Firstly, thanks to all those who have relayed many kind comments re our TRM page, always very welcome.

Last week I included a snap of Brian Phillips's outstanding model of the Rath Pool, and Brian has confirmed that it is now in the Milford Museum, basking in its glory, alongside so many other treasured memories of Milford.

I had a call from TRM stalwart, Barry Thynne, who said that the un-named farmer mentioned was Mr Davies of North Farm.

More feedback came from John Davies, of Whitland, this time with reference to the 'great storm' Mike Quigley had included in his reminiscences.

Mr Davies remembers that it happened on the last Saturday in November, 1954, and during all the devastation, he'd been blown all over the road in his car.

Thanks to all for their interest.

I'm delighted that in this week's TRM trawler corner I'm able to include another masterful memory from the gifted pen of David Howlett, son of a Milford trawling family, who describes his recollections of a day in January 1963.

"That cold dawn Milford dozed and draped in nature's bridal material, fresh and deep.

"Spotless white, undulating, save for the embroidery of venturing, wondering early risers' footmarks, and a moggy's pirouetting wall top walk. Gently, windowsills lose their snow, like breeze blown confetti. The shining 'groom' rises to meet his snowy 'bride,' now blushing pink in his warming rays.

"Basking in his presence, the icy fingers warm to glittering, dripping glass adorning this bridal gown. But like a veil, the shadows modestly hide those blemishes of back lanes' discarded Christmas.

"The town seems to hold its breath like expectant wedding guests. Hushed, clear, still--perfect to match the sterile panorama. But no bridal Trumpet Voluntary here, save for a single funnel note of Collingwood at anchor in the Haven.

"As if woken by that note the town slips, slides and crunches from breakfast doors.

"Roof top chimney pots, once still, now issue forth their wispy smoke, rising like a thousand bubbles in a toasting champagne glass.

"Rath's concrete diving boards, snow layered and icicled, stand like an abstract cake-top decoration, whilst around the slopes the first of the tea-tray sliders hurtle, scream and tumble through the crystalline icing sugar snow.

"On deserted Charles Street, Milford's beating heart, occasional steamy breathing figures emerge from Woolies' warmth.

"A burdened parent and following child plod, as though from the Wenceslas carol.

"In this cold there is only a brief glance at Whicher & J's lopside, fading "Merry Xmas" tinselled sign.

"Onwards, past friendly, family businesses towards the chop and slice of James' meaty shop.

""Head cocked, he politely calls.."Good morning Madam and.." The greeting falls into the muffling snow.

"Unhearing and driven on by thoughts of Rabby's coffee, they cross the rutted road towards the espresso spit and sizzle in the caff.

"Angle Bay's lowly patchwork fields, hedge stitched, lie like a honeymooner's patchwork quilt, unblemished save for Rhoscrowther's unrefined and growing stain.

"From each side industries bolt-on iced arms, encircle and hold their share of this fair Haven gift.

"On Collingwood the oft credit-shackled deckies busy themselves, and can only dream of a deck awash with fish.

"The Wheelhouse window slides, the leaning skipper calls, phrases punctuated by steamy breath...

"'B.....r this cold. Let's get away.'

"The anchor's rattling rise reverberates to the very metal backbone of the ageing drifter, and drowns the skipper's prayerful hope for at least one good trip.

"Below, in the oily warmth, my father stands, fading boiler suited, like a priest attentive to his altar of clicking dials and levers.

"A ringing telegraph command and the slumbering engine breaks into a thundering, vibrating roar; snorting warm, oily and dirty up the blue cross funnel.

"Squinting through steam-damaged eyes, this ageing engineer wonders how many trips his eyes will keep him in this job.

"A manager, head drawn down into his upturned coat lapels, blows his hands and stands dockside and watches the drifter etch its way down the steely surface of the Haven.

"Removing his trilby to shake the flakes, he peers into its hollow as if it were a crystal ball, and thinks of falling catches, empty berths and higher costs.

"I turn from my Front Street, Haven and Rhoscrowther gaze. Behind me the seagulls' mocking calls and the fish dock's clatter... all too soon to end.

"Up homeward, unburdened now by my father's sea case, retracing the ways of a thousand forgotten fish trade folk.

"And there, my mum, the fishing trip widow, kneels on the hearth below a mantlepiece of photo fishing memories.

"A sighing glance and she screws Telegraph's unwanted page of Rhoscrowther vacancies into the consuming kindling flames."

Cheers, David, wonderfully evocative words.

Here are snaps of the Lord Collingwood alongside the Welsh Princess, and of mid-60s Milford Docks and fish market.

Now for our teasers.

The answer to last week's (As I was going to St Ives..etc, etc...how many were going?) was only ONE. And those who knew that and got in touch were : The Special One; (via WT online), Les Haynes, Cynthia Edwards, Christine Wickland, Anne and Jets Llewellyn, Travis-Johnson Thompson and Dominic from Todaro's Salon.

My thanks to all who had a bash.

Wrap your brain cells around this one. If five men take around three hours to dig two holes, how long will it take two men to dig half-a-hole ?

That's another week done and dusted. I leave you with these wise words from the famous American comedian, Bob Hope.."When we recall the past, we usually find that it is the simplest things - not the great occasions - that in retrospect give off the greatest glory of happiness."

Surely he must've been talking about our TRM!

See you next time. Take care.