I'm from the generation that thanked Maggie the Milk Snatcher that we no longer had to drink the lukewarm boak-juice every afternoon. She was our saviour.
That was what put me off drinking milk.
During my primary school years, we had no fridge at home.
Occasionally, my dad would bring home ice cream in the evening, and this was placed in the bath until it was time to eat it.
My Aunt who lived with her mother, my Grandma, had a fridge.
I went to live with them for a week or two every year as a small, and I remember the sheer joy of cold milk, something I'd never experienced before.