Related articles

Opening an English winery

Running a B&B

Growing fruit in Suffolk

Useful websites

Exmoor National Park

Becoming self-employed if you're over 50

Don't miss

Viagra - the facts

Harrison Ford - midlife crisis?

Your say - air your views

Opening a country tea shop

You might think that establishing a tea garden from scratch in the grounds of a thatched 17th-century cottage in the Exmoor National Park is a world away from editing a newspaper. And you’d be absolutely bloody right, writes Chris Binding

It’s everything that being a parasitic, superficial, instant-expert-on-everything journo isn’t.

The termination of my employment, at the age of 50 and after nearly 20 years as deputy editor of a morning newspaper, was nothing less than devastating. I won’t bore you with the depressing details. You either already know what it’s like or you’re better off thinking it won’t happen.

Fast forward to a sunny April afternoon two years ago and picture, if you can, this former unswervingly cynical, go-for-the-jugular, cut-the-crap journalist weaving his way past the flower beds of a perfect English garden with just one thing on his mind.

Not the creation of an award-winning headline (it must be better than the Mail’s), not the next way to boost circulation. The big issue of the moment is the tray full of gleaming white china he is carrying, so lovingly, so proudly. Don’t spill the Earl Grey. Keep the flies off the cream and jam. Smile, always smile.

Not that this unlikely transformation was without its trials. Far from it. Forget selling the family home after 20 years, saying farewell to old friends and neighbours, putting memories into boxes and moving areas. Everyone does that kind of thing.

We added in a few extra elements: wife starts new job, after giving up the idea of driving 60 miles to the existing one; youngest son moves to university and carefully doesn’t admit how much he resents not being able to return to his old friends; glorious new home requires months of expensive alterations. But when things finally settled down, the plan for the tea garden took shape.

In fact, confirmation of the exciting new development was published in the local paper, which concerns itself mostly with births, marriages, deaths and the price of sheep.

Then there were tables to order, a catering kitchen to establish and the tricky demands of the environmental health department to be met. All that was achieved with just two weeks left to the start of the tourist season -– Easter.

And with everything ready for the Great Day, one rather significant detail occurred to me. I had established the perfect English tea garden – yet I had absolutely no idea how to make it work. The idea was great. The reality was suddenly terrifying. What on earth had I been thinking of?

Re-inventing yourself throws up some fascinating possibilities. Even the most basic tasks, like making the right amount of tea, at the right strength, had to be learnt – the hard way.

I scalded myself, filled pots with cold water, forgot tea bags, milk, sugar, mixed up orders, gave out the wrong change. In the first few days, every winged insect for miles homed in on our tea garden, eager to get stuck into the jam and skinny dip in the milk.

But, miraculously, it did get better. Of course, that first season threw up some memorable moments... like the honeymooners. They strolled, hand-in-hand to their table, gazing deep into each other’s eyes, barely noticing anyone around them.

But, such was the fragile intensity of their emotions that something went horribly wrong – right there in front of me. In the few minutes that it took between them ordering tea and cake and me delivering it to them, the sweet nothings had turned to bitter accusations.

By the time I left the table she was crying. As I turned around she threw her cake straight at him and ran, weeping, from the garden. The ashen-faced groom left some cash on the table and tip-toed away to face the music. I can only guess what became of them.

There were near-disasters too. Like when I almost served a bottle of chilled lager to a seven year old after grabbing it in haste from the wrong fridge shelf … or asking a blatantly blind man how he was enjoying the view.

But the most heart-warming moment I witnessed was the elderly lady helping her disabled husband through the entrance and discovering, to her dismay, the nearest table was already occupied.

Without hesitation the young couple got up, gathered their cups and plates and moved silently and smiling to the next table.

That simple act of kindness made me realise what I was thinking of – and why I was now doing it.

This article was created: 14 July 2006.
This article was last edited: 20 November 2006.

Email  Back to top