Vanishing law firms in the Highlands — when justice becomes a journey

Access to legal advice in rural communities is in sharp decline, with high-street practices closing down and younger lawyers choosing to work in cities. Victoria Goldiee looks at the devastating impact this is having, and what schemes and policies can be put in place to address the situation.

When 28-year-old Catherine Steward in Fife began looking for legal help with a land dispute, she assumed it would be straightforward. “I thought I’d just search online or ask around locally and find someone,” she recalls. “But it was an uphill battle. The nearest firms that specialised in property disputes told me they weren’t taking on new clients. Others had long waiting lists and a few said they didn’t have anyone left covering that kind of work in my area. Weeks turned into months. It felt like shouting into the void, trying to find a lawyer who could help me.”

The process wore her down. “Every time I called another number and got turned away, I felt smaller,” she says. “It made me question whether my case even mattered to anyone outside my own family. I knew the land dispute was serious, but I kept wondering if it would ever be resolved.” Catherine describes the experience as isolating: “It felt like living in a part of Scotland that had been forgotten.”

After nearly giving up, Catherine’s breakthrough came through a family contact who mentioned Brodies in Inverness. “I called them and, thankfully, they agreed to take me on,” she says. “It meant travelling quite a bit and covering extra costs, but they listened and understood my situation.” She remembers the relief of that moment vividly. “I was shaking when I put the phone down because it was the first time in months that I felt like I wasn’t just shouting into space. They didn’t make me feel like a nuisance. They just said: ‘We can help.’”

For Catherine, the first meeting was transformative. “It was like a weight off my shoulders,” she says. “I could finally hand over some of the stress to someone who knew what they were doing. Just being told my case was valid, that it mattered, gave me back a sense of control.”

Nowhere to go

Her story is far from unique. Across Scotland, people in rural communities are finding that what once felt like a basic right – walking into a local solicitor’s office and asking for advice – is slipping further out of reach. Towns and villages that relied on trusted high-street firms are discovering their offices shuttered, their phone lines disconnected and their cases left unresolved. This slow erosion of access to justice is reshaping daily life in the Highlands and Islands, and beyond.

The decline has been gradual but relentless. Over the past decade, Scotland’s smaller law firms have dwindled, particularly in rural areas. Retiring partners often find no successors willing to take on their practices. Younger lawyers, faced with mounting student debt and lured by city opportunities, are reluctant to relocate to shrinking towns. The problem is compounded by financial pressures. Cuts to legal aid have hit small firms hardest, leaving many unable to balance their books. Even those that remain often operate on the edge of viability. Research from The Law Society of Scotland’s 2022 statistics notes a consolidation across the profession – while it doesn’t drill down to rural areas, the message is clear: fewer small, private-practice firms are operating independently. Professional bodies and governments alike warn of serious concerns over access to justice if these trends continue.

Yet in scattered offices across the country, a few determined lawyers are holding on. Fiona MacDonald, 46, a partner at Macdonald Maciver & Co in Stornoway, refuses to give up. “We’re here because people need us,” she says. “The community depends on having someone local, someone they trust. But the pressures are immense. You’re trying to balance the books, keep up with regulations and still make time for clients who often can’t afford the fees. It’s a constant juggle.” Her words cut to the heart of the issue: for rural Scotland, the survival of even a single high-street firm can determine whether communities have access to legal help at all.

Desperately seeking solicitors

Behind the numbers lie the lived realities of those trying to navigate the system. For many families, even beginning the search for representation feels like entering a maze with no clear exit. Long delays, confusing processes and the sheer cost of travel mean people are drained before they have a chance to argue their case.

Margaret Fraser, a 62-year-old grandmother from Caithness, recalls her battle to secure representation during a custody dispute. “I had to travel a 120-mile round trip each time. It was exhausting and expensive. If I hadn’t had family support, I could never have managed it,” she says. Petrol alone quickly mounted, adding hundreds of pounds to her budget. “Some weeks I was spending more on travel than I did on food shopping,” she says quietly. “By the time I added in missed work, overnight stays when the court ran late and childcare for my younger grandchildren, I had spent more than a thousand pounds just trying to show up for my own case.” For Margaret, the toll was not only financial, but emotional. “Every journey felt like a reminder that we don’t matter as much, that justice is further away for people like us. I was lucky to find help at all.”

For others, the barriers prove insurmountable. Donald Reid, 47, a Sutherland farmer, gave up on a prolonged boundary dispute with a neighbour because no one local would take the case. At first, he tried to manage it himself, calling firm after firm only to be told they were either full or no longer handling property issues in his area. Eventually, he found help in Inverness but the travel and costs took their toll. After several months of travelling back and forth to Inverness, he was resigned to his fate. “I just couldn’t justify it anymore,” Reid says. “By the time I added up the fuel, the time away from the farm and the bills, I realised I was losing more than I stood to gain. In the end, the land was left unresolved, and that still stings.”

The sense of loss is echoed in communities where law firms once played a central role. “Having a local solicitor meant having someone who understood the community,” says Alastair Maclean, 71, a retired teacher in Sutherland. “They knew the people, the history, the issues. Losing that connection feels like losing part of what makes the town whole.” The loss of legal services compounds those difficulties, leaving many feeling progressively cut off from vital systems of support.

Fighting back

The Scottish Government acknowledges the dangers. Angela Constance, 56, the Cabinet Secretary for Justice and Home Affairs, says: “We cannot allow parts of our country to become legal deserts. Access to justice isn’t a luxury, it’s a right. That means looking at how we can incentivise young lawyers to practise in rural areas, supporting firms with regulatory burdens and investing in new models of delivery that ensure no one is left behind simply because of where they live.” Consultations are underway with the Law Society of Scotland and local authorities to identify urgent needs and consider targeted funding. “We are listening to both the profession and the public,” she adds. “This isn’t just about keeping doors open; it’s about ensuring people in every community can resolve disputes, protect their families and enforce their rights.”

The question now is whether anything can be done to slow – or reverse – the decline. Ideas are emerging: financial incentives for young solicitors to relocate to rural towns, similar to schemes used to place doctors in underserved areas; expanding digital tools and remote consultations; exploring collaborative models where small practices share resources; and regulatory changes to reduce the burden on firms.

However, there’s scepticism. Critics point out that online tools cannot fully replace in-person help, especially in complex or emotionally sensitive cases. Professional bodies – including the Law Society and the Scottish Legal Aid Board – are calling for a flexible fees model and simplified processes. “There’s no single solution,” says Professor Elaine Sutherland of the University of Edinburgh, an expert in family law and access to justice. “It will take policy intervention, creative thinking and community commitment. Accepting that entire regions will be left without legal help is unacceptable.”

From the front line, solicitors echo that call for change. Fiona MacDonald believes more practical support is essential. “We don’t need grand speeches, we need workable tools,” she says. “That means fairer legal aid rates, help with training younger lawyers who might actually want to come here and investment in digital systems that really work for small firms. If we had even some of that, it would make staying open a fight worth continuing.”

The urgency is undeniable. With more firms closing, rural communities risk reaching a breaking point where recovery becomes far more difficult than preventing the decline. For now, the resilience of a small number of high-street solicitors such as Fiona is the only thing standing between communities and total disconnection from justice as residents now live with the reality that legal help may simply not be there when they need it. The question is no longer abstract: it is whether, when it matters most, someone will be there to answer.

While policymakers, academics and communities in Scotland work toward solutions, one truth remains clear: the survival of even a single high-street firm can make all the difference.