By James Coleridge
More like a guardian. I’ve called the fire brigade twice this year because I smelled smoke before the families woke up. I know who’s on holiday because the bottles stay on the step. I know who’s had a baby because they start ordering double the semi-skimmed. Interviewer: Are you worried about the supermarkets? Interview With A Milkman -1996- -2021-
Arthur: Cold. It always felt colder back then, or maybe I was just younger and complained less. The float was electric, but it had a heater that was about as effective as a cigarette lighter in a hurricane. The Last Honest Mile: An Interview With a
(Laughs) Those big shops? They’re convenient, sure. But they don't deliver to your doorstep in a blizzard. And they don't take the empties back. As long as people want fresh cream for their tea and a friendly face at the gate, I’ve got a job for life. Part II: 2021 – The Quiet Engine I know who’s had a baby because they
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Q: Then came the 2010s. The rise of the "artisan." Did that help you?
There is a specific silence that exists at 4:00 AM. It is not the silence of sleep, but the expectancy of labor. For 25 years, Arthur P. Haliday knew that silence better than the sound of his own wife’s voice. He was the milkman for the eastern crescent of a small post-industrial city in the North of England. His route—from the depot on Mill Street to the last cul-de-sac in Harpsden Vale—spanned exactly 18.4 miles. He retired in the summer of 2021, not with a bang, but with the quiet click of a key turning in a lock that no one remembered was there.