Is there still a “North–South divide” in England, or is it a worn-out cliché? For decades, commentators have spoken of a prosperous, fast-growing South and a struggling, neglected North. This idea has been used to explain everything from economic imbalances to voting patterns. Simultaneously, the traditional class system—working, middle, upper—has blurred in a way that leaves many unsure where they belong. This article examines whether the North–South divide still holds true in 2025, and what it means in a society shaped by globalisation, political instability, and a changing economy. It draws on new economic, health and education data, reflects on critiques of the divide as a political narrative, and considers how class identities continue to structure British life.
The North–South Divide: Fact or Fable?
Northern England is usually defined as the North East, North West, and Yorkshire and the Humber, while the South includes Greater London, the South East, South West, and East of England. The prevailing image of the South as wealthy and the North as poor has long been challenged by both data and anecdote, but in 2025, regional inequalities are still pronounced.
Regional Inequalities by the Numbers
The most recent figures show significant differences between the regions across wealth, productivity, health, infrastructure and educational outcomes. For instance, average salaries in the South East and London are considerably higher than in most of the North. According to the Centre for Cities’ 2025 report, the pay gap between London and towns like Burnley or Middlesbrough means Londoners will earn a year’s salary by August that some northern workers won’t reach by December (Centre for Cities, 2025).
Economic output mirrors this. Productivity in London remains well above the national average, while much of the North lags behind. Bloomberg (2025) reports that most UK regions are expected to fall further behind London over the next three years, with “levelling up” now described by many analysts as a failed project.
Infrastructure investment continues to favour the South. Despite the cancellation of HS2’s northern leg, the government recently approved the £9bn Lower Thames Crossing—a major new tunnel linking Essex and Kent (The Guardian, 25 March 2025). While this may benefit the South East, it deepens perceptions of underinvestment in the North.
The health divide remains sharp. The Centre for Ageing Better (2025) confirms life expectancy at birth in the North East is still among the lowest in England: 77.4 years for men, 81.4 for women. By contrast, men in southern districts like Hart in Hampshire live more than six years longer on average. The top ten local authorities for life expectancy are all in the South, while the bottom ten are almost entirely northern or Midlands-based.
Education gaps are also persistent. In the 2023 GCSEs, London students were over 10 percentage points more likely to earn top grades (7/A or above) than their counterparts in the North East. This was the largest regional disparity ever recorded and has grown wider since the pandemic (Department for Education, 2023). School leaders in the North blamed a centralised education policy that has disproportionately benefited schools in and around London.
Taken together, these trends support the view that the North–South divide is real and persistent. The UK remains one of the most regionally unequal developed countries. Public spending continues to reflect this imbalance: in 2022, public expenditure per head in London was £10,835—£1,200 above the national average. Unsurprisingly, 77% of respondents in a recent Ipsos poll agreed that where one lives affects one’s life chances “a great deal or quite a lot” (Ipsos, 2024).
Challenging the Narrative
While the data shows clear regional disparities, not everyone agrees that the North–South divide is the most useful way to understand inequality in Britain. Some argue it oversimplifies a more complex national picture. As social commentator Owen Jones has long argued, the real divide is not North versus South but top versus bottom. He points out that poverty exists in the South as well as the North, and that affluence can be found in northern suburbs and city centres (Jones, 2024).
London may have the highest average incomes in the country, but it also contains some of the most deprived areas. Tower Hamlets continues to have the highest rate of child poverty in England, and 16% of Londoners fall within the bottom national income decile (ONS, 2024). Meanwhile, parts of Cornwall, Kent, and coastal towns like Hastings and Great Yarmouth struggle with unemployment and long-term economic stagnation. By contrast, areas like Sheffield Hallam or North Leeds show how northern cities can contain highly affluent communities with strong educational outcomes and high professional employment.
Former Labour cabinet minister John Denham has also warned against overusing the North–South divide as a political tool. In a 2024 interview, Denham argued that the narrative risks alienating southern voters who also feel left behind and may have suffered significantly under austerity. He cited a “ring of coastal poverty” across the South—from Clacton to Southampton—as evidence that deprivation isn’t confined to the North (Denham, 2024).
This critique is not just about electoral strategy. It reflects the changing geography of inequality. Many of the poorest areas today are former industrial towns, struggling coastal resorts, or post-industrial suburbs—not neatly divided by a North/South line but scattered across England. While the North–South divide remains a useful shorthand in some contexts, it risks obscuring the divides within regions—such as the gulf between affluent suburbs and inner-city wards in Manchester, Leeds, or Newcastle.
Moreover, focusing too heavily on geography can deflect attention from class. The North/South framing often overlaps with class-based assumptions—that the North is working-class and the South is middle-class—which do not always hold true. As Denham and others argue, a more effective approach would consider inequality within regions and across socio-economic strata.
Nonetheless, the narrative of North–South inequality persists because it still resonates with public experience. In moments of political conflict or national debate, it offers a powerful framework for expressing a sense of injustice. Whether it is entirely accurate is less relevant than the fact that millions of people feel it reflects their lived reality.
North vs South in Politics and Media
The North–South divide continues to play a central role in British political debate, often surfacing most clearly during policy controversies, election campaigns, or infrastructure decisions. Since 2019, “levelling up” has served as the shorthand for successive governments’ attempts to address regional inequality. Boris Johnson’s Conservatives used it to appeal to disaffected northern voters, many of whom had supported Labour for generations. By positioning themselves as champions of the “Red Wall,” the Tories won working-class support in northern and Midlands constituencies.
But by 2025, the credibility of “levelling up” is in question. The cancellation of HS2’s Manchester leg in 2023 was widely interpreted as a betrayal. Leaders across the North condemned the decision. Greater Manchester Mayor Andy Burnham described it as “a broken promise to a region already short-changed for decades.” Business leaders expressed similar frustration, stating that the cancellation reinforced the belief that large-scale investment always favours the South (BBC News, Oct 2023). The government’s replacement proposal, “Network North,” promised to redirect funds to local transport improvements, but critics noted that many of the pledged projects were either already in progress or had previously been scrapped.
The perception of bias was reinforced in March 2025 when the government approved the £9bn Lower Thames Crossing—a road tunnel in the South East—shortly after abandoning several planned transport upgrades in the North (The Guardian, 25 Mar 2025). The decision sparked accusations that the South continues to receive the lion’s share of infrastructure investment, despite levelling-up rhetoric.
These events demonstrate how the North–South divide can be politically weaponised. Opposition MPs, especially Labour, have used the divide to highlight government failings. After the 2023 GCSE results revealed the widest-ever regional attainment gap, a Labour spokesperson declared that “levelling up is dead and buried,” accusing the Conservatives of abandoning northern schools (Labour Party, Sep 2023).
However, the current Labour government faces its own challenges. As of March 2025, the Starmer administration is preparing to announce welfare spending cuts in Chancellor Rachel Reeves' 26 March Spring Statement to reallocate funds towards defence—part of her effort to stabilise public finances in light of higher inflation and reduced growth forecasts (Reuters, 24 Mar 2025). Some Labour MPs have warned that these cuts risk hitting working-class and northern communities hardest, leading to accusations that Labour, too, may be neglecting its traditional base.
Meanwhile, Reform UK, under Nigel Farage—now an MP for Clacton—has gained traction by portraying itself as the voice of the forgotten working class. Farage has promised to “stand up for the North and the coast,” criticising both Labour and the Conservatives for their failure to deliver real change. His criticism extends to cultural issues: in March 2025, he pledged to confront teaching unions whom he accused of “poisoning young minds,” aligning himself with socially conservative voters who feel alienated from mainstream politics (The Guardian, 25 Mar 2025).
In media coverage, the North–South divide is often reinforced through familiar narratives. TV documentaries frequently highlight “left-behind towns” in the North, while London and the South East are portrayed as high-earning but culturally out-of-touch. Political commentators refer to “Red Wall voters,” “Workington Man,” and “Middle England” as symbolic archetypes. These shorthand terms often conflate region and class—casting the North as working-class and culturally conservative, and the South as middle-class and liberal.
In reality, both regions are internally diverse. There are wealthy professionals in Newcastle and struggling renters in Surrey. But politically, the North–South divide remains a convenient framework. For politicians, it simplifies a complex picture into clear messaging: support the North to show you’re on the side of ordinary people; invest in the South and you’re favouring the elite. It may not always be accurate, but as long as voters perceive the divide, parties will continue to reference it—strategically, symbolically, and often cynically.
Who Are the Working, Middle, Upper Class Now?
While geography plays an important role in how inequality is discussed in Britain, social class remains a central lens through which people understand their identity and position. The classic British class categories—working, middle, upper—have not disappeared, even as the country’s economy has shifted away from traditional manual labour and industrial employment.
In 2022, the British Social Attitudes survey found that 46% of adults still identified as working class, while 29% described themselves as middle class. The rest were unsure or didn’t associate with any particular class label (NatCen, 2022). This pattern has remained stable since the 1980s, despite massive changes in the labour market. Jobs in manufacturing and mining have largely vanished, replaced by employment in services, logistics, retail, and office-based work. Yet many people continue to define themselves by background and upbringing rather than current occupation.
Indeed, nearly half of those who call themselves working class today hold jobs traditionally viewed as middle-class—teachers, healthcare workers, office managers. Conversely, some individuals with high salaries and professional status still use the label “working class,” often as a sign of authenticity or cultural alignment. This reflects the way class identity in Britain is shaped as much by values, accent, and family history as by income.
Sociologists note that educational attainment is now one of the strongest predictors of how people identify. Around 60% of those who left school at 16 see themselves as working class, compared to just 28% of university graduates. Among the highest-earning households, only a third identify as working class; among the lowest-income households, the proportion is over 50% (British Social Attitudes, 2022).
Region also influences identification. In the North of England, 56% of adults describe themselves as working class, compared to 40% in London and the South East. There is a strong cultural tradition in many northern towns of working-class pride, even among people in professional roles. In contrast, parts of southern England—particularly the commuter belt—carry a middle-class identity norm, even for those on modest incomes.
Ethnicity and age also affect class identification. Younger people and ethnic minority Britons are more likely to describe themselves as working class than older white Britons. Women and men identify at similar rates, showing no significant gender divide in class perception.
The term “upper class” is now rarely used by individuals to describe themselves, except for the extremely wealthy or aristocratic. In Britain, even affluent professionals tend to self-describe as middle class, whereas in the US they might call themselves upper-middle. Meanwhile, newer categories like “precariat” or “affluent middle” appear in academic and policy literature but have limited traction in everyday conversation.
Although some politicians and commentators suggest that class has faded in relevance, survey data contradicts this. A 2024 Ipsos poll showed that 77% of Britons believe class significantly affects people’s opportunities, slightly more than in the 1980s. More than half of respondents also felt it was harder to change class status today than in the past, reflecting a growing pessimism about social mobility (Ipsos, 2024).
The result is a complex, layered picture: class still matters, but it is experienced and interpreted in new ways. Cultural and regional markers are as important as financial ones. A plumber in Doncaster might earn more than a charity worker in London, but each might see their social position—and prospects—differently.
Class and the Political Discourse
Though less overt than in earlier decades, class identity continues to shape British political messaging. Politicians frequently use class-coded language to appeal to voters—sometimes subtly, sometimes bluntly. Terms like “hardworking families,” “ordinary people,” and “the elite” serve as proxies for class divisions without directly invoking Marxist terminology or overt class war rhetoric.
The populist framing of “the people” versus “the elite” has become a standard feature in British politics. During the Brexit years, Nigel Farage positioned himself as a spokesman for working-class Britain against what he called the “metropolitan liberal elite.” This language was designed to contrast provincial, socially conservative voters with university-educated professionals in London. Farage’s own background—a privately educated former banker—did not deter him from making this appeal. Instead, he tapped into a broader cultural resentment towards perceived urban elitism.
Boris Johnson used a similar playbook during the 2019 election. Despite his elite education, he pitched the Conservatives as “the party of the workers,” attacking Labour as a party of “North London liberals.” The Tories promised increased spending in the North and a higher minimum wage, combining left-leaning economic policies with right-wing cultural messages. This mixture proved effective in winning Red Wall seats from Labour, particularly among voters with traditional working-class identities but socially conservative values.
Labour has also used class tropes, though often with caution. Figures like Angela Rayner have spoken openly about their working-class backgrounds, using it as political capital. Rayner’s 2021 “scum” remark—directed at Tory ministers—was defended by some as the kind of “real talk” heard in working-class communities. More recently, Labour has sought to reconnect with working-class voters by emphasising patriotism, law and order, and economic fairness.
However, Labour’s position has become more complicated in 2025. The 26 March Spring Statement from Chancellor Rachel Reeves aiming to reallocate funds has drawn criticism from charities and some Labour backbenchers, who warn that the cuts will fall disproportionately on low-income households and the unemployed—groups historically aligned with Labour. Critics argue that this undermines the party’s traditional support base and could be seen as a betrayal of working-class interests.
At the same time, Reform UK under Farage is exploiting this terrain. The party has positioned itself as the defender of “ordinary people” against an out-of-touch political class. In recent speeches, Farage has denounced “Guardian-reading, tofu-eating wokerati” and accused teachers’ unions of indoctrinating young people—a message aimed at voters who feel cultural and economic power is concentrated in elite institutions (The Guardian, 25 Mar 2025). These attacks blend class, geography, and culture, presenting the middle-class liberal establishment as disconnected from the values of working-class Britain.
This strategy reflects a broader trend: the fusion of economic and cultural identity into political identity. Class language is often deployed in “culture war” debates—about immigration, education, or national pride—rather than just in discussions about jobs or wages. For example, former Home Secretary Suella Braverman’s references to “the anti-growth coalition” and “middle-class do-gooders” echoed the Conservative effort to discredit critics by framing them as elite meddlers.
Media coverage reinforces these narratives. The tabloid press often frames debates over tax, benefits, or education policy in class terms. Proposals to tax private schools are labelled “class war”; cuts to benefits are seen as punishing the working class. Stereotypes abound: “benefits scroungers” versus “strivers,” “Essex man” versus “Islington set,” “Middle England” versus “metropolitan elite.”
Surveys show that class identity correlates with political preferences in specific ways. According to British Social Attitudes data, working-class identifiers are more economically left-wing—supporting higher taxes on the rich and greater public spending—but also more socially conservative on issues like immigration and crime. Politicians from both major parties now seek to appeal to this combination, mixing redistributionist policies with nationalist or traditionalist messaging.
In short, class may not dominate political debate in the way it once did, but it is still ever-present in coded language, cultural assumptions, and strategic positioning. In an era of political realignment, where old party loyalties have eroded, class remains a powerful force—not just as a material reality, but as a political identity that parties seek to claim, define, or weaponise.
Conclusion
Is the North–South divide still real in 2025? The evidence suggests it is—but not in the straightforward way often perceived. Regional inequalities in wealth, infrastructure, health, and education remain entrenched, with the North on average faring worse than the South. New data from Centre for Cities, ONS, and the Department for Education confirm that pay, investment, life expectancy, and academic attainment still vary sharply by region. Political promises to address these gaps—under the banner of “levelling up”—have so far failed to deliver fundamental change. The cancellation of major infrastructure projects, like HS2’s northern extension, and the approval of new ones in the South only deepen this perception.
But the divide is more complex than North versus South. Within both regions are pockets of affluence and deprivation. Much of the UK’s worst poverty is found in London and southern coastal towns. Some of the highest academic achievement and strongest economic performance can be found in northern cities and suburbs. Reducing the analysis to a simple geographical binary can obscure important nuances—such as the impact of urban decline, housing inequality, or local governance.
At the same time, class remains a vital—if evolving—concept in British society. Survey data shows that most people still identify as working or middle class, even as the occupational structures of the economy change. Class identity is shaped less by what people do and more by how they were raised, their cultural background, and how they perceive their position in society. Education and income influence how people self-identify, but so do region, ethnicity, and age.
Politically, class continues to matter—if not through old-style class conflict, then through the cultural framing of issues. The language of “elites” versus “ordinary people,” or “wokery” versus “common sense,” is often a coded discussion about class. Populist figures like Nigel Farage have capitalised on this, presenting themselves as outsiders defending the working class against a liberal elite. Even mainstream parties deploy class-inflected messaging—appealing to “hardworking families,” attacking “privileged” opponents, or defending “Middle England.”
Recent developments in 2025 have complicated these narratives further. The Labour government, led by PM Keir Starmer, faces growing economic pressure. With growth forecasts downgraded and inflation still high, Chancellor Rachel Reeves has signalled welfare cuts in the forthcoming Spring Statement—moves criticised as a return to austerity. Ipsos polling shows only 14% of Britons feel better off since Labour took office, and 73% rate the government’s economic performance as poor. For a party historically rooted in working-class advocacy, this presents both a political risk and a test of credibility.
Meanwhile, Farage’s return as Reform UK leader and MP for Clacton signals a renewed challenge from the right. With his platform combining economic protectionism, anti-immigration rhetoric, and anti-elite messaging, he aims to consolidate support among disaffected voters—many of them working-class, and many in northern or coastal areas. His criticisms of teaching unions, his participation in Trump-aligned fundraisers in the US, and his claims to speak for “ordinary people” reflect a strategy that ties class grievance to cultural resentment.
Ultimately, both the North–South divide and class identity endure in British political life—not just as statistics, but as lived experience and narrative tools. They help explain how inequality is felt, discussed, and acted upon. Yet they also risk oversimplification. There is no single “North,” no uniform “working class,” no monolithic “elite.” Britain’s inequalities run along many lines—urban versus rural, renter versus homeowner, public sector versus private, educated versus excluded. But geography and class still shape opportunities, outcomes, and political identity in ways that remain deeply embedded.
To address inequality effectively, policymakers need to move beyond slogans and symbolic gestures. “Levelling up” must mean more than scattered infrastructure projects or regional rebranding. And addressing class injustice means recognising both material deprivation and the cultural dimensions of identity and exclusion. As long as inequality remains visible in everyday life—on pay slips, bus routes, exam results, and housing estates—expect the language of North and South, working and middle class, to remain part of Britain’s political vocabulary. These categories may not tell the whole story, but they still matter. In politics, perception often shapes reality—and in modern Britain, both class and region still define the terms of debate.