Vet in Green Pastures

by Hugh Lasgarn

  I made no comment.

  ‘Go on! Go on! Admit it!’

  I nodded.

  ‘Of course you do! Of course you do!’ he hissed. ‘And you’re right, I am!’ Paxton straightened up as if proud of the fact, and the Java sparrows twittered nervously and rearranged themselves once again. ‘And, Lasgarn, I’ll tell you why. I’ll tell you why.’

  It brought back memories of the Ancient Mariner from my schooldays, for the tale I could not choose but hear.

  ‘When I was a lad,’ began Paxton, ‘up North and many moons ago, we lived on a large estate.’ His upper lip curled malevolently — it was obviously not a happy memory.

  ‘My father worked on the land and my mother was in service — and they were treated like dirt!’ Paxton all but spat upon the ground. ‘My father died at thirty — worked to death. And my mother — they took advantage of her, too …’ From his eyes, I detected there was more to that than was said. ‘I had a pet jackdaw, Barley I called him, because I found him on the edge of a barley field one Summer. His wing was broken and he could only just flitter a few feet from the ground. But I took him home and cared for him, fed him and made a pen in the garden of our cottage. That bird was my whole life.’ The old man shook his head and looked up at the roof; he was upset, there was no doubt about it. ‘Barley would ride on my shoulder, and if he ever left it, no more than three or four yards he would go, then back he’d come with just enough wing beat to get onto my shoulder again. Well, one day I was walking through the wood to wait for Mother coming home from the Court, when His Lordship’s two sons came by. They had three dogs with them, a Springer and two Labradors, one black and one yellow, and when they saw me, the dogs came at me as if I was a hare. I stood my ground, but Barley panicked and fluttered up into a beech tree and wouldn’t come down. I called and coaxed, but he wouldn’t budge.

  ‘We’ll get him down for you,’ they said and ran off. ‘I thought they were going to get a ladder.’ Paxton looked up at the roof again and then closed his hand over his face. ‘But when they came back, they had a gun. And the bastards shot Barley right out of the tree.’

  For a few moments, he stood, incensed by the memory of the tragedy so indelibly imprinted upon his mind. Then he took a deep breath and continued.

  ‘I was eight at the time, the same age as your Billy Bent. But that experience changed my whole personality. I’d been a quiet, even shy boy before, but after that, I swore I’d get even. And, by God, I did!’

  I was eager to ask how, but there was no need, for Paxton was oblivious of my presence, he was re-living his past with all the aggression and venom which life had inflicted upon him.

  ‘I worked, I sweated, I slaved. I bought and sold scrap. Then the War came. The Great War — that was a misnomer, if ever there was one. I saw men killed and killed men myself. I took orders, then I became a sergeant and I gave orders. I was in the thick of it. And I saw officers at the back and soldiers at the front. They even gave me a medal.

  ‘When I came out, Lasgarn, I got back into business and I trod on people and hurt people and barged my way through life. I bought property, then a factory and another factory, went into engineering, until by the time I was fifty I had made a fortune.

  ‘Then the estate where I was born came up for sale, but it was so run-down they couldn’t get a bid. And they came and asked me if I was interested. What d’you think of that, Lasgarn? They came and asked the servant’s son. And what did I do?’ He looked above and beyond me, searching for the golden filmstrip sunset, like the Brigadier on my deferment board. ‘I laughed in their bloody faces, Lasgarn, that’s what I did. Laughed in their bloody faces!’

  Suddenly, as if the emotion had sapped all his energy, he leaned back rather heavily against the sparrow enclosure and I moved forward, thinking he was about to collapse, but he waved his hand to show he was all right.

  ‘So, I sold up and moved down here,’ he continued. ‘And I decided to have the best — the best land, the best crops, the best livestock — and the finest collection of birds that money could buy.’ He waved his cane about expansively. ‘And all, Lasgarn, all, you might say, because of a dead jackdaw.’

  He was quiet for a while and I was uncertain how to respond. Certainly he wouldn’t thank me for any commiseration. Then he smiled briefly and wistfully: ‘But I never had any time for anything else. Time to get married, time to raise a family. Oh, I’ve got some grand nieces that come down from time to time, but they don’t come so much now. I’m a successful but miserable old man, Lasgarn, and I don’t know why I’ve told you all this.’

  I raised my eyebrows, but made no comment, for indeed, I too was at a loss to know why he had revealed his background to me.

  ‘Billy Bent,’ he said, as if that was the answer. ‘You bring him out here to see my birds and he shall have the smartest pair of budgerigars in the county to go home with.’

  Before I could even thank him, he was motioning for me to leave, and he followed, locking the aviary behind him. We came to another door leading back to the farm. ‘What I’ve told you goes no further, d’you understand,’ he grunted, showing me through. ‘Don’t think I’m asking for sympathy, I’m not! And don’t think I’ll make life any easier for you, because I won’t! I’ll ride you as hard as anybody!’ I looked back at him as he started to close the door behind me; he was grinning. ‘But I know you can take it,’ he added. ‘Bring that young Billy out on Saturday — and bring that young lady of yours, too. I know she’d like to see my birds.’

  With that, he slammed the door, leaving me standing alone on the yard.

  * * *

  Billy didn’t cry when I told him that Peter had died — in fact, it might have been easier for me if he had. He just kept searching my face with his sad little eyes as if I had spoken in a foreign language that he didn’t understand. I explained that Peter was very weak and the operation was really the only hope, but he didn’t respond. Even when I told him of Mr Paxton’s offer, he just shrugged his shoulders and said he would have to ask his Gran.

  As I had only two further clients, I suggested that, if he waited, I would take him back home in my car and we could then ask his grandmother. That seemed to cheer him up more than anything.

  ‘Can we take Peter home, too?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re going to bury him?’

  He nodded. ‘Of course you can,’ I said. ‘We’ll do it together.’

  When we arrived, Billy’s Gran was sweeping the steps of the little terraced house behind the railway station. I explained about Peter and the proposed visit to Donhill and she was happy about the idea.

  ‘Don’t get much attention with his Dad gone and his Mam in hospital,’ she admitted.

  ‘How is his mother?’ I enquired.

  The old lady shook her head, indicating a hopeless situation. ‘Matter of months,’ she said forlornly. ‘But it’ll be a blessing. Anyway, a trip in the country will do Billy the world of good. Thank you very much. I’ll have him ready at two.’

  There was only a postage stamp garden, but Billy chose a spot in the corner of a straggling flower bed and we buried Peter in a cardboard bandage box that I had in the car. Billy put a small ring of stones around the patch.

  And so, after laying Peter to rest and promising to call at two o’clock on Saturday, I went back to the digs.

  Saturday was hot and dry. The ground lay parched and hard, for there had been little rain for five weeks, but the corn was turning fast and the countryside looked well as we drove out to Donhill. Diana and I had collected Billy at two, looking as if he had been through a laundry and smelling of carbolic.

  Paxton acted like a benevolent uncle, a role of which I would never have thought him capable.

  The greyhaired lady served tea on the lawn with sandwiches, cakes, strawberries and cream, and Billy ate as if it was his last day on earth. The old man was charm itself to Diana, calling her ‘my dear’, and guiding her gently by the elbow wherever he took her.

  We saw Warri
or and the rest of the Hereford cattle, the thoroughbred Arabs, the flock of pedigree Suffolks, the rose gardens, the lake and, finally, the aviary.

  Billy looked quite frightened when he first entered, unable to comprehend the sudden intensity of noise and colour. But once he acclimatised, the little lad couldn’t stop asking questions, and Paxton answered every one with an equal enthusiasm.

  Finally, the old man produced a pair of budgerigars, one green and the other blue, just like Peter, for Billy to take home. And, not only did he provide the birds, but a brand new, brightwired cage with all the equipment as well. Without any prompting, Billy thanked him, and I suspected that both man and boy had tears in their eyes. I know Diana had.

  Paxton had said very little to me all afternoon, concentrating entirely on Diana and the boy. It was only when we were leaving that he took much notice of me at all. Billy had run on ahead and climbed the paddock rails to take a last look at the Herefords; then, giving them a wave, he ran back towards us.

  ‘Well, Billy,’ said Paxton, ‘have you enjoyed yourself?’

  ‘Yes, please. Thank you very much,’ Billy replied.

  ‘I suppose that one day, you’d like to be a farmer like me, with all these cows?’

  Billy looked back at the grazing herd, then around at the buildings and, finally, towards the great house, as if weighing up the prospects. Then he took hold of Diana’s hand and said: ‘No, thank you. I’d rather be like Mr Lasgarn.’

  Paxton tapped his cane, but once, then turned to face me.

  ‘Lasgarn,’ he said, nodding his head gently as if, after much deliberation, he had finally come to a conclusion. ‘Lasgarn, I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: you’re a very fortunate fellow.’

  And with that, I had to agree.

  Ten

  Exactly a fortnight later, to the very day, I took Diana to the Shepwall Valley and the Black Mountain. I had taken her for a very special reason, for that morning something had happened that presented yet another crossroads in my life.

  I had received a letter from the War Department.

  The afternoon was blisteringly hot and there was still no rain. The sky was silver-blue and riding high, with but the merest flecks of cloud to tint it, while beneath, a heat haze shimmered all around. We left the car on the south side and together climbed to a ridge they call the Cat’s Back. Diana walked ahead, for the path was narrow, being used mostly by surefooted sheep and wild mountain ponies.

  The soft breeze, so welcome after the still, hot air of the valley below, streamed through her fair hair, teasingly pressing the folds of her thin summer dress against the contours of her body. Purposely I held back to watch her — a beautiful girl on a mountain.

  Below and all around lay Herefordshire, the natural patchwork now set with yellow, bronze and gold as oats and wheat and long-bearded barley wavered in the sun. I could see Pontavon, far below, where Mrs Williams and her children lived, and farther up, the track to Howell Powell’s disappearing behind a hill.

  Ledingford lay partly hidden, twelve miles or more to the east, the lofty spire of St Mark’s signalling its presence. The river, lazy now and low, with lank green weed and gravel islands in its course, lingered in the parklands where Granstone’s towers peeped above the trees. Far in the distance was the rise where Donhill stood. And, standing with my back to Wales, I took in all the peace of the English countryside.

  How much I’d come to know and love the county, the people, the livestock and the fulness of their existence. In the early months, I had been like the corn, fresh and green, yet now, after only three short seasons, I felt far more mature — even confident.

  Diana had halted and, turning, blew some errant strands of hair from her face.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful,’ she said dreamily. ‘Don’t you wish this could last forever?’

  It was then that I brought out the buff envelope.

  ‘I had this, this morning,’ I said. ‘From the War Department.’

  ‘Oh, Hugh!’ she gasped. ‘No!’

  I opened it and, taking out the letter, read it to her:

  I have to inform you that, in view of the reduction of the National Service Commitment, you are exempt from recruitment as from September.

  She took a few seconds to take it in, then threw her arms around me.

  ‘Oh! Hugh! How marvellous!’ she cried happily. Then I felt her body tense and she drew back. ‘Does that mean you’ll stay?’

  Her face was alight with anticipation, her eyes wide and expectant, lips barely apart.

  ‘On one condition,’ I said.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘That you’ll marry me.’

  The soft breeze blew, the sun beat down — Diana said ‘Yes’.

  And that old Black Mountain was the very first to know.

  Copyright

  First published in Great Britain in 1985

  by Souvenir Press, 43 Great Russell Street, London WC1B 3PD

  This ebook edition first published in 2013

  All rights reserved © Souvenir Press

  The right of Hugh Lasgarn to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly

  ISBN 9780285642522

  Also available from Souvenir Press

  “Covering not just dogs and cats, but also rabbit behaviour. If you want to understand more about what’s going on inside your pet’s head, this book is an excellent place to start.”

  Pete Wedderburn, ‘Daily Telegraph’

  The APBC Book of Companion Animal Behaviour

  edited by David Appleby

  The Association of Pet Behaviour Counsellors has been established for over twenty years and their experience and understanding of this new, and developing, science of ethology is the basis of the book. Experienced animal behaviour counsellors provide the most up-to-date account of the science of animal psychology for all pet owners, while providing a practical approach for all veterinarians who treat small animals. Dogs, cats and rabbits are the animals most commonly treated for behavioural problems and the book focuses on the problems that affect these companion animals. Exploring the psychology of a pet’s relationship with its owner, and with each other, leading writers from Sarah Heath and Anne McBride to Inga MacKellar identify the problems all vets will be asked about and provide practical solutions to them.

  “Concise, and written by authors who care about their subject and their parents… A good introduction to the subject for anyone.”

  ‘Veterinary Record’

  Bringing together a variety of expert opinions and the most up-to-date research The APBC Book of Companion Animal Behaviour will help resolve a cat’s anti-social behaviour and explain why a dog acts like its wild wolf ancestors.

  “Brings together many well-known experts… It should be essential reading for anyone involved in animal behaviour counselling, breeding, welfare or veterinary practice, with valuable insights for all pet owners.”

  ‘Veterinary Nursing’

  “Just because your rescuer has four paws and a waggy tail, doesn’t mean he’s not every bit as professional as the people behind him.”

  ‘My Weekly’

  Silent Heroes

  Evelyn le Chêne

  This moving and enthralling book tells the stories of soldiers who have silently served in the British military for centuries and the animals who have risked their lives and gone beyond the limits of their training to perform acts of sup
reme courage in battle. Many of the animals in this book have earned the Dickin Medal (the animals’ Victoria Cross, which has been awarded just over 60 times since 1943) while others are remembered as heroes of their regiments.

  Illustrated with rare archive photos

  Evelyn Le Chêne has interviewed eye-witnesses (where possible) and uncovered elusive source material (including recently declassified secrets of World War Two) to reveal previously unknown details of these unsung heroes. Silent Heroes is a commemoration of those animals whose bravery is an inspiration and demonstrates a dedication that transcended the normal relationship between humans and animals.

  “An essential guide for any cat owner.”

  ‘The Oldie’

  Why Does My Cat…?

  Sarah Heath

  What motivates your cat and how can you change its problem behaviour? This practical and helpful book, written by a practicing veterinary surgeon who specialises in behaviour therapy, provides the answers and explains how understanding feline psychology can help deal with any perfectly natural behaviour that can cause problems.

  The A – Z of cat behaviour can be an eye-opener in understanding how a cat’s natural instincts motivate her to respond in a certain way to situations in the home. By redirecting the instincts you will make it possible for your cat to be herself without disrupting the household.

  “The definitive guide to handling your cat’s problematic and puzzling behaviour. This book offers solutions to any irritating habits.”

  ‘Good Book Guide’

  With many valuable insights and advice on specific problems Why Does Your Cat…? will ensure that your free-spirited cat will remain a source of joy and happiness in your family.