Dear LPG,

As pensioners we arrive at a stage in our lives when we have that extra time to enjoy many of those things that have been around as long as we have but that, during our advancement through the hustle and bustle of life, often pass us by. 

One such place for me has been Forster Memorial Park which I often passed through when it was part of the route between my home and destination, but that I spent little time really getting to know until I reached my retirement.  In more recent years I have spent many a Sunday morning walking around this park and stopping at the café for a cup of coffee, but then came the pandemic and just after this simple pleasure was disrupted by news of the café’s closure.  I feel that I also lost a friend or two because of the many Sunday morning chats that I had with the baristas who have worked there over recent years.

Who knows, by the time LPG can print my post the café will be, as they often say, under new management, and I know that life has to go on, but the closure of this very small establishment at a very poignant time left me with the need to put pen to paper…

DEMOLITION

Saturday began February earmarked in red

Following a conversation in the café,

Observing all the goodies were half price

Last Sunday.

Off, with some foreboding, to the park.

The shutter was down.  People

Carry random boxes in and out, exiting

The café.

The owner called my name, smiling sadly.

Her full-time, travelling work, is disabling

The effectiveness of the café, against

Her hopes.

Three conversational baristas, the last one was there.

Drama graduate, University student,

Budding dancer, all became expert manufacturing

Flat whites.

Now a derelict room shell, gurgles silenced.

No shining machine, no paper cups, no cookies.

Borrowed boxes in a funeral procession.

Will Friends of the Park take over?

Foster Murphy