Fish Jenkins – © 2026 Steve Gray
Watching a misty backyard scene from the laundry window one cold foggy morning, the world feels suspended for a moment, gentle, still, almost forgiving. For how long I wonder, a sense of serenity, things are so relaxed. The dark grey fluffy cat from next door has wandered across the misty lawn and is on a spot that must be warm or at least dry, it sits mostly facing my way. I’m stopped watching the fog and admiring somehow the cat’s footsteps on the misty lawn.
I head back to the kitchen ready to stoke the fire some more. I then head to the mail box to get the daily paper. It’s cold out alright. Back in the kitchen, warmth is now starting to come to the room. I sit and glance at the paper, the kettle I’m yet to put on. I ponder breakfast. Kettle on, cup and tea pot sorted, tea added, hot water induced into the pot. It sits and brews, I now put on toast.
Andrew Jenkins is my name, it’s funny not many people know my first name, they call me ‘Old man Jenkins, Mr Jenkins, or Fish’ There’s a story behind that last one, I don’t care for it.
Toast buttered, spread introduced and now I read deeper, the news is somewhat bland this morning.
I’m up a bit earlier today, Mrs Smith is coming to organise things. She’s okay, a warm soul, she comes with an apron on and ready to clean, vacuum do a load of washing. My Doctor advised a welfare group that I needed assistance. I didn’t agree so much but oh well a single man in a house, any assistance could be useful.
She has sent her son Aaron around to mow the lawn a few times. If I’m home I slip him some cash, he tries to refuse but I insist.
I slowly strip the bed and she takes it to the laundry, gets that part started and then gets on with the rest of the work. I have to be sorted in the kitchen when she cleans there. She does that part first so we can have a cuppa before she goes, figuring the table and floor will be dry by then.
I thank her profusely, the local church makes sure she is compensated for her work, I don’t care about that, I also chip in, I don’t think it’s fair to do work for a man of my means to not pay.
The Doctor said the initial assessment after my ‘turn’ said I needed better hygiene, I just nodded, who am I to disagree. And so Mrs Smith and crew.
‘Morning Moira’ I chime as I open the door, ‘Hello Mr Jenkins.’ Always formal. There’s some chit chat to get things started, she checks to see if I’ve had breakfast, nice touch. I’m not sure if she thinks I haven’t figured out if she’s checking on me. I don’t care too much.
She starts the fire in the lounge, she says the place is too cold. She organises a bag of briquettes and some sawn logs. They never deliver a big load, not that there’s room for it anyway. A big burly lad and his friends drop round on the day of the log delivery and make quick work of splitting the logs into usable sizes and stack them out of the weather.
The fire in the lounge soon warms the room, Mrs Smith comes through with the Vacuum and then heads to the rest of the house to ‘spruce things up.’
Washing goes on the line last, she mentions that she wishes more of her ‘customers’ had automatic washing machines like me. I was too lazy to bother with washing so at the first mention of an automatic machine I dropped a deposit fast.
The morning wears on, Sun is now out and the washing should be dry by mid afternoon. I have a clothes horse to put in front of the fire if need be. But for now, things are in the hands of nature.
I put the kettle on and Moira and I sit for a bigger chat and that warming cuppa. Daily routines and news get discussed. Not long after she’s on her way. I make sure I have the cash to pay her and I don’t take no for an answer.
It’s Tuesday so I don’t get to see her until next week. Sometimes the week seems to drag on.
Wednesday, I head the few blocks walk into town to the rental office. I stop by the bank on the way. I don’t hold much cash. I don’t see the need. Rent sorted I’m off to the supermarket, then the butchers on the way home. Sometimes people I know will spot me walking with my groceries and offer me a lift in their car. It’s nice of them. Sometimes if the weather is okay and the purchases are not too heavy I like to walk.
I should point out that our little town of two thousand five hundred homes is not the usual type of town. Indeed it’s rather different, you can only rent a place, not buy. The rental office can become hectic on rent day, I get there the day before, the Wednesday.
On Saturday’s I wander into town, it’s the only time it gets really busy, the shops close at noon. Except for the cafe, that’s open until early evening, having some takeaway foods, and the usual cafe offerings.
I don’t get there too early, but I wander, various people say hello, they know I don’t chat, they think I’m some sort of hermit or recluse. Especially after the workplace accident put me out of action for a long while, physically and then mentally, the Doctor says it was some form of electrical shock that altered things. I was rehabilitated for a long while then paid out. Given a rental house to live in, prior to that I lived in a men’s only quarters, a guest house.
There was some discussion about me being there, mostly the guys there went to work so they weren’t sure about me being there on my own all day, every day. I was happy with the payout and move to the house. A small two bedroom place.
Wait, where was I oh yes Saturday mornings. A wander about, check the newsagency for a magazine or two, not always but occasionally. The library visit I kept for during the week. When I wanted something else to do. Always cool in the summer, mostly very quiet.
At about eleven if the weather is good I head to the central park area to sit and watch the last remnants of people doing their weekly shop, some women still didn’t drive so they had to be chauffeured. Then the cars would clear away, the shop keepers among the last to head out of the car park.
Then that was it, all that was left was the hum, if the wind blew the right way you could also hear the clanking in the distance. At night it was most obvious, the clanking, it was the sound of the dredger in the open cut mine. The bucket wheel driving the giant buckets that cut into the coal. If the night air was still the whole town would be kept awake from the sound.
The Hum on the other hand would be more to do with the power station, although there were times when it wasn’t clear that the hum came from there, mind you another source would be hard to ‘pin down’.
Saturday, now early afternoon, I would head to the cafe, Jean on the counter would say hello and then attend to my needs. I would sit with a view out the window, a few last minute shopping stragglers, usually parents with their kids would wander in and feed their little darlings, have a milkshake or two and be on their way again.
I would sit with a sandwich and a coffee, then at about two pm the local cinema crowd would start arriving for the afternoon matinee movie, parking around the central park, down side streets and beyond. In they would file and then things would go quiet, then at the end of the movie they would file out and disappear until the evening crowd arrived a few hours later. Same thing, lots of cars, filing in, filing out.
Anyway I would often be gone before they arrived, amusing, watching people hurry to drop off their kids, or hurry to find a place to park.
I would take my leisurely walk back home. Sometimes at Number Thirty I would stop to chat briefly to Joe, his garden, a steep terraced series of plots, was always on the agenda for the garden of the year awards. ‘Good job Joe, it’s coming along a treat!’ Joe would sometimes be startled and have to turn and then wave. If he was down near the fence he would stop for a chat, his portable radio somewhere up the garden playing horse races and music. Such was the radio stations offering back then.
Joe, like many people didn’t call me by my name, nor did he call me fish, rarely did anyone do it to my face, but I knew I was called that, something to do with catching fish, my memory is now a bit vague, some kids thought it was because I probably didn’t wash much and smelled like fish…
The kids didn’t bother me though, my house was on the end of the line at the edge of town. So they couldn’t be bothered to ride their bikes that far and mostly they didn’t know what they would do if they got there, so I was left alone. I also knew to keep clear of them during school holidays etc, I didn’t want trouble.
Down the street from me was one of the main roads out of town, there was a bus stop and if I timed things right I could get to the next town without much hassle. The bus originated back in town, we had a bus terminus near the fire station behind the shops. I don’t think it was used much, various lanes for buses going to this town or that, but in reality they really only needed a long single lane and not four or five lanes, it made the place seem like it had a solid presence but it was rare to see many people there.
Anyway on the bus at the bottom of the street and then a short ten minute ride to the next town. More shops, more options and some days it would feel like a full on day out. A spot or two for lunch, a wander about the shops and if I needed something specific, there were two hardware stores to choose from. I could wander about for ages, stopping here and there. Most of the shops had awnings that kept the rain out, that was useful.
Back on the bus, then ten minutes to get back and alight the bus.
Next door Arthur and Nellie Jones would keep an eye on things. If my blind was not up by 9:30 in the morning there would be a knock on the door. Across the road were the Allens, Marg and Paul. all lovely neighbours. Their kids would drop in at easter and offer some chocolate eggs, I did the same, knowing they were coming.
By the same token I watched out for the neighbours too. Anything different was duly noted, time, etc and who was involved. Mind you it was rare for anything to happen at this end of town.
The other house across the road I never knew who was who, it seemed like the rental group kept that place for itinerant working families on short term contracts at the local factory and all that. It seemed like every few weeks a removal truck would turn up and move people in or out. One day a kid turned up looking for his cat. The pair of us had a good look in my yard, the poor kid was beside himself, tears flowed, it took some careful words to settle the boy. His mother was out shopping, and the cat jumped at the fly wire front door, forcing the door and took off.
I offered some suggestions as to where it might be, the poor thing was probably frightened being in a new house in a new neighbourhood.
Alex, the boy, headed off after a while, he was sure he had seen it head over to my yard, well it must have turned to the right when it got to my side of the road, because it wasn’t in my yard. It turned up in the front yard of the house on the other side of theirs.
Alex called out the next day, spotting me at my mailbox and waved. ‘I found my cat! It was next door, thanks for helping me!’ I never figured out if his mum knew or not. Funny seeing a young kid unsettled and in tears, so many challenging memories flood back as you relive some difficult kid moment.
I could be out in front, watering plants and he would call out ‘Hey Mr… Hello!’ And would give a cheery wave. A few months later they were gone. I hope those people got paid well for being shipped about.
People come and people go, no doubt about that. Like winter sometimes it eases in and then other times it hits hard, the cold rolls in fast and makes things miserable. Who likes misery? Not me.
It was mid afternoon. I pulled the heavy woollen blanket tight around my shoulders, watching the rain blur the streetlamp and houses outside. I hadn’t lit the fire that day, somehow I wasn’t strong enough. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like air before a thunderstorm.
A large, white removal truck backed into the driveway across the road. Its hazard lights blinked in the dark, throwing long, orange shadows across my ceiling. Another family was leaving, or moving in. It seems to happen more often now.
I looked down at my hands. They were spotted with age and had a slight shake. I couldn’t quite remember if I had eaten lunch today, or if that was yesterday. My world had somehow shrunk to the distance between my armchair and the front window.
I mustered the ability to close the roller blind on my front windows, it seemed to take ages.
The next morning, the sun broke through the clouds, but the cold stayed deep in my bones. I struggled to pull the cord on the front window blinds to open them. My arms felt like lead. I managed to hoist them up just halfway before my knees gave out. I sank into the chair in the lounge, out of breath.
It was 9:34 AM.
Right on time, a sharp, familiar knock echoed through the house. It was Arthur. I tried to call out, but my voice was just a dry whisper.
The door opened slowly. ‘Fish? You in here, mate?’ Arthur’s voice was laced with an anxiety I had never heard before. He walked into the lounge room, his face pale.
He didn’t call me Fish to be cruel. At that moment, I realized it was the only name he knew for me. I had kept myself a secret for so long that the secret had become my identity.
‘I’m here, Arthur,’ I whispered.
He stood warily, next to my chair and placed a warm hand on my shoulder. ‘Marg across the road said your blind wasn’t quite up, so she sent me over. We were worried.’
Through the half opened brown window blind, I watched the removal truck pull away from the house across the road. The tyres hissed gently on the wet asphalt. The itinerant workers were gone again, off to another town, another factory, another temporary life.
I thought about little Alex and his lost cat. I thought about the kids on their bikes who never quite made it to the end of the line to annoy me. I had spent some of my life waiting for people to leave me alone, and they finally had.
‘The bus,’ I muttered, looking toward the main road. ‘Is it time for the bus?’
Arthur looked at me, his eyes glossy. ‘No more buses today, old friend. Just rest.’
I closed my eyes. The image of the four-lane bus terminus filled my mind. It was grand, solid, and entirely empty. I finally understood why it was built so big. It wasn’t built for the people who lived here. It was built for everyone who was leaving.
The cold rolled in fast, just like the winter I always hated. But as I let go, the misery didn’t come with it. There was only the quiet, steady rhythm of the rain on the front awning,
The last I heard was Arthur, call me, his voice faded to nothing. Things end, things start, things are just things, breathe in, breathe out…
