The Winter Milk Round

Heartwarming nostalgia

The cold was brutal. Danny cupped his hands in his knitted fingerless gloves and tried to blow some heat into them. His feet were numb and his breathing loud in his ears as he ploughed through the snow.

Delivering milk, he thought, must be the worst job in the world on a day like this. But it was Christmas Eve and hopefully tips awaited.

At the dairy, he rubbed Samson’s ears and blew on his nose. The old horse loved that. He would retire soon, and a float would take his place.

Change. At twelve, lately Danny had seen more than his fair share of it. Last year, Yuri Gagarin had been the first man in space. This year he’d gone up to the big school, and his dad … had died.

But Bob, the milkman, was a constant. Only, he wasn’t.

“Who are you?”

Danny was so taken aback to see the stranger with the long white beard, that he had forgotten his manners. His breath clouds came out like an accusation.

“You must be Danny,” said the stranger, holding out his gloved hand. “I am Nicholas.”

He said, Nicholas like a foreigner would, Nich-o-las. Danny wondered whether he was Polish. Lots of Poles remained after the war.

“Is Bob ill?”

“Yes. Today, I am your man. You show me the round, yes?”

Danny felt important. For a start, he shouldn’t be there. He wasn’t thirteen. He had lied about his age. Six months he had been working at the dairy, and no one had thought to question him. He knew every customer in the area, and Samson knew every stop.

The edges of the milk crates burned Danny’s fingers as he started to lift them onto the wagon.

Nicholas didn’t seem to mind the cold. But he carried a bit of weight and Danny thought that must insulate him from the worst of it. Whereas he was skinny – although not as skinny as his dad had been at the end.

Danny tried not to think about his dad. He was the man of the house now, and he had to look after his mum and wee sister, Ellie.

Samson huffed his impatience. The dairy had wanted rid of him years ago but people had protested. It was in the newspapers and everything.

But surely we have to move with thetimes, was one of the quotes. Life doesn’ t stand still.

Samson turned around to look at him and Danny whispered, “Not long to go now, Samson, and we’ll be on our way.” “You love the horse, yes?”

Danny nodded. Bob was a morose individual and not given to speaking, and over the months, Danny had learned to keep quiet.

But when they were on their way, Nicholas sang, quietly in a low melodious voice. The words were strange and foreign and gave another worldly feel to the dark morning with its glittering empty roads and frosted trees.

Danny wished that he had his moothie with him.

But his mouth organ had been crushed under the foot of a bully. Only twice in his life had Danny cried; the first time had been to see his precious moothie flattened beyond repair, and the second when his dad had died. He had gone behind the pigeon lofts to cry then.

Samson’s hooves clopped and the wheels trundled on the icy and rutted surface. The sounds accompanied the singing and blended in. And as the reins

flicked and the snow started to fall again, Danny had a peculiar sense of dislocation.

He was in two places at once. A medieval world full of forests, wolves and peasants. And his own world with the street lights and his wee sister who had lifted her head from underneath the blankets and his dad’s army greatcoat to whisper. “Danny?”

“Go to sleep, Ellie, it’s too early.” “Love you,” she’d murmured, still half asleep.

The side of the main road was banked with snow, and side roads were impassable. It made the walk to front doors further but the song wove its magic, carrying Danny along. In spite of his wellies and three pairs of darned socks, he felt as light as drifting snow.

Even the clink of the empty milk bottles seemed part of the early morning orchestra. Notes were left in bottles wanting extra, and sometimes money. Danny put the money from the envelopes with his name on it in his pocket, and the rest he gave to Nicholas.

TheMilkman title could be meant for Bob, even though he’d collected tips when he’d went door to door for payment the previous evening.

Danny and Nicholas worked in tandem, leapfrogging each other in placing the bottles of milk on the doorsteps. The milk was frozen and rose through the tops like toothpaste squeezed through a tube. Their movements were almost like a choreographed dance.

It had never been like this with Bob. They progressed along Commercial Road, turned into Parkhill and were delivering in the warren of houses that made up Aitken Place when Nicholas stopped and did a little dance, his leather boots kicking up snow while his milkman’s hat sat at a jaunty angle on his large head.

Danny laughed and imitated him.

Old Mrs Kenny came to her door in her curlers and crossover pinny and gave them some cake and – acting like a schoolgirl – a kiss on the cheek.

After that they tried to outdo each other on the slippery paths. Danny had an impression of tankards of ale and carousing juxtaposed with his mum singing ScarletRibbons to Ellie. He could almost hear her singing the familiar words – Onherpillowlyingthere, Lovelyribbons,scarletribbons,scarlet ribbonsforherhair.

Only, unlike the song, Ellie didn’t want scarlet ribbons. She wanted a doll for Christmas. It had cut Danny up to remember Ellie’s hand in his as she stared at the doll in the shop window. She didn’t ask for it. She knew better. But her gaze had lingered.

It was on the way back to the dairy that Nicholas stopped singing to ask. “So, what are you going to buy with your tips, Danny?”

“A doll for Ellie, my wee sister.” Danny had put a deposit down on the doll and hoped that his tips would cover the rest. He felt the money in his pocket. He hadn’t counted it yet. Please, he thought, please. He hadn’t even told his mum what he’d done. He wanted it to be a surprise for both of them.

“A doll?”

“Yeh, to go with the pram she’ll get.” Why had he said that? There was no pram. It would be clothes and a decent meal on the table. The money from his mum’s two cleaning jobs didn’t stretch to anything more.

Suddenly the magic of the morning seemed to evaporate. He had stained it with his lie. But his mum had her pride – and it had rubbed off on him. They would manage, was her mantra.

But sometimes it was a toss-up between being warm or having food on the table.

But Ellie was only six years old and she needed magic in her life.

“And you, what do you want for Christmas, Danny?”

“A mouth organ.” Danny shrugged. He knew there was no hope of it.

“So, you are a musician?” Nicholas said, reaching into his pocket. “Here, let’s hear you play.”

Danny took the mouth organ and felt the weight of it. It seemed to fit into his hand as if it belonged. He started to play the tune that Nicholas had sung. He lost himself in his playing and as the dawn rose it brought in the magic of a new day.

“You have real talent and an ear for music, Danny,” said Nicholas back at the dairy. “Keep the mouth organ and the rest of the tips. I’ll square up with Bob.” “But…”

“Danny,” said the white-bearded stranger, “it is a gift from me because you know about giving, no? And giving and receiving make the world go round.”

Danny thought of the doll for Ellie and the kid gloves he could now afford for his mum’s work-roughened hands. The two people he loved more than anyone in the world.

Then he looked into the eyes of Nicholas. And in their depths he saw a profound love and the true meaning of Christmas. It humbled him and brought tears to his eyes.

He held out his hand, just like the man he was going to be.

“Thanks, Nicholas. It was an honour meeting you.”

And as Danny set off down to the road towards home, Nicholas tipped his milkman’s hat, now shining oddly red in the morning dawn …

The morning’s MAGIC evaporated. He had STAINED it with his LIE