Every Tuesday night the Bangalow Hotel rocks to the sound of a bunch of passionate people doing what they love best – playing chess, and watching others play.

Five or six years ago the game broke free of its stereotypes to become one of the world’s most followed spectator activities. The 20 or so regulars at the Bangalow Chess Club are a perfect illustration of this: young, diverse, enthusiastic, and willing to come from afar every week to socialise and compete against each other.

Avalon, currently No. 1 on the leader board, travels from Mullumbimby; and the reputed ‘most improved’ player, Bradley, comes all the way from Nimbin. There’s even an international flavour to the line-up, but 2479 locals also feature among the throng, among them man about town, Lydian Dunbar.

They’re drawn by the chess challenges on offer, but something more as well – an atmosphere of camaraderie and respect. There’s an almost family vibe to the club: indeed, Evan Manttari founded it with his brother Daniel, and former girlfriend Shyla, a bar staffer at the pub. They were looking for something to get them off their screens and out of the house, something which meant the brothers could hang out together regularly. Now Daniel and his girlfriend Teagan – a recent recruit to the game – drive up frequently from their home in Yamba.

Shyla’s mum, Bec, is another who started as a beginner, and says she’s making solid progress. Her main weakness is taking too long to decide on a move, she says, and with each player rationed to 10-minutes for each of the four games played through the night, such hesitancy can mean an automatic loss. The time pressure suits Bec’s other daughter, Amarlie, at 16 the club’s youngest member, who credits her success to a fast, decisive style. It can intimidate opponents, she says, smiling sweetly as she concedes the word ‘aggressive’ might define her style – including in games against her more tentative mum.

But even ruthless Amarlie admits it’s the sense of community that keeps her coming back.

Avalon is one of the more experienced players here: after being taught to play at a young age by his grandfather, he helped set up chess clubs at all the schools he attended while growing up, from Shearwater to Xavier to the Green School. Of the many chess groups and associations he’s been part of, the Bangalow club is the best, he says. The reason? Because the focus is on actual playing. With at least four games guaranteed per player, it’s like a mini tournament. Self-described as “incredibly competitive”, Avalon enjoys the opportunity to play several games, face to face, and with a variety of opponents.

Some of them are, like him, top-notch players and on one rainy Tuesday night in early March, Avalon was slightly startled to find himself suddenly in a trap – the result of a mid-game “fried liver advanced attack variation” – laid, albeit semi-accidentally, by the equally competitive Miela. Checkmate!

At other tables, beginner or intermediate players compete with others at their level – matched appropriately through an algorithm-driven system devised by Evan. While the club offers no formal coaching, there’s plenty of learning ‘on the job’ and during post-game analysis, when the better players offer fruitful feedback.

There are several tiers here; everyone finds their level and they’re all eager to improve. Rob, in his 30s, plays games online. He also follows the games of world No.1, Norwegian grandmaster Magnus Carlsen, on YouTube and is “working on some new openings”.

At 21, rising star Bradley, meanwhile, feels his strength is in his end game. Having come to the club every Tuesday since it began last September, his game has improved 100%, he says.

Towards the end of the four games an air of collective excitement builds at the prospect of a tie-break. At this point, the four 10-minute per person limit shrinks to three-minutes, demanding a heightened degree of concentration and rapid decision-making. The Velvets and Mazzy Star continue supplying the background music, but as the tension rises, even the drinkers and pool players fall silent to watch. The time pressure means mistakes are made: Black’s excessive focus on a potential checkmate in one corner distracts him from the devious White manoeuvre diagonally opposite and whammo! It’s all over.

Evan, meanwhile, has been scampering around in the background, a gleeful master of ceremonies, firing up the AI generated weighted system that records games, matches players and keeps everything moving. The nights represent a magical triad for him: “It’s an ancient game, aided here by modern technology, bringing people together.”

Time to spin the prize-wheel, on which everyone features, with a ‘slice’ allocated for just turning up, and the awarding of the evening’s $20 voucher.

Chess has exploded in the past half dozen years – partly as a result of the massively popular streaming series The Queen’s Gambit, which coincided with COVID lockdowns. Locked-up people found release and stimulation in “meeting” others over the virtual board. Evan says the fulfilment of that personal need is one of the main reasons for the club’s success. Most of the members still play online, but they all state that it’s the face-to-face interaction that brings them out at night.

Bec enjoys it because “there are so many different types of people’” and the atmosphere is friendly and, while competitive, remains respectful, she says.

Chess is an incredibly valuable activity for young people, Avalon says: “It builds a level of resilience, a determination to persevere, to keep your chin up despite losing 100 times. It also develops the capacity for forethought.”

There’s even a moral, or character-building benefit to it: “It teaches humility and it’s a demonstration that our actions have consequences,” he says.

Mainly, however, at this grass-roots level, it’s the “humanness” of it, says Evan, the craic and the connection, both intellectually sophisticated and innocent.

It’s been a revelation for him: “Daniel and I started the club for ourselves, but it’s become something for others. People have made friends here; it costs nothing, but there’s real joy in that room.”

Bangalow Chess meets every Tuesday, 6-9pm at the Bangalow Hotel.

For details email bangalowchess@gmail.com

Photos Yutaro Fukuhara

Joan Leeds may have only operated the Bangalow Post Office for a short time, but she left her mark on the village. Known for her risqué banter, quick wit and easy friendliness, she was never one for bland small talk across the counter. Customers queueing to collect packages – large and small – were just as likely to receive a cheeky aside as efficient service.

Now Joan has taken that natural comic instinct and put it to the test, recently completing Mandy Nolan’s Cranky Women comedy course – a workshop designed to help women of a certain age find their voice, shape their stories and say the things they have been ruminating on and raging about for years.

Joan saw a Facebook post looking for “cranky women” interested in comedy. “I wrote back, ‘I’m 69. I’ve got bloody lots to say.’”

And with that, she was in.

The first workshop took place at the Drill Hall Theatre in Mullumbimby. More than a dozen women arrived, most of them strangers, from different backgrounds and different decades of life experience. But they shared a sense that something inside them was ready to be voiced.

“It turned into comedy therapy, to be really honest,” Joan says.

Before anyone worked on punchlines, Mandy’s comedy students were invited to loosen up physically. “We had to do silly dances,” she says. “I have no rhythm at all so you can imagine how well that worked for me.” The laughter began there, awkward and freeing.

Then the mood shifted.

Each woman was asked to stand before the group and speak about the one thing that was truly upsetting or worrying her. That was when the hearts began to crack open and the emotions seeped out. Or in some cases, flooded.

What followed was raw and confronting. Some women spoke about grief, others about illness, family strain or isolation. One confessed she was afraid she would not be able to stop crying – and then proceeded to bawl her eyes out.

“The courage of those women was just incredible. There were so many hugs,” says Joan.

For Joan, who has never been shy of conversation, the exercise was unexpectedly powerful. “It wasn’t what I thought I was signing myself up for,” she says. “But once you make yourself vulnerable like that, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

Only after that emotional clearing, and the shaking off of the rusted-on armour of survival, broken hearts and broken dreams, could the laughter begin.

In smaller groups, each participant shared an embarrassing story, a mortifying anecdote or cringe-worthy gaff. Later, someone else in the group had to retell it on stage – embellishment and poetic licence essential.

“It was hilarious,” Joan says. “The way people could take your story and make it sound like it happened to them. Make something that was already awkward even more unbearable and hysterical.” On stage, humiliation transformed into shared laughter.

Joan’s own story involved a sudden and unfortunate gastrointestinal incident in the freezer aisle of a supermarket. Her improvised escape strategy – involving a reusable shopping bag and a swift exit – became, in the retelling, comedy gold.

Yet the course was not only about confession. It was about craft.

“I didn’t know how to write comedy,” says the naturally funny Joan. “I usually just feed off what’s in front of me. That’s just me. But Mandy taught us about the structure, the set-up. It’s a skill.”

Participants were coached in microphone technique, projection, where to stand and how to use their hands. They learned how to look at an audience without staring down a single person in terror. They workshopped their material one-on-one, refining wording and sharpening jokes.

Joan’s final routine drew heavily on her time at the Post Office, particularly her frustration with customers glued to their smartphones.

“I used to say, ‘I don’t need another app!’ but you bloody do,” she says. “If you want to know where your parcel is, you need the app.”

A cheeky reference to actor Liam Hemsworth and an imagined “big package” at the counter – polished with Nolan’s guidance – added another layer of bawdy humour, very much in keeping with the wit locals remember.

On the night of the final performance, Mandy MCed, warming the room and stepping in between performers to keep the flow of the evening.

“It was a high,” Joan says. “I’m up there doing my thing and people are laughing. I’m like, this is great.”

What moved her most, however, was watching the transformation of the other women.

“There were women with absolutely zero confidence,” she says. “From ‘I can’t stop crying’ to standing up there and making ceiling mould funny. Every one of them landed well. It was bloody brilliant.”

For Joan, the course was cathartic in ways she did not anticipate. It was not just about being cranky. It was about being heard.

At 69, she is not winding down. She is cranking things up. Whether she returns to the stage remains to be seen. Life, as always, is moving – in more ways than one.

Cranky that you missed it?

The next Cranky Women’s Comedy course runs on Sunday 17 May, 9am-3pm at Coorabell Hall with a performance at the hall on Friday 22 May.

The course cost is $150 for the full day, and funds raised at the Comedy Show performance will help support the SHIFT project.

mandynolan.com.au

Header image Cranky Women’s Comedy’s first graduates  Photo Lyn McCarthy – Niche Pictures

Theirs is a Bangalow hospitality love story. They met over Corner Kitchen’s coffee machine, where Jack, Bangalow-born and bred, was working as the barista after returning from six years in Brisbane and Melbourne. Sophia, hailing from the café’s namesake suburb of Elwood and raised in country Victoria, was a relatively recent arrival to the area, managing the newly opened Woods. On their very first date they talked of starting their own place.

So when the chance came to take on Burringbar’s only café in 2019, they jumped at it. They loved the village’s old-school charm, which reminded Jack of the Bangalow of his childhood. And it was affordable. “Coming in with a skeleton budget, we felt like it was the last little country town within striking distance where we could dip our toes in and have some fun working together,” he explains.

Hospitality is tough. But for Jack and Sophia, it was a particularly wild ride from the moment they opened the doors. In their first weeks, bushfires came within just a few kilometres of the village, bringing prolonged heavy smoke, ash fall and ember risk, and a steady stream of frazzled evacuees, their cars crammed full of belongings.

Then just four months later, the pandemic was declared, which saw the first-time operators spend the next two years grappling with the challenging logistics of ever-shifting regulations. The silver lining was that with the café as one of the village’s few social hubs, a strong and deep connection was forged between the couple and the community, and they soon relocated to an idyllic rental nearby.

The relief at the ultimate lifting of restrictions in late 2021 was unfortunately short-lived when, again, just four months later, the same weather system that inundated Lismore flooded low-lying parts of Burringbar and brought devastating landslips further up the Range.

Sophia, five months pregnant at the time, found herself stuck on the Gold Coast while visiting her grandmother. Back home, Jack refused to let the four flooded causeways in his path prevent him from opening the doors at Elwood while the town still had power. Once the waters were low enough, he packed a survival kit and made his way on foot to the car they’d left on the other side, even swimming part of the way.

Cut off, the residents rallied, transforming the area around the café into a command post and recovery hub, corralling services and supplies. Amid the crisis, Elwood provided a vital community space – serving some of the most delicious coffees of Jack’s career, thanks to the buckets of fresh Jersey milk delivered by local cheesemaker, Deb Allard.

But again, the dust barely had a chance to settle when, just four months later, on the evening of June 23 2022, with Sophia in the early stages of an overdue labour, Jack’s phone rang. There was a fire at the café.

Sophia’s sister en route, Jack raced into town, arriving just as the battering ram was about to break down the heritage shopfront’s beautiful cedar doors. He rushed to unlock them, and along with most of Burringbar, watched in shock as firefighters brought the blaze under control.

With forensic reports completed and the building deemed safe, Jack was escorted inside, where he retrieved a charred stack of five-dollar notes from the safe. The café was dark and smoky, but he didn’t think it looked too bad. Plans were made to meet the chief fire inspector early the next morning, and he locked the doors behind him and returned home to Sophia, whose labour had stalled in the stress.

After a sleepless night, Jack headed back to the café at 6am, finding the doors smashed wide open. He feared the café had been ransacked, but it was much worse. The fire, thought to have been started by an electrical fault, had reignited in the early hours of the morning. The building was unsalvageable.

Surreal days stretched on, with Sophia becoming increasingly overdue and Jack navigating the gruelling insurance process – which, three years later, is still ongoing – until finally, a week later, daughter Mally was born.

Jack, Sophia and Elwood had become firmly embedded in the tight-knit community, and their absence was felt profoundly. “It’s such an odd thing to experience,” Sophia says. “It was like the loss of a friend. We still have people saying how sad they are it’s not there anymore.” Today, the vacant block remains as a literal hole in the village.

They continued living in Burringbar, but when Jack’s father suffered a debilitating stroke six months later, they returned to the Bangalow family home. After some time to recalibrate, Jack started working at Old Quarter Coffee and Sophia at Harvest, where she remained until baby Miles joined the mix in 2024. “It’s given us all a new perspective,” Jack says of their multi-generational living arrangement. “They support us as much as we support them.”

But Jack and Sophia weren’t done with their dream, or with the community they loved so much – and thanks to an interesting proposal from an old Elwood neighbour, they had a chance to pick up where they left off.

Bron of Natural Wine Shop & Bar was taking over the old laundromat out the back of her store when she approached Jack and Sophia with the idea of sharing the space: their coffee by day, her wine by night. This increasingly popular hybrid hospitality model suited them perfectly.

With no kitchen and an atmospheric fit-out that wouldn’t be out of place in one of Melbourne’s laneways, the space called for a different strategy from last time. And a new identity. “Elwood was a really special time for us,” explains Jack. “We decided to leave the name to rest with the memory of it.”

For Jack and Sophia, ‘Pour Good’ is about being conscious of the entirety of the process behind the cup of coffee in your hands – from cultivation to labour to preparation. If you’re going to drink coffee, make it good.

Underpinned by Old Quarter Coffee, Pour Good showcases different roasters each week, offering a menu of experimental specialty cold pours alongside the classics, and a pastry cabinet stocked with Lehem Breadhouse goodies. They’re open Friday through Monday mornings, with plans for additional days now that Jack is no longer juggling his travelling sales role at Old Quarter.

The demand is certainly there, not only from locals but from the steady stream of visitors the Rail Trail now brings to the area – something Jack and Sophia passionately hope Bangalow will get to experience too, having seen the phenomenal effect it’s had on the Burringbar community. Jack was on the platform the night the last train ran through town. “And we’ll be first in line when the tender goes out for the old Bangalow station!” he says.

@pour.good

29 Broadway, Burringbar

Fri/Sat/Sun/Mon 7.30am – 12.30pm