17 year-old Anthony Baker was a kid like no other - for at the slightest sign of danger he could unleash five full-sized milkmen from his jacket's pockets. White-coated, milkman-hatted milkmen, graft-hardened and at once both blunt and sharp, who set about troublemakers and would-be-attackers with clinical, large-fisted efficiency; growling as they did so such catchphrase-esque epithets as "I've been up since half-three and I'm no mood for the likes of you" and "I've to be up at 3.30, so I'm in no mood for your sorts".
Danger dealt with, the milkmen would return to young Tony's jacket... but only so long as their hats were in place. [For some reason] Any milkman parted from his beaked tile would have to hang about discreetly with Tony until the object was discovered or a new hat was got from the outfitters... one hundred miles away!!
We pick up the story at such a cap-related eventuality, in "Le Chapeau Perdu!"
John (hatless milkman barred from pocket post-scuffle): Jesus Tony, you said you were going to keep a stock of them!
Tony: I know, I was going to
John: So why didn't you?
Tony: Have you any idea how much it costs just for one?
John: Christ Tony, if it's the money we can sort it...
Tony: But that's just it - you can't! You're not actual working milkmen. You don't have rounds and you don't get paid. So just keep quiet and let me figure out a way to get that hat!
