choking fumes into my brain. I felt terrible and I knew for sure I would
get rapidly worse.
Granville, fresh and debonair as ever, leaped out and lead me into the
house "Zoe, my love!' he warbled, embracing his wife as she came through
from the kitchen.
When she disengaged herself she came over to me. She was wearing a
flowered apron which made her look if possible even more attractive.
"Her-lo!' she cried and gave me that look which she shared with her
husband as though meeting James Herriot was an unbelievable boon.
"Lovely to see you again. I'll get lunch now.' I replied with a foolish
grin and she skipped away.
Flopping into an armchair I listened to Granville pouring steadily over
at the sideboard. He put a glass in my hand and sat in another chair.
Immediately the obese Staffordshire Terrier bounded on to his lap.
"Phoebles, my little pet!' he sang joyfully. "Daddykins is home again'.
And he pointed playfully at the tiny Yorkie who was sitting at his feet,
baring her teeth repeatedly in a series of ecstatic smiles. "And I see
you, my little Victoria, I see you!'
By the time I was ushered to the table I was like a man in a dream,
moving sluggishly, speaking with slurred deliberation. Granville poised
himself over a vast sirloin, stropped his knife briskly then began to
hack away ruthlessly. He was a prodigal server and piled about two
pounds of meat on my plate then he started on the Yorkshire puddings.
Instead of a single big one, Zoe had made a large number of little round
ones as the farmers' wives often did, delicious golden cups, crisply
brown round the sides. Granville heaped about six of these by the side
of the meat as I watched stupidly. Then Zoe passed me the gravy boat.
With an effort I took a careful grip on the handle, closed one eye and
began to pour. For some reason I felt I had to fill up each of the
little puddings with gravy and owlishly directed the stream into one
then another till they were all overflowing. Once I missed and spilled a
few drops of the fragrant liquid on the tablecloth. I looked up guiltily
at Zoe and giggled.
Zoe giggled back, and I had the impression that she felt that though I
was a peculiar individual there was no harm in me. I just had this
terrible weakness that I was never sober day or night, but I was~'t such
a bad fellow at heart.
It usually took me a few days to recover from a visit to Granville and
by the following Saturday I was convalescing nicely. It happened that I
was in the market place and saw a large concourse of people crossing the
cobbles. At first I thought from the mixture of children and adults that
it must be a school outing but on closer inspection I realised it was
only the Dimmocks and Pounders going shopping.
When they saw me they diverted their course and I was engulfed by a
human wave.
"Look at 'im now, Mister!' "He's eatin' like a 'oss now!' "He's going'
to get fat soon, Mister!' The delighted cries rang around me.
Nellie had Toby on a lead and as I bent over the little animal I could
hardly believe how a few days had altered him. He was still skinny but
the hopeless look had gone; he was perky, ready to play. It was just a
matter of time now.
His little mistress ran her hand again and again over the smooth brown
coat.
"You are proud of your little dog, aren't you Nellie,' I said, and the
gentle squinting eyes turned on me.
"Yes, I am.' She smiled that smile again. "Because 'e's mine.'
Chapter Twenty-nine.
There is plenty of time for thinking during the long hours of driving
and now as I headed home from a late call my mind was idly assessing my
abilities as a planner.
I had to admit that planning was not one of my strong points. Shortly
after we were married I told Helen that I didn't think we should have
children just at present. I pointed out that I would soon be going away,
we did not have a proper home, our financial state was precarious and it
would be far better to wait till after the war.
I had propounded my opinions weightily, sitting back in my chair and
puffing my pipe like a sage, but I don't think I was really surprised
when Helen's pregnancy was positively confirmed.
From the warm darkness the grass smell of the Dales stole through the
open window and as I drove through a silent village it was mingled
briefly with the mysterious sweetness of wood smoke. Beyond the houses
the road curved smooth and empty between the black enclosing fells. No
.. . I hadn't organised things very well. Leaving Darrowby and maybe
England for an indefinite period, no home, no money and a pregnant wife.
It was an untidy situation. But I was beginning to realise that life was
not a tidy little parcel at any time.
The clock tower showed 11 p.m. as I rolled through the market place and,
turning into Trengate, I saw that the light had been turned off in our
room. Helen had gone to bed. I drove round the yard at the back, put
away the car and walked down the long garden. It was the end to every
day, this walk; sometimes stumbling over frozen snow but tonight moving
easily through the summer darkness under the branches of the apple trees
to where the house stood tall and silent against the stars.
In the passage I almost bumped into Siegfried.
"Just getting back from Allenby's, James?' he asked. "I saw on the book
that you had a colic.'
I nodded. "Yes, but it wasn't a bad one. Just a bit of spasm. Their grey
horse had been feasting on some of the hard pears lying around the
orchard.'
Siegfried laughed. "Well I've just beaten you in by a few minutes. I've
been round at old Mrs Dewar's for the last hour holding her cat's paw
while it had kittens.'
We reached the corner of the passage and he hesitated. "Care for a
nightcap, James?'
"I would, thanks,' I replied, and we went into the sitting room. But
there was a constraint between us because Siegfried was off to London
early next morning to enter the Air Force - he'd be gone before I got up
- and we both knew that this was a farewell drink.
I dropped into my usual armchair while Siegfried reached into the
glassfronted cupboard above the mantelpiece and fished out the whisky
bottle and glasses. He carelessly tipped out two prodigal measures and
sat down opposite.
We had done a lot of this over the years, often yarning till dawn, but
naturally enough it had faded since my marriage. It was like turning
back the clock to sip the whisky and look at him on the other side of
the fireplace and to feel, as though it were a living presence, the
charm of the beautiful room with its high ceiling, graceful alcoves and
french window.
We didn't talk about his departure but about the things we had always
talked about and still do; the miraculous recovery of that cow, what old
Mr Jenks said yesterday, the patient that knocked us flat, leapt the
fence and disappeared for good. Then Siegfried raised a finger.
"Oh, James, I nearly forgot. I was tidying up the
books and I find I owe
you some money.'
"You do?'
"Yes, and I feel rather bad about it. It goes back to your
pre-partnership days when you used to get a cut from Ewan Ross's
testing.
somewhere and you were underpaid. Anyway, you've got "Fifty pounds! Are
you sure?'
"Quite sure, James, and I do apologise.'
There was a slip-up fifty pounds to come.'
"No need to apologise, Siegfried. It'll come in very handy right now.'
"Good, good .. . anyway, the cheque's in the top drawer of the desk if
you'll have a look tomorrow.' He waved a languid hand and started to
talk about some sheep he had seen that afternoon.
But for a few minutes I hardly heard him. Fifty pounds! It was a lot of
money in those days, especially when I would soon be earning three
shillings a day as an AC2 during my initial training. It didn't solve my
financial problem but it would be a nice little cushion to fall back on.
My nearest and dearest are pretty unanimous that I am a bit slow on the
uptake and maybe they are right because it was many years later before
it got through to me that there never was any fifty pounds owing.
Siegfried knew I needed a bit of help at that time and when it all
became clear long afterwards I realised that this was exactly how he
would do it. No embarrassment to me. He hadn't even handed me the cheque
... As the level in the bottle went down the conversation became more
and more effortless. At one point some hours later my mind seemed to
have taken on an uncanny clarity and it was as if I was disembodied and
looking down at the pair of us. We had slid very low in our chairs, our
heads well down the backs, legs extended far across the rug. My
partner's face seemed to stand out in relief and it struck me that
though he was only in his early thirties he looked a lot older. It was
an attractive face, lean, strong-boned with steady humorous eyes, but
not young. In fact, Siegfried, in the time I had known him, had never
looked young, but he has the last laugh now because he has hardly
altered with the years and is one of those who will never look old.
At that moment of the night when everything was warm and easy and I felt
omniscient it seemed a pity that Tristan wasn't there to make up the
familiar threesome. As we talked, the memories marched through the room
like a strip of bright pictures; of November days on the hillsides with
the icy rain driving into our faces, of digging the cars out of snow
drifts, of the spring sunshine warming the hard countryside. And the
thought recurred that Tristan had been part of it all and that I was
going to miss him as much as I would miss his brother.
I could hardly believe it when Siegfried rose, threw back the curtains,
and the grey light of morning streamed in. I got up and stood beside him
as he looked at his watch.
"Five o'clock, James,' he said, and smiled. "We've done it again.'
He opened the french window and we stepped into the hushed stillness of
the garden. I was taking grateful gulps of the sweet air when a single
bird call broke the silence.
"Did you hear that blackbird?' I said.
He nodded and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing as myself;
that it sounded just like the same blackbird which had greeted the early
daylight when we talked over my first case those years ago.
We went up the stairs together in silence. Siegfried stopped at his
door.
"Well, James ... ' he held out his hand and his mouth twitched up at
one corner.
I gripped the hand for a moment then he turned and went into his room.
And as I trailed dumbly up the next flight it seemed strange that we had
never said goodbye. We didn't know when, if ever, we would see each
other again yet neither of us had said a word. I don't know if Siegfried
wanted to say anything but there was a lot trying to burst from me.
I wanted to thank him for being a friend as well as a boss, for teaching
me so much, for never letting me down. There were other things, too, but
I never said them.
Come to think of it, I've never even thanked him for that fifty pounds
... until now.
Chapter Thirty.
Look, Jim,' Helen said, 'this is one engagement we can't be late for.
Old Mrs Hodgson is an absolute pet - she'd be terribly hurt if we let
her supper spoil.'
I nodded. "You're right, my girl, that mustn't happen. But I've got only
three calls this afternoon and Tristan's doing the evening. I can't see
anything going wrong.'
This nervousness about a simple action like going out for a meal might
be incomprehensible to the layman but to vets and their wives it was
very real, particularly in those days of one or two-man practices. The
idea of somebody preparing a meal for me then waiting in vain for me to
turn up was singularly horrifying but it happened to all of us
occasionally.
It remained a gnawing worry whenever Helen and I were asked out;
especially to somebody like the Hodgsons. Mr Hodgson was a particularly
likeable old farmer, short-sighted to the point of semi-blindness, but
the eyes which peered through the thick glasses were always friendly.
His wife was just as kind and she had looked at me quizzically when I
had visited the farm two days ago.
"Does it make you feel hungry, Mr Herriot?'
"It does indeed, Mrs Hodgson. It's a marvelous sight.'
I was washing my hands in the farm kitchen and stealing a glance at a
nearby table where all the paraphernalia of the family pig-killing lay
in their full glory. Golden rows of pork pies, spareribs, a mound of
newly made sausages, jars of brawn. Great pots were being filled with
lard, newly rendered in the fireside oven.
She looked at me thoughtfully. "Why don't you bring Mrs Herriot round
one night and help us eat it?'
"Well that's most kind of you and I'd love to, but .. .'
"Now then, no buts!' She laughed. "You know there's far too much stuff
here - we have to give so much away.'
This was quite true. In the days when every farmer and many of the
townsfolk of Darrowby kept pigs for home consumption, killing time was
an occasion for feasting. The hams and sides were cured and hung up but
the masses of offal and miscellaneous pieces had to be eaten at the
time; and though farmers with big families could tackle it, others
usually passed delicious parcels round their friends in the happy
knowledge that there would be a reciprocation in due course.
"Well, thanks, Mrs Hodgson,' I said. "Tuesday evening, then, seven
o'clock.'
And here I was on Tuesday afternoon heading confidently into the country
with the image of Mrs Hodgson's supper hanging before me like a vision
of the promised land. I knew what it would be; a glorious mixed grill of
spareribs, onions, liver and pork fillet garlanded with those divine
farm sausages which are seen no more. It was something to dream about.
In fact I was still thinking about it when I drew into Edward Wiggin's
farmyard. I walked over to the covered barn and
looked in at my patients
- a dozen half grown bullocks resting on the deep straw. I had to inject
these fellows with Blackleg vaccine. If I didn't it was a fair bet that
one or more of them would be found dead due to infection with the deadly
Clostridium which dwelt in the pastures of that particular farm.
It was a common enough disease and stockholders had recognised it for
generations and had resorted to some strange practices to prevent it;
such as running a seton - a piece of twine or bandage - through the
dewlap of the animal. But now wei was thinkin~r I'd he here for only ;~
few minl~tec hee~,se Mr Wiggin's man, ~ss the yard led his eyes rst.
process of was a frail merica. He that he had ~ drawl and . Anything ~s
his lasso. turn a hair of his rope e thing was '. C ~ ~ ~ CJ ~D ~ O ~C ~
uncann' b :^ c ~ 0~ ~ b ~c~J ~a ~c c of us. We ~ ~., 5 ., ~ c ~ ~`~s ~ ~
c extended fal ~o ~c ~ ~ ~3 ~ ~ s., ~0 c it struck me th', ~ ~ ~ ~ c ~ ~
5 It was an attract ~Y ~ ~ ,., ~be.5 4, ~8
young. In fact, Siegt, ~ .o ~ 3 ~ << ~ ~v, but he has the last lau~ ~ ~
~^. b5O b.0 5 is one of those who willl. ~ 3 c c ~< _ 3 > ~^ At that
moment of the m~ ~ ~v, ", ~3
... ... ... ... .omniscient it seemed a pity th ~3 ~c .bc~= c D D _C
threesome. As we talked, the me.- _ ~ c~ =^ O ~O^ 3 of bright pictures;
of November da> 0' c ;~5 ~-- 4" C into our faces, of digging the cars L
~ ~ = c c o warming the hard countryside. And the t 4t, ~ -3 ~ >" part
of it all and that I was going to mis" ~ ~c brother. ' ~c ~ I could
hardly believe it when Siegfried rose ~ c~ `:
the grey light of morning streamed in. I got up :' ` ~ 3
looked at his watch. ~o c c "Five o'clock, James,' he said, and smiled.
"We've doi ~ u: ~ He opened the french window and we stepped into the
r.^~ 5 garden. I was taking grateful gulps of the sweet air wher? u,
broke the silence.
l d he began :. When he ly half way f deliberate ~ethodically dvanced on
Ice.
If,' he said ~e retrieved :,f the barn. ~row which v rr LTI I l UI l~raa
sent it high into the cries-cross of beams in the roof where it stuck.
The farmer tugged at it several times in vain.
"Goldurn it, it's got round a nail up there. Slip across the yard and
fetch a Iadder, Will.'
As I waited for the ladder then watched Will climbing into the shadowy
heights of the barn I pondered on Mr Wiggin. The way he spoke, the
expressions he used were familiar to most Yorkshire folk since they
filtered continually across the Atlantic in films and books. In fact
there were dark mutterings that Mr Wiggin had learned them that way and
had never been near a ranch in his life. There was no way of knowing.
At last the rope was retrieved, the ladder put away, and the little man
went into action once more. He missed again but one of the bullocks got
its foot in the loop and for a few moments the farmer hung on with
fierce determination as the animal produced a series of piston-like
kicks to rid itself of the distraction. And as I watched the man's lined
face set grimly, the thin shoulders jerking, it came to me that Mr
Wiggin wasn't just catching a beast for injection; he was roping a
steer, the smell of the prairie was in his nostrils, the cry of the
coyote in his ears.
It didn't take long for the bullock to free itself and with a grunt of
"Ornery crittur!' Mr Wiggin started again. And as he kept on throwing
his rope ineffectually I was uncomfortably aware that time was passing
and that our chances of doing our job were rapidly diminishing. When you
have to handle a bunch of young beasts the main thing is not to upset
them. If Mr Wiggin hadn't been there we would have penned them quietly
Vet in Harness Page 22
