It’s March, it’s dark, it’s cold, and ten strangers are craning their necks to stare at the mass of bright pinpoints above them…

“That’s Polaris, the North Star,” says one of our volunteers, “and there’s the Great Bear with the pointer stars, pointing towards it”.

 It was the first time we’d run an evening programme. Normally, our mental wellbeing programmes run during the day, during the week. But this wouldn’t, we figured, suit working people, so we hit on the idea of an after-work session.

 “Sorry, I just have to change,” says one chap, arriving in a flurry in smart-casual workwear.  He’s made it here, but hasn’t had time to grab anything to eat. But that’s OK – we had a meal planned for exactly that eventuality.  

So after ‘check-in’ and a brew from the storm kettle, we set-to, foraging for nettles and dandelions, chopping onions and garlic, potatoes and carrots, tossing in herbs, and stirring up a warming soup. The atmosphere is gentle and convivial. The younger participants stand out of the main gathering, exchanging banter and phone numbers. When it’s cooked, we eat. The moon has risen and everyone is hungry.

“This is the best soup I have ever tasted!” exclaims one young man; I am touched and humbled by his praise. “You made it,” I said, quite truthfully – for it was a cooperative effort: we all made it.

And the weeks were pretty much all like that: although we used the same site, every session had a different flavour: figuratively and literally. Each week, a different nature-based activity, and each week a different meal – thrown together with laughter and kindness. Sometimes a story, told with gusto and theatricality by our celestial-expert volunteer, sometimes just being still, appreciating where we were in that moment. 

These sessions were for the guys: participants in the Men’s Mental Health programme.  Why men?  Because men face distinct social pressures and stigma around mental health. And in England, they are three times more likely to die by suicide.  

 Over the course of twelve weeks, there was sharing, crying, bonding, friendship, stillness and hope. There was a special birthday (“Give him the bumps!”) and love-life-updates. And there was (of course) nature, changing each week: the days growing longer; the birds having mated and nested, becoming quieter; the weather drier… the seasonal changes more noticeable by our regular, unchanging presence, gathering in the same place, each week.

By the end, the sense of connection was unmistakable. The guys left not only with memories of soup, stars, and stories, but with friendships and tools to support their wellbeing. And the story doesn’t end there – they’ll have the chance to return for follow-up days, keeping that spark alive. And who knows, perhaps one winter evening, we’ll bump into each other looking up at the sky.