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Monday, September 25, 2006

Spilt Milk

My grandfather was a farmer. The farm had tobacco, maize, fruit, cattle and a large dairy operation. Every day the milk had to be delivered to a town about twelve miles away. The roads were sandy with no tarmac. There were seven gates that had to be opened and closed between the farm and the nearest town.

One day my grandfather broke his leg.

My brother was sent by train to help out. He walked from the rail station to the police station. He was met by the policeman in charge. My brother, Michael, was invited to climb into the driving seat of the policeman’s car. The driving test followed. They went round the very short block – and Michael passed. There was no theory test and certainly no stop lights in the rather remote town. He did not have to navigate a crossing during the course of the test.

You see the policeman’s wife, and the rest of the town, had run out of milk. There was no one else on the farm who could drive. Late that night 16 year old Michael was dropped on the farm. Early next morning he drove the milk to town.

How we must wish that a head teacher would wake up one morning and say: `We need more children in our school.’

Certain children could be accepted into grammar school without having to go through the pressure of eleven plus examinations.

This could save a lot of spilt milk.

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