before - SARS, swine flu, bird flu - and none had really affected us. I assumed this would be much the same. Something unfortunate, but distant.

By the beginning of March, it became clear that this was different.

On 23 March 2020, the government announced the first national lockdown. Everything stopped. Pubs closed. Restaurants shut their doors. Airlines grounded planes. The country went quiet in a way none of us had ever experienced.

At first, I wasn’t overly concerned. The government talked about three weeks to “flatten the curve.” Three weeks didn’t sound too bad. The weather was glorious for the time of year, and the idea of an unexpected break even felt - dare I say it - slightly appealing.

That optimism didn’t last long.

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A Warehouse Full of Trouble

Reality hit hard when we looked at the business properly. We had a warehouse full of crisps, nuts, and snacks, all already made and with best-before dates measured in months, not years. And almost overnight, we had no customers.

Our biggest markets - pubs, sandwich bars, airlines - had been shut down completely. There was no clarity on when they would reopen, or even if some of them would survive at all.

I remember standing there thinking: What on earth are we going to do with all this stock?

This wasn’t a slow downturn you could plan around. It was like someone had pulled the handbrake at full speed. If we didn’t act quickly, we were staring at catastrophic losses.

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Looking After People First

One thing was clear straight away: we had to look after our people.

We furloughed most of the team, which thankfully kept them secure. Karen, however, I needed at the farm - there was too much to organise, too many moving parts, too many decisions to make.

Also, three of the team were self-employed contractors. They didn’t qualify for furlough, and without Salty Dog they would have no income at all. After a lot of discussion, we made the decision to pay them a monthly retainer.

It was expensive. In truth, it scared me. But it was the right thing to do. They were part of our extended family, and loyalty matters - especially in a crisis.

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The Great Crisp Clear-Out

Next came the biggest problem of all: how to sell the stock.

With traditional routes gone, we tried something completely different. We offered our snacks on local town Facebook groups, with a simple deal: Buy One Get One Free.

I remember thinking, This might shift a bit… but there’s no way it’ll touch the sides.

I was wrong.

What happened next was one of the most heartening experiences of my entire business life.

The local community responded in force. Orders flooded in. Messages came thick and fast. People weren’t just buying a bag or two - they were buying cases. Families. Neighbours. Friends of friends.

For the next few weeks, I lived largely on Merlin, our narrowboat. Every morning I loaded up our little van and spent the day delivering Salty Dog crisps and snacks to doorsteps across the area.

People laughed as they took delivery, I remember one lady saying:

“What am I like?!”

as I staggered up her path with six cases of crisps.

I don’t suppose we did much for local waistlines - but those people quite literally saved our business.

Before the first lockdown even ended, we had sold almost everything.

To this day, I feel incredibly grateful. It reminded me that businesses don’t exist in isolation - they’re part of a community. And when you’ve spent years treating people fairly, sometimes that goodwill comes back when you need it most.

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A Strange, Silent World

That first lockdown was surreal.

I occasionally drove home to see Judy, and the roads were almost empty. Motorways without traffic. Skies without planes. Wildlife venturing into places you’d never normally see it.

There was an eerie beauty to it all - and a deep sense that we were living through something historic.

When restrictions eased in July 2020, we dared to hope things would return to normal. Pubs reopened and were rammed. The government introduced Eat Out to Help Out, and for a brief moment, it felt like we might be back on track.

But it didn’t last.

Two more lockdowns followed. For us, it felt like one long, grinding shutdown. Pubs were only allowed to sell “substantial meals,” and bar snacks were banned.

I’ll admit it - I shouted at the radio when that was announced!

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Loss Close to Home

As if Covid wasn’t enough, 2020 dealt us another heavy blow.

In November 2020, Michael Sweeting, the owner of Pressmore Farm, passed away. Michael had been a constant presence since Judy and I moved into Stable Cottage. He was a wonderful man - always immaculately turned out if he wasn’t dressed in his blue work overalls, running the farm like a military operation.

He reminded me of an old colonel. The farm was always spotless. Lorries were expected to drive carefully. Standards mattered.

Over the years, Michael became a mentor, adviser, and friend. Pressmore Farm and Michael were inseparable in my mind. His passing was deeply sad - and on a personal level, it felt fitting, in a strange way, that our time there was coming to an end.

His wife Diana made the difficult decision to sell the farm. Completely understandable - but for us, the timing couldn’t have been worse.

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Tough Decisions

In the middle of Covid, with battered finances and huge uncertainty, we didn’t have the confidence to lease another unit.

Instead, we took a decision that changed the business forever: we outsourced all warehousing and deliveries to a fulfilment company. Salty Dog would become a fully remote operation.

It made financial sense - but it came at a human cost.

We had to make Sandra and Gary redundant.

That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in business. They were brilliant people who had given so much to the company. There’s no easy way to tell good people that you no longer have a place for them - even when you know it’s unavoidable.

Those conversations stay with you.

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Surviving the Storm

By 2022, the worst of Covid seemed to be behind us. Against the odds, we had survived. We’d taken huge hits, lost our base, restructured the business - but we were still standing.

I felt optimistic again. Confident, even.

What else could possibly go wrong? I remember thinking.

Then, in February 2022, the news broke that Russia had invaded Ukraine.

Terrible news, of course. But surely it wouldn’t affect us directly?

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

But that… is a story for the next chapter.

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The Terriertorial Army

Hard times don’t announce themselves politely. They arrive suddenly, force tough decisions, and test everything you think you know about yourself.

If you’re building something - a business, a brand, a dream - know this: resilience isn’t about never falling. It’s about finding a way to stand back up, again and again.

That’s the spirit of the Terriertorial Army. Scrappy. Resourceful. Loyal. And stubborn enough to keep going when the odds look stacked against you.

Next time: war, inflation, supply chaos - and yet another test of survival. 🐾