My summer in the bakery

The summer I turned seventeen, my aunt offered me a job in her bakery on the edge of town. I had imagined something gentle: arranging cakes in the window and chatting with customers. The reality began at four o'clock on my first morning, when she knocked on my door and told me the ovens were already hot.

The working day was organised around the bread. The first loaves had to be ready by half past six, when the builders and market traders came in on their way to work. So the dough, which had been resting overnight, had to be shaped and baked while the rest of the town was asleep. My job was to weigh the dough, shape it into rolls and carry the heavy trays to the ovens. By seven, my arms ached and my clothes were white with flour.

At first the whole thing seemed daunting. My aunt worked quickly and silently, and I was terrified of getting in her way or dropping a tray. On the third morning I did drop one, and twenty rolls fell onto the floor. I expected her to be angry. Instead, she laughed, handed me a broom and said, "Now you're a real baker. Everyone does that once."

What I enjoyed most was the hour after the first rush, when the regular customers came in. There was the old man who always bought exactly two rolls and paid in coins he had counted the night before, and the nurse who came off her night shift and bought a cinnamon bun "for being brave". I learnt their names and their orders, and I realised that for many of them, the bakery was not just a shop but part of the rhythm of their day.

Halfway through the summer, my aunt began to let me make the cakes on my own. The first ones were uneven and slightly burnt, but by August I could make a lemon cake that people asked for by name. She paid me a little more after that, but what pleased me more was that she started asking my opinion about new recipes.

When I went back to school in September, I slept until seven every morning and felt strangely lazy. I have had many jobs since, most of them better paid and far less tiring. But I have never had one that taught me so much about hard work, patience and the small kindnesses that hold a community together.