The two people behind the name
Anna & Frank
Anna and Frank Jenkins were the kind of people who simply turned up.
No fanfare. No expectation of thanks. If a neighbour needed a meal, a lift to the hospital, or a quiet bit of cash when times were tight, Anna and Frank were already there. They'd been a team since the 1970s, married young, inseparable for the rest of their days. Where one went, the other was never far behind.
In December 2017, Anna travelled to Penang, Malaysia, a place she knew and loved. She never came home. There were no clear answers, and the local investigation was minimal. So her son Greg, from the other side of the world, went looking himself.
Three years. Back and forth to Penang. Reward posters in hand. Doors knocked. Leads chased.
I refused to let Mum become just another missing face on a wall with no story behind her.
In 2020, a stranger's message changed everything. Construction workers had found Anna's belongings. Greg brought her home to rest. Her death has still never been fully investigated. The family continues to ask the Australian and Malaysian governments to reopen the case. Her story has been covered by the ABC.
Frank, Anna's lifelong partner and a veteran, was never the same. The lively, happy man Greg grew up with took to his bed. Without his teammate, he didn't last long.
People say someone died of a broken heart like it's just a turn of phrase. With Dad, it was the truth.
That double loss taught Greg, himself a veteran, what it really feels like to face the worst days of your life and find the room half empty. Nobody should have to sit in that kind of pain alone.
So he made his parents a promise, out loud, to both of them: take everything Anna and Frank did quietly their whole lives, and do it on purpose.
A promise needs a shape.
For Greg, that shape became coffee. Through the long search, the caring, and the sleepless years, he kept finding himself standing somewhere with a coffee in his hand. Airports. Hotel rooms at 4am. Waiting rooms with no answers. Nothing was ever solved in those moments, but they were where he found the strength to keep going.
He has a mate with a roastery. Greg brought the promise, his mate brought the skill, and together they created something honest and warm, good enough to carry Anna and Frank's names.
Because coffee is what we reach for when we don't know what else to do.
Bad news lands, so the kettle goes on. Someone's sitting up with a sick parent at 3am, so you bring them a cup. You don't always need the perfect words. You just need to be the person who turns up with something warm in their hands.
That was Anna and Frank's whole way of moving through the world: small gestures on doorsteps, in kitchens, in hospital car parks. The kind of help people sometimes talk themselves out of giving, and the kind that actually lands.
Frannkly exists so that no one has to face the worst day of their life with the room half empty.
Every bag carries Anna and Frank's names, and that sets the standard. The coffee is how it keeps going: supporting veterans, families, victims of crime, and anyone else Greg can reach, through practical help, advocacy, and simply turning up when it matters most.
We reckon Anna and Frank would be alright with that.
Grab a bag. Make a cup. Turn up for someone today.
Greg Jenkins