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Showing posts from January, 2016

Catch a thief

Have I imagined the clip clop of horses’ hooves, as the milk cart delivered its morning load? Fresh milk, in glass bottles, with foil tops, delivered to our front garden. In this picture I am watching through my leadlight window from my gabled-roof room. The slap of hoof on road floats up to my bedroom eyrie. After the horse and cart, the bottles were delivered from a van with open sides, with the milkman jumping down to place our order outside our home. The bottles of milk were set down on the edge of our gravel driveway as the first light of morning was arriving. At times, the milk was a little warm when we brought it in, the icy coldness having melted down to cool. The cream at the top was sometimes a little clumpy, but a shake was all it needed. The pint bottles became 600ml bottles, but I feel as if the foil lids stayed the same. At some point, our milk began disappearing. Not the lot of it, just a bottle or two. Most weeks there would be milk taken, and eventually a patt