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Good morning, Harry, This morning this was in the mail from Alf who lives in England. I thought your students might be interested. >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 > >