Memories of milk floats

 What is your first memory? Now there's a question, and I've always answered with the time when my brother was brought home from the maternity ward, a toy train for me concealed underneath his shawl. I was in the front room of the house. But was it my first ever memory? As it turns out, no. I started to wrack my brains for more, but could only initially move forward from that point, when my brother arrived home for the first time. I started working on actual years to see if anything could jog my memory further. I certainly remember the so-called Ferranti 'radiogram' and Beatles singles on the Parlophone label - Hard Day's Night springs to mind, I vaguely remember watching the funeral of Winston Churchill on our black and white television and, a year later, the 1966 World Cup Final at Wembley but, for a short while I had trouble going back from the toy train moment and yet there were things that started to come back to me, like when we moved from the bottom of our road to the top and how I was standing with dad outside 3a, waiting to move up to number 29. Dad said we'd have to wait for 'auntie' Yvonne to walk down the road towards us before we could go up, and to this day I can never remember why that was: why did we have to wait for her? It will remain one of life's mysteries. My brother was brought home to number 29 so standing at the bottom of the road waiting for auntie Yvonne pre-dates the toy train moment. I have only vague memories of 3a, the maisonette with the concrete staircase running up the outside of the building, and even vaguer memories of the interior. There was a brick fireplace, I remember that, and a black dog and a lady called Daphne, but that's about it.

Something that will always stick in my mind was being awake in the back bedroom of number 29, the daylight penetrating the floral curtains, early on a summer's evening, probably around 6pm, dad yet to arrive home from work with his trademark knock on the door and the sound of bells from St. Philomena's convent school across the railway tracks. This must have pre-dated the birth of my brother as I don't remember sharing the room at that point with anybody. My sister would have been in the box room, mum and dad in the front room with the bay window.

We lived in a cul-de-sac and received weekly visits from what we called the Corona lorry. It was carrying Corona soft drinks, but I can't remember us ordering any, it was simply something to watch out for if we were playing in the streets. Then there was the laundry lorry and I think there might even have been a bakery lorry too, possibly going by the name of Riddington's, although that might have been the laundry service. I remember the laundry service as they lorry contained many rectangular boxes made of heavy-duty cardboard secured by a strap. The boxes contained pressed shirts and trousers. There was the occasional ice cream van playing Greensleeves, and regular deliveries of milk from Express Dairy around the corner in Shorts Road. I would later help out ‘Dynamic Norman’, a film buff who smoked like a chimney, on a milk round through nearby Wallington when I was around 12 or 13, those were strange days. Of course, the sun was always shining and the job was very casual. I turned up when I wanted to, but it was only a weekend job. The route took us into affluent South Wallington and empty roads with tall hedges and houses hidden behind them. I was always amazed how Dynamic Norman could hold four pints of milk in one hand, or was it two? It was two in each hand, and remember we’re talking about glass bottles with silver, gold or red tops. The float was great. Electric-powered. A bench seat. I was never allowed to drive, understandably and I remember loving the fridge that contained dairy products, like eggs and butter and I remember milk bottles full of orange juice too. The other thing about the float that was strange was its ability to take you out of the real world and into a kind of surreal landscape that was both real and unreal at the same time. I would never really know where I was, and by that I mean I was always surprised when we turned a corner and found ourselves on Benyon Road heading back to the dairy. I say ‘dairy’ it wasn’t a dairy, it was a yard where all the floats were charged overnight, but I never remember anticipating that moment we turned into Benyon Road, it was always a sudden realisation, which is odd as these days, when driving in a familiar area, I know where I am and what’s coming around the corner. Back then, I didn’t have that ability, things just suddenly turned up, or appeared, out of the blue, even familiar roads on the route home. Today, whenever I drive along Benyon Road I remember those days and that weird feeling of suddenly being aware of my surroundings, but it’s lost now and I would only experience it again in areas only mildly familiar to me.

These were also the days when everything was good and untainted, even washing my face and wearing shades. I remember acquiring a pair of sunglasses, possibly from one of my uncles, and having some kind of obsession with cupping my hands, filling them with cold water from the tap in the bathroom and throwing the water over my face. It was a refreshing; three handfuls of water plus one for luck and then dabbing my face with a towel and putting on the glasses. Why I remember that, I don’t know, but it was around the time of the milk round.

I can’t remember the exact route the milk float took, but I know for a fact that the ‘posh’ road was Woodcote Avenue and that we visited Brambledown and Hall Road, among others in the area. In fact, halfway through the round we would stop at one of Dynamic Norman’s friend’s houses, a tall, unkempt man with straggly black hair. It was here that I remember drinking a mug of instant coffee in the kitchen before heading back to the float to finish the milk round. I never remember any rain, just hot, hazy summer days, the electric whine of the float and the smell of milk and dairy products. 

These were truly strange but happy and care-free times when the garden at home was shaded by pear and apple trees and we drank mum’s home-made lemonade. It’s a shame we all have to grow up and lose the magic and surreal moments of life.