I awoke in the bedroom of my Airbnb accommodation, and waited for the owners to head to work before emerging. I was keen to get out, so grabbed my kit and headed for Buddie’s Diner which I had set my sights on the night before.
A light rain came down, and I knew I’d be outside for hours. I also knew that I had left my Umbrella in London, so I visited the local store which doubled as a Post Office to see if they had one. Despite stocking a wide variety of oddments, the shopkeeper was struggling to find an umbrella: He wandered around, scouring shelves, and looking up at a wide array of goods that dangled from the ceiling. He’d almost given up, when he spotted two umbrellas - I opted for the Tartan number, and parted with a very reasonable (or later, understandable) two pounds forty nine.
I entered Buddie’s Diner, a bright and sparkly little cafe which contained around six square tables. Inside there was just one customer sat with a cup of tea, and two ladies working, who were behind the counter. I was greeted with smiles and good mornings, and I had barely sat down when the sole customer bellowed “So what are you photographing today then?” “Oh!” I said in surprised response, “well, I can photograph you if you like?” For me this interaction felt like my true introduction to Great Wakering, and in many ways to village-life itself.
In between me trying to read the menu, and the women attempting to look after their newest customer, George, as I discovered his name was, did not stop talking! I think I had been explaining the purpose of my visit to Great Wakering when an elderly couple passed by the cafe window. All heads turned and I was told that the couple are named Gordon and June, and that they will be in shortly, once they have bought the paper. “I’ve got to speak to June anyway, she wants her dogs claws clipped” said George. And, I assume, regular as clockwork in they came. Introductions all around and an explanation of my visit ensued. “You had your hair permed June” said one of the assistants inquisitively.
On the wall was a framed newspaper cutting of Gordon Wiseman, local treasure. This is the same George that I was sharing the cafe with that morning. It turned out that when George was just seven years old, he and his brother Norman were stood atop a homemade Air Raid shelter that was at the bottom of their garden. It was August 24th 1940 and they were witness to a mid-air battle between RAF Spitfires and some German Bombers. They got quite a shock when they realised that one of the bombers was heading straight for them. A quote from George in the Basildon Canvey Southend Echo in 2016 states ‘The shelter was only a few feet above the ground. We stood there unable to move like a pair of rabbits hypnotised in a car’s headlights’.
Luckily for the boys, the plane flew between two trees, damaging the wing-tips, and came to a crashing halt less than a hundred yards from where they were standing. George says that his memories of that day have remained sharp ever since. If you like you can read his full account here
Somewhere amid the chatter I did manage to eat a hearty breakfast, and take a photograph of June and Gordon. I discovered that George is a Lollypop man and he offered to escort me on a stroll through the village. We walked as George relayed stories of local history and swapped anecdotes; mainly his. It was very enjoyable, but I couldn’t help but suck in the air when he started gossiping about his neighbour. It really made me giggle inside, and also made me grateful that I do not live in a place where people like to know what you do with your time, and even worse, think they know you really well.
And if you’re wondering how George knew I was a photographer, apparently he had been watching my performance through his window the day before, when I was photographing one of the other villagers. Neighbourhood watch at your service! And so it seems, villages function in the same way they always have; people generally know something of their neighbours daily routines, many of the residents are happy to help each other out, and there is plenty of story-swapping. What do you think? I’d love to hear your tales of village life, or community dynamics.
