All Creatures Great and Small (35 page)

“That’s Heskit Fell—nearly two and a half thousand feet. And that’s Eddleton just beyond, and Wedder Fell on the other side and Colver and Sennor.” The names with their wild, Nordic ring fell easily from her tongue; she spoke of them like old friends and I could sense the affection in her voice.

We sat down on the warm grass of the hillside, a soft breeze pulled at the heads of the moorland flowers, somewhere a curlew cried. Darrowby and Skeldale House and veterinary practice seemed a thousand miles away.

“You’re lucky to live here,” I said. “But I don’t think you need me to tell you that.”

“No, I love this country. There’s nowhere else quite like it.” She paused and looked slowly around her. “I’m glad it appeals to you too—a lot of people find it too bare and wild. It almost seems to frighten them.”

I laughed. “Yes, I know, but as far as I’m concerned I can’t help feeling sorry for all the thousands of vets who don’t work in the Yorkshire Dales.”

I began to talk about my work, then almost without knowing, I was going back over my student days, telling her of the good times, the friends I had made and our hopes and aspirations.

I surprised myself with my flow of talk—I wasn’t much of a chatterbox usually—and I felt I must be boring my companion. But she sat quietly looking over the valley, her arms around her green-clad legs, nodding at times as though she understood. And she laughed in all the right places.

I wondered too, at the silly feeling that I would like to forget all about the rest of the day’s duty and stay up here on this sunny hillside. It came to me that it had been a long time since I had sat down and talked to a girl of my own age. I had almost forgotten what it was like.

I didn’t hurry back down the path and through the scented pine wood but it seemed no time at all before we were walking across the wooden bridge and over the field to the farm.

I turned with my hand on the car door. “Well, I’ll see you in a month.” It sounded like an awful long time.

The girl smiled. “Thank you for what you’ve done.” As I started the engine she waved and went into the house.

“Helen Alderson?” Siegfried said later over lunch. “Of course I know her. Lovely girl.”

Tristan, across the table, made no comment, but he laid down his knife and fork, raised his eyes reverently to the ceiling and gave a long, low whistle. Then he started to eat again.

Siegfried went on. “Oh yes, I know her very well. And I admire her. Her mother died a few years ago and she runs the whole place. Cooks and looks after her father and a younger brother and sister.” He spooned some mashed potatoes on to his plate. “Any men friends? Oh, half the young bloods in the district are chasing her but she doesn’t seem to be going steady with any of them. Choosy sort, I think.”

FORTY-ONE

I
T WAS WHEN
I was plodding up Mr. Kay’s field for the ninth time that it began to occur to me that this wasn’t going to be my day. For some time now I had been an L.V.I., the important owner of a little certificate informing whosoever it may concern that James Herriot M.R.C.V.S. was a Local Veterinary Inspector of the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries. It meant that I was involved in a lot of routine work like clinical examinations and tuberculin testing. It also highlighted something which I had been suspecting for some time—the Dales farmers’ attitude to time was different from my own.

It had been all right when I was calling on them to see a sick animal; they were usually around waiting for me and the beast would be confined in some building when I arrived. It was very different, however, when I sent them a card saying I was coming to inspect their dairy cows or test their herd. It stated quite clearly on the card that the animals must be assembled indoors and that I would be there at a certain time and I planned my day accordingly; fifteen minutes or so for a clinical and anything up to several hours for a test depending on the size of the herd. If I was kept waiting for ten minutes at every clinical while they got the cows in from the field it meant simply that after six visits I was running an hour late.

So when I drove up to Mr. Kay’s farm for a tuberculin test and found his cows tied up in their stalls I breathed a sigh of relief. We were through them in no time at all and I thought I was having a wonderful start to the day when the farmer said he had only half a dozen young heifers to do to complete the job. It was when I left the buildings and saw the group of shaggy roans and reds grazing contentedly at the far end of a large field that I felt the old foreboding.

“I thought you’d have them inside, Mr. Kay,” I said apprehensively.

Mr. Kay tapped out his pipe on to his palm, mixed the sodden dottle with a few strands of villainous looking twist and crammed it back into the bowl. “Nay, nay,” he said, puffing appreciatively, “Ah didn’t like to put them in on a grand ’ot day like this. We’ll drive them up to that little house.” He pointed to a tumbledown grey-stone barn at the summit of the long, steeply sloping pasture and blew out a cloud of choking smoke. “Won’t take many minutes.”

At his last sentence a cold hand clutched at me. I’d heard these dreadful words so many times before. But maybe it would be all right this time. We made our way to the bottom of the field and got behind the heifers.

“Cush, cush!” cried Mr. Kay.

“Cush, cush!” I added encouragingly, slapping my hands against my thighs.

The heifers stopped pulling the grass and regarded us with mild interest, their jaws moving lazily, then in response to further cries they began to meander casually up the hill. We managed to coax them up to the door of the barn but there they stopped. The leader put her head inside for a moment then turned suddenly and made a dash down the hill. The others followed suit immediately and though we danced about and waved our arms they ran past us as if we weren’t there. I looked thoughtfully at the young beasts thundering down the slope, their tails high, kicking up their heels like mustangs; they were enjoying this new game.

Down the hill once more and again the slow wheedling up to the door and again the sudden breakaway. This time one of them tried it on her own and as I galloped vainly to and fro trying to turn her the others charged with glee through the gap and down the slope again.

It was a long, steep hill and as I trudged up for the third time with the sun blazing on my back I began to regret being so conscientious about my clothes; in the instructions to the new L.V.I.’s the Ministry had been explicit that they expected us to be properly attired to carry out our duties. I had taken it to heart and rigged myself out in the required uniform but I realised now that a long oilskin coat and Wellingtons was not an ideal outfit for the job in hand. The sweat was trickling into my eyes and my shirt was beginning to cling to me.

When, for the third time, I saw the retreating backs careering joyously down the hill, I thought it was time to do something about it.

“Just a minute,” I called to the farmer, “I’m getting a bit warm.”

I took off the coat, rolled it up and placed it on the grass well away from the barn. And as I made a neat pile of my syringe, the box of tuberculin, my calipers, scissors, notebook and pencil, the thought kept intruding that I was being cheated in some way. After all, Ministry work was easy—any practitioner would tell you that. You didn’t have to get up in the middle of the night, you had nice set hours and you never really had to exert yourself. In fact it was money for old rope—a pleasant relaxation from the real thing. I wiped my streaming brow and stood for a few seconds panting gently—this just wasn’t fair.

We started again and at the fourth visit to the barn I thought we had won because all but one of the heifers strolled casually inside. But that last one just wouldn’t have it. We cushed imploringly, waved and even got near enough to poke at its rump but it stood in the entrance regarding the interior with deep suspicion. Then the heads of its mates began to reappear in the doorway and I knew we had lost again; despite my frantic dancing and shouting they wandered out one by one before joining again in their happy downhill dash. This time I found myself galloping down after them in an agony of frustration.

We had another few tries during which the heifers introduced touches of variation by sometimes breaking away half way up the hill or occasionally trotting round the back of the barn and peeping at us coyly from behind the old stones before frisking to the bottom again.

After the eighth descent I looked appealingly at Mr. Kay who was relighting his pipe calmly and didn’t appear to be troubled in any way. My time schedule was in tatters but I don’t think he had noticed that we had been going on like this for about forty minutes.

“Look, we’re getting nowhere,” I said. “I’ve got a lot of other work waiting for me. Isn’t there anything more we can do?”

The farmer stamped down the twist with his thumb, drew deeply and pleasurably a few times then looked at me with mild surprise. “Well, let’s see. We could bring dog out but I don’t know as he’ll be much good. He’s nobbut a young ’un.”

He sauntered back to the farmhouse and opened a door. A shaggy cur catapulted out, barking in delight, and Mr. Kay brought him over to the field. “Get away by!” he cried gesturing towards the cattle who had resumed their grazing and the dog streaked behind them. I really began to hope as we went up the hill with the hairy little figure darting in, nipping at the heels, but at the barn the rot set in again. I could see the heifers beginning to sense the inexperience of the dog and one of them managed to kick him briskly under the chin as he came in. The little animal yelped and his tail went down. He stood uncertainly, looking at the beasts, advancing on him now, shaking their horns threateningly, then he seemed to come to a decision and slunk away. The young cattle went after him at increasing speed and in a moment I was looking at the extraordinary spectacle of the dog going flat out down the hill with the heifers drumming close behind him. At the foot he disappeared under a gate and we saw him no more.

Something seemed to give way in my head. “Oh God,” I yelled, “we’re never going to get these damn things tested! I’ll just have to leave them. I don’t know what the Ministry is going to say, but I’ve had enough!”

The farmer looked at me ruminatively. He seemed to recognise that I was at breaking point. “Aye, it’s no good,” he said, tapping his pipe out on his heel. “We’ll have to get Sam.”

“Sam?”

“Aye, Sam Broadbent. Works for me neighbour. He’ll get ’em in all right.”

“How’s he going to do that?”

“Oh, he can imitate a fly.”

For a moment my mind reeled. “Did you say imitate a fly?”

“That’s right. A warble fly, tha knows. He’s a bit slow is t’lad but by gaw he can imitate a fly. I’ll go and get him—he’s only two fields down the road.”

I watched the farmer’s retreating back in disbelief then threw myself down on the ground. At any other time I would have enjoyed lying there on the slope with the sun on my face and the grass cool against my sweating back; the air was still and heavy with the fragrance of clover and when I opened my eyes the gentle curve of the valley floor was a vision of peace. But my mind was a turmoil. I had a full day’s Ministry work waiting for me and I was an hour behind time already. I could picture the long succession of farmers waiting for me and cursing me heartily. The tension built in me till I could stand it no longer; I jumped to my feet and ran down to the gate at the foot. I could see along the road from there and was relieved to find that Mr. Kay was on his way back.

Just behind him a large, fat man was riding slowly on a very small bicycle, his heels on the pedals, his feet and knees sticking out at right angles. Tufts of greasy black hair stuck out at random from under a kind of skull cap which looked like an old bowler without the brim.

“Sam’s come to give us a hand,” said Mr. Kay with an air of quiet triumph.

“Good morning,” I said and the big man turned slowly and nodded. The eyes in the round, unshaven race were vacant and incurious and I decided that Sam did indeed look a bit slow. I found it difficult to imagine how he could possibly be of any help.

The heifers, standing near by, watched with languid interest as we came through the gate. They had obviously enjoyed every minute of the morning’s entertainment and it seemed they were game for a little more fun if we so desired; but it was up to us, of course—they weren’t worried either way.

Sam propped his bicycle against the wall and paced solemnly forward. He made a circle of his thumb and forefinger and placed it to his lips. His cheeks worked as though he was getting everything into place then he took a deep breath. And, from nowhere it seemed came a sudden swelling of angry sound, a vicious humming and buzzing which made me look round in alarm for the enraged insect zooming in for the kill.

The effect on the heifers was electric. Their superior air vanished and was replaced by rigid anxiety; then, as the noise increased in volume, they turned and charged up the hill. But it wasn’t the carefree frolic of before—no tossing heads, waving tails and kicking heels; this time they kept shoulder to shoulder in a frightened block.

Mr. Kay and I, trotting on either side, directed them yet again up to the building where they formed a group, looking nervously around them.

We had to wait for a short while for Sam to arrive. He was clearly a one-pace man and ascended the slope unhurriedly. At the top he paused to regain his breath, fixed the animals with a blank gaze and carefully adjusted his fingers against his mouth. A moment’s tense silence then the humming broke out again, even more furious and insistent than before.

The heifers knew when they were beaten. With a chorus of startled bellows they turned and rushed into the building and I crashed the half door behind them; I stood leaning against it unable to believe my troubles were over. Sam joined me and looked into the dark interior. As if to finally establish his mastery he gave a sudden sharp blast, this time without his fingers, and his victims huddled still closer against the far wall.

A few minutes later, after Sam had left us, I was happily clipping and injecting the necks. I looked up at the farmer. “You know, I can still hardly believe what I saw there. It was like magic. That chap has a wonderful gift.”