One day when I arrived in, there were three milk tanker drivers there. All good blokes, the season was winding down and they were on shorter hours, maybe there were on night shift. It doesn’t matter but later on the conversation got around to milk vats.
These days the tankers all have milk metres on and the tanker drivers don’t have to read the sight glasses which not only saves them a job but stops a lot of skulduggery as well.
Before milk metres, there were all sorts of tricks to get the sight glasses to read more than was actually in the vat. The cow cocky is an ingenious fellow in many ways and many and varied were the tricks they got up to. Whether they worked or not is beside the point, but the culprits believed they did and kept on with it.
The tanker drivers told us several tricks they’d spotted.
Years ago the tanker drivers used to collect from a certain area, all the year round except on his days off. He got to know a lot of cockies pretty well and there were a lot of rip-offs worked between them. As in any occupation involving people, some drivers got on well with certain cockies and some had run-ins. In those days having a run in with a tanker driver could be quite an expensive exercise, a driver could take a few litres of several he didn’t like and give it to one he did. One or two cockies have told me it is as good as three cows to get on with the tanker driver. That I well believe and as one good turn deserves another, both parties profited. Half a beast a year was a very cheap insurance. So was a dozen of beer now and again.
However in later years, the bigger companies anyhow, took a dislike to the drivers getting a few perks and the drivers only did a fortnight on a run. The cockies and drivers never got to be friends. The explanation was to stop the drivers getting bored. It’s great how people have to justify themselves, even big companies.
One of the smaller dairy factories I will not name, always had the drivers on a permanent run, right up until they got taken over by one of the bigger companies. The permanent driver and relief driver made a deal with a share milker I know. They bought 6 or 8 stove pigs cheap. The share milker had an old piggery down the hill from the shed, well away. The drivers used to leave enough milk in the vat for the cockie to feed the pigs. To save him work they had one of the engineering staff make a smaller hole in an outlet valve so a 1” hose could be joined on. When the milk was taken out for the factory, the other one was put on and the pig milk gravitated down to the pig sty. The vat was rinsed to get the drainings and went into a big container. Hey Ho. Nobody was any the wiser and at Christmas ham, bacon and pork aplenty. What make it more enjoyable was that all the mean grumpy cockies unknowingly contributed to the project – kiwi justice!
One of the drivers told how although they were supposed to look in the vat before and after they collected the milk, it wasn’t always done except by the conscientious, and the crafty cockies knew this and made it more awkward by removing the stand which they weren’t supposed to do. Some industrious types put cans in the bottom of the vat so when the vat was emptied, there was enough milk to feed several calves. Sometimes bricks were put in, not easy as the vats at the bottom were inclined so there was a slope for the milk to all run out. But as I’ve mentioned, they were an ingenious lot. However most of these tricks were found out and then there very often was a settlement of some kind as a bribe to keep the driver’s mouth shut. The milk metres stopped all this caper. But as the driver explained, other tricks came in.
If a foreign object was found in the vat such as a dead bird or a rat the milk was not allowed to be picked up and was to be tipped out. The cockie’s milk measures were watched carefully for a week or so to make sure he didn’t save some and put it in the vat on consequent days.
If everything was done properly, nothing should get in but accidents do happen sometimes. Some cockies are notoriously lax and some cockies have kids who poke around and leave a hole in the vat that a bird can get in, especially starlings.
According to our table mate, Ron, one of his sly work mates made a lot of prerequisites by trapping starlings, drowning them in milk (he wasn’t silly) and when he saw a vat where the milk inlet pipe was left out, would drop a starling in the vat (he never left things to doubt either, he tied a string on its leg so he could retrieve it) get it out, drop it on the floor or let it float around on top of the milk then walk over and inform the cockie that there was a bird in his vat full of milk. Which was the correct thing to do. He was a real con man and took the trouble to tell the cocky that it was lucky he had spotted it as it could have been sucked up and ruined the metre, the cost would then be up to the cockie to be repaired. Horror upon horror, not only a vat full of milk wasted but to bear the cost of repairing the metre could cost thousands. Then of course the cockie was unlucky that the bird wasn’t under the froth floating on top and he wouldn’t have seen it and nobody would have been the wiser until it came time to clean the vat and our cockie would have found it himself perhaps.
Now reader, put yourself in the cockie’s place. You have a few choices. Throw the tanker driver in the vat and drown him too, but he was pretty solid so not easy to do. Take the consequences, a few hundred dollars worth of milk there, all going into the affluent pond, all the neighbours would see it. The cleaning up after, milk makes a hell of a mess in the shed yard and drains. Is it any wonder our tanker driver had three big deep freezers worth of meat, enough bottles of whiskey to keep him drunk for a year, always a wallet full of money and remember he is only on the run for a fortnight or less. He’d pick up milk in about 60 or 70 different districts a year. He is at present building on to his house! A lot of people remember when someone does them a good turn.
Cliff, another driver told us of a worker on the place where the owner was a hard man. Some of us know Nigel, he was a good bloke but he had three buggers of kids. He used to come in for a beer now and again, while his wife was shopping. One night the kids arrived back on their own, got in the car and while their mother was frantically looking for them, got bored and let the tyres down on about a dozen cars, including Nigel’s. Another time they set fire to Nigel’s car in town when Mum was shopping. That caused a stir too, but between his boss and the kids he always had a haunted sort of look.
Anyhow, according to Cliff the farm where Nigel worked was on the first pickup about 7.30am. When he drove up there was milk everywhere, running down the tanker track. They had a big herd. Then Cliff spotted the main valve on the vat was turned on and raced in to turn it off to get the shock of his life. He saw two pair of eyes looking at him from the top of the vat. Two of the brats had climbed up on the vat and turned it on. Not easy to do as a rule, as they were turned off tight. However nothing deterred those kids. They always got around together too, they were aged between six and ten I suppose. Their neighbours lived in dread when they saw them wandering around. Threatening them was no good either apparently; they just looked at you and said nothing. Yet apparently they were model kids at school. Hard to work out.
“Talking about eyes looking at you,” Des, the other driver said. Reminds me of about eighteen months ago when I went into a farm and as I was well ahead of time for once, lit a smoke and had a stroll around to ease my nerves a bit. After I relaxed I quietly coupled the hose up and turned the pump motor on and I heard the vat lid sort of slam a bit. I got up on the stand and opened the lid, I nearly shit myself. There was a bloke up to his neck in milk with a souwester hat on, peering at me. I had a hell of a turn, I fell off the stand and stood back, “What are you doing in there?” A stupid question I suppose and the bloke answered, “I fell in and can’t get out”. I got up on the stand and had another look at him. He was shivering and blue with cold. That milk is well chilled down. As a lot of the milk had been pumped out I saw he had an oilskin coat on as well as the hat. I said, “Wait a tick, the milk will all be out soon,” I didn’t know what to make of this. I forgot all about foreign matter. He wasn’t the cockie, I’d seen him and he looked nothing like this chap. Just then the pump cut out and I went and turned it off, hopped back on the stand and had another look. He had thigh gumboots on as well. He was shaking with the cold, I was shaking just as much. Well to see a full grown man about fortyish, with thigh gumboots and wet weather gear standing in a vat of milk isn’t something you see every day. I didn’t know what to do. He had funny eyes I thought, perhaps he’d escaped from Tokonui but why? The wet weather gear.
“Was he a duck shooter,” someone asked.
Des said, “In mid February and as hot as hell. I don’t think so”.
I tried to help him out but his gumboots were full of milk and I had no show. I lit another smoke and though about this. The farmer was out as his car shed was empty and the poor bugger was shivering so much the whole vat was shaking. Then thank God, I heard voices. I looked out and a car had pulled up. Then doubly thank God it was a police car. The cop was a cheerful sort of a bloke, and he said, “You haven’t seen a stranger around have you?”
He must have seen me look up at the vat and he saw two lots of fingers clutching the edge.
“Hell, what’s going on there” and got up on the stand and looked in. He too jumped down looking astounded.
“What are you doing in there?”
“I fell in and I can’t get out” was the reply.
He went to the door and said “Hey, come in here”. An oldish man came in and the cop said “have a look in there”. The old fellow got up, had a look and he fell off too. He was shaking as much as the bloke in the vat. I was shaking and the cop was a bit too I noticed.
“What are you doing in there Fred?”
Again the same reply, at least he had a name now.
Anyhow, with the three of us we finally got him out, not easy. The poor bugger couldn’t stand. The cop asked him how long he’d been in there and he said he didn’t know. I said I’d better go and the cop said he’d want a statement in case Fred karked it. So we got Fred out on the steps and got his gumboots off. There was about 20 litres of milk in them.
unfinished
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