Nighthawks at the takeaway: Wigan

They come in with wet shoes, bare knees, they shove their hands deep into their pockets, and stand in silent contemplation in the greasy air. Their faces look weary after the working week. Rain sits on their shoulders. “Next!” calls the young woman in a tabard behind the counter, and the queue shuffles quietly forward.

Gaskell’s has been here in Orrell, just outside Wigan, as far back as anyone can remember. It offers cod and chips and cans of pop; smacks, chip barms, spam fritters, steak puddings. Behind the glass of the Preston & Thomas display lie sausages and crispy bits, a clear space where the fresh batch of fish will soon sit. Fridays are the busiest day, and from 4.30pm onwards the queue will run along the counter, along the wall and on out the door, about 10-strong. “Normally we never stop,” says Sophie Dauod, 27, one of three young women behind the counter. The queue runs from the very old to schoolchildren. There are factory workers, finance managers, builders, university lecturers, pensioners, housewives. There is a man who buys a sausage especially for his dog: “He knows it’s Friday and he won’t talk to me unless I give him a sausage!” says his owner, halfway out the door, cradling his chips.

“I travel here specially every Friday – have done for the past two or three years,” says Deborah Johnson, 43, a warehouse worker. She stands at the counter, her young son Charlie on her hip, while she makes her order: “Can I have chips, peas and gravy and a large sausage?” “Salt and vinegar?” “Yes please.” We listen to the music of chip-shovel, salt-shaker, greaseproof paper. “I don’t have alcohol now,” she says. “I used to have a Bulmer’s cider with my fish and chips. But tonight I might have a cup of tea. Then I’ll just watch soap operas. How sad am I?”The striking thing about the queue here tonight is its uniformity, most are regulars, all are local. Most will take their chips home, to be eaten with a cup of tea, and most will spend their evening in front of the television.

The queue is a family affair. Grandfathers ordering for whole families, mothers hoping sons might’ve remembered to set the table – or at the very least put the kettle on. Vicky Greenhalgh, 41, an ambulance service worker is here with her daughter Ella, 12. “I’m having a pie, being a Wiganer, a meat and potato pie,” she laughs. “It’s cold and wet and you need summat stodgy. I’m working tomorrow, a 12-hour shift. So we’re going to go home and pig out, watch Coronation Street.”

Luke Harrison, 13, is still in his school uniform. “I’m getting meat pie, chips and gravy,” he says. “It’s not for me, it’s for my stepdad. He’s in the car outside, he works nights, and we always come here. I normally have chips, but I’m not having anything today – I’ve just been to the dentist and I’ve had an injection.”

There is a lull. The fryer continues its soft, steady roar, and from somewhere in the back of the shop comes the rattle of a radio.

The queue builds up again, straggling out of the door and into the cold night. They fiddle with purses, fold their arms and look at the damp floor. A man pulls at the edges of his fleece, raises his gaze to the menu, and his glasses mist up. “Two cod…” he begins. “Two cod, a large chips…”

156 St James Road, Orrell, Wigan WN5 7AA; 01695 625374