June 27, 2008

Good morning,

I believe one of the sweetest sounds I have ever heard is the gentle and merry clanking of milk bottles as the milkman makes his early morning rounds in England. Make no mistake about it.  The milkman’s trade in England does not in any way resemble dairy delivery in the US.  There are no refrigerated trucks; logos slapped across the sides, heavy sliding doors slamming repeatedly up and down the street, there are no plastic coolers, no bulky half-gallon milk jugs.  Instead, the English milkman is ever so softly reminiscent of a nursery rhyme.  His truck really isn’t a truck so much as a covered golf cart pulling what looks like an extended flower cart filled with milk bottles. It doesn’t take much to envision a horse pulling the cart.  A cheery striped awning in either yellow or blue covers the cart. The purr of the small engine and the festive melody of slender, foil topped clanking bottles wakes me up two mornings a week and when I hear it, I smile, roll over and go back to sleep knowing that the world is going to be okay: the milk is being delivered.  It harkens back to a not so distant time when the English truly felt that nearly all the ills of the world, from war to disobedient children, could be cured with a nice, hot cup of tea.   If, by some rare chance, I haul myself out of bed and go for a run, I may encounter two or three milkmen going about their rounds.  Each of them waves.    I’ll tell you right now, in the cool and hush of the early morning to be greeted with a nod and a ‘Morning, Luve!’ is one of life’s greatest pleasures.

With love from England,

T-Ann