THE GLEN HARTWELL MILKMAN

It was Saturday evening on the 19th of October 2024, and the Friedlander family: mother Tessa a thirty-something strawberry-blonde, father Wyatt a thirty-nine-year-old accountant, who looked more like an amateur wrestler, five-year-old Kylie a strawberry-blonde like her mum, and grandmother Katie, Tessa's mother, a honey blonde of fifty-something, were watching a live performance of a one-act play "Picasso Through Time", by a local writer, at the Glen Hartwell Playhouse Theatre in Blackland Street.
"What's hit hall about?" asked a puzzled Kylie.
"Darned if I know, honey?" whispered Katie.
"It's about Picasso, the worst painter in history, travelling through time to check out Goya, Rembrandt, Van Gough and other great painters," explained Tessa: "To see what they did right, and what he is doing wrong."
"Oh!" said Kylie, still not understanding.
"Picasso..." began Katie, getting shushed by one of the fifteen or so other people in the theatre: "Oh shush yourself!" she said, stopping as an usherette shone a torch in her direction.
"Quiet ...please!" said the usherette, making it plain that it was an order, not a request.
"I'll tell you later," whispered Katie, drawing another shush from the bald-headed man two rows away.
Fortunately "Picasso Through Time" lasted just under an hour, so the Friedlanders were soon in the basement, climbing into their silver-grey 1990 Ford Cortina.
"So what're you reckon?" asked Wyatt: "About the play?"
"Crap," said Katie, climbing into the rear seats.
"Kwap," agreed Kylie, giggling as she climbed into the back of the car.
"Well, I don't think, they'll ever film it," agreed Tessa.
"If they do, I know one family who won't be going to see it," said Wyatt. He checked that everyone was in the car and buckled up before starting the Cortina to join the rush to exit the Playhouse.
"Dat's for sure," agreed Kylie.
"Oh damn," said Tessa: "I've just remembered we're out of milk, I meant to stop at the mall earlier."
"They'll be closed by now," said Katie as the Cortina turned left into Blackland Street.
"How'll I heat my Bix tomorrow?" asked Kylie, meaning Wheat Bix.
"With sugar and cold water," teased Wyatt as they almost collided with the horse-drawn cart.
"Water han sugar?" asked Kylie, not realising her father was teasing.
"Hey, Pisshead!" called Wyatt as a horse-drawn cart missed them by millimetres.
"I'll go down early tomorrow to get some milk, honey," assured Tessa. Then to her husband: "Don't say Pisshead in front of Kylie!"
"Why not, you did," teased Katie: "And you might not have to go down early tomorrow, Tess, ... I think that was a milk cart that almost wiped us out."
"A what?" asked Kylie.
"A milk cart," explained Wyatt: "They used to deliver milk in glass bottles door to door."
"Gwarse bottles?" asked Kylie: "But milk comes in pwastic bottles or cardboard cartoons."
"It does nowadays," agreed Wyatt, accelerating to try to catch up with the milkman: "But it used to come in six-hundred-millilitre bottles."
"Plant your foot, Touché Turtle," said Katie: "There's no way a horse-drawn cart should be able to outrun us."
"Who's Touché Turtle?" asked Kylie.
"Never mind," said Tessa, then to Wyatt: "And don't speed with Kylie and Mum in the car."
"So I can go like a demon when there's only you and me in the car?"
"No!"
"Well, I've gotta catch him. Katie's right, how can a horse-drawn cart outrun the Cortina?"
"It is thirty years old."
"Yes, but I treat it like our little baby, Kylie-kins."
Kylie laughed at the nickname, but Tessa glared at her husband as he continued to accelerate the Ford in an effort to catch the milk cart.
For the next half an hour, the Friedlanders pursued the milk cart, first through Glen Hartwell, then into the sweet-smelling pine and eucalyptus forest beyond. But try as he might, Wyatt could not catch the horse-drawn cart, which they saw was a strangely phosphorescent pale blue colour. They could hear the rattling of milk bottles and could see through the Cortina's headlights that most of the bottles were full; but could not catch the fleeing cart.
"Try honking your horn to get his attention," suggested Katie.
"Yeah, twy honking dah horn," agreed Kylie: "Gotta have milk on my Bix."
Doing as instructed, Wyatt continued after the milk cart, without any sign that the milkman was aware of their pursuit.
"Is he deaf?" demanded Wyatt.
"Must be," agreed Katie: "Or too stupid to recognise potential customers when he hears them."
"Are those old-fashioned six-hundred-millilitre bottles?" asked Tessa.
"Looks like it," agreed Katie: "But as long as the milk is fresh, who cares."
"Yeah, who cares, long as I get milk for my Bix," insisted Kylie.
"Hey, you deaf bastard!" Wyatt shouted out the car window.
"Language in front of Kylie!"
"Yeah, langwitch in front of me," agreed the little girl.
"Slow down, you deaf idiot," shouted Wyatt, ignoring his wife and daughter.
"I think we're on a wild goose chase," said Katie.
"Har dare wild gooses out here?" asked Kylie.
"It's just a saying, honey," explained Tessa, as the milk cart suddenly stopped a hundred metres or so ahead of them.
"At last, pig-brain heard me," said Wyatt. He stopped the car then started to step out: "Where the Hell are we?"
"Does dat man have a pig for a bwain?" asked Kylie.
"Yes!" said Wyatt before the two women could say otherwise. He stepped out of the Cortina, then looked down puzzled: "Has it been raining lately?"
"Not that I can recall," answered Tessa, as she stepped out of the car; knowing she could not trust her man for such an important purchase. The last time he had come back with six litres of skim milk, even though Kylie would only drink full cream milk. When Tessa had pointed that out he had said: 'She's gotta learn she can't always get her own way!' Then he had gone back out to buy the little girl her full cream milk.
However, when she stepped out onto the pine needles that blanketed the forest floor, they were soft underfoot, and the strawberry-blonde struggled against the grip of the muddy ground that tried to suck her down.
"It is wet underfoot," said Tessa as she started toward where the milkman had climbed down from his cart. He now stood grinning idiotically at the approaching couple.
"Good evening, we'd like a few litres of milk," said Wyatt.
"Full cream," added his wife.
However, the tall thin grey-haired milkman stood silently, grinning at them.
Is he retarded or something? wondered Tessa, really struggling now against the pull of the sodden ground.
"Feels like we've wandered into quicksand," said Wyatt, like his wife, struggling not to be pulled down into the mire.
"Yes," said Tessa, unable to move forward at all anymore as she started to sink more rapidly into the ground: "Wyattttt!"
"Don't panic, struggling only makes you sink faster," said Wyatt, noticing that his wife had now sunk to her knees in the mud.
"Don't tell me not to panic!" shrieked Tessa as she sank deeper into the murky mess.
"What's going on?" called Katie from behind them.
"Stay in the car!" shouted Wyatt. Yet when he looked back he saw that the Cortina had sunk to the axles into the mud. Turning back to the milkman, he shouted: "For God's sake help us!"
"Help us! Help us!" shrieked Tessa.
However, the milkman stood grinning widely as he watched the couple sink to their thighs, then to the navel, with Tessa still sinking faster than her husband.
"Help us pleeease!" called Tessa one last time, before sinking past her nose into the mud.
"Tessa!" cried Wyatt, trying desperately to stride across to his dying wife ... without success. "You bastard, why won't you help us!" he called to the milkman.
Who only grinned evilly back at him. Until Wyatt had also sunk completely below the mud.
"Mummy! Daddy!" shrieked young Kylie trying to get out of the car.
"No, honey, stay in the car," called Katie grabbing the youngster. Then as the car sank down to the windows she realised, It's too late for me, but Kylie can still escape!
Quickly unwinding a window, allowing the mud to start seeping into the car, Katie hefted Kylie out through the window, saying: "Run like Hell back to the Glen, and don't stop running or you'll sink into the mud too."
Standing on the miry mud, the little girl, hesitated for a second, then turned and ran back the way they had come into the forest.
For the first time since stopping, the milkman stopped smiling. Then as the Cortina sank beneath the surface of the mud, he grinned a half grin, thinking: Three out of four isn't bad!

Over at the Yellow House in Rochester Road in Merridale, they were setting down to one of Deidre Morton's magnificent repasts.
"Looks scrummy, Mrs. M.," said Sheila Bennett. A Goth chick with orange-and-black-striped hair, at thirty-six Sheila was the second-top cop in the BeauLarkin to Willamby area of the Victorian countryside.
"Delish," agreed Tommy Turner. A blond retiree, Tommy was short and obese; a reformed alcoholic due to Deidre hiding his stash and doling it out one drink per meal.
"Fabuloso," agreed Terri Scott, a tall beautiful ash blonde. The top cop of the area, Terri was Sheila's boss and Colin's fiancé.
"Superb," agreed Colin Klein. At forty-nine Colin had worked as a London crime reporter for thirty years, but now worked for the Glen Hartwell Police Force.
"Yes, wonderful," said Natasha Lipzing. At seventy-one, Natasha had lived at the Yellow House for thirty-six years.
"Certainly better than the rubbish I got at my last place," said Leo Laxman. Leo was a Jamaican-born nurse who had been employed at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital for about a year now.
"Absolutely," agreed Freddy Kingston, a tall, heavy-set retiree.
"Yes," agreed Deidre Morton, a short dumpy, sixty-something brunette: "They should have called it the Slop House with the so-called cooking of that woman."
After tea, they settled down into the lounge room to watch the finals of, 'The World's Stupidest Stuntman Down Under'.
"Just three more weeks to go," said Tommy, sounding sad.
On the screen, a huge-chested, huge-arsed blonde was tentatively walking a small motorbike. She screamed as the bike fell from her grip and just jumped backwards in time.
"Ouch," said Natasha as the blonde fell onto her backside.
"Relax, she's got enough padding back there," said Sheila: "I still can't believe she made the competition instead of me. What's she got that I don't?"
"Huge tits, a huge bum, and blonde hair," said Tommy.
"From the mouths of babes and idiots," said Colin, making everyone except Tommy laugh.
Long before the show finished Natasha, Deidre, Leo, and Freddy all went off to bed. Colin and Terri soon followed. Only Sheila and Tommy watched the whole two hours, laughing like mental cases every time some potentially horrific accident occurred.
Finally, Sheila and Tommy went off to bed.
Only to be awakened around 3:30 by Deidre Morton hammering on the bedroom walls.
"Mrs. M., have you gone bonkers?" called Sheila, seeing the time.
"No, you're wanted in Glen Hartwell," called Deidre, going across to wake up Colin and Terri also: "Wakey, wakey, sleepy heads."
She's definitely gone bonkers! thought Sheila as she hurriedly dressed in her police uniform.

Forty-five minutes later Terri, Colin, and Sheila were standing in a hospital ward at the Glen Hartwell Hospital, listening to the Nurse-in-Charge, Annie Colfax, a short forty-year-old ash blonde, as she told them the tale Kylie Friedlander had told them after staggering into Glen Hartwell half an hour earlier.
"She was lucky Suzette Cummings was still at the Mitchell Street Police Station and could bring her to us," said Annie.

Bulam-Bulam was a grey-haired elder of the Gooladoo tribe, outside the township of Harpertown in the Victorian countryside. Although he lived in a lean-to in his tribal village, he owned and worked a small grocery shop in town. An early riser, he was already at work at 6:00 AM when Terri's police-blue Lexus pulled up outside his shop in Chappell Street.
"Howdy Doody, mate," said Sheila, walking across to hug the old man. He was a friend of theirs and also helped out as a police tracker when needed.
"Will she ever learn English?" asked the Aboriginal.
"Not as well as you speak it," assured Colin Klein.
"So what can I do you for?" asked Bulam-Bulam.
Terri quickly filled him in on what Kylie Friedlander had claimed, then said: "We need you to backtrack us to where she claims it happened."
"She made it to the Mitchell Street Station, and told Suzette, who took her to the hospital," explained Sheila.
"Then, let's start from there," said Bulam-Bulam, leading the way outside.
They quickly located the girl's tracks and were soon driving into the bush, with Bulam-Bulam sitting upon the bonnet of the car. After forty minutes or so they also located a set of car tracks in the pine and eucalyptus forest outside Glen Hartwell.
"Could be from the Friedlanders's Cortina?" guessed Terri.
Another forty minutes later climbing down from the front of the Lexus, Bulam-Bulam said: "This is where the prints end."
They got out and stared at the prints.
"They just seem to start out of the forest," said Colin: "But there's no sign of where they originally came from."
"Like she just started in the middle of the forest," said Sheila: "Same with the tyre prints."
"Or she jumped from a car that has since sunk from sight," said Bulam-Bulam. He pointed to the first few prints: "Notice how they're deeper than the later prints ... As though she jumped down there."
"She said the ground was like quicksand," said Terri. She tentatively touched one foot past Kylie's tracks, then when the foot did not sink down, she hesitantly walked out past the footprints: "It seems solid enough to me."
Bulam-Bulam and the others followed Terri out into the so-called quicksand. Unlike the night before, none of them got stuck or sunk into the mud.
Sheila stomped one foot hard on the forest floor, then asked: "How could it have been like quicksand last night, and this morning be so solid?"
"It can't have," said Colin, looking as puzzled as the others felt.
"So what're we do now?" asked Sheila.
Terri shrugged: "If it had been boggy like Kylie claimed, we might have got Building and Works to dig it up. But it's as hard as marble, so I don't know how far they'd get with it."
"Maybe you should check around for the pale blue milk cart," said Bulam-Bulam with a sudden epiphany.
"Genius, as always mate," said Sheila, giving him another hug.

The Quayle family were riding out into the forest soon after lunchtime: Heidi Quayle the oldest at twenty-two, a tall leggy ash blonde, often teasingly called Barbie by her brothers, Timothy Quayle, a year younger, with short curly red hair, was nicknamed Tintin, and the baby of the group, Edward, eighteen, with short black hair, he was nicknamed Eddy, after Eddy Munster.
"So why are we riding out into the forest outside G.H. when we could be working around the station?" asked Tintin.
"I told you, we're hunting brumbies," said his beautiful sister.
"Who says there are wild horses out here?" asked Eddy.
"Gale and Mavis Honeycomb."
"The Honeycomb twins are virtually retards," said Tintin, making Eddy snicker and Barbie glare at him.
"Gale and Mavis are friends of mine!" said Barbie.
"That explains everything, Barbie," said Eddy, drawing a smirk from his brother, and a glare from his sister.
"Don't call me that..." said Barbie, stopping as they heard the rattle of bottles approaching: "What the heck is that?"
"Maybe brumbies have started drinking beer," teased Tintin.
"I hope so," said Eddy: "I could do with a coldie myself."
"You're only eight."
"That's the legal age in Oz."
"Just because Dad and Pops are alcoholics, doesn't mean you have to be."
"Dad and Pops aren't alcohols," said Tintin: "They just like a drink or twenty."
Eddy laughed out loud while Barbie glared again.
"That's not funny!"
So busy were the Quayles arguing, that they had almost forgotten the rattling of bottles ... until the pale blue milk cart suddenly appeared out of the forest in front of them.
"What the Hell is that?" asked Tintin.
"I think it's what Pops calls a milk cart," explained Barbie: "Apparently, they used to deliver milk door to door in the mornings."
"Well, I've never seen them," said Eddy.
"We're talking the 1980s and earlier. Probably Mum and Dad can't remember seeing them."
As the milk cart approached she added: "Actually a nice bottle of milk would be better for all of us than beer."
"That's your opinion," said Tintin, making Eddy snicker.
"Hey, mate, three bottles of full cream," said Barbie as the milk cart drew level with them.
The milkman was dressed like an old-fashioned ragman in a dirty duffel coat and grey-brown cap. He grinned broadly at the three young people but kept going, driving his cart straight past them.
"Hey, Deafy," called Eddy: "What's his problem?"
"Other than being a retard, like the Honeycomb sisters," teased Tintin.
"Gale and Mavis aren't retards!" protested Barbie, as the three siblings turned their horses and started after the milkman: "Come on, we'll soon catch Old Man Steptoe."
"Old Man Who?" asked Tintin.
"He's from an old TV show Pops told me about," said the leggy blonde.
"Babe, you're spending way too much time with pops," teased Eddy, drawing another glare from his sister, and laughter from his brother.
"Hold up Old Man Steptoe!" called out Tintin.
"Don't call him that," said Barbie as they started after the cart which had started to travel surprisingly quickly: "He's not gonna stop for us if you insult him."
"No worries," said Eddy: "We'll soon catch the old codger ... that's a term I learnt from Pops!"
Deciding not to waste her breath on her brother, Barbie led the charge after the fast-disappearing milk cart.
Despite Eddy's confidence, the faster their horses galloped, the further the milk cart pulled ahead of them.
How can a single horse, pulling a heavy cart travel so quickly? wondered Barbie as the three siblings continued to gallop after the milkman.
"Hey, Dopey, we want a drink!" called Tintin.
Originally, like Eddy, he had not been keen on settling for milk, but the further the milk cart pulled ahead of them, the more determined he was to have a drink of milk.
"Don't worry, we'll soon catch him," cried Barbie, although the faster they galloped, the further the milk cart pulled ahead of them.
For more than an hour they galloped after the pale blue milk cart until Eddy thought: Why didn't we just head home to get some milk ... or a beer?
The three siblings were all ready to abandon the chase, when, unexpectedly, the milk cart suddenly stopped. The milkman turned the cart in a circle until it faced the Quayles, as though he had finally heard them.
It's about time, Deafy! thought Tintin as they continued galloping across the pine needle and gum-leaf-covered forest toward the cart.
"Three bottles ..." began Barbie, squealing as her horse stopped dead, throwing her over it onto the muddy ground.
"Barbie!" called Eddy, slowing his horse to a stop to dismount to help his sister. Gee, the ground is muddy, he thought, knowing there had been no rain in the air for over a week.
With difficulty, Eddy strode across to his sister, struggling against the pull of the mud, which seemed determined to pull him right down.
"Here you go, Heids," said Eddy, as he tried to pull her straight to her feet.
What they? Eddy wondered as the simple task of lifting his sister seemed to have taken on Herculean proportions. How can she be so heavy? he thought as he struggled to lift Barbie to her feet.
Barbie was also fighting the grip of the mud, without much success: "Don't let me go, Eds.," she cried afraid they had mysteriously ridden into quicksand.
Not noticing the fate of his siblings, Tintin managed to reach the milk cart and ordered: "Three litres of full cream milk."
"Only sell it by the pint," said the milkman, still grinning idiotically.
"What's a pint?"
"Never mind," said the milkman.
He picked up three pint-bottles and handed them to Tintin, who popped the lid off one, took a long swig, then spat it out gasping in shock:
"This milk is well sour!"
"Not surprised, hasn't been a milk delivery in this area since 1982."
"You're sellin' forty-year-old milk?"
"Don't blame me; you're the one who chased me for miles."
"What the Hell is a mile?"
"5280 feet."
"What's feet? And don't say the things you stand on."
Behind them, Barbie was still struggling to stand, with the help of Eddy.
"Pull, Eddy, pull!" shrieked Barbie, having failed to climb to her feet, let alone get away from the tugging mud.
"Don't worry, I'll soon have you back on Copper Tone," said Eddy; but as he looked around he saw that both Copper Tone and his own horse were gone, having managed somehow to escape the pull of the mud.
"Help meeeeeee!" cried Barbie as she had sunk almost to the neck.
Eddy tried to step forward to help her, but found that he had now also sunk to the knees:
"Help us, Tintin!"
Forgetting his argument with the milkman, Tintin looked round just as a screaming Barbie vanished from sight beneath the mud, and Eddy had also sunk to the mid-thighs.
"Hold on!" cried Tintin.
He tried to turn his horse, however, Lord Mountbatten had sunk to his knees and was whinnying in terror as it struggled to escape the pull of the mud.
Leaping from his horse, Tintin tried to race across to where Eddy was still trying to pull Barbie up from under the mud, despite having almost sunk to the crotch himself. However, Tintin was soon stuck in the unrelenting suction of the mud and was soon screaming for help as he quickly sunk to the knees, then to the mid-thigh.
"Help me!" cried Tintin.
Then seeing that Eddy had sunk to the navel, he realised that there was no help for any of them.
The milkman stood grinning idiotically as the three young people, plus the horse, Lord Mountbatten sunk out of sight beneath the mud. Then climbing back aboard his milk cart he drove straight back the way he had come ... across the almost black mud ...
Which was now hard as concrete!

Over at the Quayle Cattle Station, Mum, Dad, and Pops Quayle were busy checking their twelve hundred head of cattle, when Quicksilver, Copper Tone, Barbie, and Eddy's horse, came half galloping, half staggering up from the forest.
"Where the Hell are the kids?" asked Arthur, Pops, as if he expected the horses to answer him.
Copper Ton neighed in distress and Lois, Mum, went across to look at him.
"Both horses are caked to the fetlocks in dark mud," she said.
"That doesn't explain what happened to the kids," said David, Dad, as he walked across: "All right you stupid nags what ya done with Lord Mountbatten and the kids?"
"Yer gettin' as senile as Pops if you 'spect a horse ta answer ya," said Mum.

Fifty minutes later, Terri Scott, Sheila Bennett, Colin Klein, and Bulam-Bulam stood around the Quayle Station talking to Pops, Dad, and Mum.
"Fetlocks caked in black mud," said Mum pointing.
Bulam-Bulam and the three cops examined the horses then, Terrie said:
"How do you fancy another ride on the bonnet, while we backtrack to find the kids?"
"Always up for a ride into the bush," said the Elder: "Beats sitting in the shop waiting for customers ... and pays better."
"Told you he was a smart bloke," said Sheila as they set off slowly.

It was mid-afternoon by the time they returned to the area where the Freidlander family had disappeared the night before.
"Doesn't this look familiar?" asked Colin as they climbed from the blue Land-Rover which they had borrowed from Donald Esk.
He pointed to the tracks of Kylie Friedlanders shoes in the mud, and the tracks of the Friedlanders's Cortina.
"Sure does," white man," teased Bulam-Bulam.


Final incident, illegal loggers get pulled down.

Mel Forbes now ninety tells the story of the G.H.milkman, set in Glen Harwell in the 1850s, when Victoria and the Glen were new.
Perhaps have Mel Forbes tell Terri and co. the Glen Hartwell Milkman story after a number of people have started dying after seeing the milk cart.

At the end they dig up the old G.H. swimming pool, finding dozens or vehicles, bodies, and an ancient horse-drawn milk cart.
A priest exorcises the ghost of the milkman, and killings/disappearances cease!!


THE END
© Copyright 2025 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia