As a young girl I may have skipped lightly up the stairs, two steps at a time. But coming down my mother told me I sounded more like one of Guinness’s horses. 🙁
She was thinking of the days when the barrels of stout were delivered on huge carts with steel rimmed wheels dragged by heavy dray horses. The roads were cobbled and with the heavy load on the outward journey the progress was slow.
The rhythmic clop, clop, clop of the horses was as regular as a Town hall clock or church bell. For some it was a sign to throw back the bedcovers and begin the day.
I remember as a small child, staying at my grandmother’s house in summertime. I was in bed before darkness and through the open windows hidden by billowing curtains with plate sized pink cabbage roses on a pale blue background, came the sound of a returning procession of horses heading for the brewery.
Without the heavy load the horses seemed to dance along with the extra chorus of their tackle clanging with each footfall, perhaps it was the thought of home, food and a bed of fresh hay that put the extra spring in their steps.
A modern tanker emblazoned with the company logo, does not play the same music for me somehow.