THE MILKMEN—HEROES ALL

Greymouth Evening Star, 28 November 1927, Page 9

THE MILKMEN—HEROES ALL

BLESS THEIR HONEST HEARTS!

(Continued)

Dear Ladies and Gentlemen —

Sorry for not writing before, but the cow is suffering from swelled head since seeing her name in the “Star” and keeps me busy.

Having read somewhere that young creatures must be handled gently but firmly, I approached his honor the calf for a practical demonstration. This wily animal stood with his feet Ijrmly planted in four different directions and it looked evident his mother had said to him before parting—“ Stay here till I return, Willie.”

On pushing him gently but firmly from behind, Willie quietly folded his legs and sat down. Tackling him around the waist I tried to carry him with but little success as his hindquarters kept catching in the blackberries. \ With a strength born of desperation, I pulled and shoved and fell over with that calf until the lawn was almost in sight; then a faint moo reached the mother’s ears and she came charging to the rescue. Though come of dauntless stock, I made no bones about the order of my going—just flew. After emitting various weird sounds my family beamed on me. “Alright, I’ll leave it to you two, but mind she doesn't charge you,” I said, knowing by their looks, another plot had hatched. Later on, I peeped out to see the cow and her offspring sprinting round the lawn, but they had no hope against those experts. The calf was soon left shivering on the lawn with a rope round his neck that once had moored the “Perth” to the wharf, and the bereaved mother was bellowing in her paddock. The milking came next; will I ever forget that first time—laden with a bucket of bran, milking bucket, tin of water to wash her with, bottle of salad oil and a tin of petroleum jelly, for massaging, I nervously entered her domain. The forgiving creature followed the bran and other incidentals and actually stood still to be milked. The patience of dumb animals passes understanding. Fully two hours were needed for that first milking, and I got alarmed as the milk kept still coming. Visions of an all day sitting was a horror I hadn’t bargained for. “Stand still girlie,” and other endearing phrases I murmured and prayed she wouldn’t hear my knees knocking On attempting to straighten up pins and needles and a horrible sinking sensation assailed me. A refrain —like eight pence a quart, only eight-pence a quart and jolly well cheap at that, kept trumming in my head and the brimming milk bucket topples over seemingly of its own accord. Have I to do this twice each day for ever and ever? As if in answer to my outspoken thought a horrible apparition hanging with milk buckets followed by thousands of cows approached me. With a hideous grimace he pointed to my cow and did shadow milking in the air, then turning to me he sternly said, “For having dishonoured the sacred profession of our Ancient Order, and for making restless the souls of my departed brethren (you not having served the required twenty years’ apprenticeship in milking beforehand) I shall sentence you as lightly as our. law permits. Having taken into consideration your conduct previously to this midsummer madness; you having paid my milkman (likely enough because you could see no other alternative) and behaved foolishly as is the way of women at all times, I merely sentience you in these words: “Twice each day for the term of your natural life, you’ll milk this cow.” I tried to move away but couldn’t. A, “Hullo there, Liz! Is the dinner ready? brought me back from the land of Conan Doyle. Groggily, I gathered up my empty buckets and made for home.

At the gate stood father —Hark at him: “Just look at the lawn I ! ! Holes a foot deep—after all the years and years levelling this ground took, to get it mucked up like this. You keep that fool cows of yours out of here in future or . . . Holy Mike! What’s this done up with a mooring rope? Bless me if it isn’t Willie the calf. Put a film in the camera quickly before he moves—-though the Lord knows he’s anchired' enough.” That night when the stars were winking, I finished my second milking, having taken half the family with me to keep the bogies away. The calf needed no training to teach him to drink. That “Horror” from the nether regions had done his first good turn when he tipped the morning’s milk. A barbed wire fence marked the boundary of my farm and thereby hangs a tale.

Yours etc., — ELIZABETH.