Skip to main content

Just floating an idea...


Milking it: leaflet celebrates continuous tradition of home deliveries

I’ve been studying a promotional leaflet from a company called milk&more. It shows a street in which there are four milkmen – each celebrating a different era from the profession’s proud history. To the left, in scratchy sepia, we see a Victorian tradesman, complete with churn. To his right, there’s a wartime milko and also a chirpy chappie from the 1970s, who looks as if he might qualify for a lead role in a low-budget erotic movie. In glorious colour on the far right of the leaflet, we meet the modern-day delivery man, who is dressed in green and holding a milk&more branded crate. As you’d expect, this has more than just milk in it. There’s bread, Weetabix, Tropicana and all kinds.

Today’s milkman has no hat, whereas all his predecessors believed professional headgear to be an important part of their image. This seems to me to be a depressing decline in standards over the years, but I’ll let it go.

The thing that’s really confusing me is the copy which suggests the 1940s milkman continued his deliveries despite the disruption of the Second World War. Can this really be true? As ARP wardens pushed and cajoled the public into the relative safety of shelters and tube stations, Mr Milk was going his own sweet way. Never mind the 1,000lb bombs exploding all around, courtesy of the German Luftwaffe. He’d defy the blackout, clutching a torch and pulling a wheelbarrow full of bottles. Cor luvaduck! Old Ethel wants three pintas today rather than her usual two and that’s the truth and no mistake.

Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure milk was rationed during World War II and quite hard to come by unless you were pregnant or had young kids. Didn’t most people actually have to put up with some powdered muck that you mixed with water? I’m sure there’s a social historian among the Washed and Ready readers who can shed some light on this matter.

One thing we can all agree on though: you couldn’t get Tropicana or Innocent Smoothies during the Blitz for love nor money. Jerry had a lot to answer for.

Comments

  1. Anonymous9:31 PM

    As it happens my own maternal grandfather, who at 44 was exempt from conscription (not least because he'd already done the last war already, thanks) was a Co-Op milkman in Musselburgh througout WW2.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Becoming a Twister board

I spent yesterday evening in an old factory building off Brick Lane playing kids' games with an organisation called Fun Fed. The idea is that a bunch of adults get together and act like children for a couple of hours. We played tag and stuck big coloured discs on ourselves so that we could become human Twister mats. There was an awful lot of running around and I was thinking that I ought to get to aikido a bit more often. Being a child is very hard work.

Buttahz

Belatedly made it to the excellent Evolving English exhibition at the British Library. When I arrived, I found a curator talking to a large group of inner-city London teenagers who'd come with their school. "How do you spell Butters ?" he was asking them. The kids volunteered different spellings of the slang term. Museum man then posed another question. "But you don't actually say it like that, do you?" He was referring, I think, to the glottal stop that replaces the t in London English, although phonetics isn't my strong point. The youth were sent off to record slang in a booth for posterity and my attention was drawn to another class. This group was much younger and seemed to attend an exclusive private school. "Joanna! Come over here and listen to a bit of Romeo and Juliet!" The precocious little kids ran hither and thither, listening to samples of regional dialects on a superb interactive display or speeches from statesmen such as JFK and ...

Captain Birdseye and other people of rank

Regular readers may recall that I once doubted the existence of Yeo Valley. I'd never heard of the Yeo mountain range and I therefore rated the likelihood of there being a valley at somewhere between 0 and 5%. Of course, I had yoghurt all over my face when I discovered that the place really does exist. Somewhere in Somerset, I seem to recall. Today, having read an article in the latest edition of The Marketer magazine, I'm astonished to discover that there really was a Captain Birdseye. Well, I need to qualify that just a little. There was a Mister Clarence Birdseye who invented the fish finger back in 1955. The avuncular, uniformed figure who dominated our TV screens for about thirty years may have been an invention of over-eager advertising creatives, but he didn't blow in on a trawler during a squall. There was actually some connection to a real human being. These revelations about fish and yoghurt are causing me considerable disquiet, because I'm wondering h...