Wordsley, Stourbridge, England: 18 degrees, warmish, sunny and slightly cloudy.
One of the habits I have grown to love and appreciate here in England is going to a café or coffee shop to work.
I had journaled at the Portuguese bakery in Flamengo, Rio, several times and enjoyed it, but not as much as here in England.
There are two cafes very near where I live. One is ‘The Greedy Cow’, which is run by Luke. It is a tiny cafe with very few tables and chairs. Julie calls Luke an enormous ‘greaser’ because he is a big man, probably at least 140-150 kilos, but he is a very nice guy; a gentle giant.
However, ‘The Greedy Cow’ is missing something in terms of charm, finesse, and maybe even a little hygiene and organisation. I visited once, and it was okay, but nothing that made me want to go back.
The second cafe, ‘Wordsley Cafe on the Green’, which feels like a second home to me in England, and where Julie works, is quite special. The owners, a couple named Jim and Jo, bought the business from the previous owner, who was doing quite well but was forced to sell due to health problems.
Jim is Scottish with a powerful accent, yet surprisingly soft-spoken. Sometimes it is hard to understand him because of his thick Scottish accent and his gentle voice.
The first time I went to the cafe was in winter, in the middle to late afternoon, with hardly anyone there except the staff. It was already dark, and I entered, seeing no customers, and walked straight out.
The second time was in the morning; I wasn’t aware that, traditionally, people visit cafes more so in the morning here in England for tea, coffee, a snack, or breakfast, and that after around 1:00 p.m., the activity drops significantly.
Unintentionally, I began going to the café regularly, in the mornings before classes. I would enter, find a small table, place my pump bag down, approach the counter, order and pay for a tea with limes, then return to my table, pull out my journal, and write.
I did this two or three times a week for weeks, then months. People began to notice me, ask about me, and eventually come over to ask what I was doing, writing, or studying. We are animals, and, like animals, most of us approach strangers only when we are sure it is safe.
During all this time, I was discreetly and indirectly flirting with Julie, and she was definitely doing the same, reciprocating. When I found out that the cafe would close between Christmas and New Year, I was devastated. I would not be able to go to the cafe then, and more importantly, see Julie. It was a difficult time for me.
Julie and I went on our first date on 9 March to see Dune 2 at the cinema in Merry Hill Shopping Centre, more than two months into the new year. Before this, I didn’t know whether she was married, dating someone, gay, or just free; only time revealed the truth about the road ahead.
But the café has become a second home where I have grown to love the place and the people who make it so special!
Apart from Julie, there is Diane, who works there as a waitress. She is a woman my age, and she is trendy in her appearance. I believe she is married and helps look after her mother, but she appears to have issues, especially with drinking.
Jim, the owner, a very nice man who works as the chef in the kitchen, is extremely helpful to his customers. He often pops out of his kitchen to check if everything is well and in order. When I occasionally go to the cafe very early, between 8:00 and 8:30, to get some work done before it gets busy, he likes to come out from the kitchen first to chat, which is nice, but neither of us gets any work done.
Jo, his wife, is a quite large woman who always seems cheerful, talkative, and with her aerial switched on all the time. I have spoken to other customers at other tables, from a distance, in a low voice, and then suddenly she joins the conversation from a distance. How remarkable is that?
And then there are Chaz and Dave; those are not their real names, as Julie ironically gave them their nicknames. They are an elderly couple who come in for breakfast every day, but unfortunately, they have a daughter undergoing chemotherapy at the moment. Last week, they sat next to me, and we had a chat. I always ask about their daughter when I see them, and they are always very kind and attentive.
And finally, there is Patrick, an Irishman in his mid-70s, who, besides having Parkinson’s, has just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I get the impression that he worked with security or even the military in the past; nowadays, he buys and sells antiques. The cafe is his home and base.
I don’t think he has any family nearby. He’s loud and enjoys drawing attention, which I don’t mind as I consider him harmless. The café provides him with service and comfort in his old age, likely his final years. If the café didn’t exist or weren’t there, he would probably need to find another or become even lonelier.
There are many others: women from the community poetry society, and others who know me by sight and I them. All of us together form this beautiful, little, diverse micro-world and ecosystem of the cafe on the green.
If the cafe on the green had not existed, my life would have been poorer and emptier, and I would not have met Julie.
Thank you, the cafe on the green, for existing, what you are and what you have given me and probably others is invaluable.
In bed by 11:00 p.m.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.
Richard
