Soup Night
It’s Saturday and it’s a cold winter's day. This was the day when my mother would make her winter soup. It was a meal in itself with dumplings made from cornmeal and plain flour, yam, carrots, herbs and the most important ingredient, marrow bone and brisket.
We children would be sent to the local butcher and pick up ‘free of charge’ bones – as much as possible. There were two other shops near Mr Harry’s. However, he was the only shop keeper for miles who sold West Indian food. The Caribbean population came from all over – and Mr Harry always had a permanent smile on his face. I guess for all the money he was making. Anyhow, the butcher shop was quite unique. There was sawdust on the floor – and it was spotlessly clean. Mr Harry worked alone and I never did get his name. He was intrigued why we wanted bags of bones. ‘Is it for your dog’ he always enquired. We would admit falsely that it was for our dog. But we didn’t have a dog. He didn’t know that we had no pets. The bones were for us. They would always be cooked the same way, every week, in a large soup pot for hours – which resulted in the most amazing meal.
As stated, we as kids never knew the butcher’s name. We were not permitted to ask such questions in those 1960s days. It would be deemed impertinent. However, I recall that the butcher was dressed in a long white jacket with white trousers and the most amazing butcher's hat. I remember that he had one finger missing – the story goes he was chopping meat and missed, instead chopping off his left finger instead. He didn't seemed bothered by it. He still chopped meat like it was an urgency to get it over with.
The soup would be served with buttered bread on the side, always at around the same time of 6pm. My father would suck on the bone and break it with his teeth. He would remove the yam, and hard food to eat separately on another plate. He would always ask the kids ‘do you want some?’ I would always say ‘yes’, and he would just say ‘help yourself’.
We all loved that meal and it was served during the winter months for obvious reasons. My elder brother in particular would always show up with a friend – particularly a number of white boys he played sports with, and they would take delight in having such an exotic meal with our family. In fact they would make a habit of coming round as they often remarked that they would only have baked beans on toast or bread and butter for their tea.
Those were the days. Those were the days!
Gloria Brown