132 Carmichael Street
To celebrate my 88th birthday on the 23rd of last month, I felt it would be good to share this history of the tenement yard, a cooperative environment that contributed much to my formative and subsequent years.
132 Carmichael Street was the location of a tenement yard on the eastern side of the street one lot away from Church Street on the south. I was born in the Georgetown Public Hospital to the sound of the six o’clock cannon in Kingston. A royal welcome but the only throne I ever occupied was a humble object found in working class homes that was given that honorific title. The cannon located in the Kingston Ward took the place of an alarm clock for the working class, signifying that it was time to “drink tea” ( bush tea with bread or Wieting and Richter “edger boy” biscuits, origin of the name is unknown) as breakfast was referred to and be off to work. Lunch was the midday meal, if one was available. I lived there with my parents John and Priscilla (familiarly known as Lydia) Greaves from age three and a half reaching seventeen in 1951 when we left. Three and a half is when my consciousness arrived faster than the speed of light and I immediately became aware of myself and parents. Years later it was my Mum who gave me the date when I described the event to her.
The yard occupied a long rectangular space. The landlord, Mr. Rankin, and his family of East Indian descent occupied the “Big House” in the front. The style was “vernacular” (commonplace) featuring a wooden two storied building with Demerara windows, wooden jalousies and fretwork eaves. Being perched on tall brick columns provided a high “bottom house,” where the open space between the front columns had lattice work. Inhabiting a small room in the bottom house was Mr. Daly, the yardman. He resembled Jack Johnson in the photograph my Dad had framed. Having a loud rough voice made him a dreaded figure, observed by children from a distance. At the front of the garden was a red hibiscus hedge and two white oleander shrubs, both sides of the main gate. Some of its “Y” shaped branches, which were cut by boys without permission, provided perfect forms for our slingshots. Flower beds of marigolds were surrounded by ceramic bottles that held stout imported from England. A smaller open second gate at the side provided access to a garage, which was later extended and divided to provide two rooms for rent. Over the gate extending inwards, a very short distance away, was an old arbour. The dried stems of coralita hanging from it were relics of a time when flowers graced the space and provided a sun lit dappled shade. According to my Dad, a few Portuguese families in the past tried to grow grapes in their gardens. Hearing this, forgetting the presence of Mr. Daly, I entertained myself imagining venturing into Mr. Rankin’s yard to pick grapes.
The tenement yard’s single entrance on Carmichael Street led to a narrow passage bordered by the landlord’s wire garden fence on the left. On the other side were the backs of houses and zinc fences of neighbouring yards. In one of those houses lived Mr. Miller, the tailor. I liked to visit him on errands for my Dad because if he was not there his children would entertain by offering me a spoon to dip into the Ovaltine tin. During the rainy seasons boards were laid to walk on because the passage became quite muddy. For boys this became a sporting venture. We walked heavily on some boards which created spurts of muddy water for us to dodge. This, of course, deepened cavities under the boards, which created problems
for unsuspecting adults. Mr. Rankin and family after they moved into the tenement yard Big House avoided the muddy water hazard because they used the small gate between the two yard spaces and the other leading to the road. Another hazard faced when using the tenement entrance was the equivalent of running the gauntlet - a very ripe soft breadfruit, the size of a cannonball, falling from an overhanging breadfruit tree. It had the potential to be funny if you were an observer or a real nuisance if directly affected. Survival took the form of listening for the sudden rustling of the large breadfruit leaves and running like mad.
The tenement yard itself consisted of range houses, usually two or four to a range.
The only single room house was near the back of the yard. Rooms were all about the same size, roughly fifteen by fifteen feet, with the exception being the former garage and its extension. Occupants of rooms were mainly common-law couples, a few with children. The yard itself was like a village, meaning that privacy was at a premium. On the other hand help was extended to single individuals who became bedridden due to illness, like the flu or malaria.
Children belonged to the yard and could be disciplined verbally by anyone, especially Miss Aulder, the Matriarch of the yard. She was a tall “red woman,” past middle age, who wore long, plain earth-coloured skirts with a white long sleeved blouse, soft canvas shoes (commonly known as yachting shoes) and rolled down socks. Her ensemble was completed by a white head tie topped with a wide brimmed panama hat. As she strode through the yard, her eyes took in everything and she would intervene if any altercation, quite rare, ever arose. She was respected by adults and feared by noisy children. Both boys and girls bathed under the
two standpipes in the yard until Miss Aulder announced to their respective parents that it was time their girls used the communal bath. Before a shower was installed a bucket of water had to be fetched. Boys used red Lifebuoy soap, girls used white Lux or pale green Palmolive. Lifebuoy was actually a germicidal soap and if this was known it was ignored.
The Big Yard had one large vat and the tenement yard had two, which were connected by zinc pipes to roofs to collect rainwater for cooking and drinking. One vat was in the middle of the yard, the larger one was at the far left in the yard and had a white spider lily plant growing near to it. Water from the standpipes came from the Shelter Belt plant on Vlissengen Road at the head of Church Street. The plant was connected to the Lamaha Conservancy, which supplied tea-coloured water. Government then set up a purification system to provide potable and drinkable water much lighter in colour. My Mum, however, in the evening used to sift a film of flour over the top of the water in a bucket and cover it. Next morning the water was crystal clear and used for cooking and making tea. The flour had settled, taking microscopic particles with it. Her technique, using flour as a flocculant, was correct. Years later, I learnt that the Shelter Belt used powdered alum to do the same work. Mum’s use of flour was cheaper. Tenants now had potable water but most still preferred drinking rain water stored in the vats. Use of water from this source was controlled by having the taps padlocked. If the water level was too low the wood would shrink, and exposed wood could even become dry rot.
During the rainy season a mosquito control officer in his khaki uniform and broad brimmed felt hat of the same colour inspected the vats to perform a little ceremony that fascinated me. He climbed a short ladder and removed a small sieve on the vat cover that kept out leaves and other debris. Using a long flashlight he would peer into the depths of water. From a small bucket he would scoop up small fish, known as millions, and release them in the water. I did not know why but later learnt that the fish ate malaria larvae to control the spread of malaria. Whenever I went to draw water I anticipated seeing fish enter into my bucket and was most disappointed when this did not happen, not realizing that they swam near the surface of the water where the larvae lived. In times of reduced rainfall, fortunately not often, the taps remained locked. Water for drinking and cooking had to be bought at a penny a bucket from the large metal storage tank situated south west of St George’s Cathedral. We had to walk carefully not to spill water. The shape of the bucket meant having to walk in a manner that looked funny to observers. For us it was a form of torture.
Shared facilities were two communal kitchens at the front and back section of the yard. Cooking pots and coal pots used for burning either wood or charcoal were made from cast iron and imported from the UK. There were two East Indian families who cooked on firesides created from clay mixed with dried cow dung to give it strength. Large forms to hold two pots incorporated two metal rods. They did not lose heat by radiation like cast iron pots and reduced cooking time. My Mum eventually asked the Mohamed family to make one for her to use in the cooking shed Dad had constructed. As the fire chief for the family, I found it easier to light and maintain the flame. The fireside itself was renovated by “daubing” wiping fresh clay over it. Our cast iron coal pot was reserved for heating clothes irons.
The communal kitchen also provided a medical service. Smoke blackened cobwebs were used by us boys to stem blood from cuts in our feet which were the result sometimes from playing in grass along the Carmichael Street avenue which could contain pieces of “grass bottles.” Thinking of it now, the use of spider webs as an antiseptic could be an interesting research project in medicine. The other shared facility was the toilet and bathroom at the bottom of the yard. A bucket of water and a calabash for dipping were used for bathing, until a shower was installed. The door was usually kept closed to prevent rent free occupation by frogs and toads. Your towel and clothes hung over the door indicated it was being used.
Before my birth the Rankin family moved into what could be called the tenement yard “Big House” with his three children Peter, the eldest, John and Rita after his wife had died. The house was not as grandiose as the real “Big House” which was rented out. Stylistically the house was just a larger version of range houses in the yard. The walls made from imported pinewood called New York wood from the USA were covered with wallaba shingles. The weathering action of sun and rain turned them from dark red into shades of warm grey. The kitchen was a separate room adjoining the living room and overlooked the yard. Kitchens were designed that way because cooking was done on wood fired cast iron stoves, a potential fire hazard. The cook, Miss Ruby, from her shoulders upwards could easily be seen performing her duties. She is well remembered because when I was hospitalised with diphtheria she sent egg custard with my Mum. This was received with such great pleasure that I vowed to have custard daily