By Elizabeth McQuillan
As a small child, in the early 1970s, I would listen for the clip-clop of the milk horse doing the rounds in Polwarth area of Edinburgh. The steady clatter of iron on the cobbles would fill me with excitement – and my mother, the horse and the milkman all knew what came next.
Down the stairs and out into the street I would run, presenting an outstretched hand full of accumulated scraps (mainly bread and some apple peel) to the expectant gentle giant. The milkman would click his tongue and wink at me, and the horse would chomp the scraps around the lorinery in his mouth. Always calm, quiet and almost thoughtful.
I swear that the horse knew every house and stop along the way. He would start to walk on to the next stop, without prompting, as he saw the milkman emerge from the house before. Receiving the odd pat on the nose from the local kids, he just plodded on. I knew the name of the horse at the time, but cannot recollect it now.
At one point on the round it was time for the horse – and the milkman – to take a break, and the canvas nosebag filled with oats would be placed over the horse’s head. I was made very much aware by my mother that this was "down time" and that both horse and driver were to be left in peace. If it was raining, the milkman threw a piece of sacking over his horse’s back and draped a sheet of canvas over his own shoulders as he sat on the milk float.
For 125 years, each area of Edinburgh served by St Cuthbert’s dairy and bakery had its very own horse and cart to deliver the goods, usually with a regular milkman and the milkboy helping out (kids used to compete for the job despite the early morning start). Even Sean Connery did a stint at St Cuthbert’s.
When a little older, and still obsessed with horses, I sneaked into the dairy at Fountainbridge. I found it sad, and evocative of the pages I had devoured on Black Beauty’s tougher days pulling carts in London. It was a very gloomy and dark indoor cobblestone affair, with the horses lined up in straw-scattered stalls, just enough room for each horse to stand and to lie down.
I remember wondering if these beautiful big creatures had the freedom of an open field at any time, or the chance go faster than a walk. Perhaps they lived every day shackled to a cart and then shackled by a weighted ball in a gloomy stall. I would like to think the dairy gave the horse some respite.
The horse and carts remained in service in some areas right up until 1985.
There is terrific website on Edinburgh history that is packed with photos and recollections from individuals. I found many of the memories that others had of St Cuthbert’s milk horses, and I hope they won’t mind my quoting some of these:
"My dad's brother, Mike Callaghan, started as a cart boy and went on to be a store milkman with Saughton area as his patch. He loved his horses. One day, his horse and cart ran away and in the effort to stop the horse running into the Water of Leith he grabbed the reins and fell and the cart went right up his side. I remember him being in hospital for a considerable time and he was never able to go back to his milk round." – Danny Callaghan, Falkirk
"I worked with the milk horses from the age of seven and know all about them. I also worked in the stables. Ginger was the first milk horse that I worked with. The milkman was called John the Miner. After that, it was Jimmy Hume (Wally). "Ginger had a great life after he finished with the milk. He ended his life at a children’s family park in Leven. He died at a good age of 35 years. I have such a good story to tell about how i taught him to beg and how I found out that he was in Fife." – John Tait, Edinburgh
"Years later, when I lived on the corner of McDonald Road and Bellevue Road, next to Broughton School, the St Cuthbert's milk horse got his food nose-bag right outside our door every morning. "The horse would wander his way slowly along the length of McDonald Road from Leith Walk, keeping a close eye on the milkman as he went in and out of the tenements. When the horse got to nose-bag territory, he froze on the spot, his hooves super-glued to the ground – totally immoveable, until the nose-bag was produced and its contents lovingly devoured. Then, and only then, could the horse be persuaded to resume the delivery round.” – Bryan Gourlay, BiggarWhen the dairy was eventually taken over and the horses considered superfluous, it is heartwarming to hear that the remaining faithful horses were placed on loan with families – some as far away as Shetland – so that they could keep tabs on the animals and ensure they were being well kept. Perhaps some of them at least did get to live a happy retirement in a lush green field in the sunlight.
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