I’ve always been early to rise

even in those teenage years

when I was madly in love and

hadn’t been to bed for more

than a couple of hours before

my usual 4am Sunday start,

jobs in the village were like

hen’s teeth in those days

so, an hour each morning

before school and a long

Sunday morning delivering

Milk through the village was

a well fought for prize,

I worked for milkman Len

whose float, in my very

early days, was drawn by

a horse, two Dutch barge dogs

Keeshonds I think, walking

shotgun either side like outriders

stopping alongside at the

right places in each street,

Sunday mornings were quite

special as once the float, a

three-wheeled early electric

version, was loaded up,

first stop would be Len’s

house for 5am tea and toast,

his wife would always seek

to mother me with extra slices,

a vivid soundtrack to these

dark Sunday mornings was

the wireless, permanently

tuned to the classics, I listened

to Beethoven Liszt et al whilst

incessantly picking dog hairs

from my clothing, peculiarly

I always looked forward to

this brief recital in her dimly

lit kitchen in what felt like the

middle of the night

 

© Graham R Sherwood 03/25