Because Candy was something special. She was the house cow, a pretty
little Jersey and Mr. Alderson's particular pet. She was the sole member
of her breed in the herd but whereas the milk from the Shorthorns went
into the churns to be collected by the big dairy, Candy's rich yellow
offering found its way on to ~_
the family porridge every morning or appeared heaped up on trifles and
fruit pies or was made into butter, a golden creamy butter to make you
dream. !
But apart from all that, Mr. Alderson just liked the animal. He usually
stopped opposite her on his way down the byre and began to hum to
himself an" gave her tail head a brief scratch as he passed. And I
couldn't blame him because I sometimes wish all cows were Jerseys;
small, gentle, doe-eyed creatures you could push around without any
trouble; with padded corners and fragilelimbs Even if they kicked you it
was like a love tap compared with the clump from a craggy Friesian.
I just hoped it would be something simple with Candy, because my stock
wasn't high with Mr. Alderson and I had a nervous conviction that he
wouldn't react favourably if I started to make a ham-fisted job of
calving his little favourite. I shrugged away my fears; obstetrics in
the Jersey were usually easy.
Helen's father was an efficient farmer. As I pulled up in the yard I
could see" into the lighted loose box where two buckets of water were
steaming in readiness for me. A towel was draped over the half door and
Stan and Bert, the twe long-serving cowman, were standing alongside
their boss. Candy was lying.~$ comfortably in deep straw. She wasn't
straining and there was nothing visible at the vulva but the cow had a
preoccupied, inward look as though all was n well with her.
I closed the door behind me. "Have you had a feel inside her, Mr.
Alderson?
"Aye, I've had me hand in and there's nowt there"
"Nothing at all?"
"Not a thing. She'd been on for a few hours and not showing so I popped
m. hand in and there's no head, no legs, nowt. And not much room,
either. That when I rang you."
This sounded very strange. I hung my jacket on a nail and began
thoughtful!, to unbutton my shirt. It was when I was pulling it over my
head that I noticed Mr. Alderson's nose wrinkling. The farm men, too,
began to sniff and look at each other wonderingly. Mrs. Hall's bath
salts, imprisoned under my clothing had burst from their bondage in a
sickly wave, filling the enclosed space with their strident message.
Hurriedly I began to wash my arms in the hope that th" alien odour might
pass away but it seemed to get worse, welling from my warm skin,
competing incongruously with the honest smells of cow, hay and straw
Nobody said anything. These men weren't the type to make the ribald
remark which would have enabled me to laugh the thing off. There was no
ambiguity about this scent; it was voluptuously feminine and Bert and
Stan stared at me open mouthed. Mr. Alderson, his mouth turned down at
the corners, his nostrils still twitching, kept his eyes fixed on the
far wall. 4
Cringing inwardly I knelt behind the cow and in a moment my
embarrassment: was forgotten. The vagina was empty; a smooth passage
narrowing rapidly to a small, ridged opening just wide enough to admit
my hand. Beyond I could fed the feet and head of a calf. My spirits
plummeted. Torsion of the uterus. There" was going to be no easy victory
for me here.
I sat back on my heels and turned to the farmers. "She's got a twisted
calf bed, There's a live calf in there all right but there's no way out
for it - I can barer get my hand through."
"Aye, I thought it was something peculiar." Mr. Alderson rubbed his chin
and looked at me doubtfully. "What can we do about it, then?"
"We'll have to try to correct the twist by rolling the cow over while I
keep hold of the calf. It's a good job there's plenty of us here."
"And that'll put everything right, will it?"
I swallowed. I didn't like these jobs. Sometimes rolling worked and
sometime, it didn't and in those days we hadn't quite got round to
performing caesarian i .
:
' i 1: ~i ., 1:
on cows If I was unsuccessful I had the prospect of telling Mr. Alderson
to send Candy to the butcher. I banished the thought quickly.
"It'll put everything right," I said. It had to. I stationed Bert at the
front legs, Stan at the hind and the farmer holding the cow's head on
the floor. Then I stretched myself on the hard concrete, pushed in a
hand and grasped the calf's foot.
"Now roll her," I gasped, and the men pulled the legs round in a
clockwise direction I held fiercely to the little feet as the cow
flopped on to her other side. Nothing seemed to be happening inside.
"Push her on to her chest," I panted.
Stan and Bert expertly tucked the legs under the cow and rolled her on
to her brisket and as she settled there I gave a yell of pain.
"Get her back, quick! We're going the wrong way!" The smooth band of
tissue had tightened on my wrist in a numbing grip of frightening power.
For a moment I had the panicky impression that I'd never get out of
there again.
But the men worked like lightning. Within seconds Candy was stretched
out on her original side, the pressure was off my arm and we were back
where we started.
I gritted my teeth and took a fresh grip on the calf's foot. "O.K., try
her the other way."
This time the roll was anti-clockwise and we went through 180 degrees
without anything happening. I only just kept my grasp on the foot - the
resistance this time was tremendous. Taking a breather for a few seconds
I lay face down while the sweat sprang out on my back, sending out fresh
exotic vapours from the bath salts.
"Right. One more go!" I cried and the men hauled the cow further over.
And oh it was beautiful to feel everything magically unravelling and my
arm Lying free in a wide uterus with all the room in the world and the
calf already beginning to slide towards me.
Candy summed up the situation immediately and for the first time gave a
determined heaving strain. Sensing victory just round the corner she
followed up with another prolonged effort which popped the calf wet and
wriggling into my arms.
"By gum, it was quick at t'finish," Mr. Alderson murmured wonderingly.
He seized a wisp of hay and began to dry off the little creature.
Thankfully I soaped my arms in one of the buckets. After every delivery
there is a feeling of relief but in this case it was overwhelming. It no
longer mattered that the loose box smelt like a ladies" hairdressing
salon, I just felt good. I said good night to Bert and Stan as they
returned to their beds, giving a final incredulous sniff as they passed
me. Mr. Alderson was pottering about, having a word with Candy then
starting again on the calf which he had already rubbed down several
times. He seemed fascinated by it. And I couldn't blame him because it
was like something out of Disney; a pale gold faun, unbelievab
ly tiny
with large dark limpid eyes and an expression of trusting innocence. It
was a heifer, too.
The farmer lifted it as if it were a whippet dog and laid it by the
mother's head Candy nosed the little animal over, rumbling happily in
her throat, then she began to lick it. I watched Mr. Alderson. He was
standing, hands clasped behind him, rocking backwards and forwards on
his heels, obviously enchanted by the scene Any time now, I thought. And
I was right; the tuneless humming broke out, even louder than usual,
like a joyful paean.
I stiffened in my Wellingtons. There would never be a better time. After
a nervous cough I spoke up firmly.
.
' Mr. Alderson," I said and he half turned his head. "I would like to
marry your L daughter. ~ r The humming was switched off abruptly and he
turned slowly till he w ~ facing me. He didn't speak but his eyes
searched my face unhappily. Then 15 bent stiffly, picked up the buckets
one by one, tipped out the water and ma L for the door. L "You'd better
come in the house," he said. The farmhouse kitchen looked lost and
forsaken with the family abed. I s in a high backed wooden chair by the
side of the empty hearth while he Alderson put away his buckets, hung up
the towel and washed his hen methodically at the sink, then he pottered
through to the parlour and I heard him bumping and clinking about in the
sideboard. When he reappeared he bore; a tray in front of him on which a
bottle of whisky and two glasses rattled gently The tray lent the simple
procedure an air of formality which was accentuated _ by the heavy cut
crystal of the glasses and the virgin, unopened state of t [
Mr. Alderson set the tray down on the kitchen table which he dragged
nearer to us before settling in the chair at the other side of the
fireplace. Nobody said anything. I waited in the lengthening silence
while he peered at the cap of t} bottle like a man who had never seen
one before then unscrewed it with slow apprehension as though he feared
it might blow up in his face.
Finally he poured out two measures with the utmost gravity and
precision" ducking his head frequently to compare the levels in the two
glasses, and with a last touch of ceremony proffered the laden tray. 1
I took my drink and waited expectantly. ~ .
Mr. Alderson looked into the lifeless fireplace for a minute or two then
h directed his gaze upwards at the oil painting of the paddling cows
which him .g above the mantelpiece. He pursed his lips as though about
to whistle but ;; appeared to change his mind and without salutation
took a gulp of his whisky which sent him into a paroxysm of coughing
from which it took him some time , to recover. When his breathing had
returned to normal he sat up straight an I fixed me with streaming eyes.
He cleared his throat and I felt a certain tension "Aye well," he said,
'it's grand hay weather."
I agreed with him and he looked round the kitchen with the interested
stare ~ of a total stranger. Having completed his inspection he took
another copious . swallow from his glass, grimaced, closed his eyes,
shook his head violently a few times, then leaned forward.
"Mind you," he said, 'a night's rain would do a lot of good."
I gave my opinion that it undoubtedly would and the silence fell again.
It . lasted even longer this time and my host kept drinking his whisky
as though h was getting used to it. And I could see that it was having a
relaxing effect; the . strained lines on his face were beginning to
smooth out and his eyes were losing their hunted look.
; Nothing more was said until he had replenished our glasses, balancing
the amounts meticulously again. He took a sip at his second measure then
he looked down at the rug and spoke in a small voice.
"James," he said, "I had a wife in a thousand."
I was so surprised I hardly knew what to say. "Yes, I know," I murmured
"I've heard a lot about her."
Mr. Alderson went on, still looking down, his voice full of gentle
yearning.
"Yes, she was the grandest lass for miles around and the bonniest." He
Looked up at me suddenly with the ghost of a smile. "Nobody thought
she'd ever have a feller like me, you know. But she did." He paused and
looked away. "Aye, ski.
He began to tell me about his dead wife. He told me calmly, without self
pity, but with a wistful gratitude for the happiness he had known. And I
discovered that Mr. Alderson was different from a lot of the farmers of
his generation because he said nothing about her being a 'good worker".
So many of the women of those times seemed to be judged mainly on their
working ability and when I had first come to Darrowby I had been shocked
when I commiserated with a newly widowed old man. He had brushed a tear
from his eye and said, "Aye, she was a grand worker." But Mr. Alderson
said only that his wife had been beautiful, that she had been kind, and
that he had loved her very much. He talked about Helen, too, about the
things she had said and done when she was a little girl, about how very
like her mother she was in every way. He never said anything about me
but I had the feeling all the time that he meant it to concern me; and
the very fact that he was talking freely seemed a sign that the barriers
were coming Actually he was talking a little too freely. He was half way
down his third huge whisky and in my experience Yorkshiremen just
couldn't take the stuff. I had seen burly ten pint men from the local
pub keel over after a mere sniff at the amber fluid and little Mr.
Alderson hardly drank at all. I was getting worried.
But there was nothing I could do, so I let him ramble on happily. He was
Lying right back in his chair now, completely at ease, his eyes, alight
with his memories, gazing somewhere above my head. In fact I am
convinced he had forgotten I was there because after one long passage he
dropped his eyes, caught sight of me and stared for a moment without
recognition. When he did manage to place me it seemed to remind him of
his duties as a host. But as he reached again for the bottles he caught
sight of the clock on the wall.
"Well clang it, it's four o'clock. We've been here long enough. It's
hardly worth going" to bed, but I suppose we'd better have an hour or
two's sleep." He tipped the last of the whisky down his throat, jumped
briskly to his feet, looked around him for a few moments in a
business-like sort of way then pitched head first with a sickening
clatter among the fire irons.
Frozen with horror, I started forward to help the small figure
scrabbling on the hearth but I needn't have worried because he bounced
back to his feet in a second or two and looked me in the eye as if
nothing had happened.
"Well, I'd better be off," I said. "Thanks for the drink." There was no
point in staying longer as I realised that the chances of Mr. Alderson
saying "Bless you, my son" or anything like that were remote. But I had
a comforting impression that all was going to be well.
As I made my way to
the door the farmer made a creditable attempt to
usher me out but his direction was faulty and he tacked helplessly away
from me across the kitchen floor before collapsing against a tall
dresser. From under a row of willow pattern dinner plates his face
looked at me with simple bewilderment.
I hesitated then turned back. "I'll just walk up the stairs with you,
Mr. Alderson" I said in a matter of fact voice and the little man made
no resistance as I took his arm and guided him towards the door in the
far corner.
As we creaked our way upstairs he stumbled and would have gone down
again had I not grabbed him round the waist. As I caught him he looked
up at me and grunted "Thanks, lad," and we grinned at each other for a
moment before restarting the climb.
I supported him across the landing to his bedroom door and he stood
hesitating as though about to say something. But finally he just nodded
to me a couple of times before ducking inside.
I waited outside the door, listening in some anxiety to the bumps and
thumps from within; but I relaxed as a loud, tuneless humming came
through the panels Everything most certainly was going to be all right.
Chapter Twenty-five.
"Well, do you want t'job or don't you?"
Walt Barnett towered over me in the surgery doorway and his eyes
flickered from my head to my feet and up again without expression. The
cigarette dangling from his lower lip seemed to be a part of him as did
the brown trilby hat and the shining navy blue serge suit stretched
tightly over his bulky form. He must have weighed nearly twenty stones
Let Sleeping Vets Lie Page 29
