By Susan Pitcairn

There’s fresh bread up for grabs in the village of Teffont, and it’s all because of COVID-19!

After almost 30 years living in Queensland, Australia I finally made it home last year. Yes, even after spending half my life half a world away, it turns out that this corner of Wiltshire is still home after all.

When I came back, I left my children behind – and that was actually fine: they are both in their early twenties, they have both been living independently for several years, earning their living, paying their way, and they were fully supportive of my decision. I also left an incredibly special stepdaughter, her husband and my two gorgeous grandchildren, but even that was ok. I could be Granny in England, just like my Mother, no problem.

When I arrived here, I placed an envelope by my bed. Inside was £1,000 in cash and on the outside I wrote “28 hours” as that was how far away my family was, really not far at all: and then COVID-19 arrived and everything changed. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter how much money I throw at it – I cannot get to them and I cannot bring them to me. All of a sudden, the distance became a problem.

I am incredibly lucky to have the chance to be back home and living, for a while, in the beautiful house my late parents built. I have been on my own for a long time so that’s something I’m not only good at – I actually enjoy it.

The house is ridiculously large for one person but it’s all very friendly and familiar as it is full of all the furniture and pictures I grew up with, so that’s not a problem, either.

The only problem I have is that I really suck at not working. Don’t get me wrong: I’ll whinge and moan every day about having to put the warpaint and business clothes on and head to the office, but actually I seriously need to be occupied. My children know that I am quite a long way around the bend already so, in an effort not to complete that journey, I had to find something to keep myself busy.

Years ago, before I had children, I used to make all our bread by hand just because I loved doing it. For me there is something amazingly comforting about the whole process, it’s almost like a meditation. It’s partly about commitment, as you have to commit the time necessary for mixing, kneading, proving, more kneading, shaping proving again and finally cooking; it’s also about the process, the whole magic of yeast and the feel of the dough, the way it starts out all lumpy and ugly but, with time and effort, becomes that incredibly, wonderfully, soft elastic ball of delight (yes I realise I’m weird!).

Anyway, a couple of months ago, I started baking again for something to do and remembered how good it felt and how much I enjoyed trying new fillings and types of bread. Wary of becoming as big as the house I’m looking after, I dropped the fruits of my labour on the doorsteps of various friends and relatives who seemed pretty happy with it. Eventually I decided that perhaps we could all use a comforting, fresh treat now and then, in these times, so I started a facebook page called Springhead Bread and, to my astonishment in the three weeks since, there have only been two days that I have not baked any bread. On my busiest day I did 11 loaves!

My children would certainly verify that I am most of the way around the bend already. Baking is my way of, hopefully, preventing myself completing that journey: so, thank you, Teffont villagers, for helping me retain the few marbles I have left!