Yesterday afternoon in West London a young family walked into a newly upholstered high street store and pawned some jewellery in return for a loan to help to pay the rent. Four miles south, in another shopping arcade, a well-to-do lady was purchasing flannels in a garishly decorated superstore of eclectic products, every last one priced at a pound.

The two businesses, H&T pawnbrokers and the retailer Poundland, are multiplying on high streets across Britain while other chains shrink or vanish in the downturn.

Yesterday morning both issued bullish statements on their progress.

Poundland, the first British company to adapt the American concept of the dollar store to these shores, will open another 30 shops this year. The West Midlands-based retailer announced a rise in sales over Christmas of 24.3 per cent (or 3.9 per cent without the effect of new stores). Jim Mc-Carthy, the chief executive, believes that the company will grow from 202 to 650 stores in the coming years, and is negotiating to fill properties formerly occupied by Woolworths.

Meanwhile, H&T announced that it would make larger profits than expected. It has grown from 59 stores to 105 in the past four years and will add another 16 outlets to the chain in 2009. John Nichols, chief executive, described the current economic climate as “very good for us”.

The British pawnshop has evolved in style since Charles Dickens framed it in the popular imagination, as “a low, dirty-looking dusty shop, the door of which stands always doubtfully, a little way open, half-inviting, half-repelling the hesitating visitor”.

The Hammersmith branch of H&T feels more like a building society or a bank: upholstered in pine, jewellery hanging on blue velvet beneath glass counters and two booths where engagement rings and watches and family silver may be exchanged as security for a loan at 8 per cent interest per month.

The similarity is intentional. At a time when banks are more cautious in their lending, Mr Nichols said: “We are trying to provide the sort of environment that we and others do so that people see us as an alternative for short-term financing.”

The Dickensian image persists, however. “The perception is of a dark place where an old Scrooge-like character is trying to rob customers of their worldly wealth,” he said.

Standing at one of the booths, a school catering assistant, aged 39, is handing over some jewellery that she says she no longer wears, while her son, 9, peeps over the counter.

The father of her child is refusing to pay child maintenance, and her partner, a plumber, has struggled with depression and has been out of work in recent months. “Christmas has been a hard time,” he said. “We needed some money just to live.”

South of the river, in a shopping arcade in Wandsworth, a branch of Poundland was selling cleaning products, glitter, custard puffs and plastic police uniforms to schoolchildren, after-work shoppers and pensioners. Sheila Konig, 78, a retired executive secretary, had found a DVD of The Third Man, for herself, and a recording of Nellie the Elephant for her neigh-bour’s child.

“I’ll go to John Lewis for any big household item,” she said. “For smaller things, you can go to Harrods, but if you can get it cheaper here why wouldn’t you?”

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