On the corner of High Street in York, there’s a mannequin in the window of a clothing shop. It’s always dressed the same: a white shirt, grey trousers, and a slightly crooked flat cap no one ever bothers to straighten. Forgotten, it’s stood there for over a decade. So still, so much a part of the scenery, that most people barely notice it anymore. But the shopkeepers nearby have grown fond of it. Every morning, as they open their stores, they greet it: “Good morning, Mr. Edward”—the name they gave it as a joke, a little ritual to start the day. The baker, the newsagent, the florist… they all say hello to the mannequin. And, of course, it never replies. Until one day, it does.
It’s a Monday. The shop window is fogged up from the early morning damp. As the shopkeepers pass by and call out, “Good morning, Mr. Edward,” the mannequin smiles. It moves. And softly says, “Good morning, everyone.” They freeze. It’s not a mannequin at all. It’s a man. His name really is Edward. He’s 74. For months, he’s been the shop’s nightwatchman. He lost his home, his family is far away, and he had nowhere else to go. So at night, he sleeps in the storeroom. When the shop opens in the morning, he stands still behind the glass, pretending to be a mannequin. Not as a prank—but because, he says, behind that glass, he feels less alone.
“I like watching people, seeing how they start their day. And at least here… no one ignores me.” The story spreads when a young man films it and posts it online. It goes viral. Thousands comment: “Sometimes we think no one sees us… but there’s always someone watching from the other side of the glass.”
Now, Mr. Edward no longer pretends to be a mannequin. He’s been given a job as the shop’s greeter. He sits beside the window, smiles at passersby, and every morning answers those who say, “Good morning, Mr. Edward.” His reply, now a permanent part of the neighborhood’s lore, is simple: “Good morning… and thank you for seeing me.”
