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Most people don't believe this story, especially as I am only 50.... but as a child in an English country village, mornings were heralded by the crisp 'clip clop' of the horse's hooves as it pulled the milk float down the road. The horse new exactly where to stop, and how long for, so that the milko could deliver each house supply. If the milko got chatting to a householder, the horse would wait his appointed time and then plod on, leaving the milko breathlessly swearing as he caught up. It was only in the last years of the previous decade that this team had changed over to bottles. They used to deliver fresh milk from the churn, ladeling it into each householder's bowl. Even in my youth you could still ask the milko to bring a 'quart of fresh' which would arrive in a billy can, straight from the cow. People wouldn't drink it these days, much too good for them, real taste! I remember when they retired the milko and his horse. Then the mornings were opened by the whine of the electric float and the rattle of crates. But for several more years, the milko walked his horse around the route every day. After years of having to go out in all weathers, they just couldn't break the routine. There is an end to all things and the milko passed away. I'm told the horse used to wait at the gate to its field every day, ready to go out 'on the round', until it too passed on. And now we all buy our milk in cartons from the supermarket and such scenes have passed into history along with the little birds that used to peck through the bottle tops on icy mornings, to steal the cream. Alf Adelaide 50 <1 48