What a position for a house in Benalla! I could walk across to the shops in ten minutes, enjoying birds, trees and glimpses of the lake along the way.
But having completed the lovely walk, where was the coffee at the end of it? The nearest block included six cafes.
Covid was rife at the time, so I chose a small one, a few doors around the corner – ‘The Cake-Maker’s Daughter’. Not having a phone in my pocket, I gave my details according to the Covid rules and sat outside. The waitress bringing the coffee asked if my name was Carmyl. I said it was. She laughed and said that they had written down Camel! So that was a good start at becoming known.
Mak, who made the coffee, was the friendliest person and made me feel very much at home, as did Nichole. It took me more than a year to realise that they were daughter and mother, and that Nichole was indeed The Cake-Maker.
My son, Michael, visited and quietly gave Mak $100 as my birthday present. Brilliant! I’d walk in, get my coffee card, hand it over and sit down, no payment required! I might mention that when the money ran out, it was quietly renewed.
At Christmas, I gave them a card telling them they had been some of my first friends in Benalla and what a difference they had made to my new town.
I took friends and family there for lunch – some of the best lunches I’ve ever come across. I popped in occasionally for a coffee by myself. I took grand-daughters there. But the one constant was Tuesday morning coffee at 10 with a friend.
The shop was relatively small with only seven or eight indoor tables, so I often rang early on Tuesday to book a table. One table had two very comfortable basket weave chairs and that was often where we ended up.
Bev, who I had got to know through coffee there, would look over at our table as she came through the door and shake her fist with a grin; our church friend, Val, would meet half a dozen mates at the next table; a couple who did morning lake walks would give a wave, Karen from Tomorrow Today would be there to collect coffee for the staff. It was a Tuesday community.
We heard about Mak or Nichole’s holidays, we chatted about our doings, birthdays, news items. It made Tuesdays special.
Then one Tuesday, I arrived to find Mak in a very agitated state on the phone. I helped her bring in the tables and chairs that had only been out for a brief time.
Something was clearly very wrong. I gave her a hug. A sign went up on the door, ‘Due to personal reasons, the shop will be closed until further notice.’
And The Cake-Maker’s Daughter never opened again.
I can only say that the three years of friendship and coffee those women gave me and so many others, was something I will never forget.
But having completed the lovely walk, where was the coffee at the end of it? The nearest block included six cafes.
Covid was rife at the time, so I chose a small one, a few doors around the corner – ‘The Cake-Maker’s Daughter’. Not having a phone in my pocket, I gave my details according to the Covid rules and sat outside. The waitress bringing the coffee asked if my name was Carmyl. I said it was. She laughed and said that they had written down Camel! So that was a good start at becoming known.
Mak, who made the coffee, was the friendliest person and made me feel very much at home, as did Nichole. It took me more than a year to realise that they were daughter and mother, and that Nichole was indeed The Cake-Maker.
My son, Michael, visited and quietly gave Mak $100 as my birthday present. Brilliant! I’d walk in, get my coffee card, hand it over and sit down, no payment required! I might mention that when the money ran out, it was quietly renewed.
At Christmas, I gave them a card telling them they had been some of my first friends in Benalla and what a difference they had made to my new town.
I took friends and family there for lunch – some of the best lunches I’ve ever come across. I popped in occasionally for a coffee by myself. I took grand-daughters there. But the one constant was Tuesday morning coffee at 10 with a friend.
The shop was relatively small with only seven or eight indoor tables, so I often rang early on Tuesday to book a table. One table had two very comfortable basket weave chairs and that was often where we ended up.
Bev, who I had got to know through coffee there, would look over at our table as she came through the door and shake her fist with a grin; our church friend, Val, would meet half a dozen mates at the next table; a couple who did morning lake walks would give a wave, Karen from Tomorrow Today would be there to collect coffee for the staff. It was a Tuesday community.
We heard about Mak or Nichole’s holidays, we chatted about our doings, birthdays, news items. It made Tuesdays special.
Then one Tuesday, I arrived to find Mak in a very agitated state on the phone. I helped her bring in the tables and chairs that had only been out for a brief time.
Something was clearly very wrong. I gave her a hug. A sign went up on the door, ‘Due to personal reasons, the shop will be closed until further notice.’
And The Cake-Maker’s Daughter never opened again.
I can only say that the three years of friendship and coffee those women gave me and so many others, was something I will never forget.
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