On Friday, the 24th of May, I found myself up all night watching YouTube videos from a chap named Wendall, who explores the towns and cities of Britain, highlighting their decay, dying communities, homeless problems, and, sadly, much more.
I was encapsulated by one called ‘Bad Vibes in Deprived Seaside Town’. This video was set in Great Yarmouth, a once gorgeous Seaside Town that is still the eighth most popular holiday destination in the UK.
I used to go to Great Yarmouth as a child, to the beach, the arcades, and to nearby areas, such as my favourite Seaside Town, Hemsby. I was only a child through to a young teen, and these places were always an absolute blast. Long distant memories of trying to win colourful lizard plushies and glass diamonds of varying colours from the 2p machines, going down the slides, eating hotdogs and burgers at the American Diners, digging holes in the beach, making sandcastles, the lot, it was a place where I made valuable, wholesome memories with my parents, siblings, grandparents, friends etc, and even in the 2000s to mid-2010s I still think this place had some spirit left.
In High School, people would always mock Great Yarmouth for reasons I did not understand. All the kids I went to school with who were from there went along with it. These kids were typically young drug dealers and often were the worst-behaved students in my High School, which was a sign of what had happened to that once-coveted holiday destination.
Out of the nostalgia and into the sleep-deprived reality, after a short sleep and a can of Monster, I rang up a fellow Homeland Activist in the Eastern Region and told him we’re going to Great Yarmouth, not to see the beach or to chuck away a Lady Godiva on the 2p machines, but to meet the people, ask how they are doing, see the state of the houses, the homeless, the people.
On the coach there, my fellow activist and I talked about the decay of seaside towns, and how our generation has been left with little to no valuable experiences like this. I spoke about how these areas have been completely forgotten by our government, left to fall to mass drug use and crime, and have been victimised by Migrant Hotels and other forms of cultural decadence torture methods.
I noticed a few elderly people turning their heads to listen to me, so I spoke louder to make sure they could hear. While none of them said a word to me, they had very bright smiles, so I would guess that they were shocked to see two young men conversing about such truth that is typically lost. They were also amused by my sarcastic comedy routine of occasionally saying, “I reckon that Kier Starmer will sort it! Vote Labour, and they’ll magically clean up the drugs and crime and turn Great Yarmouth back into the Las Vegas of the UK.”
Naturally, there was more to the conversation, but we shall traverse to getting off the coach to speed up the story. The first thing you notice in Great Yarmouth (If you haven’t seen the dilapidated houses) is that you can cut the tension with a knife. Most people there look genuinely miserable or are on edge. There were plenty of Indigenous Brits who had fallen to severe drug use, wannabe roadman teenagers pedalling around the streets taking up as much space as possible, dead-hard old-boy gangster types, very antisocial Romani Gypsies and slightly less antisocial migrants.
The first place we visited was Allen’s Music Centre, where we spent a little bit of time messing around with the Electronic Organs, fretless guitars, and any of the wacky stuff we could find. I asked the store owner how business was, and he sharply replied, “It’s good. We sell lots of stuff online, so we’re keeping in business.” I thought that was a good start, so maybe this place isn’t so horrific.
We leave the shop and begin wandering towards the large charity shop on the other side of the town; as we’re walking around, we immediately notice that the housing in this area is destroyed, far worse than Norwich, I must say. Lots of buildings still have single-glazed windows, with no secondary glazing to help insulate the home; for those who don’t know, single-glazed windows are decades out of date, destroy the energy efficiency of a house, and let out heat constantly, which leads to extremely high energy bills and freezing winter nights. The people here clearly aren’t being supported properly, and this area could benefit from a legitimate government grant to fix up these houses, as this not only drives people out of the area but drives them to homelessness.
The streets are far dirtier than I could remember. The houses had paint peeling off, smashed windows, rubbish-filled gardens, boarded-up guest houses, guest houses converted to temporary housing for the homeless, HMOs (Houses of Multiple Occupants), and empty high streets. The ones that aren’t empty are lined with the classic trio of Kebabs, Corner Stores, and Barbers owned by Migrants.
We eventually got the large charity shop. It was set up three years ago and is run by a committee of locals who run their own little departments. We explored the shop for a little while. I found myself a guitar magazine with a DVD lesson on Dire Straits—Brothers in Arms—what a find!
I introduced myself to one of the shopkeepers, and I asked them, “What was the best decade to live in Great Yarmouth?” His answer was the sixties for the following reasons:
The live music was amazing in quality and quantity.
You could go and speak to all of the musicians with no need for security.
There were magicians, palm readers, everything you could imagine.
Little crime.
Strong community spirit.
The education system was far superior, offering many more courses, including many more practical courses.
That briefly summarises our long conversation, but you could hear in his tone and see in his eyes he could see what had happened and what it was now.
My next question for him was, “What do you think the reason for this decay is? Don’t worry about censoring yourself to me; trust me, you can say it how it is.” His answers included:
The increase in technology use.
The softening of the youth.
The lack of respect from the youth.
The rising community tension.
The word migration was on everyone’s tongue, and I asked this too was migration, but naturally, most people were far too scared to say it.
Great Yarmouth was one of the few places lucky enough to oppose having Migrant Hotels due to the Hotels being essential to the community’s dying economy, which doesn’t solve all of its problems, but it certainly slowed the decline slightly.
Next, I spoke to a woman in a migrant-owned chippie; she said that the eighties were the greatest decade for Yarmouth for similar reasons previously mentioned and said this town had fallen for similar reasons.
This lady told me she is not a racist but admits that she feels burnt seeing how Migrants who have contributed nil to this country have received a plethora of benefits while her family, who have worked their whole lives, receive absolutely no support.
These are just a few conversations I had that day, but they all encapsulate it. This once Great Yarmouth is now no more than a drug-fuelled, seasonally dependent, soullessly decadent Yarmouth, but hey, Great Yarmouth still rolls off the tongue a bit better.
These people need Nationalism, and they need it thick and fast. If we don’t intervene in these places that are crying out for us, our children will never be able to experience something close to the beauty we have, and even for me, I didn’t get it near its prime.
Seaside towns are full of disenfranchised Indigenous Brits who know the problems and are crying out for the exact solutions we can offer.
If you haven’t been to your local seaside town in recent times, I highly recommend you do so. Get to know the locals, learn about their issues, and start looking to make change because these people have had their will broken.
