Weary Clacton repels media hordes as Jaywick shines on in Farage's byelection stronghold

On Wednesday, few winners are discernible as a swarm of sweaty hacks fans out on Clacton promenade armed with mics to assail any locals making eye contact. Sighing denizens of this seaside town of faded Victorian glory can’t even enjoy a morning coffee without being grilled about the latest political furore to grip Britain. The big wheel near Clacton pier. Photograph: Mark Paul “Oh God, not this again,” says the kind older lady serving at the Old Market Cafe. If Farage is a political ringmaster, then this is his circus. Pier Avenue in between Magic City and Gaiety Amusements is like a journalistic salmon weir, a pinch point for preying lobby hacks waiting like grizzly bears for locals trying to leap past. The journalists are easily identifiable as the only lunatics not in shorts. “Watch out, this one’s from the Sun,” says a vox pop-allergic woman, laughing, to her pal across the street. She nods towards a sheepish-looking young man incongruously clad in shirt and slacks. Clacton’s community Facebook groups warn facetiously of the media “invasion”. One post notes, however, that “at least Nigel put us on the map”. It gets many likes. The BBC's Nomia Iqbal filming a live shot on the roof of Clacton Pier's toilets. Photograph: Mark Paul The BBC broadcasts from a terrace on the roof of the toilets overlooking Clacton Pier, a neon-flashing fun farm comprising acres of English seaside holiday nostalgia. Just beyond sits an offshore wind farm built to hit the net-zero targets now so derided by Farage’s party. Elderly locals and visitors to this Reform UK stronghold now sit on pier benches, licking ice-creams and watching the turbine blades spinning on the horizon. The BBC journalist on the terrace is Nomia Iqbal, doing a live piece to camera. A pair of older men leaning on a railing watch on from nearby like a mini studio audience. After she wraps up, The Irish Times corners both men. Aged in their 60s, they don’t want to give names but are distinguishable by their hats. Farage is generally popular in the heavily Brexit-voting town of Clacton, but not with these two. The man in the straw cowboy hat has “no time for him”. “He called this byelection because he doesn’t want to deal with the issues. Man of the people? Yeah, one who just happened to be a commodities broker.” His companion in a baseball cap says locals think Farage rarely shows up in the constituency. “If he gets voted in again, I just won’t understand it,” he says. The town of Clacton has pockets of deprivation but, with its ever-so-slightly dog-eared charm, it is quite buzzy in summer. Frinton is a rung or two higher up the economic ladder, while Jaywick is a few below. I ask about the main issues in Clacton. Cowboy Hat says “there are so many problems nationally, like immigration, it is hard to focus on any locally”. “We do need more support for local people with mental health issues,” says Baseball Cap. “Some of them who are also homeless are just abandoned in B&Bs.” “Then there’s Jaywick,” says his friend. “What has Farage ever done for it? It is ranked the second-most deprived part of England after some place in Suffolk.” He is almost right. Jaywick, 2.5km further up the beach, is actually listed by officials from the UK’s ministry of housing right at the top of its “English index of deprivation”. [ Count Binface: The ‘independent space warrior’ hoping to take Farage’s seat in Clacton Opens in new window ] The area has openly apparent economic and social problems: Channel 5 filmed a reality television show here called Benefits-by-the-Sea. Yet locals, angered by constant media stigmatisation, are also outspoken about Jaywick’s burgeoning community spirit. The rest of the lobby has gone back to London. The sunny sky is still azure blue and the beach below looks inviting, so I stroll the promenade west from Clacton towards Jaywick. On the border between the two I pass a fine housing development, Martello Bay, named after nearby towers. Before it was redeveloped as a residential quarter, this was the site of Clacton’s old Butlins holiday camp. Its demolition in the mid-1980s heralded the end of Clacton’s economic heyday as a tourism hub. For flood-prone Jaywick down the beach, which was effectively an overspill holiday home spot, it spelled disaster. A scooter business in Jaywick. Photograph: Mark Paul Jaywick’s main street, Broadway, is a smattering of small businesses of varying degrees of economic vibrancy. A sports car in multicoloured reflective paint sits outside a Middle Eastern barbers – it was an off-licence until recently. Next door is a community drop-in centre. Late afternoon karaoke kicks off at Never Say Die, a hopping local pub. I call to community activist and local celebrity, Danny Sloggett, an evangelist for his beloved Jaywick, which comprises row after row of old holiday homes repurposed as some of the cheapest housing in England – some houses cost less than £80,000. Sloggett (51), with infectious warmth and humour, is a builder who starred in Benefit-by-the-Sea. He is a social media star through his Sloggett Vision on Facebook and YouTube. He is also an ex-prisoner who reformed his life. He hates Jaywick’s “deprived” tag. I call to his house the day of his son Leonardo’s first birthday party. We climb a ladder to his “watch tower”, a sun-filled wooden terrace built above the porch. Danny Sloggett, a community activist and local evangelist for the merits of Jaywick, the part of Farage's constituency that the UK government says is the 'most deprived' neighbourhood in England. Photograph: Mark Paul “I wouldn’t have lived in Jaywick for 40 years if we wasn’t fantastic,” says Sloggett, who finds it hard to sit still, such is his enthusiasm for his pro-Jaywick gospel. His catchphrase, “shine on”, peppers the conversation. “We get a bad rep from society. They look down on us. We get this label [most deprived town] each year. How are we deprived? The people who make up these statistics, they are not even from Jaywick. They don’t come here, ever. How do they know we’re that.” He argues that Jaywick is ahead “in other ways”. As we talk, he decides to live stream our chat on Sloggett Vision to his social media followers. Suddenly my interview has turned into his. “Shine on,” he says, beaming, thumbs up towards his iPhone. “They say in the media that we are so poor, but in real life we are so rich in community spirit. If someone in Jaywick is hungry, if they put a post on social media, within a few hours they’ve got a house full of food. If someone’s television breaks, we go and fix it.” Sloggett argues that “people with less are better people ... People with more look down on each other”. Before reforming his life, he served eight prison terms by the age of 21 for petty crimes such as stealing a washing machine. He moved to Jaywick as a child but his mother died when he was a teen. Sloggett’s father, originally from Shepherd’s Bush in London, helped him straighten out. After his final prison stint, they worked as builders together. “My Dad believed in me. When someone believes in you, you can change your life. The people who live in Jaywick, believe in Jaywick. It’s the people who don’t, who work in government, those in suits [who use] statistics. They use Jaywick for their own needs.” He argues that Jaywick just lacks funding and investment, and needs help to rebuild its tourism infrastructure: “If Butlins had remained open, Jaywick would have remained the holiday hotspot it always was. We are waiting for casinos, a harbour, a marina, hotels, jobs. We are waiting to take over the world. Shine on!” What about Farage? Has he done anything for Jaywick? As we talk, the Reform UK leader is on the far side of town in the Three Jays pub, recording video clips. “Jaywick has been left behind for many years and we don’t see many politicians here. It’s about time we met Farage. It’s about time someone put us on the map.” Nigel Farage campaigns in Jaywick in 2024. Photograph: Ben Stansall/AFP via Getty Images Does Farage show his face much in what the statistician’s argue is “England’s most deprived neighbourhood” in the heart of his constituency? “I’ve heard he’s been here once or twice. I did offer to take him around Jaywick, but he was very busy. I met his team when he first got elected. I told them I’d show Nigel around, because I run, like, a youth club for adults, the Jaywick Sands Happy Club.” The club puts on entertainment shows, but also holds regular meetings of the community in a local church hall. A local independent councillor, Dan Casey, attends. “Over the month, people send me messages about potholes, fly-tipping, dog s**t, all the problems. I write them all down in my book. When Dan Casey comes, I read them all out to him and he answers each one individually. This gives Jaywick a voice,” says Sloggett. One of his friends, George, arrives with a birthday card for Leonardo. Sloggett shouts down to him from the watch tower to tell The Irish Times about the community spirit. “If you want anything done here, the residents do it themselves. We waited 14 years for the council to refurbish a derelict memorial garden [for a fatal 1953 flood]. We fixed it ourselves, dug it, made it accessible for mobility scooters, planted it,” says George. Sloggett says he voted for Farage because he is “hope for change”. “I do like him, the way he is changing the norms of politics. For years it was [Tory] blue or [Labour] red. Neither helped us. If Farage can give us change, I’d take that. I’d vote for a banana, a raspberry. I’d vote for a yellow submarine if it got things done in Jaywick.” Sloggett says he “wants more” from Farage. Afterwards I stroll through Broadlands, the most economically challenged part of the area. Some house are neat and tidy, some are not. Ads for a plethora of local events wallpaper a community noticeboard. Flags in Jaywick pay tribute to Henry Nowak and taunt prime minister Keir Starmer. Photograph: Mark Paul English flags of St George’s fly all over, but then again, there is a World Cup on. One is emblazoned with a handwritten slogan “RIP Henry Nowak”, the white teenager who died in handcuffs in Southampton after his Sikh murderer lied that he’d been racially abused. I return to Clacton that night. Few want to talk about Farage in the local Wetherspoons, the Moon and Starfish. It’s late. I retire to a traditional seaside B&B, the Sandrock. Next morning, Denise, the proprietor, serves breakfast to the blow-in in shirt and slacks. She says journalists from across the world have stayed here ever since Farage was elected in 2024: “They are fascinated with him all over. I think he has shot himself in the foot this time. But he definitely has his charms.” Time for the train. I leave media-assailed Clacton, Frinton and Jaywick to shine on.