Cappuccinos, Cobwebs & Calculator Men: Tales from the Lockdown Hatch

In the week or two before the first lockdown, we were basically running a black-market stall for eggs and toilet rolls. We couldn't bake fast enough, and people were panic-buying anything that wasn't nailed down. Then - like that - we shut our doors for three months.

When we finally reopened, it was like stepping into a parallel universe.

Gone were the chilled families and the relaxed, friendly regulars we'd served for years. In their place a whole new style of customer. Some delightful, Some... challenging

We served through the hatch - just one window, one customer at a time. From where I stood, I could only ever see the person directly in front of me. I'd take their order, turn right to make the coffee, turn left to grab the cakes or quiche, then whip back to the hatch. It was a loop. The queue never ended. From the moment we opened to the moment we closed, it was just one after another.

Meanwhile, Catherine - my partner in crime - was the one brave enough to step outside and drop food off at the collection table.

I'll never forget the look on her face that first day.

She came back into the kitchen, wide-eyed, pale .

"Whatever you do", she said, "don't look right."

That became a running theme for months. Code for brace yourself.

Because to the right of the hatch, snaking past the Goods Shed and winding all the way into the carpark, was the queue of doom. A never ending, shape-shifting line of lockdown humanity, just waiting for scones, cake, cappuccinos and a bit of comfort.

Every time Catherine went out there, she'd come back looking like she'd seen the abyss.

Whatever you do.... don't look right!

We worked hard. We baked hard. Just the two of us, holding it all together. We didn't do banana bread or cinnamon buns (sorry Instagram), but we did keep the scones, cakes, quiches and salads coming.

And we met some.... characters.

The Cash Lady

She placed her whole order - coffees, food, the works - then tried to hand me a note.

"Sorry," I said, "we're card only at the moment."

"How was I supposed to know that?!" she snapped.

"Well... we've got three signs up," I said. "Two along the socially distanced queue and one right here at the hatch."

She didn't believe me.

Stormed off to investigate

Came back a minute later, bright red.

"Well I didn't see them."

I softened. "Look, if you have the exact money, I'll take it. I'd rather not... but ok."

Off she went, I assumed getting change. The next customer appeared at the hatch, a baby strapped to her chest, looking just as confused as I felt.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw 'cash lady' striding back. Before I could say "just a sec," she pushed past the next customer and threw £15 of notes and change through the hatch.

There," she huffed and stormed off

"Thank you?" I said, catching a rogue 20p mid-air.

The Pink Calculator Guy

Thankfully, customers like that were rare.

We still had our loyal regulars. And then, new faces who slowly became part of the fabric.

One of my favourites? The Pink Calculator Guy

He walks past the cafe every morning with his dog. Still does. But during lockdown he became a legend.

One day he turned up, grinning, holding a pink calculator.

"Look what I found!" he said.

"Oh right..." I replied, assuming it had turned up like keys or wallets sometimes do outside the cafe.

"It's for you!" he said, thrusting it through the hatch.

I really didnt want to touch this calculator. Covid paranoia was in full swing.

"Where did you find it?" I asked praying he'd say "just over there, by the bench" so I could put it back

"Stroud."

Stroud?! Thats half an hour away!

"Yeah," he nodded "Saw it on the floor and thought of you!"

And I stood there, smiling like someone who'd been handed radioactive stationary.

What do you even say to that?

The Soggy Auntie Guy

Another regular. Older. Quite deaf. And very much at that age where manners... go missing.

He'd march up to the hatch and bark:

"Cappuccino. No chocolate. Latte. And a soggy Auntie."

(Thats my fruit cake, in case you're wondering. Not a relative.)

No greeting. No thank you. Just a standing order, shouted through the hatch.

Then one day, he upped the game.

Without a word, he shoved a bag for life through the hatch.

This thing looked like it had been stored in the boot of a hearse. Dusty. Streaked with grime. Covered in actual cobwebs.

I did'n t even have time to stop him - it was on my side.

"We found some baking things in the garage," he said. "Thought you'd like them!"

Inside? Cookie cutters and random rusting bits of tin.

No explanation. No irony. Just... "Thought you'd like them."

What. The. Hell.

I stood there staring at this haunted bag of mystery mould and old metal. What do you say to that? Thank you? Burn it?

Reflections from the Hatch

Looking back, it was mad. There we were, Catherine and I, in our own little bubble, baking our hearts out, trying to keep some kind of rhythm while the world felt upside down.

The view from the hatch was limited - just one person at a time. But each one came with their own story, their own mood, their own energy. Some warmed our hearts. Some tested our patience. But all of them, in their own way, kept us going.

And honestly? I wouldn't change a thing.

(Except maybe the cobweb bag, that can stay in the garage)

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