The Soap Man

On a weekly basis my father [mother too and on holiday, me] would travel to the Belfast Freezing Works to buy our weeks' supply of meat. Among other things this would usually include a side of hogget.
How we consumed so much meat I'm not too sure, but we kept the rendered fat the cooking process produced in a 4 gallon tin.
When the tin was full, I had the task to load the tin of fat on to my bike and take to Mr Rawlings, the Soap Man. He lived just off Milton Street and had a factory there where he rendered down fat to make bars of soap. I would exchange the fat for a bar and half of his grey, unscented soap.
I think he was semi retired and 'modernity' was slowly forcing him out of business.

He would often talk to me and I would listen and not always understanding what he was on about, as it was usually 'the government' or the council.
However I do recall that he was fighting the City Council. He lived at the end of Roker Street and the council wanted to take his land to continue the street south. He told me that he was quite prepared to sell the property, but he had taken umbrage to the 'council chappy' who had called on him and tried to boss him around. So he dug his toes in and stayed!
I have not been back there for years, but looking at the map, the road still has a gap in it. How he did that with the Public Works Act and its powers, I have no idea.
Mr. Rawlings, the Soap Man was a stubborn man!

Old Jimmy Grant

My father had a friend called Jimmy Grant, so I guess he was my friend too! I was but a lad then but I remember him well, however, Jimmy was one of those countless people who are forgotten and of the past.

Jimmy was a council worker who drove a horse and cart picking up rubbish from the side of the road. Sweeping by hand the gutters and cleaning the gratings so storm water would flow away thus preventing surface flooding.
Sometimes as I walked home from school, I would encounter Jimmy and his horse as they were heading homeward too - he lived at No.1 Domain Terrace - he would give me a ride on the cart. He walked beside his horse.
I have no idea if the horse was his or the council's but my father grew a small paddock of potatoes and he would get Jimmy to plough the area, mold up the shaws and scuffle the rows to keep any weeds down.

Just how my father came to know Jimmy, I'm not too sure and I have no idea of the old fellow's history. My father respected him and that was enough for me.
I have no doubt that when Jimmy retired - or maybe he was made redundant - he faced financial hardship, so my father had him work in our very large vegetable garden or on other projects. He didn't take too kindly to be paid - the respect thing again - so Dad would top up with produce. We kept hens too, so he took a few eggs.
Jimmy taught me to kill and dress chooks [poultry]. From time to time we would have a chook for Sunday dinner and Jimmy would prepare it - because Dad was too squeamish! Usually there were two and one would be given to Jimmy to take home.

Jimmy became too crippled with arthritis to cycle the distance to our house, but Dad would send me in our old Austin 8 truck to visit and take produce.
Jimmy lived with his two sisters - I thought they were spinsters, but I don't really know. They were lovely people and always made a fuss of me. One sister was handicapped - a problem with her leg. But they cared much for each other and seemed to love caring for each other - genuinely.

The House was neat and old fashioned. I can't be sure that they had or used electricity. The interior walls were polished wood veneer, stained rather darkly and their heating and cooking was by a magnificent coal range - shiny black and as clean as a new pin.

There was a slow-flowing river at the back of the house and the cut grass sloped down to it and they liked to feed the ducks and watch the ducklings.
The oldest sister used to worry that her handicapped sister might slip and fall into the river and often warned her. But disaster pays tricks and it was the older sister who fell in and the handicapped one who found her!
Of course old Jimmy was used to his able bodied sister looking after him, and he was unable to nurture his ailing surviving sister and she soon gave in.
Jimmy too missed the company and I knew that while he could see, his eyes were vacant and his broken, empty heart took him.
Walter Brennan's song makes me remember. 'One of these days I'm gonna climb that mountain'.