Sundays, Cream Buns and Childhood Bliss

Christine Bunn

There is something magical about childhood memories. The way they linger, soft at the edges, golden in tone, almost like they have been dipped in sunshine. One of my sweetest memories, quite literally, is of eating cream buns after church on Sundays.

Sunday mornings began with wriggling into church clothes and the soft familiar rustle of Mum getting ready. There was always something peaceful about those mornings, the quiet hum of the kettle, the distant chime of church bells, and the smell of soap and freshly ironed clothes.

We always sat in the same pew at church. I would sit swinging my legs, half listening to the hymns and half waiting for the part I really looked forward to, the cream bun afterwards.

There was a little bakery just around the corner from the church. It was not fancy, just a humble shop with fogged up windows and the warm yeasty smell of fresh bread drifting out every time the door opened. But to me, it was a treasure chest. And its crown jewel was the cream bun.

Light and fluffy, with a golden crust dusted in icing sugar, each bun was sliced open and filled with whipped mock cream and a slash of strawberry jam. I can still remember the way the cream would squish out the sides when you took your first bite, and how you would end up with sugar on your nose and laughter on your lips.

We did not eat them right away. We would carry the little white paper bags home, careful not to squish them, and once we were back, we would sit around the table and savour them slowly. It was the perfect end to a Sunday morning, quiet, sweet, and full of that safe, contented feeling that only childhood can hold.

Even now, years later, the smell of a bakery can stop me in my tracks. Sometimes I will treat myself to a cream bun, and for a moment, I am right back there, feet too short to touch the ground, sunlight through the kitchen window, and a dollop of cream on my chin.

Those Sundays were simple. But they were sacred in their own way. Not just because of the church, but because of the love, the togetherness, and the quiet joy of a cream bun shared at home with family.

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