About us

The workshop

In 2018, my itch was to open the tearoom. Mum was on board and just as excited as me. For a Christmas present, she bought us the workshop we’ve since converted into what you see today. We bought it in October but couldn’t get it delivered until March, because of ground conditions.

Sadly, mum passed away at home in February 2019, so apart from pictures, she never saw the workshop in situ.

A hard road

Life was pretty difficult. Mum had gone — my confidant, my friend, my loving mum, the one person who understood me, loved me unconditionally, and supported me through some very hard times. Mark’s dad had passed away too, three weeks before mum. I hadn’t really grieved for my own dad, because as you do, you remain strong for your surviving parent, who has lost their life partner.

Mark was so ill, he was diagnosed with PTSD — I won’t go into why, but it was a pretty horrific incident that he tried to pass off. He slipped slowly into depression and couldn’t really focus on much., now he has early onset dementia.

Knocked back

Along the way, a builder and handyman offered to help out with the tearoom and the grounds. He’d fallen on some bad luck, so we helped him. All was fine for four months or so, although there were things I began to question — where were the splashbacks and the stainless steel shelves for the kitchen, why was the wall to the toilet not held together properly, why was there no water, no lights, why was the decking just sitting there, why were things started but never finished?

Then in July 2020, our John Deere ride-on mower went missing. My dad’s tools, the microwave for the tearoom, cups, bowls, so many things — and on top of it all, where did the builder go with all the money I’d given him to buy materials, plus the advance I’d given him to find work himself? Luckily the car I’d lent him was due its first MOT, so I got that back before he disappeared. There was more, but I can think of other words to describe him than are appropriate for the public eye.

All the work he’d carried out was condemned. He knew exactly what we were building, and what it was for. Someone we had helped — bought food for, lent money to, written CVs for, found jobs for.

Our dream of a tearoom for learning disabled adults seemed far, far away, and almost didn’t happen.

Starting again

Not long after, Mark was diagnosed with dementia. He was only 53. It was devastating — not something you think will happen at a young age. I needed a focus, so I set to rebuilding our dream, hoping it would help Mark as well as our daughter.

Why it matters

There is nothing out there for learning disabled adults and those with brain injury, where they can lead some sort of life — where they’re appreciated, where they can learn, where independence is nurtured, where they can build confidence, self-esteem and self-worth, and be part of a community with new friends. Where they can feel they’re contributing to society, and not being judged.

There’s plenty for those who need a huge amount of care, and there’s support for those who can cope in the workforce — but nothing really for that huge group in between, especially when you’re not part of an organisation that offers support. As the parent of a now 37-year-old disabled daughter, I know exactly how isolating that can feel as a mum. How lonely. How many dreams you had for them as babies, and how you come to know they’ll struggle to get anywhere near them.

Now, nestled in the trees on Howgarth Lane, to the left as you look at Manor Bungalow, is our dream. GPC Specialist Tearoom C.I.C. A not-for-profit tearoom, where every penny goes back into running it, developing the kitchen garden, and building a chill-out space for our assistants — our learning disabled adults and brain injured adults.

23 years on, finally, our adults are learning, are achieving, and are gaining independent skills. You can see them become confident. Their customer service skills are growing, and they’re having fun, meeting new people, and being part of the community.I’m just the one lucky enough to watch it happen.

Inclusive & welcoming