Bench warming: Dana Smith on Exeter Quaker Social Café

‘There is no holding back and there’s nothing to hold back.’

We sit in the warmth, some knitting squares. For a peace blanket?  Refugees? Both? Posies made by our herbalist friend deck the tables with holy. A jigsaw is in progress while a woman, new to the group, brings fresh cinnamon buns, spicing the air. We are a mixed and contented lot: our liveries dropped, we recognise what we share. This day, and our humanity.

One man leans across the table after lunch, listening to another. They don’t know one another’s history: bereaved, unemployed, mayor of the city dropping in to see what this is all about… it doesn’t matter.

The couple who proposed the Exeter Quaker Social Cafe have heated the soup and sliced the bread; they are well-practised in the art of welcome and hospitality. Lunch, homemade and free, will be offered weekly until spring. It helps all of us with the bills. It does more. It helps us make sense of the story of our lives. For these few hours, we can slip into an easy sense of belonging.

The heat from a good broth steams the windows. Tea is brought round with a fruitcake; apricots, cherries and plums shine. Tiny gingerbread stars arrive on each table. Dishes are washed. One man continues to sit, still listening.

Later, a care worker drops in, to see if her clients might benefit from some time out with us. She sips coffee, relaxing, and enjoys a bun; how could she not? It turns out, on leaving, she too could do with a hug.

It’s like the scene in It’s A Wonderful Life when George realises the most ordinary and elusive miracle of all: being here. His life is as flawed, common and blessed as ours, and he finally grasps that simple fact when the townfolk pour into his house. Their friend is in need and they’ve come to give him what they have – crumpled notes and coins are scattered on a table by the tree. Yet they bring something else along with their singing, savings, and laughter. They bring joyous and overwhelming love.

It’s one of those scenes Hollywood could still conjure in 1946: a glimpse of the kingdom of heaven. Our nontheist friends have no need to call it heaven. It’s what our lives can be: ordinary folk in one place, at one time, turning on the taps and letting everything flow. All of their energy, spiritual and material bubbles forth. There is no holding back and there’s nothing to hold back. And why would anyone want to hold any goodness back anyway?

As the afternoon draws on we sing, some for the first time in half a century. I chat with a woman I have sat next to in silence for years, finally learning about her. Across the table a woman who has climbed an Everest of anxiety to get here, turns to another and asks, ‘Do you love me?’ The other smiles, a bit bemused, before answering, ‘Yes, of course I do.’

This week our social cafe includes an elfin elder who wears no jewellery, only a single needle picked up from the floor. ‘Someone might step on it,’ she explains. Later, I reflect on the symbolism, recalling rich men and camels.

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