THERE’S something softly haunting and achingly romantic about an old horse and cart making its way around the houses.

The clatter of the wooden wheels on the pavement, the clip clop of hooves on the cobbles, and the bump and grind of the ride has an old-worldly charm that a sleek four-by-four roaring through the polluted puddles of the modern world fails to match.

But alas, in the good old days there was also the piles of manure, the dire lack of sufficient sanitation, a woeful shortage of antibiotics, and no Netflix. Progress is indeed a comfortable disease.

In the mind’s eye, even when freed from the sweet bondage of an opium-induced dream, the horse and cart is eternally roaming the streets in the early hours, far removed from the hustle and bustle of the working day.

The rider sits solitary and apart from the rest of the world in the lonely dawn. Doing daring deeds in the dark just so a daydream nation could wake up with milk in their bottle and bread in their bin.

Anyhow, back to basics, as Greta Thunberg once said before embarking on her double Atlantic crossing in a big yacht.

The pictures jostling for attention this week, like pushy Facebook types, all go a little way to capture what Abergavenny was like when big beasts roamed the streets instead of SUVs.

Number one on the agenda features the Co-op milk float doing its rounds of Baker Street in the early 1940s.

Just check out the dandy in his chariot. Like a suited and booted Spartacus he certainly cuts a dashing figure as he prowls the borough in dutiful service of housewives everywhere. Is that a mischievous glint we see in your eye sir?

And then in another pic, we have the proud and noble beast pulling the Redwood’s Bakery delivery van way back when.

It’s carbon-neutral all the way folks!

The eagle-eyed amongst you will notice that the horse and cart have stopped outside the Hen and Chicks. But has the driver popped in for a crafty pint or was he delivering some bread to soak up the beer in one of Abergavenny’s most historic and well-loved watering holes?

Well, when these pics first appeared in the Chronicle some years ago in a more black-and-white age,

it transported many a Chronicle reader’s wayward mind far over the rainbow, through the murk and mist of yesteryear, and to a run-down and ramshackle house in memory lane called 'long ago and far away.’

For those of you of a less poetic bent that translates as - the photos jogged a fair few memories of the good old days.

One such reader who was transported back in time through the hallways of always was Hugh Jones.

Upon seeing the pic of the Redwood’s Bakery delivery van parked up outside the Hen and Chicks watering hole he got in touch and shared a fair few anecdotes. Over to you Mr Jones.

“Not many may now recall but the picture you featured was taken from outside Redwood's Bakery which was, at that time, across Flannel Street from the Hen and Chickens pub.”

Mr Jones added, “When I was a boy, we lived in Trinity Terrace, and Mr English, delivered bread on a daily basis to the customers on the bread round. While he made deliveries to the houses, the horse would walk on to the next stop entirely on its own. You wouldn't have a vehicle do that today.”

Indeed you wouldn’t. But time and tide wait for no man, not even the most nostalgic. Everyone’s got to earn a crust, especially bakers, and so our four-legged friends slowly made way for the ease, speed, and convenience of the infernal automobile.

Just check out this picture of Redwood’s Bakery making the leap into the modern world. It’s a lady driver sitting pretty in the Year Of Our Lord 1914 alongside the sort of vehicle you’d be hard-pressed to catch outside of Abergavenny’s annual Steam Rally.

Of course, Redwood’s Bakery is no more. In its place lies a car park and the universally adored thin white slice of dubious substance, but once upon a time on that spot stood a place where the dough was pressed, the yeast rose like a slightly chubby angel of the morning, and the bread was baked for people to break, chew the fat, and count their blessings over.

As Lewis Carroll once wrote, “‘A loaf of bread,’ the Walrus said, ‘is what we chiefly need.”

Also clip-clopping down the cobbles and stumbling through the murk and mist of yesteryear is another one for all you neigh-sayers out there.

It’s a gentle giant that was a popular sight on the streets of Abergavenny in the day before the roads were riddled with cars, and a man and his shire horse could still roam the borough without having to suffer the toot toot of the terminally impatient and the vroom vroom of the vexed.

As you can see from this grainy old shot from the last century, riding around in your cart and horse was a pleasurable way to pass the time and take in the sights as you maybe smoke a pipe of industrial-strength tobacco and sing a song or two about that “Old Time Feeling.”

Yet the fella and his magnificent beast featured in the photo aren’t just taking their pleasure in leisure they’re on their way to work.

The man’s name is Edgar Hobbs and his faithful friend is a horse named Major.

Prior to 1945, Edgar and Major were a popular sight on the streets of Abergavenny as they roamed the length and breadth of the old town, cleaning drains and taking care of business on behalf of the council.

Of course, many readers will be more familiar with the horse that replaced Major in 1945 - a grey gelding called Royal who pounded the pavements with Edgar until they both retired in 1963.

The picture was brought to the Chronicle’s attention by PJ Watkins who found it amongst his father’s belongings.

The shot was taken on Frogmore Street, by the junction of St Michael’s Road, and captures a brief moment in time before Edgar and Major rode off into the pages of history and the old horse and cart was replaced by the arrival of the slightly less poetic man in his white van.

Talking of trades. Just look what the Abergavenny Voluntary Fire Brigade had at their disposal back in the day! That day being 1900!

Sitting pretty on a manual Merryweather fire engine is Captain William Henry Powell and his crew. The picture was taken in front of the Lion Street fire station. The driver, cab, and coach proprietor was George Bradley.

And we end, as so many things in life do, in a pub.

It’s The King’s Arms in St. John’s Square, but not as we know it, captain!

When this lovely little pic was taken in 1903, it was owned by one Thomas Alfred Delafield, who brought the old boozer in 1862 and owned it until 1914.

Delafield was a local councillor who also owned another pub in Ross Road called the Monmouthshire House.

As you can see, back then the King’s was predominantly a brewery where serious gentlemen in formal attire would stand outside with their horses and carts and practice looking serious.

And as we leave the past behind and look once more to the future, we can only wonder where are those flying cars they once promised us?