Once upon a time, in the halcyon days of dial-up internet connections and brick size mobiles, there lived five enormous institutions. They were trustworthy, mighty, and slightly terrifying. Like the financial equivalent of the Mona LIsa, but behind a desk.
For decades, businesses were told: “You must bank with one of the Big Five, or you will never amount to anything but a quaint Jam & Jerusalem stand.” A post office account just wouldn’t do and building societies were not places where you could set up standing orders. And we believed them. We set up our current accounts, our merchant services, even our overdrafts, nodding obediently like Victorian children at a dinner party.
But here’s a thought: what if that advice is now about as relevant as a fax machine in a TikTok busines tutorial?
Modern financial tech has moved faster than Max off the grid when in pole position. We’ve got digital-only banks that’ll set you up faster than a pop-up coffee van at an artisan market. Need a real-time dashboard? Split payments by project? Integrate with your accounting software so beautifully it practically sings? There’s a fintech for that, and it doesn’t involve waiting 17 working days for a printed statement and a security dongle the size of a hip flask.
Yet some businesses are still clinging to their big-bank relationships like a limpet to a rock. Why? “Because that’s how it’s always been done,” they mutter, eyes glazed like a middle manager reading a GDPR update.
“The Big Five are safe.” Or so we all thought until the 2008 crash and the government had to step in, with big boots and pockets… (Note: By around 2020, analysts, media, and the banking industry began more frequently referring to the “Big Four”, dropping Santander from the grouping. Prior to that, Midland were taken over by HSBC and Lloyds bank acquired TSB before they were forced to divorce, etc.).
However, these days, many of the newer players are regulated to the same financial standards (please refer to a recent blog). And, shockingly, they sometimes answer the phone while your tea is still hot. Plus, ever tried to get to speak with a helpful SME adviser from your big bank lately? I always end up feeling like their training focusses mainly on playing pass the customer parcel and hoping you will get cut off at some point.
If you think being loyal to your bank will somehow get you better treatment, I regret to inform you: it won’t. Your Big Four bank doesn’t send you flowers. It doesn’t remember your birthday. It charges you £8.50 a month for “account maintenance,” which sounds like code for “dusting the server.” Newer financial institutions often want your business. They come bearing gifts in the form of lower fees, slicker tools, sometimes even actual humans who have an interest in your business.
Let’s not throw the (interest-free) baby out with the bathwater. The Big Four still have some weight, especially when it comes to lending, international clout, and a sense of stability that might still appeal to larger, more traditional firms (read: businesses run by people who think TikTok is the sound a clock makes). So if your business is regulated in specific ways or has particular needs such as foreign currency transfers, letters of credit, that sort of jazz, then maybe one of the Big Four is still your best dance partner. But should it be your only one?
Ask yourself: If I were starting my business today, would I still choose my current bank? Or do I just have Stockholm Syndrome with a chequebook? I’m not saying break up with the Big Four. Just maybe… see other banks and have a flirt with fintech. Try a poly-bank relationship. No judgement. It’s 2025. Your business deserves better than clunky logins, outdated tech, and the lingering smell of 2003’s giveaways. Be brave. Be bold. Be… slightly annoyed when your Big Four bank takes up to 6 weeks to reply to a support ticket while a startup app has an avatar that anwers most of your questions when needed.
Because frankly, if your bank still needs a branch visit to change your phone number, or confirmation of who you are in the form of a passport, four posted utility bills and a current blood test when you’ve had an account with them since your were 16, it might be time to swipe left.
And also just because, to me, at least one of the big four has lost its connection to us in the real world. Here are a couple of real life situations that I have come across:
Put yourself in this person’s shoes: They’ve been a loyal business customer, trading ethically, building bridges with former conflict-zone Fairtrade suppliers (where they served when they were in the Armed Forces). But now, because their goods come from a country that’s fallen out of favour on someone’s spreadsheet somewhere in London, Flatwet have decided you’re just “too risky”. No conversation. No nuance. Just a curt notice and a ticking clock before your business account is axed. A decade of loyalty gone faster than a TamTam biscuit at a board meeting.
And then there’s Sarah (not her real name), who’s been through the wringer and back. A survivor of domestic abuse, she’s finally getting her life back on track. The former matrimonial home is on the market, and though she can’t pay the mortgage in full right now, she’s cooperating, communicating, and doing everything humanly reasonable. The house has over triple the equity owed, plenty to pay back the bank. But instead of recognising this, Flatwet silence her mortgage advisor and let loose the collections department like hounds after an injured fox. No discretion, no decency, just a flurry of letters, calls, and threats, as if the abuses she has suffered weren’t quite complete without their contribution. It’s the kind of treatment that doesn’t just ignore someone’s past trauma, it risks pushing them to the brink all over again.
In contrast there’s Harbour Bank, a little breath of fresh air in a room rather full of stale policies. When the above veteran was shown the door by his longtime bank, Harbour didn’t flinch. No panic. No wild assumptions. No awkward interrogation about whether he was smuggling weapons-grade quinoa or stuffing his shipments with cocaine. Just a calm, professional, “Of course you can open an account. You’ve served your country, not run a cartel.” It was a rare moment where common sense strolled in, kicked off its boots, and offered someone a real cup of tea.
Photo by Ethan Wilkinson
