The Soap Man

Back in the day, meat and three veg was the standard diet in our household, firstly because as a family, our daily chores were physical, especially my father who put in long, hard days. Secondly we fed some of the workers in the milk treatment shed, so my mother took pride in keeping up standards. We had about four acres, most of which was vegetable garden with about half set aside for potato growing. As well there was a henhouse with a run that covered a quarter of an acre. So by storing potatoes, stringing onions, slaughtering unthrifty chooks and producing enough eggs to be able to sell off the surplus, we fared fairly well. But you can’t husband four acres without getting your hands dirty, and we saw food production as an investment. About the only food item we needed to buy in those days was meat.

On a weekly basis my father would travel in our old Austin truck to the Belfast Freezing Works to buy our weeks' supply of meat. Usually my mother would go too and I tagged along during school holidays. I think Dad enjoyed the half-day out. First on this list was a side of hogget and he would always check to see that there was not too much fat. It seems incredible now that we consumed so much meat. Admittedly there were others who helped us, but Sunday roast was a whole leg and after the six of us had demolished it, there was just enough for a shepherd’s pie for Monday’s dinner. We had no fridge in those days, just a meat safe, so the meat was always dry – unlike today where freezing works wash down carcases– and we never used cooking oil, always the fat we collected from the previous roast. There was always a surplus of fat though, and we kept it sealed in a four gallon tin.

When the tin was full, it was my job to heft the full tin on to my bike-carrier and take to Mr. Rawlings, the Soap Man. It was an awkward load but I could ride under-bar, long before I could straddle the seat and reach the pedals! Mr. Rawlings lived at the end of Roker Street, so I cycled along Milton Street, down Simeon Street and turned right onto his street where he had his soap factory. He rendered down fat to make bars of soap. I would exchange the tin of fat for a couple of bars of his greyish-green, unscented soap, which Mum used on a scrubbing board to clean our work clothes. She reckoned it lathered better than Sunlight. We also had a wire shaker-thing that a slice of the soap sat in and was shaken in the washing up water to make our dishes sparkle!

It seemed to me the old codger was semi-retired and modernity was slowly forcing him out of business. He was a widower, with a shrinking customer base, so he took the opportunity to lecture me. I listened respectfully, not always understanding what he was on about. He used to show me around his factory and explain soap making but he always ended up berating the government and especially the city council.

He was particularly agitated about one subject, and it sticks in my memory to this day! He was fighting the Christchurch City Council and its bureaucracy! He lived at the end of Roker Street and the council wanted to take his land to continue the street south, for it to join onto Barrington Street. He told me that he was quite prepared, even happy to sell the property, but he had taken umbrage to the 'council chappy' who had called on him and tried to boss him around. He didn’t really care about the money. So he dug his toes in and refused to budge! Simply it was the arrogance of the ‘council chappy’ and his lack of respect for old codgers that annoyed him!

I’ve not been back there for years now, but I have checked on Google maps; the road still comes to a dead end where his factory used to be. How he managed that against the Public Works Act and the powers of the council, I have no idea, but hooray for the small man! He seldom wins!

Mr. Rawlings, the Soap Man must have been a stubborn old bugger and I liked him!