“This is Dad’s Army England and we want to keep it that way. What’s the point of this?”
That’s a good question on a chilly afternoon in the Essex seaside town of Frinton-on-Sea. I thought for a moment as I watched the mobility scooters whiz by on Timewarp main street, where the shops were closed because it was a Wednesday. There is a situation here, shops are closed on Wednesdays. Frinton plays by his own rules.
“It’s got a reputation,” admits a Frinton man in his fifties, who asked to remain anonymous. “It’s always been pretty traditional.”
That’s an understatement. An unapologetically “snobby” seaside resort with a reputation for resisting change, Frinton is England’s unofficial agile capital. By 1992 he was infamously saying ‘no’ to a fish and chip shop out of concern it would bring down the tone. He fought tooth and nail against the radical pub concept on similar grounds, eventually accepting the idea in 2000. Now he is leading the fight against second homes.
Perhaps in a sign of things to come for the rest of England, local councilors have voted to increase council taxes on properties not in full-time use from 2025 – anticipating new powers they will soon be given. .
The aim of the 100 per cent tax increase is to prevent foreigners from buying holiday homes in the Tendring District, where Frinton lives, and turn them into Cornish-style ghost towns inhabited only during holidays. Locals I spoke to generally welcome the move, but expect it to “make no difference” given how deep pockets have to be to buy around here.
That Frinton is among the first towns in England to benefit from the new powers (Welsh and, as of December 2023, Scottish councils already have this option) is no surprise, given the history of Dad’s Army resistance.
Interestingly, I don’t remember any Bedouin restaurants or tapas bars in Dad’s Army. But Frinton has both, and everyone I talk to speaks highly of them, including anonymous locals.
“We’re not against change, we’re just the right kind,” he says. “I know that sounds incredibly snobby.”
Actually. But this is a collective attitude at Frinton, and there is honesty in that; Perhaps this is a reminder that a ghost lurks within all of us. Walking down the high street towards Frinton’s quaint grassy promenade, I can’t help but feel that there’s (sometimes) something to be said for holding on to old traditions.
If Frinton had rolled out the red carpet for big chains like most towns do, it would probably have a lot of empty shops on its hands. Instead it’s full of small independents. Some seem to have not seen a single punter since the Blair years but it doesn’t matter: Frinton, if nothing else, is defiantly Negative an identical town (despite Greggs and Costa sneaking in).
“Everything is online now, so it’s good that we still have so many freelancers,” says Karen Kent, a shopper at the trendy Danish homewares store Great Danes on the high street.
The Great Danes, one of Frinton’s few concessions to calm down, are run by Birgitte McLain, the former Danish translator to the European Parliament. Why Frinton? “I was looking for a sandy beach to walk my Labrador,” he says. “And it’s close to London.”
Great Danes also serves as a wine bar some evenings. A cork popped, making me think this was one of them. “I come every week after I’ve done my shopping,” says Ann Tooby, the glamorous former City of London broker, sipping wine.
“I did the bar thing because I thought there was something missing here,” McLain adds, pouring me a glass. “Everything closes at 5.30 here, even in summer; This is so weird. But you can’t tell them, they won’t listen.”
Them? The local agile brigade who stood up a few years ago when the council replaced the man who opened the level crossing gates with automatic barriers. “They had to lift the doors in the middle of the night [in case of protests]”says McLain. “That’s what you’re getting.”
But the gates were highly symbolic in Frinton. The only way to get in and out of town was long a sign of status; Living “inside the gates” carried a certain cachet, an air of privilege; “outside the gates” not so much.
This is an attitude that persists among some older residents. One piece of local news I heard almost everywhere – a testament to how small Frinton is, but also its perspective – was about a local woman and her Jag. There were different versions of the story, but he was allegedly pulled over for driving without insurance, tax or an MOT (and, according to some, without a licence). When the police highlighted his many misdeeds, he responded, “No problem, officer, I live inside the gates.”
I walk towards the Lock and Barrel, the first and only bar inside the gate. The restaurant’s owner, Peter Clarke, reckons even the most ardent local skeptics come to the bar.
“I see them standing outside, looking through the windows to see what we’re doing here at 11 in the morning,” he says, as fruit machines vibrate nearby. “People are realizing that this is a warm, friendly, family-run bar.”
Across the street from Lock and Barrel, Hannah Giles is closing Caxton Books for the day. Giles grew up in Frinton and, after a career in television, never planned to return. But something pulled him back.
“It’s a little bubble, a tight-knit community,” he says, backed by beautiful book displays. “There are a lot of people like us who are trying to stay creative. Summer theater is great. It is a polite, traditional seaside town. Damn governor, this is not a kiss-me-now kind of town. I love it.”
Another returnee is smartly dressed restaurateur Andreas Mina. After working at Soho House in London, he migrated back across the Essex marshes to Frinton to help his mother Zsazsa run the Avenue Bistro, which wouldn’t look out of place in the West End.
“It’s a funny place,” he says of Frinton, but then everyone knows; He is aware of his strangeness. “You either love it or hate it, but we love it. “He has given us so much over the years and we wanted to give something back.”
I step out of Avenue Bistro into the cold night. While I was walking towards the station, two female students riding a shopping cart caught up with me. This is a welcome indication of the guilt in the primal and true Frinton; It reminds us that what seems like a dream to the elderly is often bleak for the young. I want to ask if they’ve heard of Dad’s Army, but they’re going too fast.