‘An inspirational story of unravelled lives coming back together.’
‘Loneliness on a Bike is a testament to the transformative power of kindness, empathy and human connection, as people from all walks of life find healing and purpose at the Chitter Chatter Clubs.’
Sue Stone Author - The Power Within You Now.
‘A heart wrenching emotional tour de force that is much needed to unite our souls, hearts and communities. Read it and Join.’
Dominic Wong. Author - Opposite Sides of a Coin, The Same Sides of a Coin, The Day I Tickled a Hedgehog.
‘Everyone should read this book.’ Jayne Skellet Local Bournemouth Author.
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Post Lockdown, I, Anne Anderson, (60) got on my bike and scoured the streets spotting and chatting to hundreds of really lonely people in Bournemouth Poole and Christchurch. I invited them along to a Chat Club near them, promoting the chance of making new friends.
In just over two years, over 2300 new people have come, regained their confidence, improved their mental/physical health, become less socially isolated and more socially mobile, have made new friends, built friendlier/safer communities and are visiting their GP LESS.
INTRO
Brene Brown cites ‘fish need fish to swim with, birds need birds to flock with, a stray fish or bird will probably be eaten alive. Likewise - people need people. Loneliness is the body’s way of telling you that you need human connection.
A person lacking social connection is at risk of poorer health, as studies have shown, loneliness can be as harmful as smoking 15 cigarettes daily, it can lead to obesity, heart/blood pressure problems, depression, strokes to name a few.
Mother Teresa"Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty"
Anne Anderson states ‘The only way to heal loneliness is to help yourself and others.’
Back of book
Loneliness On A Bike
Embark on an inspiring journey of Loneliness on a Bike. This poignant tale follows a solitary woman pedalling through life’s traumas and the empty post-lockdown streets, searching for lonely faces to connect. Each turn of her wheel is a testament to her commitment to hold out a hand of friendship, invite people for a cuppa tea and create a thriving culture of unashamed loneliness and togetherness.
This book showcases her strength, resilience, and determination to succeed, as she has always done from a very young age, regardless of negative obstacles. As she nervously ventures into the unknown, she engages with thousands of new faces, inviting them to come and make friends at Chitter Chatter Club tables in local cafes all over Dorset.
Together guests weave threads of companionship, gently mending their seams of loneliness. With this newfound empathetic, caring, honest environment, they carry the burdens of the world with greater resilience.
As thousands upon thousands of people's connect, self heal, they are now helping others with loneliness battles.
Oprah Winfrey states;- Every human's greatest need is to belong.
Inside Cover
Loneliness On A Bike
As someone who has faced a long struggle with loneliness, I want to share my journey and the stories of others who have turned their loneliness into strength. Feeling lonely is nothing to be ashamed of—it’s a natural part of being human and something that everyone experiences. It’s our mind's way of telling us that we need connection.
No one should feel alone, and no one is ever too old to find a new friend. In this book, you’ll see how loneliness can actually bring us together, showing that we’re not alone in feeling this way.
Enjoy.
Part 1
The Journey to Chitter Chatter Clubs
January 2022 - Lockdown Lifted
A few days later, I went to my friend Jenny's party. She lives in a big posh block of flats, nearby my council flat. She had invited 60 people, singles/couples, but only 3 showed up. I asked her- why. She replied, 'They live up there in their flats, isolated and don’t come out, not even into the corridors.’ My first thought was, that’s not healthy, they’ll get really obese and diabetic and Wow!
‘They just get Deliveroo and Tesco deliveries.’ She continued as my heart and head wrestled the futures of these naive elderly strangers. My heart erupted with the unspoken insecure rage I’d always held back at Southerners being less friendly than Northerners.
Anne’s Prophecy
After the party I cycled to church. It usually clears my mind but not that day. My heart was still heavy and in desperation I lifted this problem to God. Impatiently my frustrated mind waited. I had my hands open and bargained with HIM. Eventually I softly asked him to unburden me and the others of this heart breaking darkness.
‘What IS MY purpose in life?’ I asked.
A still voice spoke into my soul.
‘You are to keep writing,
I’ll turn your smut into a miracle
and we’ll show the world that darkness can be turned into light.’
I dove into researching loneliness, but all I found was internet advice, advice, advice. No meet ups. I knew actions spoke louder than words, so a week later, I hopped on my bike and started reaching out to those broken and weary faces looking at pavements and saying ‘Hi.’ The response was phenomenal. Ok, at first they generally shunned me, but as I stopped taking it personally, 99% would reply after the shock had melted off their iced frames. I didn’t know what I was doing, but all I knew was, I was doing more than the council services. I recruited 31 local cafes who cared about the grief and health effects of the loneliness epidemic and were happy to host Chitter Chatter Clubs (CCC). They offered (free) a big table to receive our guests.
I learnt how to use Excel and log the data that was collected, with cafes/managers,names-addresses/emails/details/opening times/insurances, I wrote our Do’s and Don'ts list for cafes and volunteers, Safeguarding Policies, Health and Safety policies etc etc. I taught myself how to make artistic flyers using Canva. (Thank you Canva.com) Then had them printed by Dziyn Studios on Ebay and got back on my bike.
It wasn’t hard to find lonely people; they were everywhere, on the street, masked in the library, in a cafe, in churches, you name it - I personally invited them to join us at one of our chat tables with the opportunity to meet like minded people and make friends. The least lonely- took flyers to post through neighbours letterboxes.
MP’s and Councillors wrote to me saying the idea was amazing, phenomenal, incredible etc, but come on - it was an idea with a friendly passionate Northerner behind it, who had suffered loneliness, social isolation and exclusion since moving down south in the times of Margaret Thatcher’s North/South divide.
(Southern guys used to ask me to dance in a nightclub, then when I replied with my northern twang, they disappeared and asked someone else. Read more in Part 2.)
As more people wore our ‘happy to chat’ pin badges, ‘The Happy to Chat’ virus spread quickly through Dorset towns and social media. Guest Health and Wellbeing practitioners wanted to support us. Drug and Alcohol, Mental Health services, Hospitals, Citizens Advice, Police/Firemen/Paramedics, Council care services/care agencies - everyone wrote empowering messages and offers of help. I preferred to do it alone as I didn’t have a clue how to manage business, trustees, a charity, business people, all I knew was safeguarding and how to chat empathetically, listen congruently, and be friendly. Oh and avoid cake. (That didn’t work.)
I invited over 200 health professionals to an open meeting at Bournemouth University. (It was my first Calamity. No, not Calamity’s Calling - that was one of my Norther/ smuttily funny/empowering adult chick-lit novels that my university professor called ‘Smut!,’ I’ll tell you more in Part 3)
Launch Day 2/2/2022
Nine of my supportive friends sat praying for the first person to come. My mind was questioning, has the newspaper advertising been printed? Have the social prescriber referrals reached anyone? Did anyone know we were sitting here like high ripening pears on a window ledge, caffeine intoxicated, in hope that God would send us just one person. After 90 minutes of waiting a nervous greyish looking woman walked up and down outside on the pavement. On her fifth lap, I gave her a little wave and then her hand touched the door handle.Like us she tiptoed in. I rose to my feet and gave another little wave, followed by a smile and,
‘Hi, have you come to the chat club?’
‘No, but I’d love to join in, if I can.’ Mary replied.
With her cappuccino in hand she shared her story of leaving her estranged family in Sherbourne and was in the middle of moving to Bournemouth to start again - with herself.
Before she left, she offered a review to kickstart the loneliness recovery programme.
22.2.22 Mary’s review.
So today I wandered down Charminster Road. I saw this cafe. I walked past a couple of times and turned and went in. Ann welcomed me with a wonderful smile and said join us….
I met some lovely happy people and shared a cuppa with them. It made my day, it was a wonderful start, so unexpected. A little bit of kindness and a smile is truly amazing! If you see CCC, attend, you won’t regret it.
We soon began to learn that once one guest comes through the open door, hundreds/thousands follow.
Part 2
Journeys of Loneliness: Heartfelt Guest Memoirs
The Chitter Chatter Club is a safe haven where members arrive trembling on their first visit and recover instantly with a cup of tea and a chat. They regain confidence, share growth together, build resilience, and forge connections.
These resilient heartfelt stories are shared with the promise of anonymity, as we can all celebrate the quiet victories of the human spirit.
Nigel’s Unexpected Visitor
In the quiet corners of life, where stories unfold like delicate petals, Nigel existed—a man who seemed to fold into himself when faced with strangers. His small frame held secrets, and his eyes carried the weight of solitude. But there was a twist to Nigel’s tale - Animals.
Dogs—the four-legged emissaries of companionship—held the key. Nigel’s love for them ran deep, etched into the fabric of his existence.
For fifteen years, he had walked the riverbank, a silent dance with his beloved Andrex dog. The world might scoff at such a companion, but Nigel knew better. Andrex listened without judgement, and their footsteps echoed a language only they understood. Then came the inevitable—a farewell whispered by time. Andrex crossed the rainbow bridge, leaving Nigel with an ache that no other dog could fill. He believed it impossible.
Dawn, my next door neighbour, sensing Nigel’s loneliness and grief, stepped into the fragile space between them when he told her his story. She told him about my new loneliness programme CCC, where tea brewed serenity. Nigel listened, his eyes tracing the contours of possibility. Could strangers become companions? Could a cup of warmth mend frayed edges?
The next day, Nigel arrived early, 6 hours too early, misunderstanding the clock’s whispers. The café, devoid of crowds, held its breath. The bar staff buzzed with anticipation, like bees awaiting nectar. And there, in a tucked-away corner, sat Nigel—a man who had saved a table for eight, as if inviting ghosts of company. His nerves quivered, and shyness clung to him like dew on morning grass. After a few weeks, silently Nigel’s colour returned to his cheeks. In a group conversation we recited childhood stories and when I asked about him, Nigel’s voice emerged—a fragile filament.
In his childhood he’d shared—a grand house in Outback Australia, a wilderness with a garden stretching across vastness. His parents, guardians of isolation, would drive six hours for provisions. And yes, toilet paper. But then, Nigel’s voice dipped lower, like a secret shared by firelight.
A childhood memory—Alone one day, he heard the door, tap-tap tap-tap, and with great excitement but terrified at the same time, he opened it and there stood an eight-foot-tall figure. A kangaroo, with forepaws outstretched, begging for water. Nigel, seven years old, eyes wide, looked up at the outback sky.
Our chat table hushed. Nigel’s quietude had birthed wonder—a tale of unlikely encounters, of thresholds crossed. And in that moment, we learned: Nigel, the man who shrank from strangers, harboured an encyclopaedia within.
So, let us remember: behind every door, there might be a kangaroo seeking comfort, a cup of tea waiting to bridge distances. And Nigel? He taught us that loneliness, like paper, could fold into unexpected shapes—a symphony of vulnerability, a dance with wonderful memories.
Navigating Parkinson’s
Judy, a seasoned health care worker, had woven compassion into the lives of thousands throughout her career. Retirement was meant to be her well-earned respite—a chance to exhale after four decades of service. But life, even the unpredictable pilot, had other plans. A Parkinson’s diagnosis landed in her lap, uninvited and unwelcome.
Parkinson’s—the name alone carried weight. The body’s rebellion, the uncontrollable tremors—living in a storm, arms flailing, signals lost in chaos. But this wasn’t an ironic joke; it was to become her reality. The humiliation that accompanied those involuntary movements—the sideways glances, the pitying smiles—felt like cruelty itself.
And so, Judy wondered: How do I manage this? How do I navigate the turbulence of Parkinson’s when I’ve spent a lifetime helping others find their way?
The road ahead was lined with hurdles. Independence, once a given, now slipped through her fingers like sand. Surrendering her driving licence—the key to freedom—was a bitter pill. Drinking through a straw became a daily ritual, and eating in public - a No No. So as her hands and feet began to betray her, God’s grace poured from her lips. Parkinson’s might shake her body, but it wouldn’t shake her spirit.
So, with determination as her co-pilot, Judy prepared for takeoff. The skies were uncertain, but being a single parent, she’d flown through worse. As her tripod taxied into a Chitter Chatter chat club, she was greeted with smiles and offers of coffee. It was only seconds before she was sharing her love for people and making friends all around. Judy had a way of putting the most vulnerable at ease, affirming that everything would be alright. For others who sat with minor complaints, Judy was a breath of fresh air.
Loneliness weighed heavily on her at home, but she refused to give in and let it consume. Instead, week by week, she’d book her taxi and come along to C C C’s to help as many people as she could.
People like Judy bring immense value to our communities. Their compassion and willingness to reach out make a significant difference. Connecting with them enriches our lives and reminds us of the power of human connection.
A Remarkable Re-Inflation
Picture Archie—a human helium balloon, once buoyant but slowly deflated after his wife’s passing seven years ago. Imagine him sitting at a chat table, leaning on his walking stick, and finally surrendering to the weight of loneliness.
The following week, he hobbled in with a sore leg; the week after, he asked for a lift—as he’d fallen and was unable to walk. It wasn’t my role to get personally involved, but I had observed Archie gradually inflating. His gray face had returned to pink.
He was the kindest of souls, reminiscent of a benevolent deity. Bit by bit, his leg improved, and his sense of humour returned. Yet, he missed Sarah, their shared dances and laughter. A heart attack robbing them of their retirement and stealing Archie’s joy.
As Archie’s shuffle transformed into purposeful steps, he joined our nature walks. Choosing the shorter route, he separated from my side and began making friends. Phone numbers were exchanged, connections formed. He proudly shared that he’d become a volunteer with the Christchurch Angels—the very ladies who had once supported him with reintegration and had accompanied him to his first chat club.
Soon, Archie’s photograph graced a local newspaper. He became the Christchurch Angels, 79 year old pin-up guy, and I bestowed the same honour upon him at The Chitter Chatter Club. I started recording C C C sessions, and knowing the benefits of CCC’s he became our chief spokesman, but the story doesn’t end there. I introduced Archie to a Barchester Care Home where we hosted C C C sessions monthly. Not only did he attend each one, but he also spent a few weeks there for respite. Unable to contain himself, he volunteered to help out alongside the staff at the care home too, infusing the events team with creative ideas and his unmistakable personality bridging the rapport between staff and residents, everyone blossomed.
And still, there’s more! Archie, now 80, serves as one of our Directors on the board of Loneliness Together Chitter Chatter Clubs. And rumour has it—he has an old admirer.
But wait, there’s a twist! They had dated 62 years ago.
She’d seen his photo on our Facebook page from Birmingham. The tangled web of love’s first kiss is unravelling, and a great new supportive relationship is beginning. In their eighties, over the miles, they face life together as friends, metaphorically hand in hand, online. So, dear reader, remember Archie—the helium balloon who reinflated through connection, resilience, and a touch of serendipity.
And yes, you’ve woken up—I promise this isn’t a dream!
Tears to Resilience
Ashleen, a fragile soul, sat outside Costa—reflecting on her conversation with the Samaritans. Her head bowed, tears etching paths down her weathered face. I, familiar with the struggles of addicts and alcoholics, sensed something different.
Ashleen wasn’t intoxicated; she was drowning in sorrow. I crouched beside her, my voice gentle. “Are you alright?” Seventy years of movement showed in her bones, she nodded—a silent plea for understanding.
Like my own selfish neighbours, her tormentors lived above—neighbours who revelled in nocturnal chaos, parties fueled by toxic smelly cannabis. Ashleen, trapped in her McCarthy Stone flat, felt the walls close in. Suicide whispered its seductive lies.
Her name was Ashleen—became a lifeline. I, the organiser of a chat club battling loneliness, extended an invitation. Anxiety fluttered within me—would anyone show up this afternoon?
Hand in hand, we stepped inside, our cold fingers seeking warmth , fingers cradling steaming mugs of coffee. New faces mingled with familiar ones. Around the table, we chatted about animals in homes and in captivity, the rights and wrongs of this kindled connection.
Ashleen, once drawn and grey, blossomed. She confided—her only path to happiness lay in returning to Australia. Her cheeks flushed, eyes alight as she recounted friends and sun-kissed adventures, koalas and kangaroos.
Mother England had stifled her spirit for five long years. In the weeks that followed, Ashleen flitted between C C C’s with no anchors, just wings.
They became her lifeline, rekindling dormant embers.
And then, like a divine nudge, a buyer appeared. Within months, Ashleen—our drawn lady—arched into a grateful smile.
God, perhaps, had orchestrated our meeting—my whispered purpose. Ashleen’s tears had transformed into courage, and loneliness beaten down with togetherness.
So have a look around when you are out and about in the quiet corners of cafés, lives disconnected, you can plant a seed of hope, a smile, a word. It could possibly save a life or at the least brighten up someone's day who hasn’t spoken to anyone in months.
………………………………..
Ashleen’s journey is testament to the power of unexpected connections and the way simple acts of kindness can transform lives. Loneliness, like sorrow, can be intoxicating, but sometimes, a warm invitation and a shared cup of coffee can break its spell. And Ashleen’s return to Australia shows that sometimes, the path to happiness lies in revisiting the places where our spirits can soar.
Jane - A Charismatic Captive of Solitude
Jane phoned to ask about her local CCC, she shared her deep grief and loneliness after leaving her family up north and moving down south during Lockdown. As I continued my workout on the Vibro plate stand up machine, I couldn't help but wonder if my voice sounded shaky, but somehow, it seemed to synchronise with Jane's wavy voice and tears.
Two days later, a visibly traumatised Jane arrived in the Chitter Chatter Club, and as she settled into her seat, her nerves began to calm. She explained how she had trembled on the bus and felt overwhelming fear when she was entering the cafe alone. I held her hand as we waited for our coffees, providing a sense of comfort as her tremors gradually subsided. I shared that it had also taken me one huge gulp of courage to cross the threshold too.
During our conversation, Jane offloaded two years of anxious isolation.
As fellow Northerners we love to chat and share joy and not talking is like being held prisoners of our woes. Not only that, she had been too scared to even exercise on the street for an hour, and had been imprisoned in her own home after her dog died, and only had the company of fear inciting/repeated television.
‘Even prisoners get an end date,’ she continued. There wasn’t one for Lockdown!.
Impressed by her innate emotional strength I complimented her on her current state of good shape, assuming that she must have exercised regularly. To my surprise, she burst into laughter.
"I don’t exercise like you," she giggled.
I wrinkled my nose, perplexed, and asked, "How do you know that I exercise?"
With a mischievous smile, she leaned in and whispered, "I know more about you than you think.’ She winked. ‘I heard you and your toy juddering when we were on the phone the other day. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."
I attempted to explain that it wasn’t a vibrating toy but the effects of my stand-up vibro-plate, fat burning machine, but it seemed futile. Jane had already made up her mind, and there was no changing it.
One year later-Jane arrived aged 72, her confidence had fully returned and she told me proudly that she volunteers in a charity shop once a week.
‘I bet her customers love you too.’
Sofia’s Tears
Sofia’s journey was etched in shadows—the kind that cling to the edges of existence, threatening to swallow hope. When she entered our haven, her dark features seemed to mirror the weight she carried and a palette of grey emotions. We, the silent witnesses, had seen many souls pass through our doors, but Sofia’s pain was one of the rawest.
Her first pit stop that day was at the local mental health hospital—with a desperate plea. Walls echoed with her anguished cries, “I’m going to kill myself if you don’t help me” etching themselves into the sterile air. The psychologist emerged, a compassionate listener, affirming that Sofia wasn’t ill; she was starved for connection, for human touch.
And so, the suggestion—a lifeline—was extended: “How about going to The Chitter Chatter Club? It’s a great place to talk and make some friends. Use your bus pass. What have you got to lose?”
Sofia hesitated, her gaze flickering between hope and despair. Her last chance journey led her to our doorstep. I introduced another guest, Jane. As introductions were made, the floodgates burst open. Sofia’s tears flowed like a river, carving a path through her pain. Jane wrapped Sophie in her arms, anchoring her to the present. I handed her tissues, wiping away the snot and sorrow.
But fate, ever unpredictable, painted a scene outside the window. Sofia’s husband stood there hands on hips, beckoning her with a pointed finger. Her weakened body fuelled by fear, straightened.
She thanked Jane, went outside and linked to her husband’s arm, leaving us bewildered. Why had she bound herself to him in invisible chains?
Moving on a year. Sofia returned to CCC—she was a metamorphosis of her old self.
The woman before us was unrecognisable—slimmed down, vibrant, thriving. Her voice, once a whisper, now declared her freedom.
“I left him,” she said, eyes blazing. “I changed the locks when he went to work the next day after meeting you. Now cameras watch over my peace. Thanks to you and the other lady, who believed me, I’m a free, strong woman. Before meeting you I didn’t know that she existed inside of me.”
And in that moment, Sofia’s transformation echoed through our club—a testament to resilience, to the power of listening, and to the courage that blooms when hearts connect.
I could tell from the expression on Jane's face that she had found herself again. There was a gentle glow in her eyes and all traces of fear had vanished. Jane had rediscovered her purpose in life and it was truly transformative. It was already 12.25, so I was getting ready to pack up after a deeply emotional and fulfilling chat club session.
As I carefully placed my phone in my handbag, I silently offered a prayer of gratitude to God for the privilege of facilitating such a humble gathering where souls could find healing. Just then, a frightened Rosemary approached me with hesitant words, asking if this was the chat club.
"Yes, come on in. It's just Jane and me at the moment.’ I replied. ‘Meet Jane. Welcome! What's your name?"
"R R Rrr Rosemary," she stammered.
Rosemary’s Silence
Rosemary, a retired business consultant, had always been a woman of action. When she suffered a huge stroke, and wasn’t found for two days, her world turned silent. Aphasia robbed her of speech, and right hemiplegia weakened her body. But Rosemary refused to surrender. Determined, she attended the C C C and stammered out her name.
Over the next 2 weeks she attended six times. There, amidst conversations and camaraderie, she fought to reclaim her voice. Each visit was a step toward liberation—a whisper, a syllable, a sentence. Two months passed, and Rosemary surprised everyone.
She visited her NHS speech therapist for her first appointment, who listened in awe as Rosemary spoke clearly. Her superpower—speech—had returned. Rosemary celebrated small wins, her positive outlook fueling progress. Rosemary’s confidence bloomed, and today two years later she is the cheeky, funny, eloquent, elegant lady she used to be. Her castle of silence has crumbled, and was replaced by resilience— she is a beacon for others on their journey from darkness to light.
The club’s seating arrangement became a tradition. The ladies claimed their spots—the same worn seats and cushioned benches—week after week. Rosemary, however, defied convention. She flitted from seat to seat, her energy contagious. “Variety keeps the mind sharp,” she’d say, winking at the others.
But it was the CCC’s monthly free nature walks that truly ignited Rosemary’s passion. I organised them—a chance to explore the nearby woods, breathe in the earthy scents, and marvel at nature’s wonders. Yet, other ladies at the table hesitated. Fear clung to them like cobwebs.
“It’ll rain” grumbled Mrs. Thompson, (always the headmistress) her spectacles perched on her nose.
“And ticks! I won’t risk Lyme disease.” Sally muttered, always prim and proper.
“And what if we get lost? Or encounter big deer?” Rosemary listened, her eyes crinkling with amusement. She understood their worries but refused to be bound by them. So, every month, she extended an invitation. “Join me.” she’d say. “It’s an adventure, nothing to be frightened of. There’s lots of us, the men will protect you. You’ll feel like you can breathe and there’s no fear there!’
The walks became a ritual for Rosemary as she met lots of other guests from other chat tables from other towns as she kept dropping invitations in her local CCC.
Eventually four of the guests shed their fears and came to other C C C’s in two other towns but not the nature walks. One came, Leslie, to the Bournemouth Christmas meet up and left early. We were worried as Leslie hadn’t been out of the house for 7 years until CCC came into being.
In January we sat tentatively whilst Leslie told us all that she had loved being out alone and went for a walk by herself through Bournemouth Gardens Christmas Wonderland.
Later on in the year on an autumn coffee morning, Mrs. Thompson whispered humbly to Rosemary. “Thank you, Rosemary. For showing us the way.” Rosemary sat clueless as to what was going to be said.
“You were right, fear is like a locked door,” she said. “I have something to tell you about me.’ She took off her glasses. ‘I never realised I lived in fear until you said something one day. Now everyday I choose not to. I don’t go to your nature walks but I can walk to the library alone now.’
Rosemary’s voice, once silenced by a stroke, resonated louder than ever. As winter arrived again, they gathered by the fireplace, mugs of hot cocoa in hand. Rosemary raised hers. “To courage,” she toasted. “And to invite fear out for a walk.” And the ladies—including Mrs. Thompson clinked their mugs, hearts warmed with hot chocolate on a cold winter’s morning, they all agreed that Rosemary had stamped on fear, and all of their fears had transformed into friendship.
Rosemary’s journey from silence to eloquence is a testament to the power of determination and hope. Her resilience shines like a lighthouse, inspiring others on their own paths from darkness to light. And her invitations to explore nature and face fears remind us that curiosity can unlock doors and transform fear into camaraderie.
My motto ‘ Invite, invite, invite,’ is what the guests began to do.
WE all know everyone will come one day or another, and they do.
………………………………..
Martha Beck cites “Loneliness is proof that your innate search for connection is intact.”
Margaret’s Journey: From Solitude to Belonging
Margaret’s footsteps echoed through the unfamiliar streets of Christchurch—a Dorset town that held both promise and uncertainty. The lockdown had ushered her here, a widow with grief weighting every movement. Cornwall, her former haven, had been a quilt of friendly faces and supportive neighbours. But now, in this new chapter, Margaret stood alone. Unpacking boxes strained her elderly body, and the bins—silent sentinels of routine—confounded her. No one guided her, no friendly voice whispered, “Put them out on Tuesdays.”
Loneliness settled like a fog, thickening the air around her. Desperation drove her to the streets. Margaret, once a woman of quiet courage, now sought companionship. But the pandemic’s cruel irony kept people at bay—two metres apart, hearts even farther. She walked and walked, hoping for a chance encounter, a conversation that could bridge the chasm. And then, the lockdown lifted—a fragile dawn. Margaret, determined, taught herself the language of computers.
Through a café window, she glimpsed an advertisement for a Loneliness Outreaching Chat Club Programme. She didn’t want a lifeline woven in pixels. Three weeks of passing by, courage gathering like morning dew, until Margaret stepped inside. Six or seven weeks later, I asked Margaret how she fared. Her eyes sparkled.
‘The chat clubs have become my refuge. I love walking in and being greeted by so many smiles.’ She confessed her past battles—the abyss of loneliness and CCC’s being her safety net. And then, her revelation—she was going to go on a solo bus trip holiday.
“On my own,” she said, but I corrected her gently: “with yourself.”
The chat clubs had re-lit her eyes and brought back her confidence, minute by minute.
An Elevator to Kinship
Escalators—have always terrified me. As I leaped onto one, my eyes caught a different kind of motion—the ebb and flow of souls moving in the opposite direction. Loneliness sufferers, some were. But how does loneliness wear a face? It’s not visible like a scar or a shadow, yet it leaves its imprint like rain clouds, heavy with unspoken burdens. Lost, as if their internal compass had shattered. People’s auras, once vibrant, now whispered a fragile hum of existence. Their averted eye contact, wearing darkness of unworthiness.
One day, during a flyer-distribution spree, I passed over many souls. Kevin accepted the C C C invitation. He stood at the top of the escalator, reading, while I watched from below. Fate or divine orchestration, we always wonder.
Three days later, Kevin entered C C C in Poole, reminding me of our serendipitous meeting. Was it fate? Was it God? We pondered. Undeterred, he ventured to another Chitter Chatter Club in Christchurch. Within weeks, he had toured nearly all the clubs, leaving an indelible mark. Our monthly nature walk became his stage for his blend of storytelling, humour, and historical tidbits. Kevin fascinated us all, bridging gaps with his warmth and historical knowledge.
Curious, he asked about volunteering and hosting a C C C table in Wimborne as his small Dorset town lacked a C C C. We found a local welcoming community cafe, and after safeguard training, he stepped into his role as Volunteer Host. The ladies adore him, the gents love to delve into antique conversations together. Two years later, Kevin thrives—he has reems of phone numbers, he has made lots of new friendships across nine towns from attending the Nature Walks and eating together with the groups.
He admits that a flyer on the escalator saved him. That that simple piece of paper held more weight for him being alive today, than its ink. Grief had consumed him after losing his precious wife. Now, he gives back, heals through connection.
Last Christmas Day, we visited a care home—and had a feast, shared laughter and stories with the residents of Hyacinth House Care Home. It was wonderful. Like myself, acts of service are our combined love language which Kevin and all of our other lovely