ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

by

JAMES HERRIOT
 Bantam Books by James Herriot
 Ask your bookseller for the books you have missed

 ALL CREATURES GREAT AND SMALL ~ I ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL ALL
 THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL
                
To my dogs,
Hector and Dan
Faidiful companions of the daily round.

This law-priced Bantam Book
has been completely reset in a type face
designed for easy reading, and was printed
from new plates. It contains the compleld
text of the original hard-cover edition.
NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.

      RL 7, IL 6+

ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL
A Bantam Book / published by arrangement with
St. Martin's Press

PRINTING HISTORY
St. Martin's edition published September 1977
10 printings-through May 1978
Literary Guild edition published October 1977
Bantam edition / September 1978

Serialized in BOOK DIGEST, COSMOPOLITAN, FAMILY CIRCLE,
and READER'S DIGEST

All rights reserved.
Copyright @ 1976,1977 by James Herriot.
This edition Copyright @ 1977 by St. Martin's Press.
This book may not be reproduced In whole or in part, by
mimeograph or any other means, without permission.
For Information address: St. Martin's Press.
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10019.

       ISBN 0-553-11746-7

Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, Inc. its trade.
ma;k consisting at the words "Bantam Books" and the por.
Ira al at a bantam, Is registered In the United States Patent
Office and in other countries. Marea Registrada. Bantayn
Books, Inc., 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10019.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 All things bright and beautifuL
  All creatures great and small,
 All things wise and wonderful,
 The Lord God made them all.

 Cecil Frances Alexander 1818-1895

 - or
           CHAPTER

 "Movel" bawled the drill corporal. "Come on, speed it upl" He sprinted
 effortlessly to the rear of the gasping, panting column of men and urged
 us on from there.
  I was somewhere in the middle, jog-trotting laboriously with the rest and
  wondering how much longer I could keep going. And as my ribs heaved
  agonisingly and my leg muscles protested'I tried to work out just how
  many miles we had run.
  I had suspected nothing when we lined up outside our billets. We weren't
  clad in PT Idt but in woollen pullovers and regulation slacks and it
  seemed unlikely that anything violent was imminent. The corporal, too,
  a cheerful little cockney, appeared to regard us as his brothers. He had
  a kind face.
  "Awright, lads," he had cried, smiling over the fifty new airmen. "We're
  just going to trot round to the park, so follow me. Le-eft turril'At the
  double, qui-ick marchl left-ight, 'eft-ight, left-ightl"
  That had been a long, long time ago and we were still reeling through the
  London streets with never a sign of a park anywhere. The thought hammered
  in my brain that I had been under the impression that I was fit. A
  country vet, especially in the Yorkshire Dales, never had the chance to
  get out of condition; he was always on the move, wrestling with the big
  animals, walking for miles between the fell-side barns; he was hard and
  tough. That's what I thought.
  But now other reflections began to creep in. My few months of married
  fife with Helen had been so much lotus eating. She was too good a cook
  and I was too faithful a disciple of her art. Just lounging by our bed-
  sitter's fireside was the sweetest of all occupations. I had tried to
  ignore the disappearance of my abdominal mus-
   2ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 cles, the sagging of my pectorals, but it was all coming home to me now.
  "It's not far now, lads," the corporal chirped from the rear, but he struck
  no responsive chords in the toiling group. He had said it several times
  before and we had stopped believing him.
  But this time it seemed he really meant it, because as we turned into yet
  another street I could see iron railings and trees at the far end. The
  relief was inexpressible. I would just about have the strength to make it
  through the gates-to the rest and smoke which I badly needed because my
  legs were beginning to seize up.
  We passed under an arch of branches which still bore a few autumn leaves
  and stopped as one man, but the corporal was waving us on.
  "Come on, lads, round the track!" he shouted and pointed to a broad earthen
  path which circled the park.
  We stared at him. He couldn't be serious! A storm of protest broke out.
 "Aw no, corp ... I" "Have a heart, corp ... I"
  The smile vanished from the little man's face. "Get movin', I saidl Faster,
  faster ... one-two, one-two."
  As I stumbled forward over the black earth, between borders of sooty
  rhododendrons and tired grass, I just couldn't believe it. It was all too
  sudden. Three days ago I was in Darrowby and half of me was still back
  there, back with Helen. And another part was still looking out of the rear
  window of the taxi at the green hills receding behind the tiled roofs into
  the morning sunshine; still standing in the corridor of the train as the
  flat terrain of southern England slid past and a great weight built up
  steadily in my chest.
  My first introduction to the RAF was at Lord's cricket ground. Masses of
  forms to fill, medicals, then the issue of an enormous pile of kit. I was
  billeted in a block of flats in St. John's Wood-luxurious before the lush
  fittings had been removed. But they couldn't take away the heavy bathroom
  ware and one of our blessings was the unlimited hot water gushing at our
  touch into the expensive surroundings.
  After that first crowded day I retired to one of those green-tiled
  sanctuaries and lathered myself with a new bar of a famous toilet soap
  which Helen had put in my
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL3

 bag. I have nevbr been able to use that soap since. Sc~nts are too
 evocative and the merest whiff jerks me back to that first night away from
 my wife, and to the feeling I had then. It was a dull, empty ache which
 never really went away.
  On the second day we marched endlessly; lectures, meals, inoculations.
  I was used to syringes but the very sight of them was too much for many
  of my friends. Especially when the doctor took the blood samples; one
  look at the dark fluid flowing from their veins and the young men toppled
  quietly from their chairs, often four or five in a row while the
  orderlies, grinning cheerfully, bore them away.
  We ate in the London Zoo and our meals were made interesting by the
  chatter of monkeys and the roar of lions in the background. But in
  between it was march, march, march, with our new boots giving us hell.
  And on this third day the whole thing was still a blur. We bad been
  wakened as on my first morning by the hideous 6 a.m. clattering of
  dustbin lids; I hadn't really expected the silvery tones of a bugle but
  I found this totally unromantic din intolerable. However, at the moment
  my only concern was that we had completed the circuit of the park. The
  gates were only a few yards ahead and I staggered up to them and halted
  among my groaning comrades.
  "Round again, lads!" the corporal yelled, and as we stared at him aghast
  he smiled affectionately. "You think this is tough? Wait till they get
  hold of you at ITW. I'm just kinda breakin' you in gently. You'll thank
  me for this later. Right, at the double! One-two, one two!"
  Bitter thoughts assailed me as I lurched forward once more. Another round
  of the park would kill me-there was not a shadow of a doubt about that.
  You left a loving wife and a happy home to serve king and country and
  this was how they treated you. It wasn't fair.

 The night before I had dreamed of Darrowby. I was back in old Mr. Dakin's
 cow byre. The farmer's patient eyes in the long, drooping-moustached face
 looked down at me from his stooping height.
  "It looks as though it's over wi' awd Blossom, then," he said, and rested
  his hand briefly on the old cow's
 4ALL TMNGS WISH AND WONDERIFUL

 back. It was an enormous, work-swollen hand. Mr. Dakin's gaunt frame
 carried little flesh but the grossly thickened fingers bore testimony to
 a life of toil.
  I dried off the needle and dropped it into the metal box where I carried
  my suture materials, scalpels and blades. "Well, it's up to you of
  course, Mr. Dakin, but this is the third time I've had to stitch her
  teats and I'm afraid it's going to keep on happening."
  "Aye, it's just the shape she is." The farmer bent and examined the row
  of knots along the four-inch sear. "By gaw, you wouldn't believe it could
  mek such a mess-just another cow standin' on it."
  "A cow's hoof is sharp," I said. "It's nearly like a knife coming down."
  That was the worst of very old cows. Their udders dropped and their teats
  became larger and more pendulous so that when they lay down in their
  stalls the vital milk-producing organ was pushed away to one side into
  the path of the neighbouring animals. If it wasn't Mabel on the right
  standing on it, it was Buttercup on the other side.
  There were only six cows in the little cobbled byre with its low roof and
  wooden partitions and they all had names. You don't find cows with names
  any more and there aren't any farmers like Mr. Dakin, who somehow
  scratched a living from a herd of six milkers plus a few calves, pigs and
  hens.
  "Aye, well," he said. "Ah reckon t'awd lass doesn't owe me anythin'. Ah
  remember the night she was born, twelve years ago. She was out of awd
  Daisy and ah carried her out of this very byre on a sack and the snow was
  comin' down hard. Sin' then ah wouldn't like to count how many thousand
  gallons o' milk she's turned outshe's stiff givin' four a day. Naw, she
  doesn't owe me a thing.
  As if she knew she was the topic of conversation Blossom turned her head
  and looked at him. She was the classical picture of an ancient bovine;
  as fleshless as her owner, with jutting pelvic bones, splayed, overgrown
  feet and, horns with a multitude of rings along their curving length.
  Beneath her, the udder, once high and tight, drooped forlornly almost to
  the floor.
  She resembled her owner, too, in her quiet, patient demeanour. I had
  infiltrated her teat with a local
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 anaestbetic before stitching but I don't think she would have moved if I
 hadn't used any. Stitching teats puts a vet in the ideal position to be
 kicked, with his head low down in front of the hind feet, but there was no
 danger with Blossom. She had never kicked anybody in her life.
  Mr. Dakin blew out his cheeks. "Well, there's nowt else for it. She'll have
  to go. I'll tell Jack Dodson to pick 'er up for the fatstock market on
  Thursday. She'll be a bit tough for eatin' but ah reckon she'll make a few
  steak pies."
  He was trying to joke but he was unable to smile as he looked at the old
  cow. Behind him, beyond the open door, the green hillside ran down to the
  river and the spring sunshine touched the broad sweep of the shallows with
  a million dancing lights. A beach of bleached stones gleamed bone-white
  against the long stretch of grassy bank which rolled up to the pastures
  lining the valley floor.
  I had often felt that this smallholding would be an ideal place to live;
  only a mile outside Darrowby, but secluded, and with this heart-lifting
  vista of river and fell. I remarked on this once to Mr. Dakin and the old
  man turned to me with a wry smile.
 "Aye, but the view's not very sustainin'," he said.
  It happened that I was called back to the farm on the following Thursday to
  "cleanse" a cow and was in the byre when Dodson the drover called to pick
  up Blossom. He had collected a group of fat bullocks and cows from other
  farms and they stood, watched by one of his men, on the road high above.
  "Nah then, Mr. Dakin," he cried as he bustled in. "It's easy to see which
  one you want me to tek. It's that awd screw over there."
  He pointed at Blossom, and in truth the unkind description seemed to fit
  the bony creature standing between her sleek neighbours.
  The farmer did not reply for a moment, then he went up between the cows and
  gently rubbed Blossom's forehead. "Aye, this is the one, Jack." He
  hesitated, then undid the chain round her neck. "Off ye go, awd lass," he
  murmured, and the old animal turned and made her way placidly from the
  stall.
  "Aye, come on with ye!" shouted the dealer, poking his stick against the
  cow'srump.
 6ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "Doan't hit 'er!" barked Mr. Dakin.
  Dodson looked at him in surprise. "Ah never 'it 'em, you know that. Just
  send 'ern on, like."
  "Ah knaw, ah knaw, Jack, but you won't need your stick for this 'un.
  She'll go wherever ye want-allus has done."
  Blossom confirmed his words as she ambled through the door and, at a
  gesture from the farmer, turned along the track.
  The old man and I stood watching as the cow made her way unhurriedly up
  the hill, Jack Dodson in his long khaki smock sauntering behind her. As
  the path wound behind a clump of sparse trees manand beast disappeared
  but Mr. Dakin stiff gazed after them, listening to the clipclop of the
  hooves on the hard ground.
  When the sound died away he turned to me quickly. "Right, Mr. Herriot,
  we'll get on wi' our job, then. I'll bring your hot watter."
  The farmer was silent as I soaped my arm and inserted it into the cow.
  If there is one thing more disagreeable than removing the bovine
  afterbirth it is watching somebody else doing it, and I always try to
  maintain a conversation as I grope around inside. But this time it was
  hard work. Mr. Dakin responded to my sallies on the weather, cricket and
  the price of milk with a series of grunts.
  Holding the cows tail he leaned on the hairy back and, empty-eyed, blew
  smoke from the pipe which like most farmers at a cleansing he had
  prudently lit at the outset. And of course, since the going was heavy,
  it just would happen that the job took much longer than usual. Sometimes
  a placenta simply lifted out but I had to peel this one away from the
  cotyledons one by one, returning every few minutes to the hot water and
  antiseptic to re-soap my aching arms.
  But at last it was finished. I pushed in a couple of pessaries, untied
  the sack from my middle and pulled my shirt over my head. The
  conversation had died and the silence was almost oppressive as we opened
  the byre door.
  Mr. Dakin paused, his hand on the latch. "What's that?" he said softly.
  From somewhere on the hillside I could hear the clip-clop of a cow's
  feet. There were two ways to the
      ALL TTHNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL7

 farm and the sound came from a narrow track which joined the main road half
 a mile beyond the other entrance. As we listened a cow rounded a rocky
 outcrop and came towards us.
  It was Blossom, moving at a brisk trot, great udder swinging, eyes fixed
  purposefully on the open door behind US.
  "What the hangment ... T' Mr. Dakin burst out, but the old cow brushed past
  us and marched without hesitation into the stall which she had occupied for
  all those years. She sniffed enquiringly at the empty hay rack and looked
  round at her owner.
  Mr. Dakin stared back at her. The eyes in the weathered face were
  expressionless but the smoke rose from his pipe in a series of rapid puffs.
  Heavy boots clattered suddenly outside and Jack Dodson panted his way
  through the door.
  "Oh, you're there, ye awd beggarl" he gasped. "Ali thought I'd lost yel"
  He turned to the farmer. "By gaw, I'm sorry, Mr. Dakin. She must 'ave
  turned off at Vtop of your other path. Ah never saw her go."
  The farmer shrugged. "It's awright, Jack. It's not your fault, ah should've
  told ye."
  "That's soon mended anyway." The drover grinned and moved towards Blossom.
  "Come on, lass, let's have ye out o' there again."
  But he halted as Mr. Dakin held an arm in front of him.
  There was a long silence as Dodson and I looked in surprise at the farmer
  who continued to gaze fixedly at the cow. There was a pathetic dignity
  about the old animal as she stood there against the mouldering timber of
  the partition, her eyes patient and undemanding. It was a dignity which
  triumphed over the unsightliness of the long upturned hooves, the fleshless
  ribs, the broken-down udder almost brushing the cobbles.
  Then, still without speaking, Mr. Dakin moved unhurriedly between the cows
  and a faint chink of metal sounded as he fastened the chain around
  Blossom's neck. Then he strolled to the end of the byre and returned with
  a forkful of hay which he tossed expertly into the rack.
 This was what Blossom was waiting for, She jerked a
 8ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 mouthful from between the spars and began to chew with quiet satisfaction:
  "What's to do, Mr. Dakin?" the drover cried in bewilderment. "They're
  waiting for me at Cmard"
  The farmer tapped out his pipe on the half door and began to fill it with
  black shag from a battered tin. "Ah'm sorry to waste your time, Jack, but
  you'll have to go without 'er."
 "Without'er ... ? But ... T'
  "Aye, yell think I'm daft, but that's how it is. T"awd lass has come 'ome
  and she's stoppin' 'ome." He directed a look of flat finality at the
  drover.
  Dodson nodded a couple of times then shuffled from the byre. Mr. Dakin
  followed and called after him.
  "Ah'll pay ye for your time, Jack. Put it down on ma bill."
  He returned, applied a match to his pipe and drew deeply.
  "Mr. Herriot," he said as the srvoke rose around his ears, "do you ever
  feel when summat happens that it was meant to happen and that it was for
  t'best?"
 "Yes, I do, Mr. Dakin. I often feel that."
  "Aye well, that's how I felt when Blossom came down that hill." He
  reached out and scratched the root of the cow's tail. "She's allus been
  a favourite and by gaw I'm glad she's back."
  "But how about those teats? I'm willing to keep stitching them up, but.
  . . "
  "Nay, lad, ah've had an idea. Just came to me when you were tekkin' away
  that cleansin' and I thowt I was ower late."
 "An idea?"
  "Aye." The old man nodded and tamped down the tobacco with his thumb. "I
  can put two or three calves on to 'er instead of milldn' 'er. The old
  stable is empty -she can live in there where there's nobody to stand on
  'er awd tits."
  I laughed. "You're right, Mr. Dakin. She!d be safe in the stable and
  she'd suckle three calves easily. She could pay her way."
  "Well, as ah said, it's matterless. After all them years she doesn't owe
  me a thing." A gentle smile spread over the seamed face. "Main thing is,
  she's come 'ome."
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL9

 My eyes were shut most of the time now as I blundered round the park and
 when I opened them a red mist swirled. But it is incredible what the human
 frame win stand and I blinked in disbelief as the iron gates appeared once
 more under their arch of sooty branches.
  I had survived the second lap but an ordinary rest would be inadequate
  now. This time I would have to lie down. I felt sick.
  "Good ladsl" the corporal called out, cheerful as ever. "You're doin'
  fine. Now we're just going to 'ave a little hoppin' on the spot."
  Incredulous wails rose from our demoralised band but the corporal was
  unabashed.
  "Feet together now. UpI UpI UpI That's no good, come on, get some height
  into itl UpI Upl"
  This was the final absurdity. My chest was a flaming cavern of agony.
  These people were supposed to be making us fit and instead they were
  doing irreparable damage to my heart and lungs.
  "You'll thank me for this later, lads. Take my word for it. GET
  YOURSELVES OFF TIM GROUND. UPI UPI"
  Through my pain I could see the corporars laughing face. The man was
  clearly a sadist. It was no good appealing to him.
  And as, with the last of my strength, I launched myself into the air it
  came to me suddenly why I had dreamed about Blossom last nighL
 I wanted to go home, too.
           CHAPTER
               2

 The fog swirled over the heads of the marching men; a London fog, thick,
 yellow, metallic on the tongue. I couldn't see the heaa of the column,
 only the swinging lantern carried by the leader.
  This 6:30 a.m. walk to breakfast was just about the worst part of the
  day, when my morale was low and thoughts of home rose painfully.
  We usfd to have fogs in Darrowby, but they were country fogs, different
  from this. One morning I drove out on my rounds with the headlights
  blazing against the grey curtain ahead, seeing nothing from my tightshut
  box. But I was heading up the Dale, climbing steadily with the engine
  pulling against the rising ground, then quite suddenly the fog thinned
  to a shimmering silvery mist and was gone.
  And there, above the pall, the sun was dazzling and the long green line
  of the fells rose before me, thrusting exultantly into a sky of summer
  blue.
  Spellbound, I drove upwards into the bright splendour, staring through
  the windscreen as though I had never seen it all before; the bronze of
  the dead bracken spilling down the grassy flanks of the hills, the dark
  smudges of trees, the grey farmhouses and the endless pattern of walls
  creeping to the heather above.
  I was in a rush as usual but I had to stop. I pulled up in a gateway, Sam
  jumped out and we went through into a field; and as the beagle scampered
  over the glittering turf I stood in the warm sunshine amid the melting
  frost and looked back at the dark damp blanket which blotted out the low
  country but left this jewelled world above it.
 And, gulping the sweet air, I gazed about me grate-      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL11

 fully at the clean green land where I worked and made .my living.
  I could have stayed there, wandering round, watching Sam exploring with
  waving tail, nosing into the shady corners where the sun had not reached
  and the ground was iron hard and the rime thick and crisp on the grass.
  But I had an appointment to keep, and no ordinary one -it was with a peer
  of the realm. Reluctantly I got back into the car.
  I was due to start Lord Hulton's tuberculin test at 9:30
 a.m. and as I drove round the back of the Elizabethan
 mansion to the farm buildings nearby I felt a pang of
 misgiving; there were no animals in sight. There was
 only a man in tatte - red blue dungarees hammering busily
 at a makeshift crush at the exit to the fold yard.
  He turned round when he saw me and waved his hammer. As I approached I
  looked wonderingly at the slight figure with the soft fairish hair
  falling over his brow, at the holed cardigan and muck-encrusted
  wellingtons. You would have expected him to say, "Nah, then, Mr. Herriot,
  how ista this mornin'?"
  But he didn't, he said, "Herriot, my Pear chap, I'm most frightfully
  sorry, but I'm very much afraid we're not quite ready for you." And he
  began'to fumble with his tobacco pouch.
  William George Henry Augustus, Eleventh Marquis of Hulton, always had a
  pipe in his mouth and he was invariably either filling it, cleaning it
  out with a metal reaming tool or trying to light it. I had never seen him
  actually smoking it. And at times of stress he attempted to do everything
  at once. He was obviously embarrassed at his lack of preparedness and
  when he saw me glance involuntarily at my watch he grew more agitated,
  pulling his pipe from his mouth and putting it back in again, tucking the
  hammer under his arm, rummaging in a large box of matches.
  I gazed across to the rising ground beyond the farm buildings. Far off
  on the horizon I could make out tiny figures: galloping beasts, scurrying
  men; and faint sounds came down to me of barking dogs, irritated
  bellowings and shrill cries of "Haow, haowl" "Gerraway byl" "Siddown,
  dog!"
 I sighed. It was the old story. Even the Yorkshire
 12ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

aristocracy seemed to share this carefree attitude to time. His lordship clearly
 sensed my feelings because his discomfort increased.
  "It's too bad for me, old chap," he said, spraying a few matchsticks around
  and dropping flakes of tobacco on the stone flags. "I did promise to be
  ready for nine thirty but those blasted animals just won't cooperate."
  I managed a smile. "Oh never mind, Lord Hulton, they seem to be getting
  them down the hill now and I'm not in such a panic this morning, anyway."
  "Oh splendid, splendidt" He attempted to ignite a towering mound of dark
  flake which spluttered feebly then toppled over the edge of his pipe. "And
  come and see thisl I've been rigging up a crush. We'll drive them in here
  and we'll really have 'em. Remember we had a spot of bother last time,
  what?"
  I nodded. I did remember. Lord Hulton had only about thirty suckling cows
  but it had taken a three-hour rodeo to test them. I looked doubtfully at
  the rickety structure of planks and corrugated iron. It would be
  interesting to see how it coped with the moorland cattle.
  I didn't mean to rub it in, but again I glanced unthinkingly at my watch
  and the little man winced as though he had received a blow.
  "Dammitl" he burst out. "What are they doing over there? Tell you what,
  I'll go and give them a hand!" Distractedly, he began to change hammer,
  pouch, pipe and matches from hand to hand, dropping them and picking them
  up, before finally deciding to put the hammer down and stuff the rest into
  his pockets. He went off at a steady trot and I thought as I had done so
  often that there couldn't be many noblemen in England like him.
  If I had been a marquis, I felt, I would still have been in bed or perhaps
  just parting the curtains and peering out to see what kind of day it was.
  But Lord Hulton worked all the time, just about as hard as any of his men.
  One morning I arrived to find him at the supremely mundane task of
  "plugging muck," standing on a manure heap, hurling steaming forkfuls on to
  a cart. And he always dressed in rags. I suppose he must have had more
  orthodox items in his wardrobe but I never saw them. Even his tobacco was
  the great smoke of the ordinary farmer-Redbreast Flake.
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL13

  My musings were interrupted by the thunder of hooves and wild cries; the
  Hulton herd was approaching. Within minutes the fold yard was filled with
  milling creatures, steam rising in rolling clouds from their bodies.
  The marquis appeared round the corner of the building at a gallop.
  "Right, Charliel" he yelled. "Let the first one into the crush!"
  Panting with anticipation he stood by the nailed boards as the men inside
  opened the yard gate. He didn't have to wait long. A shaggy red monster
  catapulted from the interior, appeared briefly in the narrow passage then
  emerged at about fifty miles an hour from the other end with portions of
  his lordship's creation dangling from its horns and neck. The rest of the
  herd pounded close behind.
  "Stop theml Stop. them]" screamed the little peer, but it was of no
  avail. A hairy torrent flooded through the opening and in no time at all
  the herd was legging it back to the high land in a wild stampede. The men
  followed them and within a few moments Lord Hulton and I were standing
  there just as before watching the tiny figures on the skyline, listening
  to the distant "Haow, haowl" "Gerraway byl"
  "I say," he murmured despondently. "It didn't work terribly well, did
  it?"
  But he was made of stem stuff. Seizing his hammer he began to bang away
  with undiminished enthusiasm and by the time the beasts returned the
  crush was rebuilt and a stout iron bar pushed across the front to prevent
  further break-outs.
  It seemed to solve the problem because the first cow, confronted by the
  bar, stood quietly and I was able to clip the hair on her neck through
  an opening between the planks. Lord Hulton, in high good humour, settled
  down on an upturned oil drum with my testing book on his knee.
  "I'll do the writing for you," he cried. "Fire away, old chap I"
  I poised my calipers. "Eight, eight." He wrote it down and the next cow
  came in.
 "Eight, eight," I said, and he bowed his head again.
  The third cow arrived: "Eight, eight." And the fourth, '-Eight~ eight."
 14ALL TFTYNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  His lordship looked up from the book and passed a weary hand across his
  forehead.
  "Herriot, dear boy, can't you vary it a bit? I'm beginning to lose
  interest."
  All went well until we saw the cow which had originally smashed the
  crush. She had sustained a slight scratch on her neck.
  "I say, look at thatl" cried the peer. "Will it be all right?"
 "Oh yes, it's nothing. Superficial."
  "Ah, good, but don't you think we should have something to put on it?
  Some of that . . ."
  I waited for it. Lord Hulton was a devotee of May and Baker's Propamidine
  Cream and used it for all minor cuts and grazes in his cattle. He loved
  the stuff. But unfortunately he couldn't say "Propamidine." In fact no-
  body on the entire establishment could say it except Charlie the farm
  foreman and he only thought he could say it. He called it "Propopamide"
  but his lordship had the utmost faith in him.
 "Charliel" he bawled. "Are you there, Charlie?"
  The foreman appeared from the pack in the yard and touched his cap, "Yes,
  m1ord."
  "Charlie, that wonderful stuff we get from Mr. Herriot -you know, for cut
  teats and things, Pro ... Pero
 what the hell do you call it againT'
  Charlie paused. It was one of his big moments. "Propopamide, m1ord."
  The marquis, intensely gratified, slapped the knee of his dungarees.
  "That's it, Propopamidel Damned if I can get my tongue round it. Well
  done, Charliel"
 Charlie inclined his head modestly.
  The whole test was a vast improvement on last time and we were finished
  within an hour and a half. There was just one tragedy. About half way
  through, one of the cows dropped down dead with an attack of hypomag-
  ne-saemia, a condition which often plagues sucklers. It was a sudden,
  painless collapse and I had no chance to do anything.
  Lord Hulton looked down at the animal which had just stopped breathing.
  "Do you think we could salvage her for meat if we bled her?"
 "Well, it's typical hypomag. Nothing to harm any-       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL15

 bodyyou could try. It would depend on what the
 meat inspector says."
  The cow was bled, pulled into a van and the peer drove off to the
  abattoir. He came back just as we were finishing the test.
  "How did you get on?" I asked him. "Did they accept herT'
  He hesitated. "No . . . no, old chap," he said sadly. "I'm afraid they
  didn't."
 "Why? Did the meat inspector condemn the carcass?"
  "Well . . . I never got as far as the meat inspector, actually ... just
  saw one of the slaughtermen."
 "And what did he say?"
 "Just two words, Herriot."
 "Two words ... T'
 "Yes. . .'Bugger off I"
  I nodded. "I see." It was easy to imagine the scene. The tough
  slaughterman viewing the small, unimpressive figure and deciding that he
  wasn't going to be put out of his routine by some ragged farm man.
 "Well, never mind, sir," I said. "You can only try."
  "True ... true, old chap." He dropped a few matches as he fumbled
  disconsolately with his smoking equipment.
  As I was getting into the car I remembered about the Propamidine. "Don't
  forget to call down for that cream, Will you?"
  "By Jove, yesl I'll come down for it after lunch. I have great faith in
  that Prom . . . Pram . . . Charliel Damn and blast, what is it?"
  Charlie drew himself up proudly. "Propopamide, m7lord."
  "Ah yes, Propopamidel" The little man laughed, his good humour quite
  restored. "Good lad, Charlie, you're a marvell"
  "Thank you, m'lord." The foreman wore the smug expression of the expert
  as he drove the cattle back into the field.

 It's a funny thing, but when you see a client about something you very
 often see him soon again about something else. It was only a week later,
 with the district still in the iron grip of winter, that my bedside 'phone
 jangled me from slumber.
 16ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  After that first palpitation of the heart which I feel does vets no good
  at all I reached a sleepy hand from under the sheets.
 "Yes?" I grunted.
  "Herriot ... I say, Herriot . . . is that you, Herriot?" The voice was
  laden with tension.
 "Yes, it is, Lord Hulton."
  "Oh good . . . good . . . dash it, I do apologise. Frightfully bad show,
  waking you up like this . . . but I've got something damn peculiar here."
  A soft pattering followed which I took to be matches falling around the
  receiver.
  "Really?" I yawned and my eyes closed involuntarily. "In what way,
  exactly?"
  "Well, I've been sitting up with one of my best sows. Been farrowing and
  produced twelve nice piglets, but there's something very odd."
 "How do you mean?"
 "Difficult to describe, old chap . . . but you know the
  . er . . . bottom aperture . . . there's a bloody great long red thing
  hanging from it."
  My eyes snapped open and my mouth gaped in a soundless scream. Prolapsed
  uterusl Hard labour in cows, a pleasant exercise in ewes, impossible in
  sows.
  "Long red . . . I When ... ? How ... T' I was stammering pointlessly. I
  didn't have to ask.
  "Just popped it out, dear boy. I was waiting for another piglet and
  whoops, there it was. Gave me a nasty turn."-
  My toes curled tightly beneath the blankets. It was no good telling him
  that I had seen five prolapsed uteri in pigs in my limited experience and
  had failed in every case. I had come to the conclusion that there was no
  way of putting them back.
 But I had to try. "I'll be right out," I muttered.
  I looked at the alarm clock It was five thirty. A horrible time,
  truncating the night's slumber yet elirninating any chance of a soothing
  return to bed for an hour before the day's work. And I hated turning out
  even more since my marriage. Helen was lovely to come back to, but by the
  same token it was a bigger wrench to leave her soft warm presence and
  venture into the inhospitable world outside.
       ALL TH1NGS WISE AND WONDERFUL17

  And the journey to the Hulton farm was not enlivened by my memories of
  those five other sows. I had tried everything; full anaesthesia, lifting
  them upside down with pulleys, directing a jet from a hose on the everted
  organ, and all the time pushing, straining, sweating over the great mass
  of flesh which refused to go back through ,that absurdly small hole. The
  result in each case had been the conversion of my patient int6 pork pies
  and a drastic plummeting of my self-esteem.
  There was no moon and the soft glow from the piggery door made the only
  light among the black outlines of the buildings. Lord Hulton was waiting
  at the entrance and I thought I had better wam him.
  ",I have to tell you, Sir, that this is a very serious condition. It's
  only fair that you should know that the sow very often has to be
  slaughtered."
  The little man's eyes widened and the comers of his mouth drooped.
  "Oh, I sayl That's rather a bore . . . one of my best animals. I . . .
  I'm rather attached to that pig." He was wearing a polo-necked sweater
  of such advanced dilapidation that the hem hung in long woollen fronds
  almost to his knees, and as he tremblingly attempted to light his pipe
  he looked very vulnerable.
  "But I'll do my very best," I added hastily. "There's always a chance."
  "Oh, good manl" In his relief, he dropped his pouch and as he stooped the
  open box of matches spilled around his feet. It was some time before we
  retrieved them and went into the piggery.
  The reality was as bad as my imaginings. Under the single weak electric
  bulb of the pen an unbelievable length of very solid-looking red tissue
  stretched from the rear end of a massive white sow lying immobile on her
  side. The twelve pink piglets fought -and worried along the row of teats;
  they didn't seem to be getting much.
  As I stripped off and dipped my arms into the steaming bucket I wished
  with all my heart that the porcine uterus was a little short thing and
  not this horrible awkward shape. And it was a disquieting thought that
  tonight I had no artificial aids. People used all sorts of tricks and
  various types of equipment but here in this silent building there was
  just the pig, Lord Hulton and
 z8ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 me. His lordship, I knew, was willing and eager, but he had helped me at
 jobs before and his usefulness was impaired by the fact that his hands were
 always filled with his smoking items and he kept dropping things.
  I got down on my knees behind the animal with the feeling that I was on my
  own. And as soon as I cradled the mass in my arms the conviction flooded
  through me that this was going to be the same as all the others. The very
  idea of this lot going back whence it came was ridiculous and the
  impression was reinforced as I began to push. Nothing happened.
  I had sedated the sow heavily and she wasn't straining much against me; it
  was just that the thing was so huge. By a supreme effort I managed to feed
  a few inches back into the vaginal opening but as soon as .1 relaxed it
  popped quietly out again. My strongest instinct was to call the whole thing
  off without delay; the end result would be the same and anyway I wasn't
  feeling very strong. In fact my whole being was permeated by the
  leaden-armed pervading weakness one feels when forced to work in the small
  hours.
  I would try just once more. Lying flat, my naked chest against the cold
  concrete I fought with the thing till my eyes popped and my breath gave
  out, but it had not the slightest effect and it made my mind up; I had to
  tell him.
  Rolling over on my back I looked up at him, panting, waiting till I had the
  wind to speak. I would say, "Lord Hulton, we are really wasting our time
  here. This is an impossible case. I am going back home now and I'll ring
  the slaughterhouse first thing in the morning." The prospect of escape was
  beguiling; I might even be able to crawl in beside Helen for an hour. But
  as my mouth framed the words the little man looked down at me appealingly
  as though he knew what I was going to say'. He tried to smile but darted
  anxious glances at me, at the pig and back again. From the other end of the
  animal a soft uncomplaining grunt reminded me that I wasn't the only one
  involved.
  I didn't say anything. I turned back on to my chest, braced my feet against
  the wall of the pen,and began again. I don't know how long I lay there,
  pushing, relaxing, pushing again as I gasped and groaned and the sweat
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL19

 Tan steadily down my back. The peer was silent but I knew he was following
 my progress intently because every now and then I had to brush matches
 from the surface of the uterus.
  Then for no particular reason the heap of flesh in my arms felt suddenly
  smaller. I glared desperately at the thing. There was no doubt about it,
  it was only half the size. I had to take a breather and a hoarse croak
  escaped me.
 "Godl I think it's going backl"
  I must have startled Lord Hulton in mid fill because I heard a stifled
  "What . . . what . . oh I say, how absolutely splendidl" and a fragrant
  shower of tobacco cascaded from above.
  This was it, then. Summoning the last of my energy for one big effort I
  blew half an ounce or so of Redbreast Flake from the uterine mucosa and
  heaved forward. And, miraculously, there was little resistance and I
  stared in disbelief as the great organ disappeared gloriously and
  wonderfully from sight. I was right behind it with my arm, probing
  frantically away up to the shoulder as I rotated my wrist again and again
  till both uterine cornua were fully involuted. When I was certain beyond
  doubt that everything was back in place I lay there for a few moments,
  my arm still deep inside the sow, my forehead resting on the floor.
  Dimly, through the mist of exhaustion I beard Lord Hulton's cries.
  "Stout fellal Dash it, how marvellous! Oh stout fellal" He was almost
  dancing with joy.
  One last terror assailed me. What if it came out again? Quickly I seized
  needle and thread and began to insert a few sutures in the vulva.
 "Here, hold thisl" I barked, giving him the scissors.
  Stitching with the help of Lord Hulton wasn't easy. I kept pushing needle
  or scissors into his bands then demanding them back peremptorily, and it
  caused a certain amount of panic. Twice he passed me his pipe to cut the
  ends of my suture and on one occasion I found myself trying in the dim
  light to thread the silk through his -reaming tool. His lordship suffered
  too, in his turn, because I heard the occasional stifled oath as he
  impaled a finger on the needle.
 But at last it was done. I rose wearily to my feet and
 20ALL 77TINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 leaned against the wall, my mouth hanging open, sweat trickling into my
 eyes. The little man's eyes were fun of concern as they roved over my
 limply hanging arms and the caked blood and filth on my chest.
  "Herriot, my dear old chap, you're all inl And you'll catch pneumonia or
  something if you stand around half naked. You need a hot drink. Tell you
  what-get yourself cleaned up and dressed and I'll run down to the house
  for something." He scurried swiftly away.
  My aching muscles were slow to obey as I soaped and towelled myself and
  pulled on my shirt. Fastening my watch round my wrist I saw that it was
  after seven and I could hear the farm men clattering in the yard outside
  as they began their morning tasks.
  I was buttoning my jacket when the little peer returned. He bore a tray
  with a pint mug of steaming coffee and two thick slices of bread and
  honey. He placed it on a bale of straw and pulled up an upturned bucket
  as a chair before hopping on to a meal bin where he sat like a pixie on
  a toadstool with his arms around his knees, regarding me With keen
  anticipation.
  "The servants are still abed, old chap," he said. "So I made this little
  bite for you myself."
  I sank on to the bucket and took a long pull at the coffee. It was black
  and scalding with a kick like a Galloway bullock and it spread like fire
  through my tired frame. Then I bit into the first slice of bread; home
  made, plastered thickly with farm butter and topped by a lavish layer of
  heather honey from the long row of hives I had often seen on the edge of
  the moor above. I closed my eyes in reverence as I chewed, then as I
  reached for the pint pot again I looked up at the small figure on the
  bin.
  "May I say, sir, that this isn't a bite, it's a feast. It is all
  absolutely delicious."
  His face lit up with impish glee. "Well, dash it . . . do you really
  think so? I'm so pleased. And you've done nobly, dear boy. Can't tell you
  how grateful I am."
  As I continued to eat ecstatically, feeling the strength ebbing back, he
  glanceduneasily into the pen.
  "Herriot . . . those stitches. Don't like the look of them much.. . ."
 "Oh yes," I said. "They're just a precaution. You can
 nick them out in a couple of days."t
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL21

  "Splendid! But won't they leave a wound? Wed, better put something on
  there."
  I paused in mid chew. Here it was again. He only needed his Propamidine
  to complete his happiness.
 "Yes, old chap, we must apply some of that Prip
 Prom . . . oh hell and blast, it's no goodl" He threw back his head and
 bellowed, "Charlie I"
  The foreman appeared in the entrance, touching his cap. "Morning,
  m'lord."
  "Morning, Charlie. See that this sow gets some of that wonderful cream
  on her. What the blazes d'you call it again?"
  Charlie swallowed and squared his shoulders. "Propopamide, m'lord."
  The little man threw his arms high in delight. "Of course, of coursel
  Propopamidel I wonder if I'll ever be able to get that word out?" He
  looked admiringly at his foreman. 'Vharlie, you never fail-I don't know
  how you do it."
 Charlie bowed gravely in acknowledgement.
  Lord Hulton turned to me. "You'll let us have some more Propopamide,
  won't you, Herriot?"
 "Certainly," I replied. "I think I have some in the car."
  Sitting there on the bucket amid the mixed aromas of pig and barley meal
  and coffee I could almost feel the waves of pleasure beating on me. His
  lordship was clearly enchanted by the whole business, Charlie was wearing
  the superior smile which always accompanied his demonstrations of lingual
  dexterity, and as for myself I was experiencing a mounting euphoria.
  I could see into the pen and the sight was rewarding. The little pigs who
  had been sheltered in a large box during the operation were back with
  their mother, side by side in a long pink row as their tiny mouths
  enclosed the teats. The sow seemed to be letting her milk down, too,
  because there was no frantic scramble for position, just a rapt
  concentration.
  She was a fine pedigree pig and instead of lying on the butcher's slab
  today she would be starting to bring up her family. As though reading my
  thoughts she gave a series of contented grunts and the old feeling began
  to bubble in me, the deep sense of fulfillment and satisfaction that
  comes from even the smallest triumph and makes our lives worth while.
 22ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  And there was something else. A new thought stealing into my
  consciousness with a delicious fresh tingle about it. At this moment,
  who else in the length and breadth of Britain was eating a brealdast
  personally prepared and served by a marquis?
           CHAPTER
               3

 I am afraid of dentists.
  I am particularly afraid of strange dentists, so before I went into the
  RAF I made sure my teeth were in order. Everybody told me they were very
  strict about the aircrews' teeth and I didn't want some unknown prodding
  around in my.mouth. There had to be no holes anywhere or they would start
  to ache away up there in the sky, so they said.
  So before my call-up I went to old Mr. Grover in Darrowby and he
  painstakingly did all that was necessary. He was good at his job and was
  always gentle and careful and didn't strike the same terror into me as
  other dentists. All I felt when I went to his surgery was a dryness of
  the throat and a quivering at the knees, and providing I kept my eyes
  tightly shut all the time I managed to get through the visit fairly
  easily.
  My fear of dentists dates back to my earliest experiences in the
  twenties. As a child I was taken to the dread Hector McDarroch in Glasgow
  and he did my dental work right up to my teens. Friends of my youth tell
  me that he inspired a similar lasting fear in them, too, and in fact
  there must be a whole generation of Glaswegians who feel the same.
  Of course you couldn't blame Hector entirely. The equipment in those days
  was primitive and a visit to any dental practitioner was an ordeal. But
  Hector, with his booming laugh, was so large and overpowering that he
  made it worse. Actually he was a very nice man, cheerful and
  good-natured, but the other side of him blotted it all out.
  The electric drill had not yet been invented or if it had, it hadn't
  reached Scotland, and Hector bored holes in teeth with a fearsome
  foot-operated machine. There
               23
 24ALL TTHNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 was a great wheel driven by a leather belt and this powered the drill, and
 as you lay in the chair two things dominated the outlook; the wheel
 whirring by your ear and Hector's huge knee pistoning almost into your
 face as he pedalled furiously.
  He came from the far north and at the Highland games he used to array
  himself in kilt and sporran and throw cabers around like matchsticks. He
  was so big and strong that I always felt hopelessly trapped in that chair
  with his bulk over me and the wheel grinding and the pedal thumping. He
  didn't exactly put his foot on my chest but he had me all right.
  And it didn't worry him when he got into the sensitive parts with his
  drill; my strangled cries were of no avail and he carried on
  remorselessly to the end. I had the impression that Hector thought it was
  sissy to feet pain, or maybe he was of the opinion that suffering was
  good for the soul.
  Anyway, since those days I've had a marked preference for small frail
  soft-spoken dentists like Mr. Grover. I like to feel that if it came to
  a stand-up fight I would have a good chance of victory and escape. Also,
  Mr. Grover understood that people were afraid, and that helped. I
  remember him chuckling when he told me about the big farm men who came
  to have their teeth extracted. Many a time, he said, he had gone across
  the room for his instruments and turned back to find the chair empty.
  I still don't enjoy going to the dentist but I have to admit that the
  modern men are wonderful. I hardly ~ee mine when I go. Just a brief
  glimpse of a white coat then all is done from behind. Fingers come round,
  things go in and out of my mouth but even when I venture to open my eyes
  I see nothing.
  Hector McDarroch, on the other hand, seemed to take a pleasure in showing
  off his grisly implements, filling the long-needled syringe right in
  front of my eyes and squirting the cocaine ceilingwards a few times
  before he started on me. And worse, before an extraction he used to clank
  about in a tin box, producing a series of hideous forceps and exan-dning
  them, whistling softly, till he found the right one.
  So with all this in mind, as I sat in a long queue of airmen for the
  preliminary examination, I was thankful
       ALL THMOS WISE AND WONDERFUL25

 1 had been to Mr. Grover for a complete check-up. A dentist stood by a
 chair at the end of the long room and he examined the young men in blue
 one by one before calling out his findings to an orderly at a desk.
  I derived considerable entertainment from watching the expressions on the
  lads' faces when the call went out. 'Three fillings, two extractionsl"
  "Eight fillingsl" Most of them looked stunned, some thunderstruck, others
  almost tearful. Now and again one would try to expostulate with the man
  in white but it was no good; nobody was listening. At times I could have
  laughed out loud. Mind you, I felt a bit mean at being amused, but after
  all they had only themselves to blame. If only they had shown my
  foresight they would have had nothing to worry about.
  When my name was called I strolled across, humming a little tune, and
  dropped nonchalantly into the chair. It didn't take the man long. He
  poked his way swiftly along my teeth then rapped out, "Five fillings and
  one extraction!"
 I sat bolt upright and stared at him in amazement.
  "But . . . but ... 11 1 began to yammer, "I had a checkupbymyown..."
 "Next, please," murmured the dentist.
 "But Mr. Grover said..."
  "Next manl Move alongl" bawled the orderly, and as I shuflled away I
  gazed appealingly -at the white-coated figure. But he was reciting a list
  of my premolars and incisors and showed no interest.
  I was still trembling when I was handed the details of my fate.
  "Report at Regent Lodge tomorrow morning for the extraction," the WAAF
  girl said.
  Tomorrow morning! By God, they didn't mess aboutl And what the heck did
  it all mean, anyway? My teeth were perfectly sound. There was only that
  one with the bit of enamel chipped, off. Mr. Grover had pointed it out
  and said it wouldn't give any trouble. It was the tooth that held my
  pipe-surely it couldn't be that one.
  But there came the disquieting thought that my opinion didn't matter.
  When my feeble protests were ignored back there it hit me for the first
  time that I wasn't a civilian any more.
  Next morning the din from the dustbin lids had hardly subsided when the
  grim realisation drove into my brain.
 26ALL TONGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 I was going to have a tooth out todayl And very soon, too. I passed the
 intervening hours in growing apprehension; morning parade, the march through
 the darkness to breakfast. The dried egg and fried bread were less at-
 traptive than ever and the grey day had hardly got under way before I was
 approaching theforbidding fa;ade of Regent Lodge.
  As I climbed the steps my palms began to sweat. I didn't like having my
  teeth drilled but extractions were infinitely worse. Something in me
  recoiled from the idea of having a part of myself torn away by force, even
  if it didn't hurt. But of course, I told myself as I walked along an
  echoing corridor, it never did hurt nowadays. Just a little prick, then
  nothing.
  I was nurturing this comforting thought when I turned into a large assembly
  room with numbered doors leading from it. About thirty airmen sat around
  wearing a variety of expressions from sickly smiles to tough bravado. A
  chilling smell of antiseptic hung on the air. I chose a chair and settled
  down to wait. I had been in the armed forces long enough to know that you
  waited a long time for everything and I saw no reason why a dental ap-
  pointment should be any different.
  As I sat down the man on my left gave me a brief nod. He was fat, and
  greasy black hair fell over his pimpled brow. Though engrossed in picking
  his teeth with a match he gave me a long appraising stare before addressing
  me in rich cockney.
 "What room you goin' in, mate?"
 I looked at my card. "Room four."
  "Blimey, mate, you've 'ad id" He removed his matchstick and grinned
  wolfishly.
 "Had it... ? What do you meanT'
 "Well, kaven't you 'eard? That's The Butcher in there~"
 "The ... The ... Butcher?" I quavered.
  "Yeh, that's what they call the dental officer in there." He gave an
  expansive smile. "He's. a right killer, that bloke, I'll tell yer."
  I swallowed. "Butcher . ? Killer. . , ? Oh come on. They'll all be the
  same, I'm sure."
  "Don't you believe it, mate. There's good an' there's bad, and that bloke's
  pure murder. It shouldn't be allowed."
      ALL TDINGS WISE AND WONDERPM27

 "How do you know, anyway?"
  He waved an airy hand. "Oh rve been 'ere a few times and I've heard some
  bleedin' awful screams comin' out of that room. Spoken to some of the
  chaps afterwards, too. They allcall'im The Butcher."
  I rubbed my hands on the rough blue of my trousers. "Oh you hear these
  tales. I'm sure they're exaggerated.,'
  "Well, you'll find out, mate." He resumed his tooth picking. "But don't
  say I didn't tell you."
  He went on about various things but I only half heard him. His name, it
  seemed, was Simkin, and he was not an aircrew cadet like the rest of us
  but a regular and a member of the groundstaff; he worked in the kitchens.
  He spoke scornfully of us raw recruits and pointed out that we would have
  to "get some service in!' before we were fit to associate with,the real
  members of the Royal Air Force. I noticed, however, that despite his own
  years of allegiance he was still an AC2 like myself.
  Almost an hour passed with my heart thumping every time the door of
  number four opened. I had to admit that the young men leaving that room
  all looked a bit shattered and one almost reeled out~ holding his mouth
  with both hands.
  "Corl Look at that poor buggerl" Simkin drawled with ill-concealed
  satisfaction. "Strike mel He's been through it, poor bleeder. I'm glad
  I'm not in your shoes, mate."
  I could feet the tension mounting in me. "What room are you going into,
  anywayr, I asked.
  He did a bit of deep exploration with his match. "Room two, mate. I've
  been in there before. He's a grand bloke, one of the best. Never 'urts
  you."
 "Well you're lucky, aren't you?"
  "Not lucky, mate." He paused and stabbed his match at me. "I know my way
  around, that's all. There!s ways and means." He allowed one eyelid to
  drop briefly.
  The conversation was abruptly terminated as the dread door opened and a
  WAAF came out.
 I'AC2 Herriott" she called.
  I got up on shaking limbs and took a deep breath. As I set off I had a
  fleeting glim
                , pse of the leer of pure delight on Simkin s face. He was
                really enjoying himself.
  As I passed the portals my feeling of doom increased. The Butcher was,
  another Hector McDarroch; about six
 28ALL IMINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 feet two with rugby forward shoulders bulging his white coat. My flesh
 crept as he unleashed a hearty laugh and motioned me towards the chair.
 As I sat down I decided to have one last try.
  "Is this the tooth?" I asked, tapping the only possible suspect.
 "It is indeedl" boomed The Butcher. "That's the one."
  "Ah well," I said with a light laugh. "I'm sure I can explain. There's
  been some mistake ......
  "Yes ... yes . . ." he murmured, filling the syringe before my eyes and
  sending a few playful spurts into the air.
  "Theres just a bit of enamel off it, and Mr. Grover said . . ."
  The WAAF suddenly wound the chair back and I found myself in the
  semi-prone position with the white bulk looming over me.
  "You see," I gasped desperately. "I need that tooth. It's the one that
  holds my. . ."
  A strong finger was on my gum and I felt the needle going in. I resigned
  myself to my fate.
  When he had inserted the local the big man put the syringe down. "Well
  just give that a minute or two," he Said, and left the room.
  As soon as the door closed behind him the WAAF tiptoed over to me.
 "This feller's loopyl" she whispered.
 Half lying, I stared at her.
 "Loopy ... ? What d'you mean?"
  "Crackersl Round the bendl No idea how to pull teethl"
 "But ... but ... he's a dentist, isn't he ... T'
  She pulled a wry face. "Thinks he isl But he hasn't a cluel"
  I had no time to explore this cheering information further because the
  door opened and the big man returned.
  He seized a horrible pair of forceps and I closed my eyes as he started
  flexing his muscles.
  I must admit I felt nothing. I knew he was twisting and tugging away up
  there but the local had mercifully done its job. I was telling myself
  that it would soon be over when I heard a sharp crack.
 I opened my eyes. The Butcher was gazing disappointed-       ALL TUNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL29

 ly at my broken-off tooth in his forceps. The root was still in my gum.
  Behind him the WAAF gave me a long "I told you so" nod. She was a pretty
  little thing, but I fear the libido of the young men she encountered in
  here would be at a low ebb.
  "Ohl" The Butcher grunted and began to rummage in a metal box. It took
  me right back to the McDarroch days as he fished out one forceps after
  another, opened and shut them a few times then tried them on me.
  But it was of no avail, and as the time passed I was the unwilling
  witness of the gradual transition from heartiness to silence, then to
  something like panic. The man was clearly whacked. He had no idea how to
  shift that root.
  He must have been gouging for half an hour when an idea seemed to strike
  him. Pushing all the forceps to one side he almost ran from the room and
  reappeared shortly with a tray on which reposed a long chisel and a metal
  mallet.
  At a sign from him the WAAF wound the chair back till I was completely
  horizontal. Seemingly familiar with the routine, she cradled my head in
  her arms in a practised manner and stood waiting.
  This couldn't be true, I thought, as the man inserted the chisel into my
  mouth and poised the mallet; but all doubts were erased as the metal rod
  thudded against the remnants of my tooth and my head in turn shot back
  into the little WAAF's bosom. And that was how it went on. I lost count
  of time as The Butcher banged away and the girl hung on grimly to my
  jerking skull.
  The thought uppermost in my mind was that I had always wondered how young
  horses felt when I knocked wolf teeth out of them. Now I knew.
  When it finally stopped I opened my eyes, and though by this time I was
  prepared for anything I still felt slightly surprised to see The Butcher
  threading a needle with a length of suture silk. He was sweating and
  looking just a little desperate as he bent over me yet again.
  "Just a couple of stitches," he muttered hoarsely, and I closed my eyes
  again.
  When I left the chair I felt very strange indeed. The assault on my
  cranium had made me dizzy and the sensation of the long ends of the
  stitches tickling my tongue
 30ALL TFUNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 was distinctly odd. I'm sure that when I came out of the room I was
 staggering, and instinctively I pawed at my mouth.
  The first man I saw was Sinikin. He was where I had left him but he looked
  different as he beckoned excitedly to me. I went over and he caught at my
  tunic with one hand.
  "What d'yer think, mate?" he gasped. "They've changed me round and I've got
  to go into room four." He gulped. "You looked bloody awful comin' out
  there. What was it Re?"
  I looked at him. Maybe there was going to be a gleam of light this morning.
  I sank into the chair next to him and groaned.
  "By God, you weren't kiddingl I've never met anybody like that-he's half
  killed me. They don't call him The Butcher for nothingl"
 "Why ... what ... what did le do?"
  "Nothing much. Just knocked my tooth out with a hammer and chisel, thafs
  all."
  '~Garnl Yoifre'av& me ont" Simkin made a ghastly attempt to smile.
  "Word of honour," I said. "Anyway, theres the tray coming out now. Look for
  yourself."
  He stared at the WAAF carrying the dreadful implements andturned very pale.
 "Oh blimeyl What . . . what else did 'e do?"
  I held my jaw for a moment. "Well he did something Irve never seen before.
  He made such a great hole in my gum that he had to stitch me up
  afterwards.-
  Simkin shook his head violently. "Naow, I'm not 'avin' that I I don't
  believe yerl"
 "All right" I said. "What do you think of this?"
  I leaned forward, put my thumb under my lip and jerked it up to give him a
  close-up view of the long gash and the trailing blood-stained ends of the
  stitches.
 He shrank away from me, lips trembling, eyes wide.
 "Gawdl" he moaned. "Oh Gawd... I"
  It was unfortunate that the WAAF chose that particular moment to call out
  "AC2 Simkin" piercingly from the doorway, because the poor fellow leaped as
  though a Powerful electric current had passed through him. Then, head down,
  he trailed across the room. At the door he
       ALL TIHNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL31

 turned and gave me a last despairing look and I saw him no more.

 This experience deepened my dread of the five fillings which awaited me.
 But I needn't have worried; they were trivial things and were efficiently
 and painlessly dealt with by RAF dentists very different from The Butcher.
  And yet, many years after the war had ended, the man from room four
  stretched out a long arm from the past and touched me on the shoulder.
  I began to feel some~ thing sharp coming through the roof of my mouth
  and, went to Mr. Grover, who X-rayed me and showed me a pretty picture
  of that fateful root still there despite the hammer and chisel. He
  extracted it and the saga was ended.
  The Butcher remained a vivid memory because, apart from my ordeal, I was
  constantly reminded of him by the dangerous wobbling of my pipe at the
  edge of that needless gap in my mouth.
  But I did have a small solace. I finished my visit to room four with a
  parting shaft which gave me a little comfort. As I tottered away I paused
  and addressed the big man's back as he prepared for his next victim.
  "By the way," I said. "I've knocked out a lot of teeth just like you' did
  there."
  He turned and stared at me. "Really? Are you a dentist?"
 "No," I replied over my shoulder as I left "I'm a vetl"
            CHAPTER
             . 4

 I like women better than men.
  Mind you, I have nothing against men-after all, I am one myself-but in
  the RAF there were too many of them. Literally thousands, jostling,
  shouting, swearing; you couldn't get away from them. Some of them became
  my friends and have remained so until the present day, but the sheer
  earthy mass of them made me realise how my few months of married life had
  changed me.
  Women are gentler, softer, cleaner, altogether nicer things and 1, who
  always considered myself one of the boys, had come to the surprising
  conclusion that the companion I wanted most was a woman.
  My impression that I had been hurled into a coarser world was heightened
  at the beginning of each day, particularly one morning when I was on fire
  picket duty and had the sadistic pleasure of rattling the dustbin lids
  and shouting "Wakey-wakeyl" along the corridors. It wasn't the cursing
  and the obscene remarks which struck deepest, it was the extraordinary
  abdominal noises issuing from the dark rooms. They reminded me of my
  patient, Cedric, and in an instant I was back in Darrowby answering the
  telephone.
 The voice at the other end was oddly hesitant.
  "Mr. Herriot . . . I should be grateful if you would come and see my
  dog." It was a woman, obviously upper class.
 "Certainly. What's the trouble?"
  "Well ... he ... er ... he seems to suffer from ... a certain amount of
  flatus."
 "I beg your pardon?"
 There was a long pause. "He has ... excessive flatus."
 "In what way, exactly?"
               32
       ALL THWOS WISE AND WONDERFUL33

  "Well ... I suppose you'd describe it as ... windiness."
 The voice had begun to tremble.  a
  I thought I could see a gleam of light. "You mean his stomach. .. T'
  "No, not his stomach. He passes . . . er ... a considerable quantity of
  ... wind from his ... his . A note of desperation had crept in.
  "Ah, yesl" All became suddenly clear. "I quite understand. But that
  doesn't sound very serious. Is he ill?"
 "No, he's very fit in other ways."
  "Well then, do you think it's necessary for me to see him?"
  "Oh yes, indeed, Mr. Herriot. I wish you would come as soon as possible.
  It has become quite quite a problem."
  "All right," I said. "I'll look in this morning. Can I have your name and
  address, please?"
 "It's Mrs. Rumney, The Laurels."

 'Ibe Laurels was a very nice house on the edge of the town standing back
 from the road in a large garden. Mrs. Rumney herself let me in and I felt
 a shock of surprise at my first sight of her. It wasn't just that she was
 strikingly beautiful; there was an unworldly air about her. She would be
 around forty but had the appearance of a heroine in a Victorian
 novel-tall, willowy, ethereal. And I could understand immediately her
 hesitation on the 'phone. Everything about her suggested fastidiousness
 and delicacy.
  "Cedric is in the kitchen," she said. "I'll take you through."
  I had another surprise when I saw Cedric. An enormous Boxer hurled
  himself on me in delight,. clawing at my chest with the biggest, homiest
  feet I had seen for a long time. I tried to fight him off but he kept at
  me, panting ecstatically into my face and wagging his entire rear end.
  "Sit down, boyl" the lady said sharply, then, as Cedric took absolutely
  no notice, she turned to me nervously. "He's so friendly."
  'Yes, I said breathlessly, "I can see that." I finally managed to push
  the huge animal away and backed into a comer for safety. "How often does
  this . . . excessive flatus occur?"
 34 ,ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  As if in reply an almost palpable sulphurous wave arose from the dog and
  eddied around me. It appeared that the excitement of seeing me had
  activated Cedric's weakness. I was up against the wall and unable to obey
  my first instinct to run for cover, so I held my hand over my face for a
  few moments before speaking.
 "Is that what you meant?"
  Mrs. Rumney waved a lace handkerchief under her nose and the faintest flush
  crept into the pallor of her cheeks.
  "Yes," she replied almost inaudibly. "Yes . . . that is it.,,
  "Oh well," I said briskly. "There's nothing to worry about. Let's go into
  the other room and we'll have a word about his diet and a few other
  things."
  It turned out that Cedric was getting rather a lot of meat and I drew up a
  little chart cutting down the protein and adding extra carbohydrates. I
  prescribed a kaolin antacid mixture to be given night and morning and left
  the house in a confident frame of mind.
  It was one of those trivial things and I had entirely forgotten it when
  Mrs. Rumney 'phoned again.
 "I'm afraid Cedric is no better, Mr. Herriot."
 "Oh I'm sorry to hear that. He's still . . . er . . . still
  - yes ... yes . . ." I spent a few moments in thought. I tell you what-I
  don't think I can do any more by seeing him at the moment, but I think you
  should cut out his meat completely for a week or two. Keep him on biscuits
  and brown bread rusked in the oven. Try him with that and vegetables and
  I'll give you some powder to mix in his food. Perhaps you'd call round for
  it."
  The powder was a pretty strong absorbent mixture and I felt sure it would
  do the trick, but a week later Mrs. Rurnney was on the 'phone again.
  "There's absolutely no improvement, Mr. Herriot." The tremble was back in
  her voice. "I . . . I do wish you'd come and see him again."
  I couldn't see much point in viewing this perfectly healthy animal again
  but I promised to call. I had a busy day and it was after six o7clock
  before I got round to The Laurels. There were several cars in the drive and
  when I went into the house I saw that Mrs. Rumney had a few people in for
  drinks; people like herself-upper class and
       ALL TONGS WISE AND WONDERFUL35

 of obvious refinement. In fact I felt rather a lout in my working clothes
 among the elegant gathering.
  Mrs. Rumney was about to lead me through to the kitchen when the door
  burst open and Cedric bounded delightedly into the midst of the company.
  Within seconds an aesthetic-looking gentleman was frantically beating off
  the attack as the great feet ripped down his waistcoat. He got away at
  the cost of a couple of buttons and the Boxer turned his attention to one
  of the ladies. She was in imminent danger of losing her dress when I
  pulled the dog off her.
  Pandemonium broke out in the graceful room. The hostess's plaintive
  appeals rang out above the cries of alarm as the big dog charged around,
  but very soon I realised that a more insidious element had crept into the
  situation. The atmosphere in the room became rapidly charged with an
  unmistakable effluvium and it was clear that Cedric's unfortunate malady
  had reasserted itself.
  I did my best to shepherd the animal out of the room but he didn't seem
  to know the meaning of obedience and I chased him in vain. And as the
  embarrassing minutes ticked away I began to realise for the first time
  the enormity of the problem which confronted Mrs. Rumney. Most dogs break
  wind occasionally but Cedric was different; he did it all the time. And
  while his silent emanations were perhaps more treacherous there was no
  doubt that the audible ones were painfully distressing in a company like
  this.
  Cedric made it worse, because at each rasping expulsion he would look
  round enquiringly at his back end then gambol about the room as though
  the - fugitive zephyr was clearly visible to him and he was determined
  to comer it.
  It seemed a year before I got him out of there. Mrs. Rumney held the door
  wide as I finally managed to steer bim towards it but the big dog wasn't
  finished yet. on his way out he cocked a leg swiftly and directed a
  powerful jet against an immaculate trouser leg.
  After that night I threw myself into the struggle on Mrs. Rumney's
  behalf. I felt she desperately needed my help, and I made frequent visits
  and tried innumerable remedies. I consulted my colleague Siegfried on the
  problem and he suggested a diet of charcoal biscuits.
 36ALL THMGS WISE AND WOMERMM

 Cedric ate them in vast quantities and with evident enjoyment but they, like
 everything else, made not the slightest difference to his condition.
  And all the time I pondered upon the enigma of Mrs. Rumney. She had fived
  in Darrowby for several years but the townsfolk knew little about her. It
  was a matter of debate whether she was a widow or separated from her
  husband. But I was not interested in such things; the biggest mystery to me
  was how she ever got involved with a dog like Cedric.
  It was difficult to think of any animal less suited to her personality.
  Apart from his regrettable affliction he was in every way the opposite to
  herself; a great thickheaded rumbustious extrovert totally out of place in
  her gracious menage. I -never did find out how they came together but on my
  visits I found that Cedric had one admirer at least.
  He was Con Fenton, a retired farm worker who did a bit of jobbing gardening
  and spent an average of three days a week at The Laurels. The Boxer romped
  down the drive after me as I was leaving an& the old man looked at him with
  undisguised admiration.
 "By gaw," he said. "Hes a fine dog, is thatl"
  "Yes, he is, Con. He's a good chap, really." And I meant it. You couldn't
  help liking Cedric when you got to know him. He was utterly amiable and
  without vice and he gave off a constant aura not merely of noxious vapours
  but of bonhomie. When he tore off people's buttons or sprinkled their
  trousers he did it in a spirit of the-purest amity.
  "Just look at them limbs1" breathed Con, staring rapturously at the dog7s
  muscular thighs. "By heck, 'e can jump ower that gate as if it weren't
  there. He's what ah call a dogl"
  As he spoke it struck me that Cedric would be likely to appeal to him
  because he was very like the Boxer himself; not over-burdened with brains,
  built like an ox with powerful shoulders and a big constantly-grinning fac
 they were two of a kind.
  "Aye, ah allus likes it when t'missus lets him out in t'garden," Con went
  on. He always spoke in a peculiar snuffling manner. "He's grand company."
 I looked at him narrowly. No, he wouldn't be likely to
       ALL TMNGS WISE AM WONDERFM 37

 notice Cedric's complaint since he always saw him out of doors.
  On my way back to the surgery I brooded on the fact that I was achieving
  absolutely nothing with my treatment. And though it seemed ridiculous to
  worry about a case like this, there was no doubt the thing had begun to
  prey on my mind. In fact I began to transmit my anxieties to Siegfried.
  As I got out of the car he was coming down the steps of Skeldale House
  and he put a hand on my arm.
  "You've been to The Laurels, James? Tell me," he queried solicitously,
  "how is your farting Boxer today?"
  "Still at it, I'm afraid," I replied, and my colleague shook his head in
  commi eration.
  We were both defeated. Maybe if chlorophyll tablets had been available
  in those days they migkt have helped but as it was I had tried
  everything. It seemed certain that nothing would alter the situation. And
  it wouldn't have been so bad if the owner had been anybody else but Mrs.
  Runmey; I found that even discussing the thing with her had become almost
  unbearable.
  Siegfried's student brother Tristan didn!t help, either. When seeing
  practice he was very selective in the cases he wished to observe, but he
  was immediately attracted to ,Cedric's symptoms and insisted on coming
  with me on one occasion. I never took him again because as we went in the
  big dog bounded from his mistress' side and produced a particularly
  sonorous blast as if in greeting.
  Tristan immediately threw out a hand in a dramatic gesture and declaimed:
  "Speak on, sweet lips that never told a liel" That was his only visit.
  I had enough trouble without that.
  I didn't know it at the time but a greater blow awaited me. A few days
  later Mrs. Rumney was on the 'phone again.
  "Mr. Herriot, a friend of mine has such a sweet little Boxer bitch. She
  wants to bring her along to be mated with Cedric."
 "Eh?"
 "She wants to mate her bitch with MY dog. 99
  "With Cedric . . . 2" 1 clutched at the edge of the desk. It couldn't be
  truel "And and are you agreeable?"
 38ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "Yes, of course."
  I shook my head to dispel the feeling of unreality. I found it
  incomprehensible that anyone should want to reproduce Cedric, and as I
  gaped into the receiver a frightening vision floated before me of eight
  little Cedrics all with his complaint. But of course such a thing wasn't
  hereditary. I took a grip of myself and cleared my throat.
 "Very well, then, Mrs. Rumney, you'd better go ahead."
  There was a pause. "But Mr. Herriot, I want you to supervise the
  mating.-
  "Oh really, I don7t think thats necessary." I dug my nails into my palms.
  "I think you'll be all right without me.
  "Oh but I would be much happier if you were there. Please come," she said
  appealingly.
  Instead of emitting a long-&awn groan I took a deep breath.
 "Right," I said. "I'll be along in the morning."
  All that evening I was obsessed by a feeling of dread. Another acutely
  embarrassing session was in store with this exquisite woman. Why was it
  I always had to share things like this with her? And I really feared the
  worst. Even the daftest dog, when confronted with a bitch in heat, knows
  mistinctively how to proceed, but with a really ivory-skulled animal like
  Cedric I wondered....
  And next morning all my fears were realised. The bitch, Trudy, was a trim
  little creature and showed every sign of willingness to cooperate.
  Cedric, on the other hand, though obviously delighted to meet her, gave
  no hint of doing his part. After sniffing her over, he danced around her
  a few times, goofy-faced, tongue lolling. Then he had a roll on the lawn
  before charging at her and coming to a full stop, big feet outsplayed,
  head down, ready to play. I sighed. It was as I thought. The big chump
  didn't know what to do.
  This pantomime went on for some time and, inevitably, the emotional
  strain brought on a resurgence of his symptoms. Frequently he paused to
  inspect his tail as though he had never heard noises like that before.
  He varied his dancing routine with occasional headlong gallops round the
  lawn and it was after he had done about ten successive laps that he
  seemed to decide he ought to do something about the bitch. I held my
  breath
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL39

 as he approached her but unfortunately he chose the wrong end to commence
 operations. Trudy had put up with his nonsense with great patience but
 when she found him busily working away in the region of her left ear it
 was too much. With a shrill yelp she nipped him in the hind leg and he
 shot away in alarm.
  After that whenever he came near she warned him off with bared teeth.
  Clearly she was disenchanted with her bridegroom and I couldn't blame
  her.
 "I think she's had enough, Mrs. Rumney," I said.
  I certainly had had enough and so had the poor lady, judging by her
  slight breathlessness, flushed cheeks and waving handkerchief.
 "Yes . . . yes ... I suppose you're right," she replied.
  So Trudy was taken home and that was the end of Cedric's career as a stud
  dog.
  This last episode decided me. I had to have a talk with Mrs. Rumney and
  a few days later I called in at The Laurels.
  "Maybe you'll think it's none of my business," I said. "But I honestly
  don't think Cedric is the dog for you. In fact he's so wrong for you that
  he is upsetting your life.
  Mrs. Rumney's eyes widened. "Well ... he is a problem in some ways . .
  . but what do you suggest?"
  "I think you should get another dog in his place. Maybe a poodle or a
  corgi-something smaller, something you could control."
  "But Mr. Herriot, I couldn't possibly have Cedric put down." Her eyes
  filled quickly with tears. "I really am fond of him despite his ...
  despite everything."
  "No, no, of course notl" I said. "I like him too. He has no malice in
  him. But I think I have a good idea. Why not let Con Fenton have him?"
 "Con ... ?"
  "Yes, he admires Cedric tremendously and the big fellow would have a good
  life with the old man. He has a couple of fields behind his cottage and
  keeps a few beasts. Cedric could run to his heart's content out there and
  Con would be able to bring him along when he does the garden. You'd still
  see him three times a week."
  Mrs. Rumney looked at me in silence for a few moments and I saw in her
  face the dawning of relief and hope.
 40ALL ImNGS "SE AND WONDERFUL

  "You know, Mr. Herriot, I think that could work very well. But are you
  sure Con would take him?"
  "I'd like to bet on it. An old bachelor like him must be lonely. There's
  only one thing worries me. Normally they only meet outside and I wonder
  how it would be when they were indoors and Cedric started to ... when the
  old trouble . . ."
  "Oh, I thin that would be all right," Mrs. Rumney broke in quickly. "When
  I go on holiday Con always takes him for a week. or two and he has never
  mentioned any ... anything unusual ... in that way."
  I got up to go. "Well, that's fine. I should put it to the old man right
  away."
  Mrs. Rumney rang within a few days. Con had jumped at the chance of
  taking on Cedric and the pair had apparently settled in happily together.
  She had also taken my advice and acquired a poodle puppy.
  I didn't see the new dog till it was nearly six months old and its
  mistress asked me to call to treat it for a slight attack of eczema. As
  I sat in the graceful room looking at Mrs. Rumney, cool, poised,
  tranquil, with the little white creature resting on her knee I couldn't
  help feeling how right and fitting the whole scene was. The lush carpet,
  the trailing velvet curtains, the fragile tables with their load of
  expensive china and framed miniatures. It was no place for Cedric.
  Con Fenton's cottage was less than half a mile away and an my way back
  to the surgery, on an impulse I pulled up at the door. The old man
  answered my knock and his big face split into a delighted grin when he
  saw me.
  "Come in, young manl" he cried in his strange snuffly voice. "I'm right
  glad to see thal"
  I had hardly stepped into the tiny living room when a hairy form hurled
  itself upon me. Cedric hadn't changed a bit and I had to battle my way
  to the broken armchair by the fireside. Con settled down opposite and
  when the Boxer leaped to lick his face he clumped him companionably on
  the head with his fist.
  "Siddown, ye great daft bugger," he murmured with affection. Cedric sank
  happily on to the tattered hearthrug at his feet and gazed up adoringly
  at his new master.
  "Well., Mr. Herriot," Con went on as he cut up some villainous4ooking
  plug tobacco and began to stuff it into
      ALL THING9 WISE AND WONDERFUL41

 his pipe. "I'm right grateful to ye for gettin' me this grand dog. By gaw,
 he's a topper and ah wouldn't sell 'im for any money. No man could ask for
 a better friend."
  "Well, that's great, Con," I said. "And I can see that the big chap is
  really happy here."
  The old man ignited his pipe and a cloud of acrid smoke rose to the low,
  blackened beams. "Aye, he's 'ardly ever inside. A gurt strong dog like
  'im wants to work 'is energy off, like."
  But just at that moment Cedric was obviously working something else off
  because the familiar pungency rose from him even above the billowings
  from the pipe. Con seemed oblivious of it but in the enclosed space I
  found it overpowering.
  "Ali well," I gasped. "I just looked in for a moment to see how you were
  getting on together. I must be on my way." I rose hurriedly and stumbled,
  towards the door but the redolence followed me in a wave. As I passed the
  table with the remains of the old man's meal I saw what seemed to be the
  only form of ornament in the cottage, a cracked vase holding a
  magnificent bouquet of carnations. It was a way of escape and I buried
  my nose in their fragrance.
  Con watched me approvingly. "Aye, they're lovely flowers, aren't they?
  Tmissus at Laurels lets me bring 'ome what I want and I reckon them
  carnations is me favourite."
  "Yes, they're a credit to you.- I still kept my nose among the blooms.
  "There's only one thing," the old man said pensively. "Ah don't get
  t'full benefit of 'em."
 "How's that, Con?"
  He pulled at his pipe a couple of times. "Well, you can hear ah speak a
  bit funny, like?"
 "No ... no ... not really."
  "Oh aye, ye know ah do. I've been like it since I were a lad. I 'ad a
  operation for adenoids and summat went wrong."
 "Oh , I'm sorry to hear that," I said.
  &,well, it's nowt serious, but it's left me lackin' in one way."
  "You mean . . . T' A light was beginning to dawn in my mind, an
  elucidation of how man and dog had
 42ALL THINGS WISE AX-M WONDERFUL

 found each other, of why their relationship was so perfect, of the
 certainty of their happy future together. it seemed like fate.
  "Aye," the old man went on sadly. "I 'ave no sense of smell."
            CHAPTER-
               .5

 1 think it was when I saw the London policeman wagging a finger at a
 scowling urchin that I thought of Wesley Binks and the time he put the
 firework through the surgery letter box.
  It was what they used to call a "banger" and it exploded at my feet as I
  hurried along the dark passage in answer to the door bell's ring, making me
  leap into the air in terror.
  I threw open the front door and looked into the street. It was empty, but
  at the corner where the lamplight was reflected in Robson's shop window I
  had a brief impression of a fleeing form and a faint echo of laughter. I
  couldn't do anything about it but I knew Wes was out there somewhere.
  Wearily I trailed back into the house. Why did this lad persecute me? What
  could a ten-year-old boy possibly have against me? I had never done him any
  harm, yet I seemed to be the object of a deliberate campaign.
  Or maybe it wasn't personal. It could be that he felt I represented
  authority or the establishment in some way, or perhaps I was just
  convenient.
  I was certainly the ideal subject for his little tricks of ringing the door
  bell and running away, because I dared not ignore the summons in case it
  might be a client, and also the consulting and operating rooms were such a
  long way from the front of the house. Sometimes I was dragged down from our
  bed-sitter under the tiles. Every trip to the door was an expedition and it
  was acutely exasperating to arrive there and see only a little figure in
  the distance dancing about and grimacing at me.
  He varied this routine by pushing rubbish through the letter box, pulling
  the flowers from the tiny strip of gar-
               43
 44ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 den we tried to cultivate between the flagstones and chalking rude
 messages on my car.
 I knew I wasn't the only victim because I had heard
 complaints from others; the fruiterer who saw his apples
 disappear from the box in front of the - shop, the grocer
 who unwillingly supplied him with free biscuits.
  He was the town naughty boy all right, and it was incongruous that he
  should have been named Wesley. There was not the slightest sign in his
  behaviour of any strict methodist upbringing. In fact I knew nothing of
  his family lifo-only that he came from the poorest part of the town, a
  row of "yards" containing tumbledown cottages, some of them evacuated
  because of their condition.
  I often saw him wandering about in the fields and lanes or fishing in
  quiet reaches of the river when he should have been in school. When he
  spotted me on these occasions he invariably called out some mocking
  remark and if he happened to be with some of his cronies they all joined
  in the laughter at my expense. It was annoying but I used to tell myself
  that there was nothing personal in it. I was an adult and that was enough
  to make me a target.
  Wes's greatest triumph was undoubtedly the time he removed the grating
  from the coal cellar outside Skeldale House. It was on the left of the
  front steps and underneath it was a steep ramp down which the coalmen
  tipped their bags.
  I don't know whether it w~s inspired intuition but he pinched the grating
  on the day of the Darrowby Gala. The festivities started with a parade
  through the town led by the Houlton Silver Band and as I looked down from
  the windows of our bed-sitter I could see them all gathering in the
  street below.
  "Look, Helen," I said. "They must be starting the march from Trengate.
  Everybody I know seems to be down there."
  Helen leaned over my shoulder and gazed at the long lines of boy scouts,
  girl guides, ex-servicemen, with half the population of the town packed
  on the pavements, watching. "Yes, it's quite a sight, isn't it? Let's go
  down and see them move off."
  We trotted down the long flights of stairs and I followed her out through
  the front door. And as I appeared in the entrance I was suddenly
  conscious that I
       ALL TBINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL45

 was the centre of attention. The citizens on the pavements, waiting
 patiently for the parade to start, had something else to look at now. The
 little brownies and wolf cubs waved at me from their ranks and there were
 nods and smiles from the people across the road and on all sides.
  I could divine their thoughts. "There?s t'young vitnery coming out Of his
  house. Not long married, too. That's his missus next to him."
  A feeling of wellbeing rose in me. I don't know whether other newly
  married men feel the same, but in those early days I was aware of a calm
  satisfaction and fulfillment. And I was proud to be the "vitnery" and
  part of the life of the town. There was my plate on the wall beside me,
  a symbol of my solid importance. I was a man of substance now. I had
  arrived.
  Looking around me, I acknowledged the greeting with a few dignified
  little smiles, raising a gracious hand now and then rather like a royal
  personage on view. Then I noticed that Helen hadn't much room by my side,
  so I stepped to the left to where the grating should have been and slid
  gracefully down into the cellar.
  It would be a dramatic touch to say I disappeared from view; in fact I
  wish I had, because I would have stayed down there and avoided further
  embarrassment. But as it was I travelled only so far down the ramp and
  stuck there with my head and -shoulders protruding into the street.
  My little exhibition caused a sensation among the spectators. Nothing in
  the Gala parade could compete with this. One or two of the surrounding
  faces expressed alarm but loud laughter was the general response. The
  adults were almost holding each other up but the little brownies and wolf
  cubs made my most appreciative audience, breaking their ranks and
  staggering about helplessly in the roadway while their leaders tried to
  restore order.
  I caused chaos, too, in the Houlton Silver Band, who were hoisting their
  instruments prior to marching off. If they had any ideas about bursting
  into tune they had to abandon them temporarily because I don't think any
  of them had breath to blow.
  It was, in fact, two of the bandsmen who extricated me by linking their
  hands under my armpits. My wife was of
 46ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL
 no service at all in the crisis and I could only look up at her
 reproachfully as she leaned against the doorpost dabbing at her eyes.
  It all became clear to me when I reached street level. I was flicking the
  coal dust from my trousers and trying to look unconcerned when I saw Wesley
  Binks doubled up with mirth, pointing triumphantly at me and at the hole
  over the cellar. He was quite near, jostling among the spectators, and I
  had my first close look at the wild-eyed little goblin who had plagued me.
  I may have made an unconscious movement towards him because he gave me a
  last malevolent grin and disappeared into the crowd.
  Later I asked Helen about him. She could only tell me that Wesley's father
  had left home when he was about six years old, that his mother had
  remarried and the boy now lived with her and his stepfather.
  Strangely, I had another opportunity to study him quite soon afterwards. It
  was about a week later and my feathers were still a little ruffled after
  the grating incident when I saw him sitting all alone in the waiting room.
  Alone, that is, except for a skinny black dog in his lap.
  I could hardly believe it. I had often rehearsed the choice phrases which
  I would use on this very occasion but the sight of the animal restrained
  me; if he had come to consult me professionally I could hardly start
  pitching into him right away. Maybe later.
 I pulled on a white coat and went in.
 "Well, what can I do for you?" I asked coldly.
  The boy stood up and his expression of n-dxed defiance and desperation
  showed that it had cost him something to enter this house.
 "Suminat matter wi' me dog," he muttered.
  "Right, bring him through." I led the way along the passage to the
  consulting room.
  "Put him on the table, please," I said, and as he lifted the little animal
  I decided that I couldn't let this opportunity pass. While I was carrying
  out my examination I would quite casually discuss recent events. Nothing
  nasty, no clever phrases, just a quiet probe into the situation. I was just
  about to say something like "What's the idea of all those tricks you play
  on me?" when I took
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL47

 my first look at the dog and everything else fled from my mind.
  He wasn't much more than a big puppy and an out-andout mongrel. His shiny
  black coat could have come from a labrador and there was a suggestion of
  terrier in the pointed nose and pricked ears, but the long string-like
  tail and the knock-kneed forelimbs baffled me. For all that be was an
  attractive little creature with a sweetly expressive face.
  But the things that seized my whole attention were the yellow blobs of
  pus in the corners of the eyes, the mucopurulent discharge from the
  nostrils and the photophobia, which made the dog blink painfully at the
  light from the surgery window.
  Classical canine distemper is so easy to diagnose but there is never any
  satisfaction in doing so.
  "I didn't know you had a dog," I said. "How long have you had him?"
  "A month. Feller got 'irn from t'dog and cat home at Hartington and
  sold'im to me."
  "I see." I took the temperature and was not surprised to find it was
  104'F.
 "How old is he?"
 'Nine months."
 I nodded. Just about the worst age.
  I went ahead and asked all the usual questions but I knew the answers
  already.
  Yes, the dog had been slightly off colour for a week or two. No, he
  wasn't really ill, but listless and coughing occasionally. And of course
  it was not until the eyes and nose began to discharge that the boy became
  worried and brought him to see me. That was when we usually saw these
  cases-when it was too late.
  Wesley imparted the information defensively, looking at me under lowered
  brows as though he expected me to clip his ear at any moment. But as I
  studied him any aggressive feelings I may have harboured evaporated
  quickly. The imp of hell appeared on closer examination to be a neglected
  child. His elbows stuck out through holes in a filthy jersey, his shorts
  were similarly ragged, but what appalled me most was the sour smell of
  his unwashed little body. I hadn't thought there were children like this
  in Darrowby.
 48ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  When he had answered my questions he made an effort and blurted out one
  of his own.
 "What's matter with 'im?"
 I hestitated a moment. "He's got distemper, Wes."
 "What's that?"
  "Well, it's a nasty infectious disease. He must have got it from another
  sick dog."
 "Will 'e get better?"
  "I hope so. I'll do the best I can for him." I couldn't bring myself to
  tell a small boy of his age that his pet was probably going to die.
  I filled a syringe with a "mixed macterin" which we used at that time
  against the secondary invaders of distemper. It never did much good and
  even now with all our antibiotics we cannot greatly influence the final
  outcome. If you can catch a case in the early viral phase then a shot of
  hyperimmune serum is curative, but people rarely bring their dogs in
  until that phase is over.
  As I gave the injection the dog whimpered a little and the boy stretched
  out a hand and patted him.
 "It's awright, Duke," he said.
 "That's what you call him, is it-Duke?"
  "Aye." He fondled the ears and the dog turned, whipped his strange long
  tail about and- licked the hand quickly. Wes smiled and looked up at me
  and for a moment the tough mask dropped from the grubby features and in
  the dark wild eyes I read sheer delight. I swore under my breath. This
  made it worse.
  I tipped some boracic crystals into a box and handed it over. "Use this
  dissolved in water to keep his eyes and nose clean. See how his nostrils
  are all caked and blocked up--you can make him a lot more comfortable."
  He took the box without speaking and almost with the same movement
  dropped three and sixpence on the table. It was about our average charge
  and resolved my doubts on that score.
 "When'll ah bring 'im back?" he asked.
  I looked at him doubtfully for a moment. All I could do was repeat the
  injections, but was it going to make the slightest difference?
 The boy misread my hesitation.
 "Ah can pay!" he burst out. "Ah can get t'money!"
 ".0h I didn't mean that, Wes. I was just wondering
       ALL THNGS WISE AND WONDERPUL49

 when it would be suitable. How about bringing him in on Thursday?"
 He nodded eagerly and left with his dog.
  As I swabbed the table with disinfectant I had the old feeling of
  helplessness. The modem veterinary surgeon does not see nearly as many
  cases of distemper as we used to, simply because most people immunise
  their puppies at the earliest possible moment. But back in the thirties
  it was only the few fortunate dogs who were inoculated. The disease is
  so easy to prevent but almost impossible to cure.
  The next three weeks saw an incredible change in Wesley Binks's
  character. He had built up a reputation as an idle scamp but now he was
  transformed into a model of industry, delivering papers in the mornings,
  digging people's gardens, helping to drive the beasts at the auction
  mart. I was perhaps the only one who knew he was doing it for Duke.
  He brought the dog in every two or three days and paid on the nail. I
  naturally charged him as little as possible but the money he earned went
  on other things-fresh meat from the butcher, extra milk and biscuits.
  "Duke's looking very smart today," I Said on one of the visits. "I see
  you've been getting him a new collar and lead."
  The boy nodded shyly then looked up at me, dark eyes intent. "Is 'e any
  better?"
  "Well, he's about the same, Wes. Thafs how it goes--dragging on without
  much change."
 "When ... will ye know?"
  I thought for a moment. Maybe he would worry less if he understood the
  situation. "The thing is this. Duke will get better if he can avoid the
  nervous complications of distemper."
 "Wot's them?"
  "Fits, paralysis and a thing called chorea which makes the muscles
  twitch."
 "Wot if he gets them?"
  "It's a bad lookout in that case. But not all dogs de
 velop them." I tried to smile re ' assuringly. "And there!s
 one thing in Duke's favour-he's not a pure bred. Cross
 bred dogs have a thing called hybrid vigour which helps
 them to fight disease. After all, he's eating fairly well and
 he's quite lively, isn't he?"
 50ALL THNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "Aye, not bad."
  "Well then, we'll. carry on. I'll give him another shot now."
  The boy was back in three days and I knew by his face he had momentous
  news.
  "Duke~s a lot better-2is eyes and nose 'ave dried up and hes eatin' like
  a 'oss!" He was panting with excitement.
  I lifted the dog on to the table. There was no doubt he was enormously
  improved and I did my best to join in the rejoicing.
  "That's great, Wes," I said, but a warning bell was tinkling in my mind.
  If nervous symptoms were going to supervene, this was the time-just when
  the dog was apparently recovering.
  I forced myself to be optimistic. "Well now, there's no need to come back
  any more but watch him carefully and if you see anything unusual bring
  him in."
  The ragged little figure was overjoyed. He almost pranced along the
  passage with his pet and I hoped fervently that I would not see them in
  there again.
  That was on the Friday evening and by Monday I had put the whole thing
  out of my head and into the category of satisfying memories when the boy
  came in with Duke on the lead.
  I looked up from the desk where I was writing in the day book. "What is
  it, Wes?"
 .'He's dotkerin'."
  I didn't bother going through to the consulting room but hastened from
  behind the desk and crouched on the floor, studying the dog intently. At
  first I saw nothing, then as I watched I could just discern a faint
  nodding of the head. I placed my hand on the top of the skull and waited.
  And it was there; the slight but regular twitching of the temporal
  muscles whick I had dreaded.
 "I'm afraid he's got chorea, Wes," I said.
 "What's that?"
 "It's o ' ne of the things I was telling you about. Some-
 times they call it St. Vitus' Dance. I was hoping it wouldn't
 happen.ti
  The boy looked suddenly small and forlorn and he stood there silent,
  twisting the new leather lead between his fingers. It was such an effort
  for him to speak that he almost closed his eyes.
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL51

 "Will'e die?"
  "Some dogs do get over it, Wes." I didn't tell him that I had seen it
  happen only once. "I've got some tablets which might help him. I'll get
  you some."
  I gave him a few of the arsenical tablets I had used in my only cure. I
  didn't even know if they had been responsible but I had nothing more to
  offer.
  Duke's chorea pursued a text book course over the next two weeks. All the
  things which I had feared turned up in a relentless progression. The
  twitching spread from his head to his limbs, then his hindquarters began
  to sway as he walked.'
  His young master brought him in repeatedly and I went through the
  motions, trying at the same time to make it clear that it was all
  hopeless. The boy persisted doggedly, rushing about meanwhile with his
  paper deliveries and other jobs, insisting on paying though I didn't want
  his money. Then one afternoon he called in.
  "Ah couldn't bring Duke," he muttered. "Can't walk now. Will you come and
  see 'im?"
  We got into my car. It was a Sunday, about three o'clock and the streets
  were quiet. He led me up the cobbled yard and opened the door of one of
  the houses.
  The stink of the place hit me as I went in. Country vets aren't easily
  sickened but I felt my stomach turning. Mrs. Binks was very fat and a
  ffithy dress hung shapelessly on her as she slumped, cigarette in mouth,
  over the kitchen table. She was absorbed in a magazine which lay in a
  clearing among mounds of dirty dishes and her curlers nodded as she
  looked up briefly at us.
  On a couch under the window her husband sprawled asleep, open-mouthed,
  snoring out the reek of beer. The sink, which held a further supply of
  greasy dishes, was covered in a revolting green scum. Clothes, newspapers
  and nameless rubbish littered the floor and over everything a radio
  blasted away at full strength.
  The only clean new thing was the dog basket in the corner. I went across
  and bent over the little animal. Duke was now prostrate and helpless, his
  body emaciated and jerking uncontrollably. The sunken eyes had filled up
  again with pus and gazed apathetically ahead.
 "Wes," I said. "You've got to let me put him to sleep."
  He didn7t answer, and as I tried to explain, the blaring radio drowned
  my words. I looked over at his mother.
          P

 52ALL TFMGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "Do you mind turning the radio down?" I asked.
  She jerked her head at the boy and he went over and turned the knob. In the
  ensuing silence I spoke to him again.
  "It's the only thing, believe me. You can't let him die by inches like
  this."
  He didn't look at me. All his attention was fixed desperately on his dog.
  Then he raised a hand and I heard his whisper.
 "Awright.11
 I hurried out to the car for the Nembutal.
  "I promise you he'll feel no pain," I said as I Med the syringe. And indeed
  the little creature merely sighed before lying motionless, the fateful
  twitching stilled at last.
  I put the syringe in my pocket. "Do you want me to take him away, Wes?"
  He looked at me bewilderedly and his mother broke in.
  "Aye, get 'im. out. Ali never wanted t'bloody thing 'ere in t'first place."
  She resumed her reading.
  I quickly lifted the little body and went out. Wes followed me and watched
  as I opened the boot and laid Duke gently on top of my black working coat.
  As I closed the lid he screwed his knuckles into his eyes and his body
  shook. I put my arm across his shoulders, and as he leaned against me for
  a moment and sobbed I wondered if he had ever been able to cry like
  this-like a little boy with somebody to comfort him.
  But soon he stood back and smeared the tears across the dirt on his cheeks.
 "Are you going back into the house, Wes?" I asked.
  He blinked and looked at me with a return of his tough expression.
  "Nawl" he said and turned and walked away. He didn't look back and I
  watched him cross the road, climb a wall and trail away across the fields
  towards the river.
  And it has always seemed to me that at that moment Wes walked back into his
  old life. From then on there were no more odd jobs or useful activities. He
  never played any more tricks on me but in other ways he progressed into
  more serious misdemeanours. He set barns on fire, was up before the
  magistrates for theff and by the time he was thirteen he was stealing cars.
 Finally he was sent to an approved school and then he
      ALL TIHNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL53

 disappeared from the district. Nobody knew where he went and most people
 forgot him. One person who didn!t was the police sergeant.
  "rhat young Wesley Binks," he said to me ruminatively. "He was a wrong 'un
  if ever I saw one. You know, I don't think he ever cared a damn for anybody
  or any living thing in his life."
  "I know how you feel, sergeant," I replied, "but you're not entirely right.
  There was one living thing. . . ."
           CHAPTER
               6

 Tristan would never have won any prizes as an exponent of the haute
 cuisine.
  We got better food in the RAF than most people in wartime Britain but it
  didn't compare with the Darrowby fare. I suppose I had been spoiled;
  first by Mrs. Hall, then by Helen. There were only brief occasions at
  Skeldale House when we did not eat like kings and one of those was when
  Tristan was installed as temporary cook.
  It began one morning at breakfast in the days when I was still a bachelor
  and Tristan and I were taking our places at the mahogany dining table.
  Siegfried bustled in, muttered a greeting and began to pour 'his coffee.
  He was unusually distrait as he buttered a slice of toast and cut into
  one of the rashers on his plate, then after a minute's thoughtful chewing
  he brought down his hand on the table with a suddenness that made me
  jump.
 "I've got it!" he exclaimed.
 "Got what?" I enquired.
  Siegfried put down his knife and fork and wagged a finger at me. "Silly,
  really, I've been sitting here puzzling about what to do and it's
  suddenly clear."
 "Why, what's the trouble?"
  "It's Mrs. Hall," he said. "She's just told me her sister has been taken
  ill and she has to go and look after her. She thinks she'll be away for
  a week and I've been wondering who I could get to look after the house."
 611 see." '
  "Then it struck me." He sliced a corner from a fried egg. "Tristan can
  do it."
  "Eh?" His brother looked up, startled, from his Daily Mirror. "Me?"
  "Yes, you! You spend a lot of time on your arse. A bit of useful activity
  would be good for you."

               54
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL55

  Tristan looked at him warily. "What do you meanuseful activity?"
  "Well, keeping the place straight," Siegfried said. "I wouldn't expect
  perfection but you could tidy up each day, and of course prepare the
  meals."
 "Meals?"
  "Mat's right." Siegfried gave him a level stare. "You can cook, can't
  you?"
 "Well, er, yes ... I can cook sausage and mash."
  Siegfried waved an expansive hand. "There you are, you see, no problem.
  Push over those fried tomatoes, will you, James?"
  I passed the dish silently. I had only half heard the conversation
  because part of my mind was far away. Just before breakfast I had had a
  phone call from Ken Billings, one of our best farmers, and his words were
  still echoing in my head.
  "Mr. Herriot, that calf you saw yesterday is dead. That's the third 'un
  I've lost in a week and I'm flummoxed. I want ye out here this mornin'
  to have another look round."
  I sipped my coffee absently. He wasn't the only one who was flummoxed.
  Three fine calves had shown symptoms of acute gastric pain, I had treated
  them and they had died. That was bad enough but what made it worse was
  that I hadn't the faintest idea what was wrong with them
  I wiped my lips and got up quickly. "Siegfried, I'd like to go to
  Billings' first. Then I've got the rest of the round you gave me."
  "Fine, James, by all means." My boss gave me a sweet and encouraging
  smile, balanced a mushroom on a piece of fried bread and conveyed it to
  his mouth. He wasn't a big eater but he did love his breakfast.
  On the way to the farm my mind beat about helplessly. VVhat more could
  I do than I had already done? In these obscure cases one was driven to
  the conclusion that the animal had eaten something harmful. At times I
  had spent hours roaming around pastures looking for poisonous plants but
  that was pointless with Billings's calves because they had never been
  out; they were mere babies of a month old.
  I had carried out post mortem examinations of the dead animals but had
  found only a non-specific gastroenteriffi. I had sent kidneys to the
  laboratory for lead
 56ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 estimation with negative result; like their owner, I was flummoxed.
 Mr. Billings was waiting for me in his yard.
  "Good job I rang youl" he said breathlessly. "Theres another 'un
  startin'."
  I rushed with him into the buildings and found what I expected and
  dreaded; a small calf kicking at its stomach, getting up and down,
  occasionally rolling on its straw bed. Typical abdominal pain. But why?
  I went over it as with the others. Temperature normal, lungs clear, only
  rumenal atony and extreme tenderness as I palpated the abdomen.
  As I was putting the thermometer back in its case the calf suddenly
  toppled over and went into a frothing convulsion. Hastily I injected
  sedatives, calcium, magnesium, but with a feeling of doom. I had done it
  all before.
  "What the hell is it?" the farmer asked, voicing my thoughts.
  I shrugged. "It's acute gastritis, Mr. Billings, but I wish I knew the
  cause. I could swear this calf has eaten some irritant or corrosive
  poison."
  "Well, dang it, they've nobbut had milk and a few nuts." The farmer
  spread his hands. "There's nothing they can get to hurt them."
  Again, wearily, I went through the old routine; ferreting around in the
  calf pen, trying to find some clue. An old paint tin, a burst packet of
  sheep dip. It was amazing, the things you came across in the clutter of
  a farm building.
  But not at Mr. Billings's place. He was meticulously tidy, particularly
  with his calves, and the window sills and shelves were free from rubbish.
  It was the same with the milk buckets, scoured to spotless cleanliness
  after every feed.
  Mr. Billings had a thing about his calves. His two teenage sons were
  fanatically keen on farming and he encouraged them in all the
  agricultural skills; but he fed the calves himself.
  "Feeding them calves is t'most important job in stock rearing," he used
  to say. "Get 'em over that first month and you're halfway there."
  And he knew what he was talking about. His charges never suffered from
  the normal ailments of the young; no scour, no joint ill, no pneumonia.
  I had often mar-
        ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL57

 velled at it, but it made the present disaster all the more unbearable.
  "All right," I said with false breeziness as I left. "Maybe this one
  won't be so bad. Give me a ring inthe morning.11
  I did the rest of my round in a state of gloom and at lunch I was still
  so preoccupied that I wondered what had happened when Tristan served the
  meal. I had entirely forgotten about Mrs. Hall's absence.
  However, the sausage and mash wasn't at all bad and Tristan was lavish
  with his helpings. The three of us cleaned our plates pretty thoroughly,
  because morning is the busiest working time in practice and I was always
  famished by midday.
  My mind was still on Mr. Billings's problem during the afternoon calls
  and when we sat down to supper I was only mildly surprised to find
  another offering of sausage and mash.
  "Same again, eh?" Siegfried grunted, but he got through his plateful and
  left without further comment.
  The next day started badly. I came into the dining room to find the table
  bare and Siegfried stamping around.
  "Where the hell is our breakfast?" he burst out. "And where the hell is
  Tristan?"
  He pounded along the passage and I heard his shouts in the kitchen,
  "Tristan! Tristanl"
  I knew he was wasting his time. His brother often slept in and it was
  just more noticeable this morning.
  My boss returned along the passage at a furious gallop
 and I steeled myself for some unpleasantness as the
 young man was rousted from his bed. But Tristan, as
 usual, was master of the situation. Siegfried had just be
 gun to take the stairs three at a time when his brother
 descended - from the landing, knotting his tie with perfect
 composure. It was uncanny. He always got more than his
 share of sleeping time but was rarely caught between the
 sheets.
 "Sorry, chaps," he murmured. "Afraid I overslept."
  "Yes, that's all rightl" shouted Siegfried. "But how about our bloody
  breakfast? I gave you a job to do I"
  Tristan was contrite. "I really do apologise, but I was up late'last
  night, peeling potatoes."
 His brother's face flashed. "I know all about thatl" he
 58ALL TFnNGS WISE AND WONDERMM

 barked. "You didn't Start till after closing time at the Drovers'l"
  "Well, that's right." Tristan swallowed and his face assumed the familiar
  expression of pained dignity. "I did feel a bit dry last night. Think it
  must have been all the cleaning and dusting I did."
  Siegfried did not reply. He shot a single exasperated look at the young
  man then turned to me. "We'll have to make do with bread and marmalade
  this morning, James. Come through to the kitchen and we'll . . ."
  The jangling telephone cut off his words. I lifted the receiver and
  listened and it must have been the expression on my face which stopped
  him in the doorway.
  "What's the matter, James?" he asked as I came away from the 'phone. "You
  look as though you've had a kick in the belly."
  I nodded. "That's how I feel. That calf is nearly dead at Billings's and
  there's another one ill. I wish you'd come out there with me, Siegfried."

 My boss stood very still as he looked over the side of the pen at the
 little animal. It didn't seem to know where to put itself, rising and
 lying down, kicking at some inward pain, writhing its hindquarters from
 side to side. As he watched it fell on its side and began to thrash around
 with all four limbs.
 "James," he said quietly. "That calf has been poisoned."
 "Mat's what I thought, but how?"
  Mr. Billings broke in. "It's no good talkin' like that, Mr. Farnon. We've
  been over this place time and time again and there's nowt for them to
  get."
  "Well, we'll go over it again." Siegfried stalked around the calf house
  as I had done and when he returned his face was expressionless.
  "Where do you get the nuts from?" he grunted, crumbling one of the cubes
  between his fingers.
  Mr. Billings threw his arms wide. "From flocal mill. Ryders' best. You
  can't fault them, surely."
  Siegfried said nothing. Ryders were noted, for their meticulous
  preparation of cattle food. He went over the sick calf with stethoscope
  and thermometer, digging his fingers into the hairy abdominal wall,
  staring impassively at the calf's face to note its reaction. He did the
  same with my patient of yesterday whose glazing eyes and
      ALL TITINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL59

 cold extremities told their grim tale. Then he gave the calves almost the
 same treatment as I had and we left.
  He was silent for the first half mile, then he beat the wheel suddenly
  with one hand. "There's an irritant poison there, Janiesl As sure as God
  made little apples there is. But I'm damned if I know where it's coming
  from."
  Our visit had taken a long time and we returned to Skeldale House for
  lunch. Like myself, his mind was still wrestling with Mr. Billings's
  problem and he hardly winced as Tristan placed a steaming plateful of
  sausage and mash before him. Then, as he prodded the mash with a fork,
  he appeared to come to the surface.
  "God almightyl" he exclaimed. "Have we got this again?"
  Tristan smiled ingratiatingly. "Yes, indeed. Mr. Johnson told me they
  were a particularly fine batch of sausages today. Definitely superior,
  he said."
  "Is that so?" His brother gave him a sour glance. "Well, they look the
  bloody same to me. Like supper yesterday-and like lunch." His voice began
  to rise, then he subsided.
  "Oh, what the hell," he muttered, and began to toy listlessly with the
  food. Clearly those calves had drained him and I knew how he felt.
  I got through my share without much difficulty-I've always liked sausage
  and mash.
  But my boss is a resilient character and when we met in the late
  afternoon he was bursting with his old spirit.
  "That call to Billings's shook me, James, I can tell. you," he said. "But
  I've revisited a few of my other cases since then and they're all
  improving nicely. Raises the morale tremendously. Here, let me get you
  a drink."
  He reached into the cupboard above the mantelpiece for the gin bottle and
  after pouring a couple of measures he looked benignly at his brother who
  was tidying the sitting room.
  Tristan was making a big show, running a carpet sweeper up and down,
  straightening cushions, flicking a duster at everything in sight. He
  sighed and panted with effort as he bustled around, the very picture of
  a harassed domestic. He needed only a mob cap and frilly apron to
  complete the image.
 We finished our drinks and Siegfried immersed him- 6oALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 self in the Veterinary Record as savoury smells began to issue from the
 kitchen. It was about seven o'clock when Tristan put his head round the
 door.
 "Supper is on the table," he said.
  My boss put down the Record, rose and stretched expansively. "Good, I'm
  ready for it, too."
  I followed him into the dining room and almost cannoned into his back as
  he halted abruptly. He was staring in disbelief at the tureen in the
  middle of the table.
 "Not bloody sausage and mash again!" he bellowed.
  Tristan shuffled his feet. "Well, er, yes-it's very nice, really."
  "Very nice! I'm beginning to dream about the blasted stuff. Can't you
  cook anything else?"
  "Well, I told you." Tristan looked wounded. "I told you I could cook
  sausage and mash."
  "Yes, you did!" shouted his brother. "But you didn't say you couldn't
  cook anything ]BUT sausage and bloody mashl"
  Tristan made a non-committal gesture and his brother sank wearily down
  at the table.
  "Go on, then," he sighed. "Dish it out and heaven help us.
  He took a small mouthful from his plate then gripped at his stomach and
  emitted a low moan. "This stuff is killing me. I don't think I'll ever
  be the same after this week,"
  The following day opened in dramatic fashion. I had just got out of bed
  and was reaching for my dressing gown when an explosion shook the house.
  It was a great 11 WHUFF" which rushed like a mighty wind through passages
  and rooms, rattling the windows and leaving an ominous silence in its
  wake.
  I dashed out to the landing and ran into Siegfried. who stared wide-eyed
  at me for a moment before galloping downstairs.
  In the kitchen Tristan was lying on his back amid a litter of pans and
  dishes. Several rashers of bacon and a few smashed eggs nestled on the
  flags.
 "What the hell's going on?" Siegfried shouted.
  His brother looked up at him with mild interest. "I really don't know.
  I was lighting the fire and there was a bang."
 "Lighting the fire.. .
      ALL THINGS WISE ANT) WONDERFUL6T

  "Yes, I've had a little difficulty these last two mornings. The thing
  wouldnt go. I thin the chimney needs sweeping. These old houses. . ."
  "Yes, yes!" Siegfried burst out. "We know, but what the hell happened?"
  Tristan sat up. Even then, among the debris with smuts all over his face,
  he still retained his poise. "Well, I thought I'd hurry things along a
  bit." (His agile mind was forever seeking new methods of conserving
  energy.) "I soaked a piece of cotton wool in ether and chucked that in."
 "Ether?"
 "Well yes, it's inflammable, isn't it?"
  "Inflammable!" His brother was pop-eyed. "It's bloody well explosive!
  It's a wonder you didn't blow the whole place up."
  Tristan rose and dusted himself off. "Ah well, never mind. I'll soon have
  breakfast ready."
  "You can forget that." Siegfried took a long shuddering breath then went
  over to the bread tin, extracted a loaf and began to saw at it. "The
  breakfast's on the floor, and anyway, by the time you've cleared up this
  mess we'll be gone. Bread and marmalade all right for you, James?"
  We went out together again. My boss had arranged that Ken Billings should
  postpone his calf feeding till we got there so that we could witness the
  process.
  It wasn't a happy arrival. Both the calves had died and the farmer's eyes
  held a look of desperation.
  Siegfried's jaw clenched tight for a moment than he motioned with his
  hand. "Please carry on, Mr. Billings. I want to see you feed them."
  The nuts were always available for the Ettle animals but we watched
  intently as the farmer poured the milk into the buckets and the calves
  started to drink. The poor man had obviously given up hope and I could
  tell by his apathetic manner that he haMt much faith in this latest ploy.
  Neither had 1, but Siegfried prowled up and down like a caged panther as
  though willing something to happen. The calves raised white-slobbered
  muzzles enquiringly as he hung over them but they could offer no more
  explanation of the mystery than I could myself.
 I looked across the long row of pens. There were still
 62ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 more than thirty calves left in the building and the terrible thought arose
 that the disease might spread through all of them. My mind was recoiling
 when Siegfried stabbed a finger at one of the buckets.
 "What's that?" he snapped.
  The farmer and I went over and gazed down at a circular black object about
  half an inch across floating on the surface of the milk.
  "Bit o' muck got in somehow," Mr. Billings mumbled. "I'll 'ave it out." He
  put his hand into the bucket.
  "No, let me!" Siegfried carefully lifted the thing, shook the milk from his
  fingers and studied it with interest.
  "This isn't muck," he murmured. "Look, it's concave -like a little cup." He
  rubbed a comer between thumb and forefinger. "I'll tell you what it is,
  it's a scab. Where the heck has it come from?"
  He began to examine the neck and head of the calf, then became very still
  as he handled,one of the little horn buds. "There's a raw surface here. You
  can see where the scab belongs." He placed the dark cup over the bud and it
  fitted perfectly.
  The farmer shrugged. "Aye, well, I can understand that. I disbudded all the
  calves about a fortnight sin'."
  "What did you use, Mr. Billings?" My colleague's voice was soft.
  "Oh, some new stuff. Feller came found sellin' it. You just paint it
  on-it's a lot easier than t'awd caustic stick."
 "Have you got the bottle?"
 "Aye, it's in t'house. I'll get it."
  When the farmer returned Siegfried read the label and handed the bottle to
  me.
 "Butter of Antimony, Jim. Now we know."
  "But . . . what are you on about?" asked the farmer bewilderedly.
  Siegfried looked at him sympathetically. "Antimony is a deadly poison, Mr.
  Billings. Oh, it'll burn your horn buds off, all right, but if it gets in
  among the food, that's it."
  The farmer's eyes widened. "Yes, dang it, and when they put their heads
  down to drink that's just when the scabs would fall off!"
  "Exactly," Siegfried said. "Or they maybe knocked the horn buds on the
  sides of the bucket. Anyway, let's make sure the others are safe."
 We went round all the calves, removing the lethal
       ALL THWGS WISE AND WONDERFUL63

 crusts and scrubbing the buds clean, and when we finally drove away we
 knew that the brief but painful episode of the Billings calves was over.
  In the car, my colleague put his elbows on the wheel and drove with his
  chin cupped in his hands. He often did this when in contemplative mood
  and it never failed to unnerve me.
  "James," he said, "I've never seen anything like that before. It really
  is one for the book."
  His words were prophetic, for as I write about it now I realise that it
  has never been repeated in the thirtyfive years that have passed since
  then.
  At Skeldale House we parted to go our different ways. Tristan, no doubt
  anxious to redeem himself after the morning's explosive beginning, was
  plying mop and bucket and swabbing the passage with the zeal of one of
  Nelson's sailors.
  But when Siegfried drove away, the activity stopped abruptly and as I was
  leaving with my pockets stuffed with the equipment for my round I glanced
  into the sitting room and saw the young man stretched in his favourite
  chair.
  I went in and looked with some surprise at a pan of sausages balanced on
  the coals.
 "What's this?" I asked.
  Tristan lit a Woodbine, shook out his Daily Mirror and put his feet up.
  "Just prepared lunch, old lad."
 "In here?"
  "Yes, Jim, I've had enough of that hot stove-there's no comfort through
  there. And anyway, the kitchen's such a bloody long way away."
  I gazed down at the reclining form. "No need to ask what's on the menu?"
  "None at all, old son." Tristan looked up from his paper with a seraphic
  smile.
  I was about to leave when a thought struck me. "Where are the potatoes?"
 "In the fire."
 "In the firel"
  "Yes, I just popped them in there to roast for a while. They're delicious
  that way."
 "Are you sure?"
  "Absolutely, Jim. I'll tell you-you'll fall in love with my cooking all
  over again."
 64ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  I didn't get back till nearly one o'clock. Tristan was not in the sitting
  room but a haze of smoke hung on the air and a reek like a garden bonfire
  prickled in my nostrils.
  I found the young man in the kitchen. His savoir faire had vanished and he
  was prodding desperately at a pile of coal black spheres.
 I stared at him. "What are those?"
  "The bloody potatoes, Jim! I fell asleep for a bit and this happened!"
  He gingerly sawed through one of the objects. In the centre of the
  carbonaceous ball I could discern a small whitish marble which seemed to be
  all that remained of the original vegetable.
 "Hell's bells, Triss! What are you going to do?"
  He gave me a stricken glance. "Hack out the centres and mash 'em up
  together. It's all I CAN do."
  This was something I couldn't bear to watch. I went upstairs, had a wash
  then took my place at the dining table. Siegfried was already seated and I
  could see that the little triumph of the morning had cheered him. He
  greeted me jovially.
  "James, wasn't that the damndest thing at Ken Billings'? It's so satisfying
  to get it cleared up."
  But his smile froze as Tristan appeared and set down the tureens before
  him. From one peeped the inevitable sausages and the other contained an
  amorphous dark grey mass liberally speckled with black foreign bodies of
  varying size.
  "What in the name of God," he enquired with ominous quiet, "is this?"
  His brother swallowed. "Sausage and mash," he said lightly.
  Siegfried gave him a cold look. "I am referring to this." He poked warily
  at the dark mound.
  "Well, er, it's the potatoes." Tristan cleared his throat "Got a little
  burnt, I'm afraid."
  My boss made no comment. With dangerous calm he spooned some of the
  material on to his plate, raised a forkful and began to chew slowly. Once
  or twice he winced as a particularly tough fragment of carbon cracked
  between his molars, then he closed his eyes and swallowed.
  For a moment he was still, then he grasped his midriff with both hands,
  groaned and jumped to his feeL
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL65

  "No, that's enoughl" he cried. "I don't mind investigating poisonings on
  the farms but I object to being poisoned myself in my own homel" He
  strode away from the table and paused at the door. "I'm going over to the
  Drovers for lunch."
  As he left another spasm seized him. He clutched his stomach again and
  looked back.
 "Now I know just how those poor bloody calves feld"
           CHAPTER
               7

 1 suppose it was a little thoughtless of me to allow my scalpel to flash
 and flicker quite so close to Rory O'Hagan's fly buttons.
  The incident came back to me as I sat in my room in St. John's Wood
  reading Black's Veterinary Dictionary. It was a bulky volume to carry
  around and my RAF friends used to rib me about my "vest pocket edition,"
  but I had resolved to keep reading it in spare moments to remind me of
  my real life.
  I had reached the letter "C" and as the word "Castration" looked up at
  me from the page I was jerked back to Rory.
  I was castrating pigs. There were several litters to do and I was in a
  hurry and failed to notice the Irish farm worker's mounting apprehension.
  His young boss was catching the little animals and handing them to Rory
  who held them upside down, gripped between his thighs with their legs
  apart, and as I quickly incised the scrotums and drew Out the testicles
  my blade almost touched the rough material of his trouser crutch.
  "For God's sake, have a care, Mr. Herriotl" he gasped at last.
 I looked tip from my work. "What's wrong, Rory?"
  "Watch what you're doin' with that bloody knife! You're whippin' it round
  between me legs like a bloody Red Indian. You'll do me a mischief afore
  you've finished!"
  "Aye, be careful, Mr. Herriot," the young farmer cried. "Don't geld Rory
  instead of the pig. His missus ud never forgive ye." He burst into a loud
  peal of laughter, the Jrishman grinned sheepishly and I giggled.
  That was my undoing because the momentary inatten
 tion sent the blade slicing across my left forefinger. The
               66
       ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFM67

 razor-sharp edge went deep and in an instant the entire neighborhood
 seemed flooded with my blood. I thought I would never staunch the flow.
 The red ooze continued, despite a long session of self-doctoring from the
 car boot, and when I finally drove away my finger was swathed in the
 biggest, clumsiest dressing I had ever seen. I had finally been forced to
 apply a large pad of cotton wool held in place with an enormous length of
 three-inch bandage.
  It was dark when I left the farm. About five o'clock on a late December
  day, the light gone early and the stars beginning to show in a frosty
  sky. I drove slowly, the enormous finger jutting upwards from the wheel,
  pointing the way between the headlights like a guiding beacon. I was
  within half a mile of Darrowby with the lights of the little town
  beginning to wink between the bare roadside branches when a car
  approached, went past, then I heard a squeal of brakes as it stopped and
  began to double back.
  It passed me again, drew into the side and I saw a frantically waving
  arm. I pulled up and a young man jumped from the driving seat and ran
  towards me.
  He pushed his head in at the window. "Are you the vet?" His voice was
  breathless, panic-stricken.
 "Yes, I am."
  "Oh thank God! We're passing through on the way to Manchester and we've
  been to your surgery ... they said you were out this way . described your
  car. Please help us!"
 "What's the trouble?"
  "It's our dog . . . in the back of the car. He's got a ball stuck in his
  throat. I ... I think he might be dead."
  I was out of my seat and running along the road before he had finished.
  It was a big white saloon and in the darkness of the back seat a wailing
  chorus issued from several little heads silhouetted against the glass.
 I tore open the door,and the wailing took on words.
 "Oh Benny, Benny, Benny. .. !"
  I dimly discerned a large dog spread over the knees of four small
  children. "Oh Daddy, he's dead, he's dead!"
  "Let's have him out," I gasped, and as the young man pulled on the
  forelegs I supported the body, which slid and toppled on to the tarmac
  with a horrible limpness.
  I pawed at the hairy form. "I can't see a bloody thingl Help me pull him
  round."
 68ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  We dragged the unresisting bulk into the headlights' glare and I could see
  it all. A huge, beautiful collie in his luxuriant prime, mouth gaping,
  tongue lolling, eyes staring lifelessly at nothing. He wasn't breathing.
  The young father took one look then gripped his head with both hands. "Oh
  God, oh God. . . ." From within the car I heard the quiet sobbing of his
  wife and the piercing cries from the back. "Benny . . . Benny ......
  I grabbed the man's shoulder and shouted at him. "What did you say about a
  ball?"
  "It's in his throat . . . I've had my fingers in his mouth for ages but I
  couldn't move it." The words came mumbling up from beneath the bent head.
  I pushed my hand into the mouth and I could feel it all right. A sphere of
  hard solid rubber not much bigger than a golf ball and jarnmed like a cork
  in the pharynx, effectively blocking the trachea. I scrabbled feverishly at
  the wet smoothness but there was nothing to get hold of. It took me about
  three seconds to realise that no human agency would ever get the ball out
  that way and without thinking I withdrew my hands, braced both thumbs
  behind the angle of the lower jaw and pushed.
  The ball shot forth, bounced on the frosty road and rolled sadly on to the
  grass verge. I touched the corneal surface of the eye. No reflex. I slumped
  to my knees, burdened by the hopeless regret that I hadn't had the chance
  to do this just a bit sooner. The only function I could perform now was to
  take the body back to Skeldale House for disposal. I couldn't allow the
  family to drive to Manchester with a dead dog. But I wished fervently that
  I had been able to do more, and as I passed my hand along the richly
  coloured coat over the ribs the vast bandaged finger stood out like a
  symbol of my helplessness.
  It was when I was gazing dully at the finger, the heel of my hand resting
  in an intercostal space, that I felt the faintest flutter from below.
  I jerked upright with a hoarse cry. "His heart's still beating! He's not
  gone yet!" I began to work on the dog with all I had. And out there in the
  darkness of that lonely country road it wasn't much. No stimulant injec-
  tions, no oxygen cylinders or intratracheal tubes. But I depressed his
  chest with my palms every three seconds in the old-fashioned way, willing
  the dog to breathe as the
      ALL THYNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL69

 eyes still stared at nothing. Every now and then I blew desperately down
 the throat or probed between the ribs for that almost imperceptible beat.
  I don't know which I noticed first, the slight twitch of an eyelid or the
  small lift of the ribs which pulled the icy Yorkshire air into his lungs.
  Maybe they both happened at once but from that moment everything was
  dreamlike and wonderful. I lost count of time as I sat there while the
  breathing became deep and regular and the animal began to be aware of his
  surroundings; and by the time he started to look around him and twitch
  his tail tentatively I realised suddenly that I was stiff-jointed and
  almost frozen to the spot.
  With some difficulty I got up and watched in disbelief as the collie
  staggered to his feet. The young father ushered him round to the back
  where he was received with screams of delight.
  The man seemed stunned. Throughout the recovery he had kept muttering,
  "You just flicked that ball out . . . just flicked it out. Why didn't I
  think of that ... T' And when he turned to me before leaving he appeared
  to be still in a state of shock.
  "I don't . . . I don't know bow to thank you," he said huskily. "It's a
  miracle." He leaned against the car for a second. "And now what is your
  fee? How much do I owe YOUT,
  1 rubbed my chin. I bad used no drugs. The only expenditure had been
  time.
  "Five bob," I said. "And never let him play with such a little ball
  again."
  He handed the money over, shook my hand and drove away. His wife, who had
  never left her place, waved as she left, but my greatest reward was in
  the last shadowy glimpse of the back seat where little arms twined around
  the dog, hugging him ecstatically, and in the cries, thankful and joyous,
  fading into the night.
 "Benny ... Benny ... Benny. . .

 Vets often wonder after a patient's recovery just how much credit they
 might take. Maybe it would have got better without treatment-it happened
 sometimes; it was difficult to be sure.
  But when you know without a shadow of a doubt that, even without doing
  anything clever, you have pulled an
 70ALL TfHNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 animal back from the brink of death into the living, breathing world, it is
 a satisfaction which lingers, flowing like balm over the discomforts and
 frustrations of veterinary practice, making everything right.
  Yet, in the case of Benny the whole thing had an unreal quality. I never
  even glimpsed the faces of those kappy children nor that of their mother
  huddled in the front seat I had a vague impression of their father but he
  had spent most of the time with his head in his hands. I wouldn!t have
  known him if I met him in the street. Even the dog, in the unnatural glare
  of the headlights, was a blurred memory.
  It seemed the family had the same feeling because a week later I had a
  pleasant letter from the mother. She apologised for skulking out of the way
  so shamelessly, she thanked me for saving the life of their beloved dog who
  was now prancing around with the children as though nothing had happened,
  and she finished with the regret that she hadn't even asked me my name.
  Yes, it had been a strange episode, and not only were those people unaware
  of my name but I'd like to bet they would fail to recognise me if they saw
  me again.
  In fact, looking back at the affair, the only thing which stood out
  unequivocal and substantial was my great white-bound digit which had
  hovered constantly over the scene, almost taking on a personality and
  significance of its own. I am sure that is what the family remembered best
  about me because of the way the mother's letter began.
 "Dear Vet with the bandaged finger
           CHAPTER
               8

 My stint in London was nearing its end. Our breaking-in weeks were nearly
 over and we waited for news of posting to Initial Training Wing.
  The air was thick with rumours. We were going to Aberystwyth in Wales;
  too far away for me, I wanted the north. Then we were going to Ncwquay
  in Cornwall; worse still. I was aware that the impending, birth of AC2
  Herriot's child did not influence the general war strategy but I still
  wanted to be as near to Helen as possible at the time.
  The whole London phase is blurred in my memory. Possibly because
  everything was so new and different that the impressions could not be
  fully absorbed, and also perhaps because I was tired most of the time.
  I think we were all tired. Few of us were used to being jerked from
  slumber at 6 a.m. every morning and spending the day in continual
  physical activity. If we weren't being drilled we were being marched to
  meals, to classes, to talks. I had lived in a motor car for a few years
  and the rediscovery of my legs was painful.
  There were times, too, when I wondered what it was all about. Like all
  the other young men I had imagined that after a few brisk preliminaries
  I would be sitting in an aeroplane, learning to fly, but it turned out
  that this was so far in the future that it was hardly mentioned. At the
  ITW we would spend months learning navigation, principles of flight,
  morse and many other things.
  I was thankful for one blessing. I had passed the mathematics exam. I
  have always counted on my fingers and still do and I had been so nervous
  about this that I went to classes with the ATC in Darrowby before my
  callup, dredging from my schooldays horrific calculations about trains
  passing each other at different speeds and
               71
 72ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 water running in and out of bath tubs. But I had managed to scrape through
 and felt ready to face anything.
  There were some unexpected shocks in London. I didn't anticipate spending
  days mucking out some of the dirtiest piggeries I had ever seen. Somebody
  must have had the idea of converting all the RAF waste food into pork and
  bacon and of course there was plenty of labour at hand. I had a strong
  feeling of unreality as, with other aspiring pilots, I threw muck and
  swill around hour after hour.
  My disenchantment was happily blotted from my mind the day we received
  news of the posting. It seemed too good to be true--I was going to
  Scarborough. I had been there and I knew it was a beautiful seaside
  resort, but that wasn't why I was so delighted. It was because it was in
  Yorkshire.

 As we marched out of the station into the streets of Scarborough I could
 hardly believe I was back in my home county. But if there had been any
 doubt in my mind it would have been immediately resolved by my first
 breath of the crisp, tangy air. Even in winter there had been no "feel"
 to the soft London air and I half closed my eyes as I followed the tingle
 all the way down to my lungs.
  Mind you, it was cold. Yorkshire is a cold place and I could remember the
  sensation almost of shock at the start of my first winter in Darrowby.
  It was after the first snow and I followed the clanging ploughs up the
  Dale, bumping along between high white mounds till I reached old Mr.
  Stokill's gate. With my fingers on the handle I looked through the glass
  at the new world beneath me. The white blanket rolled down the hillside
  and lapped over the roofs of the dwelling and outbuildings of the little
  farm. Beyond, it smoothed out and concealed the familiar features, the
  stone walls bordering the fields, the stream on the valley floor, turning
  the whole scene into something unknown and exciting.
  But the thrill I felt at the strange beauty was swept away as I got out
  and the wind struck me. It was an Arctic blast screaming from the east,
  picking up extra degrees of cold as it drove over the frozen white
  surface. I was wearing a heavy overcoat and woollen gloves but the gust
  whipped its way right into my bones. I gasped and leaned my back against
  the car while I buttoned the coat up under my chin, then I struggled
  forward to where the gate
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL73

 shook and rattled. I fought it open and my feet crunched as I went
 through.
  Coming round the comer of the byre I found Mr. Stokill forking muck on
  to a heap, making a churned brown trail across the whiteness.
  "Now then," he muttered along the side of a halfsmoked cigarette. He was
  over seventy but still ran the small holding single-handed. He told me
  once that he had worked as a farm hand for six shillings a day for thirty
  years, yet still managed to save enough to buy his own little place.
  Maybe that was why he didn't want to share it.
  "How are you, Mr. Stokill?" I said, but just then the wind tore through
  the yard, clutching icily at my face, snatching my breath away so that
  I turned involuntarily to one side with an explosive "Aaabh!"
  The old farmer looked at me in surprise, then glanced around as though
  he had just noticed the weather.
  "Aye, blows a bit thin this mornin', ]ad." Sparks flew from the end of
  his cigarette as he leaned for a moment on the fork
  He didn;t seem to have much protection against the cold. A light khaki
  smock fluttered over a ragged navy waistcoat, clearly once part of his
  best suit, and his shirt bore neither collar nor stud. The white stubble
  on his fieshless jaw was a reproach to my twenty-four years and suddenly
  I felt an inadequate city-bred softie.
  The old man dug his fork into the manure pile and turned towards the
  buildings. "Ah've got a nice few cases for ye to see today. Fust 'un's
  in 'ere." He opened a door and I staggered gratefully into a sweet bovine
  warmth where a few shaggy little bullocks stood hock deep in straw.
  "That's the youth we want." He pointed to a dark roan standing with one
  hind foot knuckled over. "He's been on three legs for a couple o' days.
  Ab reckon he's got foul."
  I walked up to the little animal but he took off at a speed which made
  light of his infirmity.
  "We'll have to run him into the passage, Mr. Stokill," I said. "Just open
  the gate, will you?"
  With the rough timbers pushed wide I got behind the bullock and sent him
  on to the opening. It seemed as though he was going straight through but
  at the entrance he stopped, peeped into the passage and broke away. I
  gal1oped a few times round the yard after him, then had
 74ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 another go. The result was the same. After half a dozen tries I wasn't
 cold any more. I'll back chasing young cattle against anything else for
 working up a sweat, and I had already forgotten the uncharitable world
 outside. And I could see I was going to get warmer still because the bul-
 lock was beginning to enjoy the game, kicking up his heels and frisking
 around after each attempt.
  I put my hands on my hips, waited till I got my breath back then turned
  to the farmer.
  "T'his is hopeless. He'll never go in there," I said. "We'd maybe better
  try to get a rope on him."
  "Nay, lad, there's no need for that. We'll get him through t'gate right
  enough." The old man ambled to one end of the yard and returned with an
  armful of clean straw. He sprinkled it freely in the gate opening and be-
  yond in the passage, then turned to me. "Now send 'im On.19
  I poked a finger into the animal's rump and he trotted forward, proceeded
  unhesitatingly between the posts and into the passage.
 Mr. Stokill must have noticed my look of bewilderment.
  "Aye, 'e just didn't like Vlook of them cobbles. Once they was covered
  over he was awright."
  "Yes ... yes . I see." I followed the bullock slowly through.
  He was indeed suffering from foul of the foot, the mediaeval term given
  because of the stink of the necrotic tissue between the cleats, and I
  didn't have any antibiotics or sulphonamides to treat it. It is so nice
  and easy these days to give an injection, knowing that the beast will be
  sound in a day or two. But all I could do was wrestle with the lunging
  hind foot, dressing the infected cleft with a crude mixture of copper
  sulphate and Stockholm tar and finishing with a pad of cotton wool held
  by a tight bandage. When I had finished I took off my coat and hung it
  on a nail. I didn't need it any more.
  Mr. Stokill looked approvingly at the finished job. "Capital, capital,"
  he murmured. "Now there's some little pigs in this pen got a bit o'
  scour. I want you give 'em a jab wi' your needle."
  We had various E coli vaccines which sometimes did a bit of good in these
  cases and I entered the pen hopefully. But I left in a hurry because the
  piglets' mother didn't approve of a stranger wandering among her brood
  and
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL75

 she came at me open-mouthed, barking explosively. She looked as big as a
 donkey and when the cavernous jaws with the great yellowed teeth brushed my
 thigh I knew it was time to go. I hopped rapidly into the yard and crashed
 the door behind me.
  I peered back* ruminatively into the pen. "We'll have to get her out of
  there before I can do anything, Mr. Stokill."
  "Aye, you're right, young man, ah'll shift 'er." He began to shuffle away.
  I held up a hand. "No, it's all right, I'll do it." I couldn't let this
  frail old man go in there and maybe get knocked down and savaged, and I
  looked around for a means of protection. There was a battered shovel
  standing against a wall and I seized it.
 "Open the door, please," I said. "I'll soon have her out."
  Once more inside the pen I held the shovel in front of me and tried to
  usher the huge sow towards the door. But my efforts at poking her rear end
  were fruitless; she faced me all the time, wide-mouthed and growling as I
  circled. When she got the blade of the shovel between her teeth and began
  to worry it I called a halt.
  As I left the pen I saw Mr. Stokill dragging a large object over the
  cobbles.
 "What's that?" I asked.
 "Dustbin," the old man grunted in reply.
 "Dustbinl What on earth ... T' -
  He gave no further explanation but entered the pen. As the sow came at him
  he allowed her to run her head into the bin then, bent double, he began to
  back her towards the open door. The animal was clearly baffled. Suddenly
  finding herself in this strange dark place she naturally tried to retreat
  from it and all the farmer did was guide her.
  Before she knew what was happening she was out in the yard. The old man
  calmly removed the bin and beckoned to me. "Right you are, Mr. Herriot, you
  can get on now."
 It had taken about twenty seconds.
  Well, that was a relief, and anyway I knew what to do next. Lifting a sheet
  of corrugated iron which the farmer had ready I rushed in among the little
  pigs. I would pen them in a corner and the job would be over in no time.
  But their mother's irritation had been communicated to the family. It was
  a big litter and there were sixteen of
 76ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 them hurtling around like little pink racehorses. I spent a long time
 diving frantically after them, jamming the sheet at a bunch only to see
 half of them streaking out the other end, and I might have gone on
 indefinitely had I not felt a gentle touch on my arm.
  "Hand on, young man, haud on." The old farmer looked at me kindly. "If
  you'll nobbut stop runnin' after 'ern they'll settle down. Just bide a
  minute."
  Slightly breathless, I stood by his side and listened as he addressed the
  little creatures.
  "Giss-giss, giss-giss," murmured Mr. Stokill without moving. "Giss-giss,
  giss-giss."
  The piglets slowed their headlong gallop to a trot, then, as though
  controlled by telepathy, they all stopped at once and stood in a pink
  group in one corner.
  "Giss-giss," said Mr. Stokill approvingly, advancing almost imperceptibly
  with the sheet. "Giss-giss."
  He unhurriedly placed the length of metal across the corner and jammed
  his foot against the bottom.
  "Now then, put the toe of your wellington against Vother end and we 'ave
  'em," he said quietly.
  After that the injection of the litter was a matter of a few minutes. Mr.
  Stokill didn't say, "Well, I'm teaching you a thing or two today, am I
  not?" Thbre was no hint of triumph or self-congratulation in the calm old
  eyes. All he said was, "I'm keepin' you busy this mornin', young man. I
  want you to look at a cow now. She's got a pea in her tit."
  "Peas" and other obstructions in the teats were very common in the days
  of hand milking. Some of them were floating milk calculi, others tiny
  pedunculated tumours, injuries to the teat lining, all sorts of things.
  It was a whole diverting little field in itself and I approached the cow
  with interest.
  But I didn't get very near before Mr. Stokill put his hand on my
  shoulder.
  "Just a minute, Mr. Herriot, don't touch 'er tit yet or she'll clout ye.
  She's an awd bitch. Wait a minute till ah rope 'er."
 "Oh right," I said. "But I'll do it."
 He hesitated. "Ab reckon I ought to . .
  "No, no, Mr. Stokill, that's quite unnecessary, I know how to stop a cow
  kicking," I said primly. "Kindly hand me that rope."
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL77

  "But . . . she's a bugger       kicks like a 'oss. She's a
 right good milker but . . ."
  "Don't worry," I said, smiling. "I'll stop her little games."
  I began to unwind the rope. It was good to be able to demonstrate that
  I did know something about handling animals even though I had been
  qualified for only a few months. And it made a change to be told before
  and not after the job that a cow was a kicker. A cow once kicked me
  nearly to the other end of the byre and as I picked myself up the farmer
  said unemotionally, "Aye, she's allus had a habit o' that."
  Yes, it was nice to be warned, and I passed the rope round the animal's
  body in front of the udder and pulled it tight in a slip knot. Just like
  they taught us at college. She was a scrawny red shorthorn with a woolly
  poll and she regarded me with a contemplative eye as I bent down.
  "All right, lass," I said soothingly, reaching under her and gently
  grasping the teat. I squirted a few jets of milk then something blocked
  the end. Ah yes, there it was, quite large and unattached. I felt sure
  I could work it through the orifice without cutting the sphincter.
  I took a firmer grip, squeezed tightly and immediately a cloven foot shot
  out like a whip lash and smacked me solidly on the knee. It is a
  particularly painful spot to be kicked and I spent some time hopping
  round the byre and cursing in a fervent whisper.
  The farmer- followed me anxiously. "Ee, ah'm sorry, Mr. Herriot, she's
  a right awd bugger. Better let me . . ."
  I held up a hand, "No, Mr. Stokill. I already have her roped. I just
  didn't tie it tight enough, that's all." I hobbled back to the animal,
  loosened the knot then retied it, pulling till my eyes popped. When I had
  finished, her abdomen was lifted high and nipped in like a wasp-waisted
  Victorian lady of fashion.
  "That'll fix you," I grunted, and bent to my work again. A few spurts of
  milk then the thing was at the teat end again, a pinkish-white object
  peeping through the orifice. A little extra pressure and I would be able
  to fish it out with the hypodermic needle I had poised ready. I took a
  breath and gripped hard.
  This time the hoof caught me half way up the shin bone. She hadn't been
  able to get so much height into it but it
 78ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 was just as painful. I sat down on a milk stool, rolled up my trouser leg
 and examined the roll of skin which hung like a diploma at the end of a
 long graze where the sharp hoof had dragged along.
  "Now then, you've'ad enough, young man." Mr. Stokill removed my rope and
  gazed at me with commiseration. "Ordinary methods don't work with this
  'un. I 'ave to milk her twice a day and ah knaw."
  He fetched a soiled length of plough cord which had obviously seen much
  service and fastened it round the cow's hock. The other end had a hook
  which he fitted into a ring on the byre wall. It was just the right
  length to stretch taut, pulling the leg slightly back.
 The old man nodded. "Now try."
  With a feeling of fatalism I grasped the teat again. And it was as if the
  cow knew she was beaten. She never moved as I nipped hard and winkled out
  the offending obstruction-a milk calculus. She couldn't do a thing about
  it.
  "Ah, thank ye" lad," the farmer said. "Tbat's champion. Been bothering
  me a bit, has that. Didn't know what it was." He held up a finger. "One
  last job for ye. A young heifer with a bit o' stomach trouble, ah think.
  Saw her last night and she was a bit blown. She's in an outside
  buildin'."
  I put on my coat and we went out to where the wind welcomed us- with
  savage glee. As the knife-like blast hit me, whistling up my nose and
  making my eyes water, I cowered in the lee of the stable.
 "Where is this heifer?" I gasped.
  Mr. Stokill did not reply immediately. He was lighting another cigarette,
  apparently oblivious of the elements. He clamped the lid on an ancient
  brass lighter and jerked his thumb.
 "Across the road. Up there."
  I followed his gesture over the buried walls, across the narrow roadway
  between the ploughed-out snow dunes to where the fell rose steeply in a
  sweep of unbroken white to join the leaden sky. Unbroken, that is, except
  for a tiny barn, a grey stone speck just visible on the last airy swell
  hundreds of feet up where the hillside joined the moorland above.
  "Sorry," I said, still crouching against the wall. "I can't see
  anything."
 The old man, lounging in the teeth of the wind,
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL79

 looked at me in surprise. "You can't? Why, Vbarn's good enough to see,
 isif t it2"
  "The barnT' I pointed a shaking finger at the heights. "You mean that
  building? The heifer's surely not in therel"
  "Aye, she is. Ah keep a lot o' me young beasts in them spots."
  "But ... but. . ." I was gabbling now. "We'll never get up therel That
  snow's three feet deepl"
  He blew smoke pleasurably from his nostrils. "We will, don't tha worry.
  Just hang on a second."
  He disappeared into the stable and after a few moments I peeped inside.
  HeVas saddling a fat brown cob and I stared as he led the little animal
  out, climbed stiffly on to a box and mounted.
  Looking down at me be waved cheerfully. "Well, let's be gofif . Have you
  got your stuff?"
  Bewilderedly I filled my pockets. A bottle of bloat mixture, a trochar
  and cannula, a packet of gentian and mix vomica. I did it in the dull
  knowledge that there was no way I could get up that hill.
  On the other side of the road an opening had been dug and Mr. Stokill
  rode tkrough. I slithered in his wake, looking up hopelessly at the great
  smooth wilderness rear-. ing above us.
  Mr. Stokill turned in the saddle. "Get haud on Vtail," he said.
 "I beg your pardon?"
 "Get a baud of 'is tail."
 As in a dream I seized the bristly hairs.
 "No, both 'ands," the farmer said patiently-
 "Like thisT'
 "That's grand, lad. Now 'ang on."
  He clicked his tongue, the cob plodded resolutely forward and so did 1.
  And it was easyl The whole world fell away beneatk us as we soared
  upwards, and leaning back and enjoying it I watched the little valley
  unfold along its twisting length until I could see away into the main
  Dale with the great bills billowing round and white into the dark clouds.
  At the barn the farmer dismounted. "All right, young man?"
  "All right, Mr. Stokill." As I followed him into the little building I
  smiled to myself. This old man had once told
 P,

   8oALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   me that he left school when he was twelve, whereas I had spent most
   of the twenty-four years of my life in study. Yet when I looked back
   on the last hour or so I could come to only one conclusion.
     I'd had more of books, but he had more of learning.
 CHAPTER

 I had plenty of company for Christmas that year. We were billeted in the
 Grand Hotel, the massive Victorian pile which dominated Scarborough in
 turreted splendour from its eminence above the sea, and the big dining room
 was packed with several hundred shouting airmen. The iron discipline was
 relaxed for a few hours to let the Yuletide spirit run free.
  It was so different from other Christmases I had known that it ought to
  have remained like a beacon in my mind, but I know that my strongest memory
  of Christmas will always be bound up with a certain little cat.
  I first saw her one autumn day when I was called to see one of Mrs.
  Ainsworth's dogs, and I looked in some surprise at the furry black creature
  sitting before the fire.
 "I didn't know you had a cat," I said.
 The lady smiled. "We haven't, this is Debbie."
 "Debbie?"
  "Yes, at least that's what we call her. She's a stray. Comes here two or
  three times a week and we give her some food. I don't know where she lives
  but I believe she spends a lot of her time around one of the farms along
  the road."
  "Do you ever get the feeling that she wants to stay with you?"
  "No." Mrs. Ainsworth shook her head. "She's a timid little thing. Just
  creeps in, has some food then flits away. There's something so appealing
  about her but she doesn't seem to want to let me or anybody into her life."
  I looked again at the little cat. "But she isn't just having food today."
  "That's right. It's a funny thing but every now and again she slips through
  here into the lounge and sits by the 81
 82ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 fire for a few minutes. It's as though she was giving herself a treat."
  "Yes . . . I see what you mean." There was no doubt there was something
  unusual in the attitude of the little animal. She was sitting bolt
  upright on the thick rug which Jay before the fireplace in which the
  coals glowed and flamed. She made no effort to curl up or wash herself
  or do anything other than gaze quietly ahead. And there was something in
  the dusty black of her coat, the half-wild scrawny look of her, that gave
  me a clue. This was a special event in her life, a rare and wonderful
  thing; she was lapping up a comfort undreamed of in her daily existence.
  As I watched she turned, crept soundlessly from the room and was gone.
  "That's always the way with Debbie," Mrs. Ainsworth laughed. "She never
  stays more than ten minutes or so, then she's off."
  Mrs. Ainsworth was a plumpish, pleasant-faced woman in her forties and
  the kind of client veterinary surgeons dream of; well off, generous, and
  the owner of three cosseted Basset hounds. And it only needed the
  habitually mournful expression of one of the dogs to deepen a little and
  I was round there post haste. Today one of the Bassets had raised its paw
  and scratched its ear a couple Of times and that was enough to send its
  mistress scurrying to the 'phone in great alarm.
  So my visits to the Ainsworth home were frequent but undemanding, and I
  had ample opportunity to look out for the little cat that had intrigued
  me. On one occasion I spotted her nibbling daintily from a saucer at the
  kitchen door. As I watched she turned and almost floated on light
  footsteps into the hall then through the lounge door.
  The three Bassets were already in residence, draped snoring on the
  fireside rug, but they seemed to be used to Debbie because two of them
  sniffed her in a bored manner and the third merely cocked a sleepy eye
  at her before flopping back on the rich pile.
  Debbie sat among them in her usual posture; upright, intent, gazing
  absorbedly into the glowing coals. This time I tried to make friends with
  her. I approached her carefully but she leaned away as I stretched out
  my hand. However, by patient wheedling and soft talk I managed to touch
  her and gently stroked her cheek with one finger.
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL83

 Tlaere was a moment when she responded by putting her head on one side and
 rubbing back against my band but soon she was ready to leave. Once outside
 the house she 'darted quickly along the road then through a gap in a hedge
 and the last I saw was the little black figure flitting over the
 rain-swept grass of a field.
 "I wonder where she goes," I murmured half to myself.
  Mrs. Ainsworth appeared at my elbow. "That's something we've never been
  able to find out."

 It must have been nearly three months before I heard from Mrs. Ainsworth,
 and in fact I had begun to wonder at the Bassets' long symptomless run
 when she came on the 'phone.
  It was Christmas morning and she was apologetic. "Mr. Herriot, I'm so
  sorry to bother you today of all days. I should think you want a rest at
  Christmas like anybody else." But her natural politeness could not hide
  the distress in her voice.
  "Please don't worry about that," I said. "Which one is it this time?"
 "It's not one of the dogs. It's ... Debbie."
 "Debbie? She's at your house now?"
  "Yes . . . but there's something wrong. Please come quickly."
  Driving through the market place I thought again that Darrowby on
  Christmas Day was like Dickens come to life; the empty square with the
  snow thick on the cobbles and hanging from the eaves of the fretted lines
  of roofs; the shops closed and the coloured lights of the Christmas trees
  winking at the windows of the clustering houses, warmly inviting against
  the cold white bulk of the fells behind.
  Mrs. Ainsworth's home was lavishly decorated with tinsel and holly, rows
  of drinks stood on the sideboard and the rich aroma of turkey and sage
  and onion stuffing wafted from the kitchen. But her eyes were full of
  pain as she led me through to the lounge.
  Debbie was there all right, but this time everything was different. She
  wasn't sitting upright in her usual position; she was stretched quite
  motionless on her side, and huddled close to her lay a tiny black kitten.
  I looked down in bewilderment. "What's happened here?"
 84ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "It's the strangest thing," Mrs. Ainsworth replied. "I haven't seen her
  for several weeks then she came in about two hours ago-sort of staggered
  into the kitchen, and she was carrying the kitten in her mouth. She took
  it through to the lounge and laid it on the rug and at first I was
  amused. But I could see all was not well because she sat as she usually
  does, but for a long time-over an hour -then she lay down like this and
  she hasn't moved."
  I knelt on the rug and passed my hand over Debbie's neck and ribs. She
  was thinner than ever, her fur dirty and mudeaked. She did not resist as
  I gently opened her mouth. The tongue and mucous membranes were abnor-
  mally pale and the lips ice-cold against my fingers. When I pulled down
  her eyelid and saw the dead white conjunctiva a knell sounded in my mind.
  I palpated the abdomen with a grim certainty as to what I would find and
  there was no surprise, only a dull sadness as my fingers closed around
  a hard lobulated mass deep among the viscera. Massive lymphosarcoma.
  Terminal and hopeless. I put my stethoscope on her heart and listened to
  the increasingly faint, rapid beat then I straightened up and sat on the
  rug looking sightlessly into the fireplace, feeling the warmth of the
  flames on my face.
  Mrs. Ainsworth's- voice seemed to come from afar. "Is she ill, Mr.
  Herriot?"
  I hesitated. "Yes ... yes, I'm afraid so. She has a malignant growth."
  I stood up. "There's absolutely nothing I can do. I'm sorry."
  "Oh!" Her hand went to her mouth and she looked at me wide-eyed. When at
  last she spoke her voice trembled. "Well, you must put her to sleep
  immediately. It's the only thing to do. We can't let her suffer."
  "Mrs. Ainsworth," I said. "There's no need. She's dying now-in a coma far
  beyond suffering."
  She turned quickly away from me and was very still as she fought with her
  emotions. Then she gave up the struggle and dropped on her knees beside
  Debbie.
  "Oh, poor little thingl" she sobbed and stroked the cat's head again and
  again as the tears fell unchecked on the matted fur. "What she must have
  come through. I feel I ought to have done more for her."
  For a few moments I was silent, feeling her sorrow, so discordant among
  the bright seasonal colours of this festive room. Then I spoke gently.
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL85

  "Nobody could have done more than you," I said. "Nobody could have been
  kinder."
  "But I'd have kept her here-in comfort. It must have been terrible out
  there in the cold when she was so desperately ill-I daren't think about
  it. And having kittens, too-I ... I wonder how many she did have?"
  I shrugged. "I don't suppose we'll ever know. Maybe just this one. It
  happens sometimes. And she brought it to you, didn't she?"
  "Yes . . . that's right ... she did. . . she did." Mrs. Ainsworth reached
  out and lifted the bedraggled black morsel. She smoothed her finger along
  the muddy fur and the tiny mouth opened in a soundless miaow. "Isn't it
  strange? She was dying and she brought her kitten here. And on Christmas
  Day."
  I bent and put my hand on Debbie's heart. There was no beat.
  I looked up. "I'm afraid she's gone." I lifted the small body, almost
  feather light, wrapped it in the sheet which had been spread on the rug
  and took it out to the car.
  When I came back Mrs. Ainsworth was still stroking the kitten. The tears
  had dried on her cheeks and she was brighteyed as she looked at me.
 "I've never had a cat before," she said.
 I smiled. "Well it looks as though you've got one now."

 And she certainly had. That kitten grew rapidly into a sleek handsome cat
 with a boisterous nature which earned him the name of Buster. In every way
 he was the opposite to his timid little mother. Not for him the privations
 of the secret outdoor life; he stalked the rich carpets of the Ainsworth
 home like a king and the ornate collar he always wore added something more
 to his presence.
  On my visits I watched his development with delight but the occasion
  which stays in my mind was the following Christmas Day, a year from his
  arrival.
  I was out on my rounds as usual. I can't remember when I haven't had to
  work on Christmas Day because the animals have never got round to
  recognising it as a holiday; but with the passage of the years the vague
  resentment I used to feel has been replaced by philosophical acceptance.
  After all, as I tramped around the hillside barns in the frosty air I was
  working up a better appetite for my turkey than all the millions lying
  in bed or slumped by the fire;
 86ALL ITHNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 and this was aided by the innumerable aperitifs I received from the
 hospitable farmers.
  I was on my way home, bathed in a rosy glow. I had consumed several
  whiskies--the kind the inexpert Yorkshiremen pour as though it was ginger
  ale-and I had finished with a glass of old Mrs. Earnshaw's rhubarb wine
  which had seared its way straight to my toenails. I heard the cry as I
  was passing Mrs. Ainsworth's house.
  "Merry Christmas, Mr. Herriotl" She was letting a visitor out of the
  front door and she waved at me gaily. "Come in and have a drink to warm
  you up."
  I didn't need warming up but I pulled in to the kerb without hesitation.
  In the house tkere was all the festive cheer of last year and the same
  glorious whiff of sage and onion which set my gastric juices surging. But
  there was not the sorrow; there was Buster.
  He was darting up to each of the dogs in turn, ears pricked, eyes blazing
  with devilment, dabbing a paw at them then streaking away.
  Mrs. Ainsworth laughed. "You know, he plagues the life out of them. Gives
  them no peace."
  She was right. To the Bassets, Buster's arrival was rather like the
  intrusion of an irreverent outsider into an exclusive London club. For
  a long time they had led a life of measured grace; regular sedate walks
  with their mistress, superb food in ample quantities and long snoring
  sessions on the rugs and armchairs. Their days followed one upon another
  in unruffled calm. And then came Buster.
  He was dancing up to the youngest dog again, sideways this time, head on
  one side, goading him. When he started boxing with both paws it was too
  much even for the Basset. He dropped his dignity and rolled over with the
  cat in a brief wrestling match.
  "I want to skow you something." Mrs. Ainsworth lifted a hard rubber ball
  from the sideboard and went out to the garden, followed by Buster. She
  threw the ball across the lawn and the cat bounded after it over the
  frosted grass, the muscles rippling under the black sheen of his coat.
  He seized the ball in his teeth, brought it back to his mistress, dropped
  it at her feet and waited expectantly. She threw it and he brought it
  back again.
 I gasped incredulously. A feline retrieverl
 The Bassets looked on disdainfully. Nothing would ever
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL87

 have induced them to chase a ball, but Buster did it again and again as
 though he would never tire of it.
  Mrs. Ainsworth turned to me. "Have you ever seen anything like that?"
  "No," I replied. "I never have. He is a most remarkable cat."
  She snatched Buster from his play and we went back into the house where she
  held him close to her face, laughing as the big cat purred and arched
  himself ecstatically against her check.
  Looking at him, a picture of health and contentment, my mind went back to
  his mother. Was it too much to think that that dying little creature with
  the last of her strength had carried her kitten to the only haven of com-
  fort and warmth she had ever known in the hope that it would be cared for
  there? Maybe it was.
  But it seemed I wasn't the only one with such fancies. Mrs. Ainsworth
  turned to me and though she was smiling her eyes were wistful.
 "Debbie would be pleased," she said.
  I nodded. "Yes, she would.... It was just a year ago today she brought him,
  wasn't it?"
  "That's right." She hugged Buster to her again. "The best Christmas present
  I ever had."
           CHAPTER
              10

 I stared in disbelief at the dial of the weighing machine. Nine stone seven
 pounds! I had lost two stones since joining the RAF. I was cowering in my
 usual corner in Boots' Chemist's shop in Scarborough, where I had developed
 the habit of a weekly weigh-in to keep a morbid eye on my progressive
 emaciation. It was incredible and it wasn't all due to the tough training.
  On our arrival in Scarborough we had a talk from our Flight Commander, Flt.
  Lieut. Barnes. He looked us over with a contemplative eye and said, "You
  won't know yourselves when you leave here." That man knew what he was
  talking about.
  We were never at rest. It was PT and Drill, PT and Drill, over and over.
  Hours of bending and stretching and twisting down on the prom in singlets
  and shorts while the wind whipped over us from the wintry sea. Hours of
  marching under the bellowings of our sergeant; quick march, slow march,
  about turn. We even marched to our navigation classes, bustling along at
  the RAF quick time, arms swinging shoulder high.
  They marched us regularly to the top of Castle Hill where we fired off
  every conceivable type of weapon; twelve bores, .22 riflcs, revolvers,
  Browning machine guns. We even stabbed at dummies with bayonets. In between
  they had us swimming, playing football or rugby or running for n-dles along
  the beach and on the cliff tops towards Filey.
  At first I was too busy to see any change in myself, but one morning after
  a few weeks our flight was coming to the end of a five-mile run. We dropped
  down from the Spa to a long stretch of empty beach and the sergeant
  shouted, "Right, sprint to those rocks! Let's see who gets there first!"
We all took off on the last hundred yards' dash and I 88
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL89

 was mildly surprised to find that the first man past the post was
 myself-and I wasn't really out of breath. That was when the realisation
 hit me. Mr. Barnes had been right. I didn't know myself.
  When I left Helen I was a cosseted young husband with a little double
  chin and the beginnings of a spare tyre, and now I was a lithe, tireless
  greyhound. I was certainly fit, but there was something wrong. I
  shouldn't have been as thin as this. Another factor was at work.
  In Yorkshire when a man goes into a decline during his wife's pregnancy
  they giggle behind their hands and say he is "carrying" the baby. I never
  laugh at these remarks because I am convinced I "carried" my son.
  I base this conclusion on a variety of symptoms. It would be an
  exaggeration to say I suffered from morning sickness, but my suspicions
  were certainly aroused when I began to feel a little queasy in the early
  part of the day. This was followed by a growing uneasiness as Helen's
  time drew near and a sensation, despite my physical condition, of being
  drained and miserable. With the onset in the later stages of unmistakable
  labour pains in my lower abdomen all doubts were resolved and I knew I
  had to do something about it.
  I had to see Helen. After all, she was just over that hill which I could
  see from the top windows of the Grand. Maybe that wasn't strictly true,
  but at least I was in Yorkshire and a bus would take me to her in three
  hours. The snag was that there was no leave from ITW. They left us in no
  doubt about that. They said the discipline was as tough as a Guards
  regiment and the restrictions just as rigid. I would get compassionate
  leave when the baby was born, but I couldn't wait till then. The grim
  knowledge that any attempt to dodge off unofficially would be like a
  minor desertion and would be followed by serious consequences, even
  prison, didn't weigh with me.
  As one of my comrades put it: "One bloke tried it and finished up in the
  Glasshouse. It isn't worth it, mate."
  But it was no good. I am normally a law-abiding citizen but I had not a
  single scruple. I had to see Helen. A surreptitious study of the
  timetables revealed that there was a bus at 2 p.m. which got to Darrowby
  at five o'clock, and another leaving Darrowby at six which arrived in
  Scarborough at nine. Six hours travelling to have one hour with Helen.
  It was worth it.
 goALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  At first I couldn't see a way of getting to the bus station at two o'clock
  in the afternoon because we were never free at that time, but my chance
  came quite unexpectedly. One Friday lunchtime we learned that there were no
  more classes that day but we were confined to the Grand till evening. Most
  of my friends collapsed thankfully on to their beds, but I slunk down the
  long flights of stone stairs and took up a position in the foyer where I
  could watch the front door.
  There was a glass-fronted office on one side of the entrance where the SPs
  sat and kept an eye on all departures. There was only one on duty today and
  I waited till he turned and moved to the back of the room then I walked
  quietly past him and out into the square.
  That part had been almost too easy, but I felt naked and exposed as I
  crossed the deserted space between the Grand and the hotels on the opposite
  side. It was better once I had rounded the comer and I set off at a brisk
  pace for the west. All I needed was a little bit of luck and as I pressed,
  dry-mouthed, along the empty street it seemed I had found it. The shock
  when I saw the two burly SPs strolling towards me was like a blow but was
  immediately followed by a strange calm.
  They would ask me for the pass I didn't have, then they would want to know
  what I was doing there. It wouldn't be much good telling them I had just
  popped out for a breath of air-this street led to both the bus and railway
  stations and it wouldn't need a genius to rumble my little game. Anyway,
  there was no cover here, no escape, and I wondered idly if there had ever
  been a veterinary surgeon in the Glasshouse. Maybe I was about to set up
  some kind of a record.
  Then behind me I heard the rhythmic tramp of marching feet and the shrill
  " 'eft 'ight, 'eft 'ight," that usually went with it. I turned and saw a
  long blue column approaching with a corporal in charge. As they swung past
  me I looked again at the SPs and my heart gave a thud. They were laughing
  into each other's faces at some private joke; they hadn't seen me. Without
  thinking I tagged on to the end of the marching men and within a few
  seconds was past the SPs unnoticed.
  With my mind working with the speed of desperation, it seemed I would be
  safest where I was till I COUld break away in the direction of the bus
  station. For a while I had
      ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL91

 a glorious feeling of anonymity then the corporal, still shouting, glanced
 back. He faced to the front again then turned back more slowly for another
 look. He appeared to find something interesting because he shortened his
 stride till he was marching opposite me.
  As he looked me up and down I examined him in turn from the corner of my
  eye. He was a shrivelled, runtish creature with fierce little eyes glinting
  from a pallid, skulllike face. It was some time before he spoke.
  "Who the-hell are you?" he enquired conversationally. It was the number one
  awkward question but I discerned the faintest gleam of hope; he had spoken
  in the unmistakable harsh, glottal accent of my home town.
  "Herriot, corporal. Two flight, four squadron," I replied in my broadest
  Glasgow.
  "Two flight, four ... I This is one flight, three squadron. What the-hell
  are ye daein' here?"
  Arms swinging high, staring rigidly ahead, I took a deep breath.
  Concealment was futile now.
  "Tryin' to get tae see ma wife, corp. She's kavin' a baby soon."
  I glanced quickly at him. His was not the kind of face to reveal weakness
  by showing surprise but his eyes widened fractionally. "Get tae see yer
  wife? Are ye---daft or whit?"
  "It's no' far, corp. She lives in Darrowby. Three hours in the bus. Ah wid
  be back tonight."
 "Back tonightl Ye want yer-heid examinin'l"
 "I've got tae go I"
  "Eyes frontl" he screamed suddenly at the men before us. "'eft 'ight, 'eft
  'ight!" Then he turned and studied me as though I were an unbelievable
  phenomenon. He was interesting to me, too, as a typical product of the bad
  times in Glasgow between the wars. Stunted, undernourished, but as tough
  and belligerent as a ferret.
  "D'ye no' ken," he said at length, "that ye get-leave when yer wife has the
  wean?"
  "Aye, but a canna' wait that long. Ginune a break, Corp.$$
 "Give ye a-breakl D'ye want tae get me---shot?"
 "No, corp, just want tae get to the bus station."
  "Jesusl Is that 0" He gave me a final incredulous look before quickening
  his steps to the head of the column. When he rehuwd he surveyed me
 92ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "Whit part o' Glesca are ye frae?"
 "Scotstounhill," I replied. "How about you?"
 "Govan."
  I turned my head slightly towards him. "Ranger supporter, eh?"
  He did not change expression, but an eyebrow flickered and I knew I had
  him.
  "Whit a team!" I murmured reverently. "Many's the time I've stood on the
  terraces at Ibrox."
  He said nothing and I began to recite the names of the great Rangers team
  of the thirties. "Dawson, Gray, McDonald, Meiklejohn, Simpson, Brown." His
  eyes took on a dreamy expression and by the time I had intoned "Archibald,
  Marshall, English, McPhail and Morton," there was something near to a
  wistful smile on his lips.
 Then he appeared to shake himself back to normality.
  "'Eft 'ight, 'eft 'ight!" he bawled. "C'mon, c'mon, pick it up!" Then he
  muttered to me from the corner of his mouth. "There's the-bus station. When
  we march past it run like-!"
  He took off again, shouting to the head of the flight, I saw the buses and
  the windows of the waiting room on my left and dived across the road and
  through the door. I snatched off my cap and sat trembling among a group of
  elderly farmers and their wives. Through the glass I could see the long
  lines of blue moving away down the street and I could still hear the shouts
  of the corporal.
  But he didn't turn round and I saw only his receding back, the narrow
  shoulders squared, the bent legs stepping it out in time with his men. I
  never saw him again but to this day I wish I could take him to Ibrox and
  watch the Rangers with him and maybe buy him a half and half pint at one of
  the Govan pubs. It wouldn't have mattered if he had turned out to be a
  Celtic supporter at that decisive moment because I had the Celtic team on
  my tongue all ready to trot out, starting with Kennaway, Cook, McGonigle.
  It is not the only time my profound knowledge of football has stood me in
  good stead.
  Sitting on the bus, still with my cap on my lap to avoid attracting
  attention, it struck me that the whole world changed within a mile or two
  as we left the town. Back there the war was everywhere, filling people's
  minds and eyes and thoughts; the teeming thousands of uniformed
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL93

 men, the RAF and army vehicles, the almost palpable atmosphere of
 anticipation and suspense. And suddenly it all just stopped.
  It vanished as the wide sweep of grey-blue sea fell beneath the rising
  ground behind the town, and as the bus trundled westward I looked out on
  a landscape of untroubled peace. The long moist furrows of the new-turned
  soil glittered under the pale February sun, contrasting with the gold
  stubble fields and the grassy pastures where sheep clustered around their
  feeding troughs. There was no wind and the smoke rose straight from the
  farm chimneys and the bare branches of the roadside trees were still as
  they stretched across the cold sky.
  There were many things that pulled at me. A man in breeches and leggings
  carrying on his shoulder a bale of hay to some outlying cattle; a group
  of farm men buming hedge clippings and the fragrance of the wood smoke
  finding its way into the bus. The pull was stronger as the hours passed
  and the beginnings of my own familiar countryside began to appear beyond
  the windows. Maybe it was a good thing I didn't see Darrowby; Helen's
  home was near the bus route and I dropped off well short of the town.
  She was alone in the house and she turned her head as I walked into the
  kitchen. The delight on her face was mixed with astonishment; in fact I
  know we were both astonished, she because I was so skinny and I because
  she was so fat. Helen, with the baby only two weeks away, was very large
  indeed, but not too large for me to get my arms around her, and we stood
  there in the middle of the flagged floor clasped together for a long time
  with neither of us saying much.
  When I released her she looked at me, wide-eyed. "I hardly knew you when
  you walked in then."
 "I felt the same way about you."
  "I'm not surprised." She laughed and rested her hand on her bulging
  abdomen. "He's kicking like mad now. I'm sure it's going to be a boy."
  A fleeting concern showed in her eyes and she reached out a hand and
  touched my fieshless cheeks. "Don't they feed you properly?"
  "Oh, the food's very good," I replied. "But unfortunately they run it all
  off again."
 94ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "Anyway, I'll get you a good meal now." She gazed at me thoughtfully. "Pity
  we've finished our meat ration, but how about some egg and chips?"
 "Marvellous."
  She cooked me egg and chips and sat by me while I ate. We carried on a
  rather halting conversation and it came to me with a bump that my mind had
  been forced on to different tracks since I had left her. In those few
  months my brain had become saturated with the things of my new life-even my
  mouth was full of RAF slang and jargon. In our bed-sitter we used to talk
  about my cases, the funny things that happened on my rounds, but now, I
  thought helplessly, there wasn't much point in telling her that AC2
  Phillips was on jankers again, that vector triangles were the very devil,
  that Don McGregor thought he had discovered the secret of Sergeant Hynd's
  phenomenally shiny boots.
  But it really didn't matter. My worries melted as I looked at her. I had
  been wondering if she was well and there she was, bouncing with energy,
  shining-eyed, rosycheeked and beautiful. There was only one jarring note
  and it was a strange one. Helen was wearing a "maternity dress" which
  expanded with the passage of time by means of an opening down one side.
  Anyway, I hated it. It was blue with a high red collar and I thought it
  cheap-looking and ugly. I was aware that austerity had taken over in
  England and that a lot of things were shoddy, but I desperately wished my
  wife had something better to wear. In all my life there have been very few
  occasions when I badly wanted more money and that was one of them, because
  on my wage of three shillings a day as an AC2 I was unable to drape her
  with expensive clothes.
  The hour winged past and it seemed no time at all before I was back on the
  top road waiting in the gathering darkness for the Scarborough bus. The
  journey back was a bit dreary as the black-out vehicle bumped and rattled
  its way through the darkened villages and over the long stretches of
  anonymous countryside. It was cold, too, but I sat there happily with the
  memory of Helen wrapped around me like a warm quilt.
  The whole day had been a triumph. I had got away by a lucky stroke and
  there would be no problem getting back into the Grand because one of my
  pals would be on
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL99

 sentry duty and it would be a case of "pass friend." Closing my eyes in
 the gloom I could still feel Helen in my arms and I smiled to myself at
 the memory of her bounding healthiness. What a tremendous relief to see
 her looking so wonderful, and though the simple repast of egg and chips
 had seem6d like a banquet I realised that my greatest nourishment had been
 feasting my eyes on Helen.
  Tkat dress still niggled at me as it has, for some reason, right down the
  years, but compared with the other elements of that magic hour it was a
  little thing.
           CHAPTER
              11

 "Hey you I Where the 'ell d'you think you're goin'T'
  Coming from the RAF Special Police it was a typical mode of address and the
  man who barked it out wore the usual truculent expression.
 "Extra navigation class, corporal," I replied.
 "Lemme see your pass!"
  He snatched it from my hand, read it and returned it without looking at me.
  I slunk out into the street feeling like a prisoner on parole.
  Not all the SPs were like that but I found most of them lacking in charm.
  And it brought home to me with a rush something which had been slowly
  dawning on me ever since I joined the Air Force; that I had been spoiled
  for quite a long time now. Spoiled by the fact that I had always been
  treated with respect because I was a veterinary surgeon, a member of an
  honourable profession. And I had taken it entirely for granted.
  Now I was an AC2, the lowest form of life in the RAF, and the "Hey you!"
  was a reflection of my status. The Yorkshire farmers don't rush out and
  kiss you, but their careful friendliness and politeness is something which
  I have valued even more since my service days. Because that was when I
  stopped taking it for granted.
  Mind you, you have to put up with a certain amount of cheek in most jobs,
  and veterinary practice is no exception. Even now I can recall the
  glowering face of Ralph Beamish, the racehorse trainer, as he watched me
  getting out of my car.
 "Where's Mr. Farnon?" he grunted.
  My toes curled. I had heard that often enough, especially among the horse
  fraternity around Darrowby.
 "I'm sorry, Mr. Beamish, but he'll be away all day and
  ?              96
      ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL97

 1 thought I'd better come along rather than leave it till tomorrow."
  He made no attempt to hide his disgust. He blew out his fat, purpled
  cheeks, dug his hands deep in his breeches pockets and looked at the sky
  with a martyred air.
  "Well come on, then." He turned and stumped away on his short, thick legs
  towards one of the boxes which bordered the yard. I sighed inwardly as
  I followed him. Being an unhorsey vet in Yorkshire was a penance at
  times, especially in a racing stable like this which was an equine
  shrine. Siegfried, apart altogether from his intuitive skill, was able
  to talk the horse language. He could discuss effortlessly and at length
  the breeding and points of his patients; he rode, he hunted, he even
  looked the part with his long aristocratic face, clipped moustache and
  lean frame.
  The trainers loved him and some, like Beamish, took it as a mortal insult
  when he failed to come in person to minister to their valuable charges.
 He called to one of the lads who opened a box door.
  "He's in there," he muttered. "Came in lame from exercise this morning."
  The lad led out a bay gelding and there was no need to trot the animal
  to diagnose the affected leg; he nodded down on his near fore in an
  unmistakable way.
 "I think he's lame in tke shoulder," Beamish said.
  I went round the other side of the horse and picked up the off fore. I
  cleaned out the frog and sold with a hoof knife; there was no sign of
  bruising and no sensitivity when I tapped the handle of the knife against
  the horn.
  I felt my way up over the coronet to the fetlock and after some palpation
  I located a spot near the distal end of the metacarpus which was painful
  on pressure.
  I looked up from my crouching position. "This seems to be the trouble,
  Mr. Beamish. I think he must have struck into himself with his hind foot
  just there."
  "Where?" The trainer leaned over me and peered down at the leg. "I can't
  see anything."
  "No, the skin isn't broken, but he ffinches if you press here."
 Beamish prodded the place with a stubby forefinger.
 "Well, he does," he grunted. "But he'd ffinch anywhere
 if you squeeze him like you're doing."- 8ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERMYL

  My hackles began to rise at his tone but I kept my voice calm. "I'm sure
  that's what it is. I should apply a hot antiphlogistine poultice just above
  the fetlock and alternate with a cold hose on it twice a day."
  "Well, I'm just as sure you're wrong. It's not down there at all. The way
  that horse carries his leg he's hurt his shoulder." He gestured to the lad.
  "Harry, see that he gets some heat on that shoulder right away."
  If the man had struck me I couldn't have felt worse. I opened my mouth to
  argue but he was walking away.
  "rhere's another horse I want you to look at," he said. He led the way into
  a nearby box and pointed to a big brown animal with obvious signs of
  blistering on the tendons of a fore limb.
  "Mr. Farnon put a red blister on that leg six months ago. He's been resting
  in here ever since. He's going sound now---d'you think he's ready to go
  out?"
  I went over and ran my fingers over the length of the flexor tendons,
  feeling for signs of thickening. There was none. Then I lifted the foot and
  as I explored further I found a tender area in the superficial flexor.
  I straightened up. "He's still a bit sore," I said. "I think it would be
  safer to keep him in for a bit longer."
  "Can't agree with you," Beamish snapped. He turned to the lad. "Turn him
  out, Harry."
  I stared at him. Was this a deliberate campaign to make me feel small? Was
  he trying to rub in the fact that he didn't think much of me? Anyway, he
  was beginning to get under my skin and I hoped my burning face wasn't too
  obvious.
 "One thing more," Beamish said. "There's a horse
 -through here been coughing. Have a look at him before you go. 11
  We went through a narrow passage into a smaller yard and Harry entered a
  box and got bold of a horse's head collar. I followed him, fishing out my
  thermometer.
  As I approached the animal's rear end he laid back his pars, whickered and
  began to caper around. I hesitated, then nodded to the lad.
  "Lift his fore leg while I take his temperature, will you?" I said.
 ,The lad bent down and seized the foot but Beamish broke in. "Don't bother,
 Harry, there's no need for that. He's quiet as a sheep."
 I paused for a moment. I felt I was right but my stock
      ,ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL99

 was low on this establishment. I shrugged, lifted the tail and pushed the
 thermometer into the rectum.
  The two hind 6et hit me almost simultaneously but as I sailed backwards
  through the door I remember thinking quite clearly that the one on the
  chest had made contact fractionally before the one on the abdomen. But
  my thoughts were rapidly clouded by the fact that the lower hoof had
  landed full on my solar plexus.
  Stretched on the concrete of the yard I gasped and groaned in a frantic
  search for breath. There was a moment when I was convinced I was going
  to die but at last a long wailing respiration came to my aid and I
  struggled painfully into a sitting position. Through the open door I
  could see Harry hanging on to the horse's head and staring at me with
  frightened eyes. Mr. Beamish, on the other hand, showed no interest in
  my plight; he was anxiously examining the horse's hind feet one after the
  other. Obviously he was worried lest they may have sustained some damage
  by coming into contact with my nasty hard ribs.
  Slowly I got up and drew some long breaths. I was shaken but not really
  hurt. And I suppose it was instinct that had made me hang on to my
  thermometer; the delicate tube was still in my hand.
  My only emotion as I went back into the box was cold rage.
  "Lift that bloody foot like I told you!" I shouted at the unfortunate
  Harry.
  "Right, sir! Sorry, sir!" He bent, lifted the foot and held it cupped
  firmly in his hands.
  I turned to Beamish to see if he had any observation to make, but the
  trainer was silent, gazing at the big animal expressionlessly.
  This time I took the temperature without incident. It was 101'F. I moved
  to the head and opened the nostril with finger and thumb, revealing a
  slight muco-purulent discharge. Submaxillary and post-pharyngeal glands
  were normal.
  "He's got a bit of cold," I said. "I'll give him an injection and leave
  you some sulphonamide-that's what Mr. Farnon uses in these cases." If my.
  final sentence reassured him in any way be gave no sign, watching dead-
  faced as I injected 10 cc of Prontosil.
  Before I left I took a half-pound packet of sulpho-namide from the car
  boot. "Give him three ounces of this immedi-
   TooALL THINGS WTSE AND WONDERFUL

 ately in a pint of water, then follow it with one and a half ounces night
 and morning and let us know if he isn't a lot better in two days."
  Mr. Beamish received the medicine unsmilingly and as I opened the car
  door I felt a gush of relief that the uncomfortable visit was at an end.
  It seemed to.have lasted a long time and there had been no glory for me
  in it. I was starting the engine when one of the little apprentices
  panted up to the trainer.
 "It's Almira, sir. I think she's chokin'l"
  "Choking!" Beamish stared at the boy then whipped round to me. "Almira's
  the best filly I have. You'd better comel"
  It wasn't over yet, then. With a feeling of doom I hurried after the
  squat figure back into the yard where another lad stood by the side of
  a beautiful chestnut filly. And as I saw her a cold hand closed around
  my heart. I had been dealing with trivia but this was different.
  She stood immobile, staring ahead with a peculiar intensity. The rise and
  fall of her ribs was accompanied by a rasping, bubbling wheeze and at
  each intake her nostrils flared wildly. I had never seen a horse breathe
  like this. And there were other things; saliva drooled from her lips and
  every few seconds she gave a retching cough.
 I turned to the apprentice. "When did this start?"
  "Not long ago, sir. I saw her an hour since and she were as right as a
  bobbin."
 "Are you sure?"
  "Aye, I was givin' 'er some hay. There was nowt ailin' her then."
 "What the devil's wrong with her?" Beamish exclaimed.
  Well, it was a good question and I didn't have a clue to the answer. As
  I walked bemusedly round the animal, taking in the trembling limbs and
  terrified eyes, a jumble of thoughts crowded my brain. I had seen
  "choking" horses -the dry choke when the gullet becomes impacted with
  food-but they didn't look like this. I felt my way along the course of
  the oesophagus and it was perfectly clear. And anyway the respiration was
  quite different. This filly looked as though she had some obstruction in
  her airflow. But what ... ? And how ... ? Could there be a foreign body
  in there? Just possible, but that was something else I had never seen.
 "Well, damn it, I'm asking you! What is it? What d'you
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL101

 make of her?" Mr. Beamish was becoming impatient and I couldn't blame him.
  I was aware that I was slightly breathless. "Just a moment while I listen
  to her lungs."
  "Just a moment!" the trainer burst out. "Good God, man, we haven't got
  many moments! This horse could die!"
  He didn't have to tell me. I had seen that ominous trembling of the limbs
  before and now the filly was beginning to sway a little. Time was running
  out.
  Dry mouthed, I ausculated the chest. I knew there was nothing wrong with
  her lungs-the trouble seemed to be in the throat area-but it gave me a
  little more time to think. Even with the stethoscope in my ears I could
  still hear Beamish's voice.
  "It would have to be this one! Sir Eric Horrocks gave five thousand
  pounds for her last year. She's the most valuable animal in my stables.
  Why did this have to happen?"
  Groping my way over the ribs, my heart thudding, I heartily agreed with
  him. Why in heaven's name did I have to walk into this nightmare? And
  with a man like Beamish who had no faith in me.
  He stepped forward and clutched my arm. "Are you sure Mr. Farnon isn't
  available?"
  "I'm sorry," I replied huskily. "He's over thirty miles away."
  The trainer seemed to shrivel within himself. "That's it then. We're
  finished. She's dying."
  And he was right. The filly had begun to reel about, the breathing louder
  and more stertorous than ever, and I had difficulty in keeping the
  stethoscope on her chest wall. It was when I was resting my hand on her
  flank to steady her that I noticed the little swelling under the skin.
  It was a circular plaque, like a penny pushed under the tissue. I glanced
  sharply at it. Yes, it was clearly visible. And there was another one
  higher up on the back . . . and another and another. My heart gave a
  quick double thump ... so that was it.
  "What am I going to tell Sir Eric?" the trainer groaned. "That his filly
  is dead and the vet didn't know what was wrong with her?" He glared
  desperately around him as though in the faint hope that Siegfried might
  magically appear from nowhere.
 Y02ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  I called over my shoulder as I trotted towards the car. "I never said I
  didn't know. I do know. She's got urticaria."
  He came shambling after me. "Urti . . . what the blazes is that?"
  "Nettlerash," I replied, fumbling among my bottles for the adrenalin.
  "Nettlerash!" His eyes widened. "But that couldn't cause all this!"
  I drew 5 cc of the adrenalin into the syringe and started back. "It's
  nothing to do with nettles. It's an allergic condition, usually pretty
  harmless, but in a very few cases it causes oedema of the larynx-that's
  what we've got here."
  It was difficult to raise the vein as the filly staggered around, but she
  came to rest for a few seconds and I dug my thumb into the jugular
  furrow. As the big vessel came up tense and turgid I thrust in the needle
  and injected the adrenalin. Then I stepped back and stood by the
  trainer's side.
  Neither of us said anything. The spectacle of the toiling animal and the
  harrowing sound of the breathing absorbed us utterly.
  The grim knowledge that she was on the verge of suffocation appalled me
  and when she stumbled and almost fell the hand in my pocket gripped more
  tightly on the scalpel which I had taken from my car along with the
  adrenalin. I knew only too well that tracheotomy was indicated here but
  I didn't have a tube with me. If the filly did go off her legs I should
  have to start cutting into her windpipe, but I put the thought away from
  me. For the moment I had to depend on the adrenalin.
  Beamish stretched out a hand in a helpless gesture. "It's hopeless, isn't
  it?" he whispered.
  I shrugged. "There's a small chance. If the injection can ,reduce the
  fluid in the larynx in time ... we'll just have to wait."
  He nodded and I could read more than one emotion in his face; not just
  the dread of breaking the news to the famous owner but the distress of
  a horse-lover as he witnessed the plight of the beautiful animal.
  At first I thought it was imagination, but it seemed that the breathing
  was becoming less stertorous. Then as I hovered in an agony of
  uncertainty I noticed that the salivation was diminishing; she was able
  to swallow.
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL103

  From that moment events moved with unbelievable rapidity. The symptoms
  of allergies appear with dramatic suddenness but mercifully they often
  disappear as quickly following treatment. Within fifteen minutes the
  filly looked almost normaJ. There was still a slight wheeze in her res-
  pirations but she was looking around her, quite free from distress.
  Beamish, who had been watching like a man in a daze, pulled a handful of
  hay from a bale and held it out to her. She snatched it eagerly from his
  hand and began to eat with great relish.
  "I can't believe it," the trainer muttered almost to himself. "I've never
  seen anything work as fast as that injection."
  I felt as though I was riding on a pink cloud with all the tension and
  misery flowing from me in a joyful torrent. Thank God there were moments
  like this among the traumas of veterinary work; the sudden transition
  from despair to triumph, from shame to pride.
  I almost floated to the car and as I settled in my seat Beamish put his
  face to the open window.
  "Mr. Herriot . . ." He was not a man to whom gracious speech came easily
  and his cheeks, roughened and weathered by years of riding on the open
  moor, twitched as he sought for words. "Mr. Herriot, I've been thinking
  ... you don't have to be a horsey man to cure horses, do you?"
  There was something like an appeal in his eyes as we gazed at each other.
  I laughed suddenly and his expression relaxed. It was an indescribable
  satisfaction for me to hear voiced the conviction I had always held.
  "I'm glad to hear somebody say that at last," I said, and drove away.
           CHAPTER
              12

 1 was on guard outside the Grand. It was after midnight, with a biting wind
 swirling across the empty square, and I was so cold and bored that it was a
 relief even to slap the butt of my rifle in salute as a solitary officer
 went by.
  Wryly I wondered how, after my romantic ideas of training to be a pilot, I
  came to be defending the Grand Hotel at Scarborough against all comers. In
  a baleful way it seemed comic, and as I tramped frigidly round my short
  guard route, I kept telling myself, right, keep your sense of humour about
  it. On my right was a wall almost as tall as I was, and as I passed it
  continually, grimly trying to focus on how funny this all was, the wall
  reminded me of Mr. Bailes' dog Shep. Now there was a creature with a sense
  of humour. I should think on him for a bit.
  Mr. Bailes' little place was situated about half way along Highburn Village
  and to get into the farmyard you had to walk twenty yards or so between
  five-foot walls. On the left was the neighbouring kouse, on the right the
  front garden of the farm. In this garden Shep lurked for most of the day.
  He was a huge dog, much larger than the average collie. In fact I am
  convinced he was part Alsatian because though he had a luxuriant black and
  white coat there was something significant in the massive limbs and in the
  noble brown-shaded head with its upstanding ears. He was quite different
  from the stringy little animals I saw on my daily round.
  As I walked between the walls my mind was already in the byre, just visible
  at the far end of the yard. Because one of the Bailes' cows, Rose by name,
  had the kind of obscure digestive ailment which interferes with veterinary
  surgeons' steep. They are so diMcult to diagnose. This animal had begun to
  grunt and go off her milk two days ago 104
       ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL105

 and when I had seen her yesterday I had flitted from one possibility to
 the other. Could be a wire. But the fourth stomach was contracting well
 and there were plenty of rumenal sounds. Also she was eating a little hay
 in a halfhearted way.
  Could it be impaction ... ? Or a partial torsion of the gut ... ? There
  was abdominal pain without a doubt and that nagging temperature of
  102.5*-that was damn like a wire. Of course I could settle the whole
  thing by opening the cow up, but Mr. Bailes was an old-fashioned type and
  didn't like the idea of my diving into his animal unless I was certain
  of my diagnosis. And I wasn't-there was no getting away from that.
  Anyway, I had built her up at the front end so that she was standing with
  her fore feet on a half door and had given her a strong oily purgative.
  "Keep the bowels open and trust in God," an elderly colleague had once
  told me. There was a lot in that.
  I was half way down the alley between the walls with the hope bright
  before me that my patient would be improved when from nowhere an
  appalling explosion of sound blasted into my right ear. It was Shep
  again.
  The wall was just the right height for the dog to make a leap and bark
  into the ear of the passerby. It was a favourite gambit of his and I had
  been caught before; but never so successfully as now. My attention had
  been so far away and the dog had timed his jump to a split second so that
  his bark came at the highest point, his teeth only inches from my face.
  And his voice befitted his size, a great bull bellow surging from the
  depths of his powerful chest and booming from his gaping jaws.
  I rose several inches into the air and when I descended, heart thumping,
  head singing, I glared over the wall. But as usual all I saw was the
  hairy form bounding away out of sight round the corner of the house.
  That was what puzzled me. Why did he do it? Was he a savage -creature
  with evil designs on me or was it his idea of a joke? I never got near
  enough to him to find out.
  I wasn't in the best of shape to receive bad news and that was what
  awaited me in the byre. I had only to look at the farmer's face to know
  that the cow was worse.
  "Ah reckon she's got a stoppage," Mr. Bailes muttered gloomily.
 I gritted my teeth. The entire spectrum of abdominal dis- io6ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 orders were lumped as "stoppages" by the older race of farmers. "The oil
 hasn't worked, then?"
  "Nay, she's nobbut passin' little hard bits. It's a proper stoppage, ah
  tell you."
  "Right, Mr. Bailes," I said with a twisted smile. "We'll have to try
  something stronger." I brought in from my car the gastric lavage outfit
  I loved so well and which has so sadly disappeared from my life. The long
  rubber stomach tube, the wooden gag with its leather straps to buckle
  behind the horns. As I pumped in the two gallons of warm water rich in
  formalin and sodium chloride I felt like Napoleon sending in the Old
  Guard at Waterloo. If this didn't work nothing would.
  And yet I didn't feel my usual confidence. There was something different
  here. But I had to try. I had to do something to start this cow's insides
  functioning because I did not like the look of her today. The soft grunt
  was still there and her eyes had begun to retreat into her head -the
  worst sign of all in bovines. And she had stopped eating altogether.
  Next morning I was driving down the single village street when I saw Mrs.
  Bailes coming out of the shop. I drew up and pushed my head out of the
  window.
 "How's Rose this morning, Mrs. Bailes?"
  She rested her basket on the ground and looked down at me gravely. "Oh,
  she's bad, Mr. Herriot. Me husband thinks she's goin' down fast. If you
  want to find him you'll have to go across the field there. He's mendin'
  the door in that little barn."
  A sudden misery enveloped me as I drove over to the gate leading into the
  field. I left the car in the road and lifted the latch.
  "Damn! Damnl Damnl" I muttered as I trailed across the green. I had a
  nasty feeling that a little tragedy was building up here. If this animal
  died it would be a sickening blow to a small farmer with ten cows and a
  few pigs. I should be able to do something about it and it was a de-
  pressing thought that I was getting nowhere.
  And yet, despite it all, I felt peace stealing into my soul. It was a
  large field and I could see the barn at the far end as I walked with the
  tall grass brushing my knees. It was a meadow ready for cutting and
  suddenly I realised that 'it was high summer, the sun was hot and that
  every step brought the fragrance of clover and warin grass nsing
       ALL THINGS WISE ANT) WONDERFUL107

 about me into the crystal freshness of the air. Somewhere nearby a field
 of broad beans was in full flower and as the exotic scent drifted across
 I found myself inhaling with half-closed eyes as though straining to
 discern the ingredients of the glorious melange.
  And then there was the silence; it was the most soothing thing of all.
  That and the feeling of being alone. I looked drowsily around at the
  empty green miles sleeping under the sunshine. Nothing stirred, there was
  no sound.
  Then without warning the ground at my feet erupted in an incredible blast
  of noise. For a dreadful moment the blue sky was obscured by an enormous
  hairy form and a red mouth went 'VAAAHHI" in my face. Almost screaming,
  I staggered back and as I glared wildly I saw Shep disappearing at top
  speed towards the gate. Concealed in the deep herbage right in the middle
  of the field he had waited till he saw the whites of my eyes before
  making his assault.
  Whether he had been there by accident or whether he had spotted me
  arriving and slunk into position I shall never know, but from his point
  of view the result must have been eminently satisfactory because it was
  certainly the worst fright I have ever had. I live a life which is well
  larded with scares and alarms, but this great dog rising bellowing from
  that empty landscape was something on its own. I have heard of cases
  where sudden terror and stress has caused involuntary evacuation of the
  bowels and I know without question that this was the occasion when I came
  nearest to suffering that unhappy fate.
  I was still trembling when I reached the barn and hardly said a word as
  Mr. Bailes, led me back across the road to the farm.
  And it was like rubbing it in when I saw my patient. The flesh had melted
  from her and she stared at the wall apathetically from sunken eyes. The
  doom-laden grunt was louder.
  "She must have a wirel" I muttered. "Let her loose for a minute, will
  you?"
  Mr. Bailes undid the chain and Rose walked along the bYre. At the end she
  turned and almost trotted back to her stall, jumping quite freely over
  the gutter. My Bible in those days was Udall's Practice of Veterinary
  Medicine 'and the great man stated therein that if a cow moved freely she
  was uaftely to have a foreign body in her reficulwn.
 ro8 . ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 ,I pinched her withers and she didn't complain ... it had to be something
 else.
  "It's worst stoppage ah've seen for a bit," said Mr. Bailes. "Ah gave her
  a dose of some right powerful stuff this mornin' but it's done no good."
  I passed a weary hand over my brow. "What was that, Mr. Bailes?" It was
  always a bad sign when the client started using his own medicine.
  The farmer reached to the cluttered windowsill and handed me a bottle.
  "Doctor Hornibrook's Stomach Elixir. A sovereign remedy for all diseases
  of cattle." The Doctor, in top hat and frock coat, looked confidently out
  at me from the label as I pulled out the cork and took a sniff. I blinked
  and staggered back with watering eyes. It smelt like pure ammonia but I
  was in no position to be superior about it.
  "That dang grunt!" The farmer hunched his shoulders. "What's cause of
  it?"
  It was no good my saying it sounded like a circumscribed area of
  peritonitis because I didn't know what was behindit.
  I decided to have one last go with the lavage. It was still the strongest
  weapon in my armoury but this time I added two pounds of black treacle
  to the mixture. Nearly every farmer had a barrel of the stuff in his cow
  house in those days and I had only to go into the corner and turn the
  tap.
  I often mourn the passing of the treacle barrel because molasses was a
  good medicine for cattle, but I had no great hopes this time. The
  clinical instincf I was beginning to develop told me that something
  inside this animal was fundamentally awry.
  It was not till the following afternoon that I drove into Highburn. I
  left the car outside the farm and was about to walk between the walls
  when I paused and stared at a cow in the field on the other side of the
  road. It was a pasture next to the hayfield of yesterday and that cow was
  Rose. There could be no mistake-she was a fine deep red with a
  distinctive white mark like a football on her left flank.
  I opened the gate and within seconds my cares dropped from me. She was
  wonderfully, miraculously improved, in fact she looked like a normal
  animal. I walked up to her and scratched the root of her tail. She was
  a docile crea-
         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFULlog

 ture and merely looked round at me as she cropped the grass; and her eyes
 were no longer sunken but bright and fun.
  She seemed to take a fancy to a green patch further into the field and
  began to amble slowly towards it. I followed, entranced, as she moved
  along, shaking her head impatiently against the flies, eager for more of
  the delicious herbage. The grunt had disappeared and her udder hung heavy
  and turgid between her legs. The difference since yesterday was
  incredible.
  As the wave of relief flooded through me I saw Mr. Bailes climbing over
  the wall from the next field. He would still be mending that barn door.
  As he approached I felt a pang of commiseration. I had to guard against
  any display of triumph. He must be feeling just a bit silly at the moment
  after showing his lack of faith in me yesterday with his home remedies
  and his general attitude. But after all the poor chap had been worried
  -1 couldnt blame him. No, it wouldn't do to preen myself unduly.
  "Ah, good morning to you, Mr. Bailes," I said expansively. "Rose looks
  fine today, doesn't she?"
  The farmer took off his cap and wiped his brow. "Aye, she's a different
  cow, all right."
  "I don't think she needs any more treatment," I said. I hesitated.
  Perhaps one little dig would do no harm. "But it's a good thing I gave
  her that extra lavage yesterday."
  "Yon pumpin' job?" Mr. Bailes raised his eyebrows. "Oh that had nowt to
  do with it."
 "What ... what do you mean? It cured her, surely."
 "Nay, lad, nay, Jim Oakley cured her."
 "Jim ... what on earth ... T'
  "Aye, Jim was round 'ere last night. He often comes in of an evenin' and
  he took one look at the cow and told me what to do. Ah'll tell you she
  was like dyin'-that pumpin' job hadn't done no good at all. He told me
  to give her a bloody good gallop round ffield."
 "Iftat!"
  "Aye, that's what he said. He'd seen 'em like that afore and a good
  gallop put 'em right. So we got Rose out here :and did as he said and by
  gaw it did the trick. She looked better right away."
  I drew myself up. "And who," I asked frigidly, "is Jim Oakley?"
 110ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "He's t'postman, of course."
 "The postman!"
  "Aye, but he used to keep a few beasts years ago. He's a very clever man
  wi' stock, is Jim."
 "No doubt, but I assure you, Mr. B ailes .
  The farmer raised a hand. "Say no more, lad. Jim put ler right and
  there7s no denyin' it. I wish you'd seen 'im chasin' 'er round. He's as
  awd as me, but by gaw 'e did go. He can run like 'ell, can Jim." He
  chuckled reminiscently.
  I had had about enough. During the farmer's eulogy I had been
  distractedly scratching the cow's tail and had soiled my hand in the
  process. Mustering the remains of my dignity I nodded to Mr. Bailes.
  ,"Well, I must be on my way. Do you mind if I go into the house to wash
  my hands?"
  "You go right in," he replied. "T'n-tissus will get you some hot water."
  Walking back down the field the cruel injustice of the thing bore down
  on me increasingly. I wandered as in a dream through the gate and across
  the road. Before entering the alley between the walls I glanced into the
  garden. It was empty. Shuffling beside the rough stones I sank deeper
  into my misery. There was no doubt I had emerged from that episode as a
  complete Charlie. No matter where I looked I couldn't see a gleam of
  light
  It seemed to take a long time to reach the end of the wall and I was
  about to turn right towards the door of the farm kitchen when from my
  left I heard the sudden rattle of a chain then a roaring creature
  launched itself at me bayed once, mightily, into my face and was gone.
  This time I thought my heart would stop. With my defences at their lowest
  I was in no state to withstand Shep. I had quite forgotten that Mrs.
  Bailes occasionally tethered him in the kennel at the entrance to
  discourage unwelcome visitors, and as I half lay against the wall, the
  blood thundering in my ears, I looked dully at the long coil of chain on
  the cobbles.
  I have no time for people who lose their temper with animals but
  something snapped in my mind then. All my frustration burst from me in
  a torrent of incoherent shouts and I grabbed the chain and began to pull
  on it frenziedly. That dog which had tortured me was there in that
  kennel. For onceI knew where to get at him and this
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL 111

 time I was going to have the matter out with him. The kennel would be
 about ten feet away and at first I saw nothing. There was only the dead
 weight an the end of the chain. Then as I hauled inexorably a nose
 appeared, then a head, then all of the big animal hanging limply by his
 collar. He showed no desire to get up and greet me but I was merciless and
 dragged him inch by inch over the cobbles till he was lying at my feet.
  Beside myself with rage, I crouched, shook my fist under his nose and
  yelled at him from a few inches' range.
  "You big buggerl If you do that to me again I'll knock your bloody head
  off I Do you hear me, I'll knock your bloody head clean off!"
  Shep rolled frightened eyes at me and his tail flickered apologetically
  between his legs. When I continued to scream at him he bared his upper
  teeth in an ingratiating grin and finally rolled on his back where he lay
  inert with half-closed eyes.
  So now I knew. He was a softie. All his ferocious attacks were just a
  game. I began to calm down but for all that I wanted him to get the
  message.
  "Right, mate," I said in a menacing whisper. "Remember what I've said!"
  I let go the chain and gave a final shout. "Now get back in there!"
  Shep, almost on his knees, tail tucked well in, shot back into his kennel
  and I turned toward the farmhouse to wash my hands.

 The memory of my discomfiture fermented in the back of my mind for some
 time. I had no doubt then that I had been unfairly judged, but I am older
 and wiser now and in retrospect I think I was wrong.
  The symptoms displayed by Mr. Bailes' cow were typical of displacement
  of the abomasurn (when the fourth stomach slips round from the right to
  the left side) and it was a condition that was just not recognised in
  those early days.
  At the present time we correct the condition by surgery-pushing the
  displaced organ back to the right side and tacking it there with sutures.
  But sometimes a similar result can be obtained by casting the cow and
  rolling her over, so why not by making her run ... ? I freely admit that
  I have many times adopted Jim Oakley's precept of a
 112ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "bloody good gallop," often with spectacular results. To this day I
 frequently learn things from farmers, but that was one time when I learned
 from a postman.
  I was surprised when, about a month later, I received another call to one
  of Mr. Bailes' cows. I felt that after my performance with Rose he would
  have called on the services of Jim Oakley for any further trouble. But no,
  his voice on the 'phone was as polite and friendly as ever, with not a hint
  that he had lost faith. It was strange. . . .
  Leaving my car outside the farm I looked warily into the front garden
  before venturing between the walls. A faint tinkle of metal told me that
  Shep was lurking there in his kennel and I slowed my steps; I wasn't going
  to be caught again. At the end of the alley I paused, waiting, but all I
  saw was the end of a nose which quietly withdrew as I stood there. So my
  outburst had got through to the big dog-he knew I wasn't going to stand any
  more nonsense from him.
  And yet, as I drove away after the visit I didn't feel good about it. A
  victory over an animal is a hollow one and I had the uncomfortable feeling
  that I had deprived him of his chief pleasure. After all, every creature is
  entitled to some form of recreation and though Shep's hobby could result in
  the occasional heart failure it was, after all, his thing and part of him.
  The thought that I had crushed something out of his life was a disquieting
  one. I wasn't proud.
  So that when, later that summer, I was driving through Higbburn I paused in
  anticipation outside the Bailes farm. The village street, white and dusty,
  slumbered under the afternoon sun. In the blanketing silence nothing moved-
  except for one small man strolling towards the opening between the walls.
  He was fat and very dark--one of the tinkers from a camp outside the
  village-and he carried an armful of pots and pans.
  From my vantage point I could see through the railings into the front
  garden where Shep was slinking noiselessly into position beneath the
  stones. Fascinated, I watched as the man turned unhurriedly into the
  opening and the dog followed the course of the disembodied head along the
  top of the wall.
  As I expected it all happened half way along. The perfectly timed leap, the
  momentary pause at the summit then the tremendous "WOOF!" into the
  unsuspecting ear.
      ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL113

  It had its usual effect. I had a brief view of flailing arms and flying
  pans followed by a prolonged metallic clatter, then the little man
  reappeared like a projectile, turned right and sped away from me up the
  street. Considering his almost round physique he showed an astonishing turn
  of speed, his little legs pistoning, and he did not pause till he
  disappeared into the shop at the far end of the village.
  I don't know why he went in there because he wouldn7t find any stronger
  restorative than ginger pop.
  Shep, apparently well satisfied, wandered back over the grass and collapsed
  in a cool patch where an apple tree threw its shade over the grass; head on
  paws he waited in comfort for his next victim.
  I smiled to myself as I let in the clutch and moved off. I would stop at
  the shop and tell the little man that he could collect his pans without the
  slightest fear of being torn limb from limb, but my overriding emotion ~vas
  one of relief that I had not cut the sparkle out of the big dog's life.

 All this passed through my mind as I stood on the frozen ground outside the
 Grand Hotel at two o'clock in the morning. I looked up at that venerable
 edifice, my eyes glittering fiendishly, half from the cold and half from the
 deranged spark of my recovered humour. I felt my rigid lips creak apart, and
 my head tilt back to aim at what I took to be Flt. Lieut. Barnes's window.
 "Woof!" I roared into the night. "Woof! Woof I"
           CHAPTER
              13

 1 suppose once you embark on a life of crime it gets easier all the time.
 Making a start is the only hard bit.
  At any rate, that is how it seemed to me as I sat in the bus, playing
  hookey again. There had been absolutely no trouble about dodging out of the
  Grand, the streets of Scarborough had been empty of SPs and nobody had giv-
  en me a second look as I strolled casually into the bus station.
  It was Saturday, 13 February. Helen was expecting our baby this week-end,
  It could happen any time and I just didn't see how I could sit here these
  few mUes away and do nothing. I had no classes today or tomorrow so I would
  miss nothing and nobody would miss me. It was, I told myself, a mere
  technical offence, and anyway I had no option. Like the first time, I just
  had to see Helen.
  And it wouldn't be long now, I thought, as I hurried up to the familiar
  doorway of her home. I went inside and gazed disappointedly at the empty
  kitchen-somehow I had been sure she would be standing there waiting for me
  with her arms wide. I shouted her name but nothing stirred in the house. I
  was still there, listening, when her father came through from an inner
  room.
 "You've got a son," he said.
 I put my hand on the back of a chair. "What. . .
 "You've got a son." He was so calm.
 "When ... T,
  "Few minutes ago. Nurse Brown's just been on the 'phone. Funny you should
  walk in."
  As I leaned on the chair he gave me a keen look. "Would you like a drop of
  whisky?"
 "Whisky? No-why?"
  "Well you've gone a bit white, lad, that's all. Anyway, you'd better have
  something to eat."

               114
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL115

 "No, no, no thanks, I've got to get out there."
  He smiled. "There's no hurry, lad. Anyway, they won't want anybody there
  too soon. Better eat something."
  "Sorry, I couldn't. Would you-would you mind if I borrowed your car?"
  I was still trembling a little as I drove away. If only Mr. Alderson had
  led up to it gradually-he might have said, "I've got some news for you,"
  or something like that, but his direct approach had shattered me. When
  I pulled up outside Nurse Brown's it still hadn't got through to me that
  I was a father.
  Greenside Nursing Home sounded impressive, but it-was ,in fact Nurse
  Brown's dwelling house. She was State Registered and usually had two or
  three of the local women in at a time to have their babies.
  She opened the door herself and threw up her hands. "Mr. Herriot! It
  hasn't taken you long! Where did you spring from?" She was a cheerfully
  dynamic little woman with mischievous eyes.
  I smiled sheepishly. "Well, I just happened to drop in on Mr. Alderson
  and got the news."
  "You might have given us time to get the little fellow property washed,"
  she said. "But never mind, come up and see him. He's a fine baby-nine
  pounds."
  Still in a dreamlike state I followed her up the stairs of the little
  house into a small bedroom. Helen was there, in the bed, looking flushed.
 "Hello," she said.
 I went over and kissed her.
 "What was it like?" I enquired nervously.
  "Awful," Helen replied without enthusiasm. Then she nodded towards the
  cot beside her.
  I took my first look at my son. Little Jimmy was brick red in colour and
  his face had a bloated, dissipated look. As I hung over him be twisted
  his tiny fists under his chin and appeared to be undergoing some mighty
  internal struggle. His face swelled and darkened as he contorted his
  features then from deep among the puffy flesh his eyes fixed me with a
  baleful glare and he stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.
 "My God!" I exclaimed.
 The nurse looked at me, startled. "What's the matter?"
 "Well, he's a funny-looking little thing isn't he?"
  116ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "What!" She stared at me furiously. "Mr. Herriot, how can you say such a
  thing? He's a beautiful baby!"
  I peered into the cot again. Jimmy greeted me with a lopsided leer, turned
  purple and blew a few bubbles.
 "Are you sure he's all right?" I said.
  There was a tired giggle from the bed but Nurse Brown was not amused.
  "All right! What exactly do you mean?" She drew herself up stiffly.
  I shuffled my feet. "Well, er-is there anything wrong with him?"
  I thought she was going to strike me. "Anything how dare you! Whatever are
  you talking about? I've never heard such nonsense!" She turned appealing
  towards the bed, but Helen, a weary smile on her face, had closed her eyes.
  I drew the enraged little woman to one side. "Look, Nurse, have you by
  chance got any others on the premises?"
 "Any other what?" she asked icily.
  "Babies-new babies. I want to compare Jimmy with another one."
  Her eyes widened. "Compare him! Mr. Herriot, I'm not going to listen to you
  any longer-I've lost patience with you!"
  "I'm asking you, Nurse," I repeated. "Have you any more around?"
  There was a long pause as she looked at me as though I was something new and
  incredible. "Well-there's Mrs. Dewburn in the next room. Little Sidney was
  born about the same time as Jimmy."
 "Can I have a look at him?" I gazed at her appealingly.
  She hesitated then a pitying smile crept over her face. "Oh you ... you ...
  just a minute, then."
  She went into the other room and I heard a mumble of voices. She reappeared
  and beckoned to me.
  Mrs. Dewburn was the butcher's wife and I knew her well. The face on the
  pillow was hot and tired like Helen's.
  "Eee, Mr. Herriot, I didn't expect to see you. I thought you were in the
  army."
  "RAF, actually, Mrs. Dewburn. I'm on-er-leave at the moment."
  I looked in the cot. Sidney was dark red and bloated, too, and he, also,
  seemed to be wrestling with himself.

      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL117

 The inner battle showed in a series of grotesque facial contortions
 culminating in a toothless snarl.
  I stepped back involuntarily. "What a beautiful child," I said.
 "Yes, isn't he lovely," said his mother fondly.
  "He is indeed gorgeous." I took another disbelieving glance into the cot.
  "Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Dewburn. It was kind of you to let me
  see him."
  "Not at all, Mr. Herriot, it's nice of you to take an interest."
  Outside the door I took a long breath and wiped my brow. The relief was
  tremendous. Sidney was even funnier than Jimmy.
  When I returned to Helen's room Nurse Brown was sitting on the bed and
  the two women were clearly laughing at me. And of course, looking back,
  I must have appeared silly. Sidney Dewburn and my son are now two big,
  strong, remarkably good-looking young men, so my fears were groundless.
  The little nurse looked at me quizzically. I think she had forgiven me.
  "I suppose you think all your calves and foals are beautiful right from
  the moment they are born?"
  "Well yes," I replied. "I have to admit it-1 think they are.,,

 As I have said before, ideas do not come readily to me, but on the bus
 journey back to Scarborough a devilish scheme began to hatch in my brain.
  I was due for compassionate leave, but why should I take it now? Helen
  would be in the Nursing Home for a fortnight and there didn't seem any
  sense in my mooning round Darrowby on my own. The thing to do would be
  to send myself a telegram a fortnight from now announcing the birth, and
  we would be able to spend my leave together.
  It was interesting how my moral scruples dissolved in the face of this
  attraction, but anyway, I told myself, where was the harm? I wasn't
  scrounging anything extra, I was just altering the time. The RAF or the
  war effort in general would suffer no mortal blow. Long before the
  darkened vehicle had rolled into the town I had made up my mind and on
  the following day I wrote to a friend in Darrowby and arranged about the
  telegram
 itsALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  But I wasn't such a hardened criminal as I thought, because as the days
  passed doubts began to creep in. The rules at ITW were rigidly strict. I
  would be in trouble if I was found out. But the prospect of a holiday with
  Helen blotted out all other considerations.
  When the fateful day arrived my room mates and I were stretched on our beds
  after lunch when a great voice boomed along the corridor.
 "AC2 Herriotl Come on, let's have you, Herriot!"
  My stomach lurched. Somehow I hadn't reckoned on Flight Sergeant Blackett
  coming into this. I had thought maybe an LAC or a corporal, even one of the
  sergeants might have handled it, not the great man himself.
  Flight Sergeant Blackett was an unsmiling martinet of immense natural
  presence which a gaunt six feet two inch frame, wide bony shoulders and a
  craggy countenance did nothing to diminish. It was usually the junior NCOs
  who dealt with our misdemeanours, but if Flight Sergeant Blackett ever took
  a hand it was a withering experience.
  I heard it again. The same bull bellow which echoed over oui heads on the
  square every morning.
 "Herriotl Let's be having you, Herriot!"
  I was on my way at a brisk trot out of the room and along the polished
  surface of the corridor. I came to a halt stiffly in front of the tall
  figure.
 "Yes, Flight Sergeant."
 "You Herriot?"
 "Yes, Flight Sergeant."
  ne telegram between his fingers scuffed softly against the blue serge of
  his trousers as he swung his hand to and fro. My pulse rate accelerated
  painfully as I waited.
  "Well now, lad, I'm pleased to tell you that your wife has had her baby
  safely." He raised the telegram to his eyes. "It says 'ere, 'A boy, both
  well. Nurse Brown.' Let me be the first to congratulate you." He held out
  his hand and as I took it he smiled. Suddenly he looked very like Gary
  Cooper.
  "Now you'll want to get off right away and see them both, eh?"
  I nodded dumbly. He must have thought I was', an unemotional character.
  He put a hand on my shoulder and guided me into the orderly room.
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFULTT9

  "Come on, you lot, get movin'!" The organ tones rolled over the heads of
  the airmen seated at the tables. "This is important. Got a brand new father
  'ere. Leave pass, railway warrant, pay, double quick!"
  "Right, Flight. Very good, Flight." The typewriters began to tap.
  The big man went over to a railway timetable on the wall. "You haven't far
  to go, anyway. Let's see-Darrowby, Darrowby . . . yes, there's a train out
  of here for York at three twenty." He looked at his watch. "You ought to
  make that if you get your skates on."
  A deepening sense of shame threatened to engulf me when he spoke again.
  "Double back to your room and get packed. We'll have your documents ready."
  I changed into my best blue, filled my kit bag and threw it over my
  shoulder, then hurried back to the orderly room.
  The Flight Sergeant was waiting. He handed me a long envelope. "It's all
  there, son, and you've got plenty of time." He looked me up and down,
  walked round me and straightened the white flash in my cap. "Yes, very
  smart. We've got to have you lookin' right for your n-dssus, haven't we?"
  He gave me the Gary Cooper smile again. He was a handsome, kind-eyed man
  and I'd never noticed it.
  He strolled with me along the corridor. "This'll be your first 'un, of
  course?"
 "Yes, Flight."
  He nodded. "Well, it's a great day for you. I've got three of 'em, meself.
  Getting big now but I miss 'em like hell with this ruddy war. I really envy
  you, walking in that door tonight and seeing your son for the very first
  time."
  Guilt drove through me in a searing flood and as we halted at the top of
  the stairs I was convinced my shifty eyes and furtive glances would betray
  me. But he wasn't really looking at me.
  "You know, ]ad," he said softly, gazing somewhere over my head. "This is
  the best time of your life coming up."
  We weren't allowed to use the main stairways and as I clattered down the
  narrow stone service stairs I heard the big voice again.
 "Give my regards to them both."
 120ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 I had a wonderful time with Helen, walking for miles, discovering the
 delights of pram. pushing, with little Jimmy miraculously improved in
 appearance. Everything was so much better than if I had taken my leave at
 the official time and there is no doubt my plan was a success.
  But I was unable to gloat about it. The triumph was dimmed and to this day
  I have reservations about the whole thing.
  Looking back I know flus was one of the happiest little interludes in my
  entire life and I suppose it was silly to allow the niceness of Flight
  Sergeant Blackett to throw a tiny shadow over it.
           CHAPTER
             14

 "You must have to be a bit of an idiot to be a country vet." The young
 airman was laughing as he said it, but I felt there was some truth in his
 words. He had been telling me about his job in civil life and when I
 described my own working hours and conditions he had been incredulous.
  There was one time I would have agreed with him wholeheartedly. It was nine
  o'clock on a filthy wet night and I was still at work. I gripped the
  steering wheel more tightly and shifted in my seat, groaning softly as my
  tired muscles complained.
  Why had I entered this profession? I could have gone in for something
  easier and gentler-like coalmining or lumberjacking. I had started feeling
  sorry for myself three hours ago, driving across Darrowby market place on
  the way to a calving. The shops were shut and even through the wintry
  drizzle there was a suggestion of repose, of work done, of firesides and
  books and drifting tobacco smoke. I had all those things, plus Helen, back
  there in our bed-sitter.
  I think the iron really entered when I saw the carload of young people
  setting off from the front of the Drovers; three girls and three young
  fellows, all dressed up and laughing and obviously on their way to a dance
  or party. Everybody was set for comfort and a good time; everybody except
  Herriot, rattling towards the cold wet hills and the certain prospect of
  toil.
  And the case did nothing to raise my spirits. A skinny
 little heifer stretched on her side in a ramshackle open
 fronted shed littered with old tin cans, half bricks and oth
 er junk; it was difficult to see what I was stumbling over
 since the only light came from a rusty oil lamp whose
 flame flickered and dipped in the - wind.
               121
 122ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  I was two hours in that shed, easing out the calf inch by inch. It wasn't
  a malpresentation, just a tight fit, but the heifer never rose to her
  feet and I spent the whole time on the floor, rolling among the bricks
  and tins, getting up only to shiver my way to the water bucket while the
  rain hurled itself icily against the shrinking flesh of my chest and
  back.
  And now here I was, driving home frozen-faced with my skin chafing under
  my clothes and feeling as though a group of strong men had been kicking
  me enthusiastically from head to foot for most of the evening. I was
  almost drowning in self-pity when I turned into the tiny village of
  Copton. In the warm days of summer it was idyllic, reminding me always
  of a comer of Perthshire, with its single street hugging the lower slopes
  of a green hillside and a dark drift of trees spreading to the heathery
  uplands high above.
  But tonight it was a dead black place with the rain sweeping across the
  headlights against the tight-shut houses; except for a faint glow right
  in the middle where the light from the village pub fell softly on the
  streaming roadway. I stopped the car under the swinging sign of the Fox
  and Hounds and on an impulse opened the door. A beer would do me good.
  A pleasant warmth met me as I went into the pub. There was no bar
  counter, only high-backed settles and oak tables arranged under the
  whitewashed walls of what was simply a converted farm kitchen. At one end
  a wood fire crackled in an old black cooking range and above it the tick
  of a wall clock sounded above the murmur of voices. It wasn't as lively
  as the modem places but it was peaceful.
  "Now then, Mr. Herriot, you've been workin'," my neighbour said as I sank
  into the settle.
 "Yes, Ted, how did you know?"
  The man glanced over my soiled mackintosh and the wellingtons which I
  hadn7t bothered to change on the farm. 'Well, that's not your Sunday
  suit, there's blood on your nose end and cow shit on your ear." Ted
  Dobson was a burly cowman in his thirties and his white teeth showed
  suddenly in a wide grin.
  I smiled too and plied my handkerchief. "It's funny how you always want
  to scratch your nose at times like that."
 I looked around the room. There were about a dozen
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL123

 men drinking from pint glasses, some of them playing dominoes. They were all
 farm workers, the people I saw when I was called from my bed in the darkness
 before dawn; hunched figures they were then, shapeless in old greatcoats,
 cycling out to the farms, heads down against the wind and rain, accepting
 the facts of their hard existence. I often thought at those times that this
 happened to me only occasionally, but they did it every morning.
  And they did it for thirty shillings a week; just seeing them here made me
  feel a little ashamed.
  Mr. Waters, the landlord, whose name let him in for a certain amount of
  ribbing, filled my glass, holding his tall jug high to produce the
  professional froth.
  "There y'are, Mr. Herriot, that'll be sixpence. Cheap at 'alf the price."
  Every drop of beer was brought up in that jug from the wooden barrels in
  the cellar. It would have been totally impracticable in a busy
  establishment, but the Fox and Hounds was seldom bustling and Mr. Waters
  would never get rich as a publican. But he had four cows in the little byre
  adjoining this room, fifty hens pecked around in his long back garden and
  he reared a few litters of pigs every year from his two sows.
  "Thank you, Mr. Waters." I took a deep pull at the glass. I had lost some
  sweat despite the cold and my thirst welcomed the flow of rich nutty ale.
  I had been in here a few times before and the faces were all familiar.
  Especially old Albert Close, a retired shepherd who sat in the -same place
  every night at the end of the settle hard against the fire.
  He sat as always, his hands and chin resting on the tall crook which he had
  carried through his working days, his eyes blank. Stretched half under the
  seat, half under the table lay his dog, Mick, old and retired like his
  master. The animal was clearly in the middle of a vivid dream; his paws
  pedalled the air spasmodically, his lips and ears twitched and now and then
  he emitted a stifled bark.
  Ted Dobson nudged me and laughed. "Ah reckon awd Mick's still rounding up
  them sheep."
  I nodded. There was little doubt the dog was reliving the great days,
  crouching and darting, speeding in a wide arc round the perimeter of the
  field at his master's whistle. And Albert himself. What lay behind those
  empty eyes? I could imagine him in his youth, striding the windy up-
   124ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 lands, covering endless miles over moor and rock and beck, digging that
 same crook into the turf at every step. There were no fitter men than the
 Dales shepherds, living in the open in all weathers, throwing a sack over
 their shoulders in snow and rain.
  And there was Albert now, a broken, arthritic old man gazing
  apathetically from beneath the ragged peak of an ancient tweed cap. I
  noticed he had just drained his glass and I walked across the room.
 "Good evening, Mr. Close," I said.
  He cupped an ear with his hand and blinked up at me. "Eh?"
 I raised my voice to a shout. "How are you, Mr. Close?"
  "Can't complain, young man," he murmured. "Can't complain."
 "Will you have a drink?"
  "Aye, thank ye." He directed a trembling finger at his glass. "You can
  put a drop Pthere, young man."
  I knew a drop meant a pint and beckoned to the landlord who plied his jug
  expertly. The old shepherd lifted the recharged glass and looked up at
  me.
 "Good 'ealth," he grunted.
  "All the best," I said and was about to return to my seat when the old
  dog sat up. My shouts at his master must have wakened him from his dream
  because he stretched sleepily, shook his head a couple of times and
  looked around him. And as he turned and faced me I felt a sudden sense
  of shock.
  His eyes were terrible. In fact I could hardly see them as they winked
  painfully at me through a sodden fringe of pus-caked lashes. Rivulets of
  discharge showed dark and ugly against the white hair on either side of
  the nose.
  I stretched my hand out to him and the dog wagged his tail briefly before
  closing his eyes and keeping them closed. It seemed he felt better that
  way.
  I put my hand on Albert's sboulder. "Mr. Close, how long has he been like
  this?"
 "Eh?"
  I increased my volume. "Mick's eyes. They're in a bad state."
  "Oh aye." The old man nodded in comprehension. "He's got a bit o' caud
  in 'em. He's allus been subjeck to it ever since'e were a pup."
 "No, it's more than cold, it's his eyelids."
      ALL THJNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL 125
 dcEh?"
 I took a deep breath and let go at the top of my voice. "Hc~s got turned-in
 eyelids. It's rather a serious thing."
  The old man nodded again. "Aye, 'e lies a lot wi' his head at foot of
  t'door. IVs draughty there."
  "No, Mr. Clo,sel" I bawled. "Ifs got nothing to do with that. It's a thing
  called entropion and it needs an operation to put it right."
  "That's right, young man." He took a sip at his beer. "Just a bit o' caud.
  Ever since he were a pup he's been subjeck. .."
  I turned away wearily and returned to my seat. Ted Dobson looked at me
  enquiringly.
 "What was that about?"
  "Well, it's a nasty thing, Ted. Entropion is when the eyelids are turned in
  and the lashes rub against the eyeball. Causes a lot of pain, sometimes
  ulceration or even blindness. Even a mild case is damned uncomfortable for
  a dog."
  "I see," Ted said ruminatively. "Ah've noticed awd Mick's had mucky eyes
  for a long time but they've got worse lately."
  "Yes, sometimes it happens like that, but often it's congenital. I should
  think Mick has had a touch of it all his life but for some reason it's
  suddenly developed to this horrible state." I turned again towards the old
  dog, sitting patiently under the table, eyes still tight shut
 "He's sufferin' then?"
  I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, you know what it's like if you have a speck
  of dust in your eyes or even one lash turned in. I should say he feels
  pretty miserable."
  "Poor awd beggar. Ah never knew it was owt like that." He drew on his
  cigarette. "And could an operation cure it?"
  "Yes, Ted, it's one of the most satisfying jobs a vet can do. I always feel
  I've done a dog a good turn when I've finished."
  "Aye, ah bet you do. It must be a nice feelin. But it'll be a costly job,
  ah reckon?"
  I smiled wryly. "It depends how you look at it. It's a fiddly business and
  takes time. We usually charge about a pound for it." A human surgeon would
  laugh at a sum like that, but it would still be too much for old Albert.
 For a few moments we were both silent, looking across
 126ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 the room at the old man, at the threadbare coat, the long tatter of trouser
 bottoms falling over the broken boots. A pound was two weeks of the old age
 pension. It was a f4irtune.
  Ted got up suddenly. "Any road, somebody ought to tell 'im. Ah'll explain
  it to 'im. "
  He crossed the room. "Are ye ready for another, Albert?"
  The old shepherd glanced at him absently then indicated his glass, empty
  again. "Aye, ye can put a drop P there, Ted."
  The cowman waved to Mr. Waters then bent down. "Did ye understand what Mr.
  Herriot was tellin' ye, Albert?" be shouted.
 "Aye ... aye ... Mick's got a bit o' caud in 'is eyes."
  "Nay, 'e hasn'tl It's nowt of t'soart! It's a en ... a en. . summat
  different."
  "Keeps gettin' caud in 'em." Albert muinbled, nose in glass.
  Ted yelled in exasperation. "Ye daft awd divil! Listen to what ah'm
  sayin'-ye've got to take care of 'irn and . . ."
  But the old man was far away. "Ever sin 'e were a pup ... allus been
  subjeck to it ......

 Though Mick took my mind off my own troubles at the time, the memory of
 those eyes haunted me for days. I yearned to get my hands on them. I knew an
 hour's work would transport the old dog into a world he perhaps had not
 known for years, and every instinct told me to rush back to Copton, throw
 him in the car and bear him back to Darrowby for surgery. I wasn't worried
 about the money but you just can't run a practice that way.
  I regularly saw lame dogs on farms, skinny cats on the streets and it would
  have been lovely to descend on each and every one and minister to them out
  of my knowledge. In fact I had tried a bit of it and it didn't work.
  It was Ted Dobson who put me out of my pain. He bad come in to the town to
  see his sister for the evening and he stood leaning on his bicycle in the
  surgery doorway, his cheerful, scrubbed face gleaming as if it would light
  up the street.
  He came straight to the point. "WM ye do that operation on awd Mick, Mr.
  Herriot?"
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL127

 "Yes, of course, but ... how about ... T'
  "Oh that'll be right. T'lads at'Fox and Hounds are seein' to it. We're
  takin' it out of the club money."
 "Club money?"
  "Aye, we put in a bit every week for an outin' in t'summer. Trip to
  t'seaside or summat like."
  "Well, it's e3aremely kind of you, Ted, but are you quite sure? Won't any
  of them mind?"
  Ted laughed. "Nay, it's nowt, we won't miss a quid. We drink ower much
  on them do's anyway." He paused. "All flads want this job done-it's been
  gettin' on our bloody nerves watchin' t'awd dog ever since you told as
  about'im."
  "Well, that's great," I said. "How will you get him down?"
  "Me boss is lendin' me 'is van. Wednesday night be all right?"
  "Fine." I watched him ride away then turned back along the passage. It
  may seem to modem eyes that a lot of fuss had been made over a pound but
  in those days it was a very substantial sum, and some idea may be gained
  from the fact that four pounds a week was my commencing salary as a
  veterinary surgeon.

 When Wednesday night arrived it was clear that Micks operation had become
 something of a gala occasion. The little van was crammed with regulars
 from the Fox and Hounds and others rolle(f up on their bicycles.
  The old dog slunk fearfully down the passage to the operating room,
  nostrils twitching at the unfamiliar odours, of ether and antiseptic.
  Behind him trooped the noisy throng of farm men, their heavy boots
  clattering on the tiles.
  Tristan, who was doing the anaesthesia, hoisted the dog on the table and
  I looked around at the unusual spectacle of rows of faces regarding me
  with keen anticipation. Normally I am not in favour of lay people
  witnessing operations but since these men were sponsoring the whole thing
  they would have to stay.
  Under the lamp I got my first good look at Mick. He was a handsome,
  well-marked animal except for those dreadful eyes. As he sat there he
  opened them a fraction and peered at me for a painful moment before
  closing them against the bright light; that, I felt, was how he
 128ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 spent his life, squinting carefully and briefly at his surroundings. Giving
 him the intravenous barbiturate was like doing him a favour, ridding him of
 his torment for a while.
  And when be was stretched unconscious on his side I was able to carry out
  my first examination. I parted the lids, wincing at the matted lashes,
  awash with tears and discharge; there was a long standing keratitis and
  conjunctivitis but with a gush of relief I found that the cornea was not
  ulcerated.
  "You know," I said. "This is a mess, but I don't think there's any
  permanent damage."
  The farm men didn't exactly break -into a cheer but they were enormously
  pleased. The carnival air was heightened as they chattered and laughed and
  when I poised my scalpel it struck me that I had never operated in such a
  noisy environment.
  But I felt almost gleeful as I made the first incision-, I had been looking
  forward so much to this moment. Starting with the left eye I cut along the
  full length parallel to the margin of the lid then made a semicircular
  sweep of the knife to include half an inch of the tissue above the eye.
  Seizing the skin with forceps I stripped it away, and as I drew the lips of
  the bleeding wound together with stitches I noticed with intense
  gratification how the lashes were pulled high and away from the corneal
  surface theyhad irritated, perhaps for years.
  I cut away less skin from the lower lid-you never need to take so much
  there-then started on the right eye. I was slicing away happily when I
  realised that the noise had subsided; there were a few mutterings, but the
  chaff and laughter had died. I glanced up and saw big Ken Appleton, the
  horseman from Laurel Grove; it was natural that he should catch my eye,
  because he was six feet four and built like the Shires he cared for.
  "By gaw, it's 'ot in 'ere," he whispered, and I could see he meant it
  because sweat was streaming down his face.
  I was engrossed in my work or I would have noticed that he wasn't only
  sweating but deadly pate. I was stripping the skin from the eyelid when I
  heard Tristan's yell.
 "Catch him!"
  The big man's surrounding friends supported him as he slid gently to the
  floor and be- stayed there, sleeping peacefully, till I had inserted the
  last stitch. Then as Tris-
         ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL129

 tan and I cleaned up and put the instruments away he began to look around
 him and his companions helped him to his feet. Now that the cutting was
 over the life had returned to the party and Ken came in for some
 leg-pulling; but his was not the only white face.
  "I think you could do with a drop of whisky, Ken," Tristan said. He left
  the room and returned with a bottle which, with typical hospitality, he
  dispensed to all. Beakers, measuring glasses and test tubes were pressed
  into service and soon there was a boisterous throng around the sleeping
  dog. When the van finally roared off into the night the last thing I
  heard was the sound of singing from the packed interior.
  They brought Mick back in ten days for removal of the stitches. The
  wounds had healed well but the keratitis had still not cleared and the
  old dog was still blinking painfully. I didn't see the final result of
  my work for another month.
  It was when I was again driving home through Copton from an evening call
  that the lighted doorway of the Fox and Hounds recalled me to the little
  operation which had been almost forgotten in the rush of new work. I went
  in and sat down among the familiar faces.
  Things were uncannily like before. Old Albert Close in his usyal place,
  Mick stretched under the table, his twitching feet testifying to another
  vivid dream. I watched him closely until I could stand it no longer. As,
  if 41rawn by a magnet I crossed the room and crouched by him:
 "Mick!" I said. "Hey, wake up, boy!"
  The quivering limbs stiffed and there was a long moment when I held my
  breath as the shaggy head turned towards me. Then with a kind of blissful
  disbelief I found myself gazing into the wide, clear, bright eyes of a
  young dog.
  Warm wine flowed richly through my veins as he faced me, mouth open in
  a panting grin, tail swishing along the stone flags. There was no
  inflammation, no discharge, and the lashes, clean and dry, grew in a soft
  arc well clear of the corneal surface which they had chafed and rasped
  for so long. I stroked his head and as he began to look around him
  eagerly I felt a thrill of utter delight at the sight of the old animal
  exulting in his freedom, savouring the new world which had opened to him.
  I could see Ted Dobson and the other men smiling conspiratorially as I
  stood up.
 130ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "Mr. Close," I shouted. "Will you have a drink?" "Aye, you can put a
 drop i' there, young man." "Mick's eyes are a lot better." The old man
 raised his glass. "Good 'ealth. Aye, it were nobbut a bit o' caud."
 "But Mr. Close ... !" "Nasty thing, is caud in Veyes. Tawd feller keeps
 lyin' in that door'ole and ah-, reckon he'll get it again. Ever si.nce
 'e were a pup Vs been subjeck . . ."
           CHAPTER
              15

 As I bent over the wash basin in the "ablutions" and went into another
 violent paroxysm of coughing I had a growing and uncomfortable conviction
 that 1 was a mere pawn.
  The big difference between my present existence and my old life as a vet
  was that I used to make up my own mind as to how I would do things, whereas
  in the RAF all the decisions which affected me were made by other people.
  I didn't much like being a pawn because the lives of us lowly airmen were
  ruled by a lot of notions and ideas dreamed up by individuals so exalted
  that we never knew them.
 And so many of these ideas seemed crazy to me.
  For instance, who decided that all our bedroom windows should be nailed
  open throughout a Yorkshire winter so that the healthy mist could swirl
  straight from the black ocean and settle icily on our beds as we slept? The
  result was an almost one hundred per cent incidence of bronchitis in our
  flight, and in the mornings the Grand Hotel sounded like a chest sanatorium
  with a harrowing chorus of barks and wheezes.
  The cough seized me again, racking my body, threatening to dislodge my
  eyeballs. It was a temptation to report sick but I hadn't done it yet. Most
  of the lads stuck it out till they had roaring fevers before going sick and
  by now, at the end of February, nearly all of them had spent a few days in
  hospital. I was one of the few who hadn't. Maybe there was a bit of bravado
  in my stand-because most of them were eighteen- or nineteen-year-olds and
  I was a comparatively old man in my twenties-but there were two other
  reasons. Firstly, it was very often after I had got dressed and been unable
  to eat breakfast that I
               131
 r32ALL TMNGS WISE A" WONDERFUL

 felt really M. But by then it was too late. You had to report sick before
 seven o'clock or suffer tifl next day.
  Another reason was that I didn't like the look of the sick parade. As I
  went out to the corridor with my towel round my shoulders a sergeant was
  reading a list and inflating his lungs at the same time.
  "Get.on parade, the sickl" he shouted. "C'mon, c'mon, let's be
  'avin'youl"
  From various doors an unhappy group of invalids began to appear,
  shuffling over the linoleum, each draped with his "small kit," haversack
  containing pyjamas, canvas shoes, knife, fork, spoon, etc.
  The sergeant unleashed another bellow. "Get into line, therel Come on,
  you lot, hurry it up, look livelyl"
  I looked at the young men huddled there, white-faced and trembling. Most
  of them were coughing and spluttering and one of them clutched his
  abdomen as though he had a ruptured appendix.
  "Paradel" bawled the sergeant. "Parade, aften-shunl Parade stan'-at easel
  Atten-shunl Le-eft tuml Qui-ick marchl 'Eft-Ight,'eft-Ight, left-light,
  'eft-lightIll
  The hapless band trailed wearily off. They had a march of nearly a mile
  througk the rain to the sick quarters in another hotel above the Spa, and
  as I turned into my room it was with a renewed resolve to hang on as long
  as possible.
  Another thing that frightened us all for a spell was the suggestion,
  drifting down from somewhere on high, that it wasn't enough to go jogging
  around Scarborough on our training runs; we ought to stop every now and
  then and do a bit of shadow boxing like fighters. This idea seemed too
  outrageous to be true but we had it from the sergeant himself, who came
  with us on our runs. Some VIP had passed it down, claiming that it would
  instil belligerence in us. We were thoroughly alarmed for a while,
  including the sergeant, who hadIno desire to be seen in charge of a bunch
  of apparent lunatics dancing around punching at the air. Mercifully,
  somebody had the strength to resist this one and the whole thing fell
  through.
  But of all these brilliant schemes the one I remember best was the one
  that decided we had to scream at the end of our physical training
  session. Apart from running miles all over the place, we had long periods
  of PT down on the rain-swept prom with the wind cutting in from the sea
  on
                    I
       ALL THYNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL133

 our goose-pimpled limbs. We became so good at these exercises that it was
 decided to put on a show for a visiting air marshal. Not only our flight
 but several squadrons all performing in unison in front of the Grand.
  We trained for months for the big day, doing the same movements over and
  over again till we were perfect. At first the barrel-chested PT sergeant
  shouted instructions at us all the time, then as we got better all he did
  was call out "Exercise three, commence." And finally it all became so
  much a part of our being that he merely sounded a tiny peep on his
  whistle at the beginning of each exercise.
  By spring we were really impressive. Hundreds of men in shorts and
  singlets swinging away as one out there on the square, with the PT
  sergeant up on the balcony above the doorway where he would stand with
  the air marshal on the day. The thing that made it so dramatic was the
  utter silence; the forest of waving limbs and swaying bodies with not a
  sound but the peep of the whistle.
  Everything was lovely till somebody had the idea of the screaming. Up
  till then we had marched silently from the square at the end of the
  session, but that was apparently not good enough. What we had to do now
  was count up to five at the end of the last exercise, then leap into the
  air, scream at the top of our voices and run off the square at top speed.
  And I had to adn-dt that it seemed quite a brainwave. We tried it a few
  times, then we began to put our hearts into it, jumping high, yelling
  like dervishes then scuttling away into the various openings among the
  hotels around the square.
  It must have looked marvellous from the balcony. The great mass of
  white-clad men going through the long routine in a cathedral hush, a few
  seconds of complete immobility at the end then the whole concourse
  erupting with a wild yell and disappearing, leaving the empty square
  echoing. And this last touch had another desirable aspect; it was further
  proof of our latent savagery. The enemy would have quaked at that
  chilling sound.
  The sergeant had a little trouble with a lad in my flight, a tall
  gangling red-haired youth called Cromarty who stood in the line in front
  of me a few feet to my right. Cromarty seemed unable to enter into the
  spirit of the thing.
 134ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "Come on, lad," the sergeant said one day. "Put a bit of devil into it! You
  got to sound like a killer. You're floating up and down there like a ruddy
  fairy godmother."
  Cromarty did try, but the thing seemed to embarrass him. He gave a little
  hop, an apologetic jerk of his arms and a feeble cry.
  The sergeant ran his hand through his hair. "No, no, ladl You've got to let
  yourself gol" He looked around him. "Here, Devlin, come out and show'im how
  it's done."
  Devlin, a grinning Irishman, stepped forward. The scream was the high point
  of his day. He stood relaxed for a moment then without warning catapulted
  himself high in the air, legs and arms splayed, head back, while a dreadful
  animal cry burst from his gaping mouth.
  The sergeant took an involuntary step backwards. "Thanks, Devlin, that's
  fine," he said a little shakily, then he turned to Cromarty. "Now you see
  how I want it, boy, just like that. So work at it."
  Cromarty nodded. He had a long, serious face and you could see he wanted to
  oblige. After that I watched him each day and there was no doubt he was
  improving. His inhibitions were gradually being worn down.
  It seemed that nature was smiling on our efforts because the great day
  dawned with blue skies and warm sunshine. Every man among the hundreds who
  marched out into the square had been individually prepared. Newly bathed,
  fresh haircut, spotless white shorts and singlet. We waited in our
  motionless, lines before the newly painted door of the Grand while, on the
  balcony above, gold braid glinted on the air marshal's cap.
  He stood among a knot of the top RAF brass of Scarborough, while in one
  corner I could see our sergeant, erect in long white flannels, his great
  chest sticking out further than ever. Beneath us the sea shimmered and the
  golden bay curved away to the Filey cliffs.
  The sergeant raised his hand. "Peep" went the whistle and we were off.
  There was something exhilarating about being part of this smooth machine.
  I had a wonderful sense of oneness with the arms and legs which moved with
  mine all around. It was effortless. We had ten exercises to do and at the
  end of the first we stood rigid for ten seconds, then the whistle piped and
  we started again.
 The time passed too quickly as I revelled in our perfec-       ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL135

 tion. At the er~d of exercise nine I came to attention, waiting for the
 whistle, counting under my breath. Nothing stirred, the silence was
 profound. Then, from the motionless ranks, as unexpected as an exploding
 bomb, Cromarty in front of me launched himself upwards in a tangle of
 flailing limbs and red hair and unleashed a long bubbling howl. He had put
 so much into his leap that he seemed to take a long time to come down and
 even after his descent the shattering sound echoed on.
  Cromarty had made it at last. As fierce and warlike a scream, as high a
  jump as ever the sergeant could desire. The only snag was that he was too
  soon.
  When the whistle went for the last exercise a lot of people didn't hear
  it because of the noise and many others were in a state of shock and came
  in late. Anyway, it was a shambles and the final yell and scuttle a sad
  anticlimax. I myself, though managing to get a few inches off the ground,
  was unable to make any sound at all.

 Had Cromarty not been serving in the armed'forces of a benign democracy
 he would probably have been taken quietly away and shot. As it was, there
 was really nothing anybody could do to him. NCOs weren't even allowed to
 swear at the men.
  I felt for the PT sergeant. There must have been a. lot he wanted to say
  but he was grievously restricted. I saw him with Cromarty later. He put
  his face close to the young man's.
  "You . . . you                  His features worked as he fought
 for words. "YOU TMNG YOU!"
  He turned and walked away with bowed shoulders. At that moment I'm sure
  he felt like a pawn too.
           CHAPTER
              16

 There is no doubt that when I looked back at my life in Darrowby I was
 inclined to bathe the whole thing in a rosy glow, but occasionally the
 unhappy things came to mind.
  That man, distraught and gasping on the surgery steps. "I's no good, I
  can't bring him in. He's stiff as a board I"
  My stomach lurched. It was another one. "Jasper, you mean?"
 "Yes, he's in the back of my car, right here."
  I ran across the pavement and opened the car door. It was as I feared;
  a handsome Dalmatian stretched in a dreadful tetanic spasm, spine arched,
  head craning desperately backward, legs like four wooden rods groping at
  nothing.
  I didn't wait to talk but dashed back into the house for syringe and
  drugs.
  I leaned into the car, tucked some papers under the dog's head, injected
  the apomorphine and waited.
 The man looked at me with anxious eyes. "What is it?"
  "Strychnine poisoning, Mr. Bartle. I've just given an emetic to make him
  vomit." As I spoke the animal brought up the contents of his stomach on
  to the paper.
 "Will that put him right?"
  "It depends on how much of the poison has been absorbed." I didn't feel
  like telling him that it was almost invariably fatal, that in fact I had
  treated six dogs in the last week with the same condition and they had
  all died. "We'll just have to hope."
  He watched me as I filled another syringe with barbiturate. "What are you
  doing now?"
  "Anaesthetising him." I slipped the needle into the radial vein and as
  I slowly trickled the fluid into the dog's bloodstream the taut muscles
  relaxed and he sank into a deep slumber.
               136
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL-137

 "He looks better already," Mr. Bartle said.
  "Yes, but the trouble is when the injection wears off he may go back into
  a spasm. As I say, it all depends on how much of the strychnine has got
  into his system. Keep him in a quiet place with as little noise as
  possible. Any sound can bring on a spasm. When he shows signs of coming
  out of it give me a ring."
  I went back into the house. Seven cases in a week! It was tragic and
  scarcely believable, but there was no doubt left in my mind now. This was
  malicious. Some psychopath in our little town was deliberately putting
  down poison to kill dogs. Strychnine poisoning was something that cropped
  up occasionally. Gamekeepers and other people used the deadly drug to
  kill vermin, but usually it was handled with great care and placed out
  of reach of domestic pets. Trouble started when a burrowing dog came
  across the poison by accident. But this was different.
  I had to warn pet owners somehow. I lifted the 'phone and spoke to one
  of the reporters on the Darrowby and Houlton Times. He promised to put
  the story in the next edition, along with advice to keep dogs on their
  leads and otherwise supervise pets more carefully.
  Then I rang the police. The sergeant listened to my account. "Right, Mr.
  Herriot, I agree with you that there's some crackpot going around and
  we'll certainly investigate this matter. If you'll just give me the names
  of the dog owners involved . . . thank you . . . thank you. We'll see
  these people and check round the local chemists to see if anybody has
  been buying strychnine lately. And of course we'll keep our eyes open for
  anybody acting suspiciously."
  I came away from the 'phone feeling that I might have done something to
  halt the depressing series of events, but I couldn't rid myself of a
  gloomy apprehension that more trouble was round the corner. But my mood
  lightened when I saw Johnny Clifford in the waiting room.
  Johnny always made me feel better because he was invariably optimistic
  and wore a cheerful grin which never altered, even though he was blind.
  He was about my own age and he sat there in his habitual pose, one hand
  on the head of his guide dog, Fergus.
 "Is it inspection time again already,, Johnny?" I asked.
  "Aye, it is that, Mr. Herriot, it's come round again. It's been a quick
  six months." He laughed and held out his card.
 138ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  I squatted and looked into the face of the big Alsatian sitting motionless
  and dignified by his master's side. "Wen, and how's Fergus these days?"
  "Oh he's in grand fettle. Eatin' well and full of life." The hand on the
  head moved round to the ears and at the other end the tail did a bit of
  sweeping along the waitingroom floor.
  As I looked at the young man, his face alight with pride and affection, I
  realised afresh what this dog meant to him. He had told me that when his
  failing sight progressed to total blindness in his early twenties he was
  filled with a despair which did not lessen until he was sent to train with
  a guide dog and met Fergus; because he found something more than another
  living creature to act as his eyes, he found a friend and companion to
  share every moment of his days.
 . "Well, we'd better get started," I said. "Stand up a minute, old lad,
 while I take your temperature." That was normal and I went over the big
 animal's chest with a stethoscope, listening to the reassuringly steady thud
 of the heart. As I parted the hair along the neck and back to examine the
 skin I laughed.
  "I'm wasting my time here, Johnny. You've got his coat in perfect
  condition."
  "Aye, never a day goes by but he gets a good groomin,.,,
  I had seen him at it, brushing and combing tirelessly to bring extra lustre
  to the sleek swathes of hair. The nicest thing anybody could say to Johnny
  was, "That's a beau-. tiful dog y6u've got." His pride in that beauty was
  boundless even though he had never seen it himself.
  Treating guide dogs for the blind has always seemed to me to be one of a
  veterinary surgeon's most rewarding tasks. To be in a position to help and
  care for these magnificent animals is a privilege, not just because they
  are highly trained and valuable but because they represent in the ultimate
  way something which has always lain near the core and centre of my life:
  the mutually depending, trusting and loving association between man and
  animal.
  Meeting these blind people was a humbling experience which sent me about my
  work with a new appreciation of my blessings.
  I opened the dog's mouth and peered at the huge gleaming teeth. It was
  dicing with danger to do this with
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL139

 some Alsatians, but with Fergus you could haul the great jaws apart and
 nearly put your head in and he would only lick your ear. In fact he was
 at it now. My cheek was nicely within range and he gave it a quick wipe
 with his large wet tongue.
  "Hey, just a minute, Fergust" I withdrew and plied my handkerchief. "I've
  had a wash this morning. Aild anyway, only little dogs lick-not big tough
  Alsatians-"
  Johnny threw back his head and gave a great peal of laughter. "There's
  nowt tough about him, he's the softest dog you could ever meet."
  "Well, that's the way I like them," I said. I reached for a tooth scaler.
  "There's just a bit of tartar on one of his back teeth. I'll scrape it
  off right now."
  When I had finished I looked in the ears with an auroscope. There was no
  canker but I cleaned out a little wax.
  Then I went round the feet, examining paws and claws. They always
  fascinated me, these feet; wide, enormous, with great spreading toes.
  They had to be that size to support the big body and the massive bones
  of the limbs.
 "All correct except that one funny claw, Johnny."
  "Aye, you allus have to trim that 'un, don't you? I could feel it was
  growin' long again."
  "Yes, that toe seems to be slightly crooked or it would wear down Eke the
  others with all the walking he does. You have a great time going on walks
  all day, don't you, Fergus?"
  I dodged another attempted lick and closed my clippers around the claw.
  I had to squeeze till my eyes popped before the overgrown piece shot away
  with a loud crack.
  "By gosh, we'd go through some clippers if all dogs had claws like that,"
  I gasped. "It just about does them in every time he calls."
  Johnny laughed again and dropped his hand on the great head with that
  gesture which said so much.
  I took the card and entered my report on the dog's health along with the
  things I had done. Then I dated it and handed it back. "That's it for
  this time, Johnny. He's in excellent order and there's nothing more I
  need do to him.."
  "Thank you, Mr. Herriot. See you next time round, then." The young man
  took hold of the harness and I followed the two of them along the passage
  and out of the front door. I watched as Fergus halted by the kerb and
 140ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

waited till a car had passed before crossing the road. They hadn't gone very far
 along the road when a woman with a shopping bag stopped them. She began to
 chatter animatedly, looking down repeatedly at the big dog. She was talking
 about Fergus and Johnny rested his hand on the noble head and nodded and
 smiled. Fergus was his favourite topic.

 Shortly after midday Mr. Bartle rang to say Jasper showed signs of returning
 spasms and before sitting down to lunch I rushed round to his house and
 repeated the barbiturate injection. Mr. Bartle owned one of the local mills,
 producing cattle food for the district. He was a very bright man indeed.
  "Mr. Herriot," he said. "Please don't misunderstand me. I have every faith
  in you, but isn't there anything else you can do? I am so very fond of this
  dog."
  I shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, but I can't do any more."
 "But is there no antidote to this poison?"
 "No, I'm afraid there isn't."
  "Well. . . ." He looked down with drawn face at the unconscious animal.
  "What's going on? What's happening to Jasper when he goes stiff like he
  did? I'm only a layman but I like to understand things."
  "I'll try to explain it," I said. "Strychnine is absorbed into the nervous
  system and it increases the conductivity of the spinal cord."
 "What does that mean?"
  "It means that the muscles become more sensitive to outside stimuli so that
  the slightest touch or sound throws them into violent contractions."
 "But why does a dog stretch out like that?"
  "Because the extensor muscles are stronger than the flexors, causing the
  back to be arched and the legs extended."
  He nodded. "I see, but . . . I believe it is usually fatal. What is it
  that. . . kills them?"
  "They die of asphyxia due to paralysis of the respiratory centre or
  contraction of the diaphragm."
  Maybe he wanted to ask more, but it was painful for him and he stayed
  silent.
  "There's one thing I'd like you to know, Mr. Bartle," I said. "It is almost
  certainly not a painful condition."
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL141

  "Thank you." He bent and briefly stroked the sleeping dog. "So nothing
  more can be done?"
  Ishook my head. "The barbiturate keeps the spasms in abeyance and we'll
  go on hoping he hasn't absorbed too much strychnine. I'll call back
  later, or you can ring me if he gets worse. I can be here in a few
  minutes."
  Driving away, I pondered on the irony that made Darrowby a paradise for
  dog killers as well as dog lovers. There were grassy tracks everywhere;
  wandering by the river's edge, climbing the fell-sides and coiling green
  and tempting among the heather on the high tops. I often felt sympathy
  for pet owners in the big cities, trying to find places to walk their
  dogs. Here in Darrowby we could take our pick. But so could the poisoner.
  He could drop his deadly bait unobserved in a hundred different places.
  I was finishing the afternoon surgery when the 'phone rang. It was Mr.
  Bartle.
 "Has he started the spasms again?" I asked.
  There was a pause. "No, I'm afraid Jasper is dead. He never regained
  consciousness."
  "Oh . . . I'm very sorry." I felt a dull despair. That was the seventh
  death in a week.
  "Well, thank you for your treatment, Mr. Herriot. I'm sure nothing could
  have saved him."
  I hung up the 'phone wearily. He was right. Nothing or nobody could have
  done any good in this case, but it didn't help. If you finish up with a
  dead animal there is always the feeling of defeat.
  Next day I was walking on to a farm when the farmer's wife called to me.
  "I have a message for you to ring back to the surgery."
  I heard Helen's voice at the other end. "Jack Brimham has just come in
  with his dog. I think it's another strychnine case."
  I excused myself and drove back to Darrowby at top speed. Jack Brimham
  was a builder. He ran a one-man business and whatever job he was
  on-repairing roofs or walls or chinineys-his little white rough-haired
  terrier went with him, and you could usually see the little animal nosing
  among the piles of bricks, exploring in the surrounding fields.
  Jack was a friend, too. I often had a beer with him at the Drovers' Arms
  and I recognised his van outside the
 T42ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 surgery. I trotted along the passage and found him leaning over the table in
 the consulting room. His dog was stretched there in that attitude which I
 dreaded.
 "He's gone, Jim," he muttered.
  I looked at the shaggy little body. There was no movement, the eyes stared
  silently. The legs, even in death, strained across the smooth surface of
  the table. It was pointless, but I slipped my hand inside the thigh and
  felt for the femoral artery. There was no pulse.
 "I'm sorry, Jack," I said.
  He didn't answer for a moment. "I've been readin' about this in the paper,
  Jim, but I never thought it would happen to me. It's a bugger, isn't it?"
  I nodded. He was a craggy-faced man, a tough Yorkshireman with a humour and
  integrity which I liked and a soft place inside which his dog had occupied.
  I did not know what to say to him.
 "Who's doin' this?" he said, half to himself.
 "I don't know, Jack. Nobody knows."
  "Well I wish I could have five minutes with him, that's all." He gathered
  the rigid little form into his arms and went out.
  My troubles were not over for that day. It was about 11 p.m. and I had just
  got into bed when Helen nudged me.
  "I think there's somebody knocking at the front door, Jim."
  I opened the window and looked out. Old Boardman, the lame veteran of the
  first war who did odd jobs for us, was standing on the steps.
  "Mr. Herriot," he called up to me. "I'm sorry to bother you at this hour,
  but Patch is ill."
 I leaned further out. "What's he doing?"
 "He's like a bit o' wood-stiff like, and laid on 'is side."
  I didn't bother to dress, just pulled my working corduroys over my pyjamas
  and went down the stairs two at a time. I grabbed what I needed from the
  dispensary and opened the front door. The old man, in shirt sleeves, caught
  at my arm.
  "Come quickly, Mr. Herriot!" He limped ahead of me to his little house
  about twenty yards away in the lane round the corner.
  Patch was like all the others. The fat spaniel I had seen so often waddling
  round the top yard with his master was
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL143

 in that nightmare position on the kitchen floor, but he had vomited, which
 gave me hope. I administered the intravenous injection but as I withdrew the
 needle the breathing stopped.
  Mrs. Boardman, in nightgown and slippers, dropped on her knees and
  stretched a trembling hand towards the motionless animal.
  "Patch .... 11 She turned and stared at me, wide-eyed. "He's dead!"
  I put my hand on the old woman's shoulder and said some sympathetic words.
  I thought grimly that I wa~ getting good at it. As I left I looked back at
  the two old people. Boardman was kneeling now by his wife and even after I
  had closed the door I could hear their voices: "Patch ... oh Patch."
  I almost reeled over the few steps to Skeldale House and before going in I
  stood in the empty street breathing the cool air and trying to calm my
  racing thoughts. With Patch gone, this thing was getting very near home. I
  saw that dog every day. In fact all the dogs that had died were old
  friends-in a little town like Darrowby you came to know your patients
  personally. Where was it going to end?
  I didn't sleep much that night and over the next few days I'was obsessed
  with apprehension. I expected another poisoning with every 'phone call and
  took care never to let my own dog, Sam, out of the car in the region of the
  town. Thank& to my job I was able to exercise him miles away on the summits
  of the fells, but even there I kept him close to me.
  By the fourth day I was beginning to feel more re~ laxed. Maybe the
  nightmare was over. I was driving home in the late afternoon past the row
  of grey cottages at the end of the Houlton Road when a woman ran waving
  into the road.
  "Oh, Mr. Herriot," she cried when I stopped. "I was just goin' to t'phone
  box when I saw you."
 I pulled up by the kerb. "It's Mrs. Clifford, isn't it?"
  "Yes, Johnny's just come in and Fergus 'as gone queer. Collapsed and laid
  on t'floor."
  "Oh nol" An icy chill drove through me and for a moment I stared at her,
  unable to move. Then I threw open the car door and hurried after Johnny's
  mother into the end cottage. I halted abruptly in the little room and
 144ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 stared down in horror. The very sight of the splendid dignified animal
 scrabbling helplessly on the linoleum was a desecration, but strychnine
 is no respecter of such things.
 "Oh God!" I breathed. "Has he vomited, Johnny?"
  "Aye, me mum said he was sick in t'back garden when we came in." The
  young man was sitting very upright in a chair by the side of his dog.
  Even now there was a half smile on his face, but he looked strained as
  he put out his hand in the old gesture and failed to find the head that
  should have been there.
  The bottle of barbiturate wobbled in my shaking hand as I filled the
  syringe. I tried to put away the thought that I was doing what I had done
  to all the others-all the dead ones. At my feet Fergus panted
  desperately, then as I bent over him he suddenly became still and went
  into the horrible distinctive spasm, the great limbs I knew so well
  straining frantically into space, the head pulled back grotesquely over
  the spine.
  This was when they died, when the muscles were at full contraction. As
  the barbiturate flowed into the vein I waited for signs of relaxation but
  saw none. Fergus was about twice as heavy as any of the other victims I
  had treated and the plunger went to the end of the syringe without
  result.
  Quickly I drew in another dose and began to inject it, my tension
  building as I saw how much I was administering. The recommended dose was
  1 cc per 5 lb. body weight and beyond that you could kill the animal. I
  watched the gradations on the glass barrel of the syringe and my mouth
  went dry when the dose crept far beyond the safety limit. But I knew I
  had to relieve this spasm and continued to depress the plunger
  relentlessly.
  I did it in the grim knowledge that if he died now I would never know
  whether to blame the strychnine or myself for his death_.
  The big dog had received more than a lethal amount before peace began to
  return to the taut body and even then I sat back on my heels, almost
  afraid to look in case I had brought about his end. There was a long
  agonising moment when he lay still and apparently lifeless then the rib
  cage began to move almost imperceptibly as the breathing recommenced.
  Even then I was in suspense. The anaesthesia was so deep that he was only
  just alive, yet I knew that the only
      ALL THMOS WISE AND WONDERMX145

 hope was to keep him that way. I sent Mrs. Clifford out to 'phone Siegfried
 that I would be tied up here for a while, then I pulled up a chair and
 settled down to wait.
  The hours passed as Johnny and I sat there, the dog stretched between us.-
  The young man discussed the case calmly and without self-pity. There was no
  suggestion that this was anything more than a pet animal lying at his feet
  -except for the tell-tale reaching for the head that was no longer there.
  Several times Fergus showed signs of going into another spasm and each time
  I sent him back into his deep, deep insensibility, pushing him repeatedly
  to the brink with a fateful certainty that it was the only way.
  Ifwas well after midnight when I came sleepily out into the darkness. I
  felt drained. Watching the life of the friendly, clever, face-licking
  animal flicker as he lay inert and unheeding had been a tremendous strain,
  but I had left him sleeping-still anaesthetised but breathing deeply and
  regularly. Would he wake up and start the dread sequence again? I didn't
  know and I couldn't stay any longer. There was a practice with other
  animals to attend to.
  But my anxiety jerked me into early wakefulness next morning. I tossed
  around till seven thirty telling myself this wasn't the way to be a
  veterinary surgeon, that. you couldn't live like this. But my worry was
  stronger than the voice of reason and I slipped out before breakfast to the
  roadside cottage.
  My nerves were like a bowstring as I knocked on the door. Mrs. Clifford
  answered and I was about to blurt out my enquiries when Fergus trotted from
  the inner room.
  He was still a little groggy from the vast dosage of barbiturate but he
  was'relaxed and happy, the symptoms had gone, he was himself again. With a
  gush of pure joy I knelt and took the great head between my hands. He
  slobbered at me playfully with his wet tongue and I had to fight him off.
  He followed me into the living room where Johnny was seated at the table,
  drinking tea. He took up his usual position, sitting upright and proud by
  his master's side. ,
  "You'll have a cup, Mr. Herriot?" Mrs. Clifford asked, poising the teapot.
 "Thanks, I'd love one, Mrs. Clifford," I replied.
 146ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  No tea ever tasted better and as I sipped I watched the young man's smiling
  face.
  "What a relief, Mr. Herriot! I sat up with him all night, listenin' to the
  chimes of the church clock. It was just after four when I knew we'd won
  because I heard 'im get to his feet and sort o' stagger about. I stopped
  worryin' then, just listened to 'is feet patterin' on the linoleum. It was
  lovely!"
  He turned his bead to me and I looked at the slightly upturned eyes in the
  cheerful face.
  "I'd have been lost without Fergus," he said softly. "I don't know how to
  thank you."
  But as he unthinkingly rested his hand on the head of the big dog who was
  his pride and delight I felt that the gesture alone was all the thanks I
  wanted.

 That was the end of the strychnine poisoning outbreak in Darrowby. The older
 people still talk about it, but nobody ever had the slightest clue to the
 identity of the kifler and it is a mystery to this day.
  I feel that the vigilance of the police and the publicity in the press
  frightened this twisted person off, but anyway it just stopped and the only
  cases since then have been accidental ones.
  To me it is a sad memory of failure and frustration. Fergus was my only
  cure and I'm not sure why he recovered. Maybe the fact that I pushed the
  injection to dangerous levels because I was desperate had something to do
  with it, or maybe he just didn't pick up as much poison as the others. I'll
  never know.
  But over the years when I saw the big dog striding majestically in his
  harness, leading his master unerringly around the streets of Darrowby,* I
  always had the same feeling.
 If there had to be just one saved, I'm glad it was him.
           CHAPTER
              17

 A tender nerve twinged as the old lady passed me the cup of tea. She looked
 just like Mrs. Beck.
  One of the local churches was having a social evening to entertain us
  lonely airmen and as I accepted the cup and sat down I could hardly
  withdraw my eyes from the lady's face.
  Mrs. Beck! I could see her now standing by the surgery window.
  "Oooh, I never thought you were such a 'eartless man, Mr. Herriot." Her
  chin trembled and she looked up at me reproachfully.
  "But Mrs. Beck," I said. "I assure you I am not being in the least
  heartless. I just cannot carry out a major operation on your cat for ten
  shillings."
  "Well, I thought you would've done it for a poor widder woman like me."
  I regarded her thoughtfully, taking in the small compact figure, the
  healthy cheeks, the neat helmet of grey kair pulled tightly into a bun. Was
  she mally a poor widow? There was cause for doubt. Her next-door neighbour
  in Rayton village was a confirmed sceptic.
  "It's all a tale, Mr. Herriot," he had said. "She tries it on wi'
  everybody, but I'll tell you this-she's got a long stockin'. Owns property
  all over t'place."
  I took a deep breath. "Mrs. Beck. We often do work at redu rates for people
  who can't afford to pay, but this is whlue call a luxury operation."
 I "Luxury!" The lady was aghast. "Eec, ah've been tellin' you how Georgina
 keeps havin' them kittens. She's at it all the time and it's gettin' me
 down. Ah can't sleep for worryin' when Vnext lot's comin'." She dabbed her
 eyes.
 "I understand and I'm sorry. I can only tell you again
               147
 148ALL THINGS WISE AND WONI)ERFUL

 that the only way to prevent this trouble is to spay your cat and the charge
 is one pound."
 "Nay, I cant afford that muchl"
  I spread my hands. "But you are asking me to do it for half the price.
  That's ridiculous. This operation involves the removal of the uterus and
  ovaries under a general anaesthetic. You just caif t do a job like that for
  ten shillings."
  "Oh, you are cruell" She turned and looked out of the window and her
  shoulders began to shake. "You won7t even take pity on a poor widder."
  This had been going on for ten minutes and it began to dawn on me that I
  was in the presence of a stronger character than myself. I glanced at my
  watch-I should have been on my round by now and it was becoming in-
  creasingly obvious that I wasn't going to win this argument.
  I sighed. Maybe she really was a poor widow. "All right, Mrs. Beck, I'll do
  it for ten shillings, just this once. Will Tuesday afternoon be all right
  for you?"
  She swung round from the window, her face crinkling magically into a smile.
  "That'll suit me grandl Eee, that's right kind of you." She tripped past me
  and I followed her along the passage.
  "Just one thing," I said as I held the front door open for her. "Don't give
  Georgina any food,from midday on Monday. She must have an empty stomach
  when you bring her in."
  "Bring 'er in?" She was a picture of bewilderment. "But I 'aven't got no
  car. I thought you'd be collectin' her."
 "Collectingl But Rayton's five miles away!"
  "Yes, and bring 'er back afterwards, too. I 'ave no transport."
  "Collect ... operate on her ... take her back! All for ten shillingsl"
  She was still smiling but a touch of steel glinted in her eyes.
 "Well, that's what you agreed to charge-ten shillings."
 "But ... but. . ."
  "Oh now you're startin' again." The smile faded and she put her head on one
  side. "Amd I'm only a poor .
 "Okay, okay," I said hastily. "I'll call on Tuesday."
  And when Tuesday afternoon came round I cursed my softness. If that cat had
  been been brought in I could
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL149

 have operated on her at two o'clock and been out on the road doing my farm
 calls by two thirty. I didn't mind working at a loss for half an hour, but
 how long was this business going to take?
  On my way out I glanced through the open door of the sitting room.
  Tristan was supposed to be studying but was sleeping soundly in his
  favourite chair. I went in and looked down at him, marvelling at the
  utter relaxation, seen only in a dedicated sleeper. His face was as
  smooth and untroubled as a baby's, the Daily Mirror, open at the comic
  strips, had fallen across his chest and a burnt-out Woodbine hung from
  one dangling hand.
  I shook him gently. "Like to come with me, Triss? I've got to pick up a
  cat."
  He came round slowly, stretching and grimacing, but his fundamental good
  nature soon reasserted itself.
  "Certainly, Jim," he said with a final yawn. "It will be a pleasure."
  Mrs. Beck lived half way down the left side of Rayton village. I read
  "Jasmine Cottage" on the brightly painted gate, and as we went up the
  garden path the door opened and the little woman waved gaily.
  "Good afternoon, gentlemen, I'm right glad to see you both." She ushered
  us into the living-room among good, solid-looking furniture which showed
  no sign of poverty. The open cupboard of a mahogany sideboard gave me a
  glimpse of glasses and bottles. I managed to identify Scotch, cherry
  brandy and sherry before she nudged the door shut with her knee.
  I pointed to a cardboard box loosely tied with string. "Ah, good, you've
  got her in there, have you?"
  "Nay, bless you, she's in t'garden. She allus has a bit of play out there
  of an afternoon."
  "In the garden, eh?" I said nervously. "Well, please get her in, we're
  in rather a hurry."
  We went through a tiled kitchen to the back door. Most of these cottages
  had a surprising amount of land behind them and Mrs. Beck's patch was in
  very nice order. Flower beds bordered a smooth stretch of lawn and the
  sunshine drew glittering colours from the apples and pears among the
  branches of the trees.
  "Georgina," carolled Mrs. Beck. "Where are you, my pet?"
 No cat appeared and she turned to me with a roguish
 150ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 smile. "I think the little imp's playin' a game with* us. She does that, you
 know."
  "Really?" I said without enthusiasm. "Well, I wish she'd show herself. I
  really don't have much . . ."
  At that moment a very fat tabby darted from a patch of chrysanthemums and
  flitted across the grass into a clump of rhododendrons with Tristan in
  close pursuit. The young man dived among the greenery and the cat emerged
  from the other end at top speed, did a couple of laps of the lawn then shot
  up a gnarled tree.
  Tristan, eyes gleaming in anticipation, lifted a couple of windfall apples
  from the turf. "I'll soon shift the'bugger from there, Jim," he whispered
  and took aim.
  I grabbed his arm. "For heaven's sake, Trissl" I hissed. "You can't do
  that. Put those things down."
  "Oh . . . all right." He dropped the apples and made for the tree. "I'll
  get hold of her for you, anyway."
  "Wait a minute." I seized his coat as he passed. "I'll do it. You stay down
  here and try to catch her if she jumps."
  Tri-stan looked disappointed but I gave him a warning look. The way the cat
  had moved, it struck me that it only needed a bit of my colleague's
  ebullience to send the animal winging into the next county. I began to
  climb the tree.
  I like cats, I've always liked them, and since I feel that animals
  recognise this in a person I have usually been able to approach and handle
  the most difficult types. It is not too much to say that I prided myself on
  my cat technique; I didn't foresee any trouble here.
  Puffing slightly, I reached the top branch and extended a hand to the
  crouching animal.
 "Pooss-pooss," I cooed, using my irresistible cat tone,
  Georgina eyed me coldly and gave no answering sign other than a higher
  arching of the back.
  I leaned further along the branch. "Pooss-pooss, poosspooss." My voice was
  like molten honey, my finger near her face. I would rub her cheek ever so
  gently and she would be mine. It never failed.
  "Pahl" replied Georgina warningly but I took no heed and touched the fur
  under her chin.
  "Pah-pah!" Georgina spat and followed with a lightning left hook which
  opened a bloody track across the back of my hand.
      ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL151

  Muttering fervently, I retreated and nursed my wounds. From below Mrs.
  Beck gave a tinkling laugh.
  "Oh, isn't she a little monkeyl She's that playful, bless her."
  I snorted and began to ease my way along the branch again. This time, I
  thought grimly, I would dispense with finesse. The quick grab was
  indicated here.
  As though reading my thoughts the little creature tripped to the end of
  the branch and as it bent low under her weight she dropped lightly to the
  grass.
  Tristan was on her in a flash, throwing himself full length and seizing
  her by the hind leg. Georgina whipped round and unhesitatingly sank her
  teeth into his thumb but Tristan's core of resilience showed. After a
  single howl of agony he changed his grip at lightning speed to the scruff
  of the neck.
  A moment later he was standing upright holding a dangling fighting fury
  high in the air.
 "Right, Jim," he called happily. "I have her."
  "Good lad! Hang on!" I said breathlessly and slithered down the tree as
  quickly as I could. Too quickly, in fact, as an ominous ripping sound
  announced the removal of a triangular piece of my jacket elbow.
  But I couldn't bother with trifles. Ushering Tristan at a gallop into the
  house I opened the cardboard box. There were no sophisticated cat
  containers in those days and it was a tricky job to enclose Georgina, who
  was lashing out in all directions and complaining bitterly in a bad-tem-
  pered wail.
  It took a panting ten minutes to imprison the cat but even with several
  yards of rough twine round the floppy cardboard I still didn't feel very
  secure as I bore it to the car.
  Mrs. Beck raised a finger as we were about to drive away. I carefully
  explored my lacerated hand and Tristan sucked his thumb as we waited for
  her to speak.
  "Mr. Herriot, I 'ope you'll be gentle with 'er," she said anxiously.
  "She's very timid, you know."
  We bad covered barely half a mile before sounds of strife arose from the
  back.
 "Get back! Get in there. Get back, you bugger!"
  I glanced behind me. Tristan was having trouble. Georgina clearly didn't
  care for the motion of the car and
 152ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 from the slits in the box clawed feet issued repeatedly; on one occasion
 an enraged spitting face got free as far as the neck. Tristan kept pushing
 everything back with great resolution but I could tell from the rising
 desperation of his cries that he was fighting a losing battle.
 I heard the final shout with a feeling of inevitability.
 "She's out, Jim! The bugger's outt"
  Well this was great. Anybody who has driven a car with a hysterical cat
  hurtling around the interior will appreciate my situation. I crouched low
  over the wheel as the furry creature streaked round the sides or leaped
  clawing at the roof or windscreen with Tristan lunging vainly after her.
  But cruel fate had not finished with us yet. My colleague's gasps and
  grunts from the rear ceased for a moment to be replaced by a horrified
  shriek.
  "The bloody thing's shitting, Jiml She's shitting everywhere!"
  The cat was obviously using every weapon at her disposal and he didn't
  have to~ tell me. My nose was way ahead of him, and I frantically wound
  down the window. But I closed it just as quickly at the rising image of
  Georgina escaping and disappearing into the unknown.
  I don't like to think of the rest of that journey. I tried to breathe
  through my mouth and Tristan puffed out dense clouds of Woodbine smoke
  but it was still pretty terrible. Just outside Darrowby I stopped the car
  and we made a concerted onslaught on the animal; at the cost of a few
  more wounds, including a particularly painful scratch on my nose, we
  cornered her and fastened her once more in the box.
  Even on the operating table Georgina had a few tricks left. We were using
  ether and oxygen as anaesthetic and she was particularly adept at holding
  her breath while the mask was on her face then returning suddenly to
  violent life when we thought she was asleep. We were both sweating when
  she finally went under.
  I suppose it was inevitable, too, that she should be a difficult case.
  Ovaro-hysterectomy in the cat is a fairly straightforward procedure and
  nowadays we do innumerable cases uneventfully, but in the thirties,
  particularly in country practice, it was infrequently done and conse-
  quently a much larger undertaking.
 I personally had my own preferences and aversions in
       ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL153

 this field. For instance, I found thin cats easy to do and fat cats
 difficult. Georgina was extremely fat.
  When I opened her abdomen an ocean of fat welled up
 at me, obscuring everything, and I spent a long nerve
 racking period lifting out portions of bowel or omenturn
 with my forceps, surveying them gloomily and stuffing
 them back in again. A great weariness had begun to creep
 over me by the time I at last managed to grip the pink
 ovary between the metallic jaws and drew forth the slen
 der string of uterus. After that it was routine, but I still
 felt a strange sense of exhaustion as I inserted the last
 stitch.                  il
  I put the sleeping cat into the box and beckoned to Tristan. "Come on,
  let's get her home before she comes round." I was starting along the
  passage when he put his hand on my arm.
 "Jim," he said gravely. "You know I'm your friend."
 "Yes, Triss, of course."
 "I'd do anything for you, Jim,"
 "I'M Sure you would."
  He took a deep breath. "Except one thing. I'm not going back in that
  bloody car."
 I nodded dully. I really couldn't blame him.
 "That's all right," I said. "I'll be off then."
  Before leaving I sprinkled the interior with pine-smelling disinfectant
  but it didn't make much difference. In any case my main emotion was the
  hope that Georgina wouldn't wake up before I got to Rayton, and that was
  shattered before I had crossed Darrowby market place. The hair prickled
  on the back of my neck as an ominous droning issued from the box on the
  rear seat. It was like the sound of a distant swarm of bees but I knew
  what it meant; the anaesthetic was wearing off.
  Once clear of the town I put my foot on the boards. This was something
  I rarely did because whenever I pushed my vehicle above forty miles an
  hour there was such a clamour of protest from engine and body that I al-
  ways feared the thing would disintegrate around me. But at this moment
  I didn't care. Teeth clenched, eyes staring. I hurtled forward, but I
  didn't see the lonely strip of tarmac or the stone walls flitting past;
  all my attention was focused behind me, where the swarm of bees was
  getting nearer and the tone angrier.
 154ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  When it developed into a bad-tempered yowling and was accompanied by the
  sound of strong claws tearing at cardboard I began to tremble. As I
  thundered into Rayton village 1. glanced behind me. Georgina was half out
  of the box. I reached back and grasped her scruff and when I stopped at
  the gate of Jasmine Cottage I pulled on the brake with one hand and
  lifted her on to my lap with the other.
  I sagged in the seat, my breath escaping in a great explosion- of relief;
  and my stiff features almost bent into a smile as I saw Mrs. Beck
  pottering in her garden.
  She took Georgina from me with a cry of joy but gasped in horror when she
  saw the shaven area and the two stitches on the cat's flank.
  "Oooh, my darlin'l What 'ave those nasty men been doin' to you?" She
  hugged the animal to her and glared at me.
  "She's all right, Mrs. Beck, she's fine," I said. "You can give her a
  little milk tonight and some solid food tomorrow. There's nothing to
  worry about."
  She pouted. "Oh, very well. And now. . She gave me a sidelong glance. "I
  suppose you'll want your money?"
 "Well, er . . ."
  "Wait there, then. I'll get it." She turned and went into the house.
  Standing there, leaning against the reeking car, feeling the sting of the
  scratches on my hands and nose and examining the long tear on my jacket
  elbow I felt physically and emotionally spent. All I had done this
  afternoon was spay a cat but I had nothing more to offer.
  Apathetically I watched the lady coming down the path. She was carrying
  a purse. At the gate she stopped and faced me.
 "Ten shillin's, wasn't it?"
 "Mat's right."
  She rummaged in the purse for some time before pulling out a ten-shilling
  note whichwas regarded sadly.
  "Oh Georgina, Georgina, you are an expensive pussy," she soliloquised.
  Tentatively I began to extend my hand but she pulled the note away. "Just
  a minute, I'm forgettin'. You 'ave to take the stitches out, don't you?"
 "Yes, in ten days."
      ALL TIHNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL1155

  She set her lips firmly. "Well there!s plenty of time to pay ye
  then-ye'll be here again."
 "Here again ... ? But you can't expect. .
  "I allus think it's unlucky to pay afore a job's finished," she said.
  "Summat terrible might happen to Georgina."
 "But. . . but ... 11
  "Nay, ah've made up me mind," she said. She replaced the money and
  snapped the purse shut with an air of finality before turning towards
  the house. Halfway up the path she looked over her shoulder and
  smiled.
  "Aye, that'll be the best way. Ye can collect your full fee on your
  final visit."
            CHAPTER
               is I

 We were ready to march away from Scarborough. And it was ironical that we
 were leaving just when the place was beginning to smile on us.
  In the May sunshine we stood on parade outside the Grand at 7 a.m. as we
  had done throughout the Yorkshire winter, mostly in darkness, often with
  the icy rain blowing in our faces. But now I felt a pang of regret as I
  looked over the heads at the wide beautiful bay stretching beneath its
  cliffs to the far headland, the sand cleanwashed and inviting, the great
  blue expanse of sea shimmering and glittering and over everything the
  delicious sea-smell of salt and seaweed, raising memories of holidays and
  happy things lost in the war.
  "Atten-slaun!" Flight Sergeant Blackett's bellow rolled over us as we
  stiffened in our ranks, every man carrying full kit, our packs braced with
  sheets of cardboard to give the sharp, rectangular look, hair cut short,
  boots gleaming, buttons shining like gold. Without our knowing, No. ten ITW
  had moulded us into a smart, disciplined unit, very different from the
  shambling, half-baked crew of six months ago. We had all passed our exams
  and were no longer AC2s but Leading Aircraftsmen, and as LAC Herriot my
  wage had rocketed from three shillings to a dizzying seven and threepence
  a day.
  "Right turn!" Again the roar. "By the left qui-ick march!"
  Arms high, moving as one, we swung past the front of the Grand for the last
  time. I shot a parting glance at the great building-like a dignified
  Victorian lady stripped of her finery-and I made a resolve. I would come
  back some day, when the war was over, and see the Grand Hotel as it should
  be.
 And I did, too. Years later, Helen and- I sat in deep
               156
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL157

 armchairs in the lounge where the SPs had barked. Waiters padded over the
 thick carpets with tea and muffins while a string orchestra played
 selections from Rose Marie.
  And in the evening we dined in the elegant room with its long unbroken
  line of window looking down on the sea. This room had been the cold open
  terrace where I learned to read the Aldis lamp flickering from the
  lighthouse, but now we sat in luxurious warmth eating grilled sole and
  watching the lights of the harbour and town beginning to wink in the
  gathering dusk.
  But that was very much in the future as the tramping feet echoed along
  Huntriss Row on the way to the station and the long lines of blue left
  the emptying square. We didn't know where we were going, everything was
  uncertain.
  Black's Veterinary Dictionary dug into my back through the layer of
  cardboard. It was an unwieldy article but- it reminded me of good days
  and gave me hope of more to come.
           CHAPTER
              19

 "It's the same the whole world over, it's the poor wot gets the blame. It's
 the rich wot gets the pleasure . . ."
  We were on a "toughening course," living under canvas in the depths of
  Shropshire, and this was one of the occasions when we were all gathered
  t6gether-hundreds of sunburned men-in a %uge marquee waiting to "be ad-
  dressed by a visiting air commodore.
  Before the great man arrived the platform was occupied by a lascivious
  sergeant who was whittling away the time by leading us in a succession of
  bawdy ditties accompanied by gestures. "It's the rich wot gets the . . . "
  but instead of "pleasure" he made a series of violent pumping movements
  with his forearm.
  I was intrigued by the reaction of the airman on my right. He was a slim,
  pink-faced lad of about nineteen and his lank fair hair fell over his face
  as he jumped up and down. He was really throwing himself into it, bawling
  out the indelicate words, duplicating the sergeant's gesticulations with
  maniacal glee. He was, I had recently learned, the son of a bishop.
  We had been joined on this course by the Oxford University Air Squadron.
  They were a group of superior and delicately nurtured young men and since
  I had spent three full days peeling potatoes with them I had come to know
  most of them very well. "Spud bashing" is an unequalled method of becoming
  familiar with one's fellow men and as, hour after hour, we filled countless
  bins with our produce, the barriers crumbled steadily until at the end of
  three days we didn't have many secrets from each other.
  The bishop's son had found something hilarious in the idea of a qualified
  veterinary surgeon leaving his practice to succour his country by removing
  the skins from thousands of tubers. And 1, on the other hand, derived some
  158
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL159

 reward from watching his antics. He was a charming and likeable lad but
 he seized avidly on anything with the faintest salacious slant. They say
 parsons' sons are a bit wild when let off the leash, and I suppose an
 escapee from a bishop's palace is even more susceptible to the
 blandishments of the big world.
  I looked at him again. All around him men were yelling their heads off,
  but his voice, mouthing the four-letter words with relish, rang above the
  rest and he followed the actions of the conducting sergeant like a
  devoted acolyte.
  It was all so different from Darrowby. My early days in the RAF with all
  the swearing and uninhibited conversation made me realise, perhaps for
  the first time, what kind of community I had left behind me. Because I
  often think that one of the least permissive societies in the history of
  mankind was the agricultural community of rural Yorkshire in the
  thirties. Among the farmers anything to do with sex or the natural
  functions was unmentionable.
  It made my work more difficult because if the animal's ailment had the
  slightest sexual connotation its owner would refuse to go into details
  if Helen or our secretary Miss Harbottle answered the 'phone. "I want the
  vet to come and see a cow," was as far as they would go.
  Today's case was typical and I looked at Mr. Hopps with some irritation.
  "Why didn't you say your cow wasn't coming into season? There's a new
  injection for that now but I haven't got it with me. I can't carry
  everything in my car, you know."
  The farmer studied his feet. "Well, it was a lady on t'phone and I didn't
  like to tell 'er that Snowdrop wasn't bullin'." He looked up-at me
  sheepishly. "Can't you do owt about it, then?"
  I sighed. "Maybe I can. Bring me a bucket of hot water and some soap."
  As I lathered my arm I felt a twinge of disappointment. I'd have liked
  to try that new Prolan injection. But on the other hand there was a
  certain interest in these rectal examinations.
  "Hold her tail, please," I said, an& began to work my hand carefully past
  the anal ring.
  We were doing a lot of this lately. The profession had awakened quite
  suddenly to the fact that bovine infertility
 16oALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 was no longer an impenetrable mystery. We were carrying out more and more
 of these examinations, and as I say, they had a strange fascination.
  Siegfried put it with his usual succinctness one morning.
  "James," he said. "There is more to be learned up a cow's arse than in
  many an encyclopedia."
  And, groping my way into this animal, I could see what he meant. Through
  the rectal wall I gripped the uterine cervix, then I worked along the
  right horn. It felt perfectly normal, as did the fallopian tube when I
  reached it. In another moment the ovary rested between my fingers like
  a walnut; but it was a walnut with a significant bulge and I smiled to
  myself. That swelling was the corpus luteum, the "yellow body" which was
  exerting its influence on the ovary and preventing the initiation of the
  normal oestral cycle.
  I squeezed gently on the base of the bulge and felt it part from the
  ovary and swim off into space. That was lovely-just what was required-and
  I looked happily -along the cow's back at the farmer.
  "I think I've put things right, Mr. Hopps. She should come on within the
  next day or two and you can get her served right away."
  I withdrew my arm, smeared with filth almost to the shoulder, and began
  to swill it with the warm water. This was the moment when young people
  with dewy-eyed ambitions to be veterinary surgeons usually decided to be
  lawyers or nurses instead. A lot of teenagers came round with me to see
  practice and it seemed to me that the sooner they witnessed the realities
  of the job the better it would be for them. A morning's pregnancy
  diagnoses or something similar had a salutary effect in sorting out the
  sheep from the goats.
  As I left the farm I had the satisfied feeling that I had really done
  something, and a sensation of relief that Mr. Hopps' delicacy hadn't
  resulted in an abortive visit.

 And when little Mr. Gilby crashed moaning on the cobbles of his byre
 floor, my first thought was that it was unfair that it should happen to
 him of all people.
  Because the natural delicacy and reticence of the times were embodied in
  him to an extreme degree. Even his physical make-up had something
  ethereal about it; nine
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL161

 stones of tiny bones, taut skin with no fat and a gentle, innocent face,
 almost child-like despite his fifty years. Nobody had ever heard Mr. Gilby
 swear or use a vulgar expression; in fact he was the only farmer I have ever
 known who talked about cow's "manure."
  Besides, as a strict methodist he didn't drink or indulge in worldly
  pleasures and had never been known to tell a lie. Altogether he was so good
  that I would have regarded him with deep suspicion if he had been anybody
  else. But I had come to know Mr. Gilby. He was a nice little man, he was as
  honest as the day. I would have trusted him with my life.
  That was why I was so sad to see him lying there. It had happened so
  quickly. We had only just come into the byre and he had pointed to a black
  Angus Cross cow almost opposite the door.
  "That's 'er. Got a touch o'cold, I think." He knew I would want to take the
  temperature and grasped the tail before putting one foot across the channel
  so that he could slide between the cow and her neighbour. That was when it
  happened; when his legs were wide apart in the worst possible position.
  In a way I wasn't surprised because that tail had been swishing
  bad-temperedly as we came in, and I am always a bit wary of black cows
  anyway. She didn't'seem to like our sudden entry and lashed out with her
  right hind foot with the speed of light, catching him with her flinty hoof
  full in the crutch as his legs were splayed. He was wearing only frayed,
  much-washed overall trousers and the protection was nil.
  I winced as the foot went home with an appalling thud, but Mr. Gilby showed
  no emotion at all. He dropped as though on the receiving end of a firing
  squad and lay motionless on the hard stones, his hands clutched between his
  legs. It was only after several seconds that he began to moan softly.
  As I hurried to his aid I felt it was wrong that I should be witnessing
  this disintegration of his modest fagade. The little farmer, I was sure,
  would rather have died than be caught in this inelegant position,
  grovelling on the floor gripping frantically at an unmentionable area. I
  kneeled on the cobbles and patted his shoulder while he fought his inner
  battle with his agony.
 After a while he felt well enough to sit up and I put
 162ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 my arm around him and supported him while perspiration bedewed the
 greenish pallor of his face. That was when the embarrassment began to
 creep in, because though he had removed his hands from their compromising
 position he was clearly deeply ashamed at being caught in a coarse
 attitude.
  I felt strangely helpless. The little man couldn't relieve his feelings
  in the usual way by cursing the animal and fate in general, nor could I
  help him to laugh the thing off with a few earthy remarks. This sort of
  thing happens now and then in the present day and usually gives rise to
  a certain amount of ripe comment, often embracing the possible effect on
  the victim's future sex life. It all helps.
  But here in Mr. Gilby's byre there was only an uncomfortable silence.
  After a time the colour began to return to his cheeks and the little man
  struggled slowly to his feet. He took a couple of deep breaths then
  looked at me unhappily. Obviously he thought he owed me some explapation,
  even apology, for his tasteless behaviour.
  As the minutes passed the tension rose. Mr. Gilby's mouth twitched once
  or twice as though he were about to speak but he seemed unable to find
  the words. At length he appeared to come to a decision. He cleared his
  throat, looked around him carefully then put his lips close to my ear.
  He clarified the whole situation by one hoarsely whispered, deeply
  confidential sentence.
 "Right in the privates, Mr. Herriot."
           CHAPTER
              20

 Little pictures kept floating up into my mind. Memories from the very early
 days at Skeldale House. Before the RAF, before Helen....
  Siegfried and I were at breakfast in the big diningroom. My colleague
  looked up from a letter he was reading.
 "James, do you remember Stewie Brannan?"
  I smiled. "I could hardly forget. That was quite a day at Brawton races."
  I would always carry a vivid recollection of Sie.-fried's amiable college
  chum with me.
  "Yes . . . yes, it was." Siegfried nodded briefly. "Well I've got a letter
  from him here. He's got six kids now, and though he doesn't complain, I
  don't think life is exactly a picnic working in a dump like Hensficid.
  Especially when he knocks a bare living out of it." He pulled thoughtfully
  at the lobe of his ear. "You know, James, it would be rather nice if he
  could have a break. Would you be willing to go through there and run his
  practice for a couple of weeks so that he could take his family on
  holiday?"
  "Certainly. Glad to. But you'll be a bit pushed here on your own, won't
  you?"
  Siegfried waved a hand. "It'fl do me good. Anyway it's the quiet time for
  us. I'll write back today."
  Stewie grasped the opportunity eagerly and within a few days I was on the
  road to Hensfield. Yorkshire is the biggest county in England and it must
  be the most varied. I could hardly believe it when, less than two hours
  after leaving the clean grassy fells and crystal air of Darrowby, I saw the
  forest of factory chimneys sprouting from the brown pall of grime.
  This was the industrial West Riding and I drove past mills as dark and
  satanic as any I had dreamed of, past
               163
 164ALL TENGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 long rows of dreary featureless houses where the workers lived. Everything
 was black; houses, mills, walls, trees, even the surrounding hillsides,
 smeared and soiled from the smoke which drifted across the town from a
 hundred belching stacks.
  Stewie's surgery was right in the heart of it, a gloomy edifice in a
  terrace of sooty stone. As I rang the bell I read the painted board:
  "Stewart Brannan MRCVS, Veterinary Surgeon and Canine Specialist." I was
  wondering what the Royal College would think about the last part when the
  door opened and my colleague stood before me.
  He seemed to fill the entrance. If anything he was fatter than before, but
  that was the only difference. Since it was August I couldn't expect him to
  be wearing his navy nap overcoat, but otherwise he was as I remembered him
  in Darrowby; the big, meaty, good-natured face, the greasy black hair
  slicked across the brow which always seemed to carry a gentle dew of
  perspiration.
  He reached out, grabbed my hand and pulled me delightedly through the
  doorway.
  "Jiml Great to see youl" He put an arm round my shoulders as we crossed a
  dark hallway. "It's good of you to help me out like this. The family are
  thrilledthey're all in the town shopping for the holiday. We've got fixed
  up in a flat at Blackpool." His permanent smile widened.
  We went into a room at the back where a rickety kitchen-type table'stood on
  brown linoleum. I saw a sink in one corner, a few shelves with bottles and
  a white-painted cupboard. The atmosphere held a faint redolence of carbolie
  and cat's urine.
  "This is where I see the animals," Stewie said contentedly. He looked at
  his watch. "Twenty past five I have a surgery at five thirty. I'll show you
  round fill then."
  It didn't take long because there wasn't much to see. I knew there was a
  more fashionable veterinary firm in Hensfield and that Stewie made his
  living from the poor people of the town; the whole set-up was an
  illustration of practice on a shoestring. There didn't seem to be more than
  one of anything-one straight suture needle, one curved needle, one pair of
  scissors, one syringe. There was a sparse selection of drugs and an
  extraordinary array of dispensing bottles and jars. These bottles were of
  many
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL165

 strange shapes-weird things which I had never seen in a dispensary before.
  Stewie seemed to read my thoughts. "It's nothing great, Jim. I haven't
  a smart practice and I don't make a lot, but we manage to clear the
  housekeeping and that's the main thing."
  The phrase was familiar. "Clear the housekeeping" -that was how he had
  put it when I first met him at Brawton races. It seemed to be the
  lodestar of his life.
  The end of the room was cut off by a curtain which my colleague drew to
  one side.
  "This is what you might call the waiting room." He smiled as I looked in
  some surprise at half a dozen wooden chairs arranged round the three
  walls. "No high-powered stuff, Jim, no queues into the streets, but we
  get by."
  Some of Stewie's clients were already filing in; two little girls with
  a black dog, a cloth-capped old man with a terrier on a string, a teenage
  boy carrying a rabbit in a basket.
  "Right," the big man said. "We'll get started." He pulled on a white
  coat, opened the curtain and said, "First, please."
  The little girls put their dog on the table. He was a long-tailed mixture
  of breeds and he stood trembling with fear, rolling his eyes
  apprehensively at the white coat.
  "All right, lad," Stewie murmured. "I'm not going to hurt you." He
  stroked and patted the quivering head before turning to the girls.
  "What's the trouble, then?"
 "It's 'is leg, Vs lame," one of them replied.
  As if in confirmation the little dog raised a fore leg and held it up
  with a pitiful expression. Stewie engulfed the limb with his great hand
  and palpated it with the utmost care. And it struck me immediately-the
  gentleness of this shambling bear of a man.
  "There's nothing broken," he said. "He's just sprained his shoulder. Try
  to rest it for a few days and rub this in night and morning."
  He poured some whitish liniment from a winchester bottle into one of the
  odd-sbaped bottles and handed it over.
  One of the little girls held out her hand and unclasped her fingers to
  reveal a shilling in her palm.
 "Thanks," said Stewie without surprise. "Goodbye."
 He saw several other cases, then as he was on his way
 166ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 to the curtain two grubby urchins appeared through the door at the other
 end of the room. They carried a clothes basket containing a widely varied
 assortment of glassware.
  Stewie bent over the basket, lifting out HP sauce bottles, pickle jars,
  ketchup containers and examining them with the air of a connoisseur. At
  length he appeared to come to a decision.
 "Threepence," he said.
 "Sixpence," said the urchins in unison.
 "Fourpence," grunted Stewie.
 "Sixpence," chorused the urchins.
 "Fivepence," my colleague muttered doggedly.
 "Sixpence!" There was a hint of triumph in the cry.
  Stewie sighed. "Go on then." He passed over the coin and began to stack
  the bottles under the sink.
  "I just scrape off the labels and give them a good boil up, Jim."
 "I see."
 "It's a big saving."
  "Yes, of course." The mystery of the strangely shaped dispensing bottles
  was suddenly resolved.
  It was six thirty when the last client came through the curtain. I had
  watched Stewie examining each animal carefully, taking his time and
  treating their conditions ably within the confines of his limited
  resources. His charges were all around a shilling or two shillings and
  it was easy to see why he only just cleared the housekeeping.
  One other thing I noticed; the pcople all seemed to like him. He had no
  "front" but he was kind and concerned. I felt there was a lesson there.
  The last arrival was a stout lady with a prim manner and a very correct
  manner of speech.
  "My dog was bit last week," she announced, "and I'm afraid the wound is
  goin' antiseptic."
  "Ali yes." Stewie nodded gravely. The banana fingers explored the
  tumefied area on the animal's neck with a gossamer touch. "It's quite
  nasty, really. He could have an abscess there if we're not careful."
  He took a long time over clipping the hair away, swabbing out the deep
  puncture with peroxide of hydrogen. Then he puffed in some dusting
  powder, applied a pad of cotton wool and secured it with a bandage. He
  followed
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL167

 with an antistaphylococcal injection and finally handed over a sauce
 bottle filled to the rim with acriflavine solution.
  "Use as directed on the label," he said, then stood back as the lady
  opened her purse expectantly.
  A long inward struggle showed in the occasional twitches of his cheeks
  and flickerings of his eyelids but finally be squared his shoulders.
 "That," he said resolutely, "will be three and sixpence."
  It was a vast fee by Stewie's standards, but probably the minimum in
  other veterinary establishments, anQ I couldn't see how he could make any
  profit from the transaction.
  As the lady left, a sudden uproar broke out within the house. Stewic gave
  me a seraphic smile.
 "That'll be Meg and the kids. Come and meet them."
  We went out to the hall and into an incredible hubbub. Children shouted,
  screamed and laughed, spades and pails clattered, a large ball thumped
  from wall to wall and above it all a baby bawled relentlessly.
  Stewie moved into the mob and extracted a small woman.
 I "This," he murmured with quiet pride, "is my wife." He gazed at her like
 a small boy admiring a film star.
 "How do you do," I said.
  Meg Brannan took my hand and smiled. Any glamour about her existed only
  in her husband's eye. A ravaged prettiness still remained but her face
  bore the traces of some tough years. I could imagine her life of mother,
  housewife, cook, secretary, receptionist and animal nurse.
  "Oh, Mr. Herriot, it is good of you and Mr. Farnon to help us out like
  this. We're so looking forward to going away." Her eyes held a faintly
  desperate gleam but they were kind.
  I shrugged. "Oh it's a pleasure, Mrs. Brannan. I'm sure I'll enjoy it and
  I hope you all have a marvellous holiday." I really meant it-she looked
  as though she needed one.
  I was introduced to the children but I never really got them sorted out.
  Apart from the baby, who yelled indefatigably from leather lungs, I think
  there were three little boys and two little girls, but I couldn't be
  sure-they moved around too quickly.
  The only time they were silent was for a brief period at supper when Meg
  fed them and us from a kind of cauldron
 168ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 in which floated chunks of mutton, potatoes and carrots. It was very good,
 too, and was followed by a vast blancmange with jam on top.
  The tumult broke out again very soon as the youngsters raced through their
  meal and began to play in the room. One thing I found disconcerting was
  that the two biggest boys kept throwing a large, new, painted ball from one
  to the other across the table as we ate. The parents said nothing about
  it-Meg, I felt, because she had stopped caring, and Stewie because he never
  had cared.
  Only once when the ball whizzed past my nose and almost carried away a
  poised spoonful of blancmange did their father remonstrate.
  "Now then, now then," he murmured absently, and the throwing was re-sited
  more towards the middle of the table.
  Next morning I saw the family off. Stewie had changed his dilapidated
  Austin Seven for a large rust-encrusted Ford V Eight. Seated at the wheel
  he waved and beamed through the cracked side windows with serene content-
  ment. Meg~ by his side, managed a harassed smile and at the other windows
  an assortment of dogs and children fought for a vantage point. As the car
  moved away a pram, several suitcases and a cot swayed perilously on the
  roof, the children yelled, the dogs barked, the baby bawled, then they were
  gone.
  As I re-entered the house the unaccustomed silence settled around me, and
  with the silence came a faint unease. I had to look after this practice for
  two weeks and the memory of the thinly furnished surgery was not reassur-
  ing. I just didn't have the tools to tackle any major problem.
  But it was easy to comfort myself. From what I had seen this wasn't the
  sort of place where dramatic things happened. Stewie had once said he made
  most of his living by castrating tom cats and I supp6sed if you threw in a
  few ear cankers and minor ailments that would be about it.
  The morning surgery seemed to confirm this impression; a few humble folk
  led in nondescript pets with mild conditions and I happily dispensed a
  series of Bovril bottles and meat paste jars containing Stewie's limited
  drug store.
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL16q

  I had only one difficulty and that was with the table, which kept
  collapsing when I lifted the animals on to it. For some obscure reason
  it had folding legs held by metal struts underneath and these were apt
  to disengage at crucial moments, causing the patient to slide abruptly
  to the floor. After a while I got the hang of the thing and kept one leg
  jammed against the struts throughout the examination.
  It was about 10.30 a.m. when I finally parted the curtains and found the
  waiting room empty and only the distinctive cat-dog smell lingering on
  the air. As I locked the door it struck me that I had very little to do
  till the afternoon surgery. At Darrowby I would have been dashing out to
  start the long day's driving round the countryside, but here almost all
  the work was done at the practice house.
  I was wondering how I would put the time in after the single outside
  visit on the book when the door bell rang. Then it rang again followed
  by a frantic pounding on the wood. I hurried through the curtain and
  turned the handle. A well dressed young couple stood on the step. The man
  held a Golden Labrador in his arms and behind them a caravan drawn by a
  large gleaming car stood by the kerb.
  "Are you the vet?" the girl gasped. She was in her twenties, auburn
  haired, extremely attractive, but her eyes were terrified :
 I nodded. 'Yes-yes, I am. What's the trouble?"
  "It's our dog." The young man's voice was hoarse, his face deathly pale.
  "A car hit him."
  I glanced over the motionless yellow form. "Is he badly hurt?"
  There were a few moments of silence then the girl spoke almost in a
  whisper. "Look at his hind leg."
  I stepped forward and as I peered into the crook of the man's arm a
  freezing wave drove through me. The limb was banging off at the hock. Not
  fractured but snapped through the joint and dangling from what looked
  like a mere shred of skin. In the bright morning sunshine the white ends
  of naked bones glittered with a sickening lustre.
  It seemed a long time before I came out of my first shock and found
  myself staring stupidly at the animal. And when I spoke the voice didn't
  sound like my own.
 170ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "Bring him in," I muttered, and as I led the way back through the
  odorous waiting room the realisation burst on me that I had been wrong
  when I thought that nothing ever happened here.
           CHAPTER
              21

 1 held the curtains apart as the young man staggered in and placed his
 burden on the table.
  Now I could see the whole thing; the typical signs of a road accident;
  the dirt driven savagely into the glossy gold of the coat, the multiple
  abrasions. But that mangled leg wasn't typical. I had never seen anything
  like it before.
  I dragged my eyes round to the girl. "How did it happen?"
  "Oh, just in a flash." The tears welled in her eyes. "We are on a
  caravanning holiday. We had no intention of staying in Hensfield"-(I
  could understand that)-"but we stopped for a newspaper, Kim jumped out
  of the car and that was it."
  I looked at the big dog stretched motionless on the table. I reached out
  a hand and gently ran my fingers over the noble outlines of the head.
  "Poor old lad," I murmured and for an instant the beautiful hazel eyes
  turned to me and the tail thumped briefly against the wood.
 "Where have you come from?" I asked.
  "Surrey," the young man replied. He looked rather like the prosperous
  young stockbroker that the name conjured up.
  I rubbed my chin. "I see. A way of escape shone for a moment in the
  tunnel. "Perhaps if I patch him up you could get him back to your own vet
  there."
  He looked at his wife for a moment then back at me. "And what would they
  do there? Amputate his leg?"
  I was silent. If an animal in this condition arrived in one of those
  high-powered southern practices with plenty of skilled assistance and
  full surgical equipment that's what they probably would do. It would be
  the only sensible thing.
               171
172ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  The girl broke in on my thoughts. "Anyway, if it's at all possible to save
  his leg something has to be done right now. Isn't that so?" She gazed at me
  appealingly.
  "Yes," I said huskily. "That's right." I began to examine the dog. The
  abrasions on the skin were trivial. He was shocked but his mucous membranes
  were pink enough to suggest that there was no internal haemorrhage. He had
  escaped serious injury except for that terrible leg.
  I stared at it intently, appalled by the smooth glistening articular
  surfaces of the tibio-tarsal joint. There was something obscene in its
  exposure in a living animal. It was as though the hock had been broken open
  by brutal inquisitive hands.
  I began a feverish search of the premises, pulling open drawers, cupboards,
  opening tins and boxes. My heart leaped at each little find; a jar of
  catgut in spirit, a packet of lint, a sprinkler tin of iodoform,
  and-treasure trove indeed-a bottle of barbiturate anaesthetic.
  Most of all I needed antibiotics, but it was pointless looking for those
  because they hadn't been discovered yet. But I did hope fervently for just
  an ounce or two of sulphanilamide, and there I was disappointed, because
  Stewie's menage didn't stretch to that. It was when I came upon the box of
  plaster of paris bandages that something seemed to click.
  At that time in the late thirties the Spanish civil war was vivid in
  people's minds. In the chaos of the later stages there had been no proper
  medicaments to treat the terrible wounds. They had often been encased in
  plaster and left, in the grim phrase, to "stew in their own juice."
  Sometimes the results were surprisingly good.
  I grabbed the bandages. I knew what I was going to do. Gripped by a fierce
  determination I inserted the needle into the radial vein and slowly
  injected the anaestbetic Kim blinked, yawned lazily and went to sleep. I
  quickly' laid out my meagre armoury then began to shift the dog into a
  better position. But I had forgotten about the table and as I lifted the
  hind quarters the whole thing gave way and the dog slithered helplessly
  towards the floor.
  "Catch him!" At my frantic shout the man grabbed the inert form, then I
  reinserted the slots in their holes and got the wooden surface back on the
  level.
 "Put your leg under there," I gasped, then turned to
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL173

 the girl. "And would you please do the same at the other end. This table
 mustn't fall over once I get started."
  Silently they complied and as I looked at them, each with a leg jammed
  against the underside, I felt a deep sense of shame. What sort of place
  did they think this was?
  But for a long time after I forgot everything. First I put the joint back
  in place, slipping the ridges of the tibialtarsal trochlea into the
  grooves at the distal end of the tibia as I had done so often in the
  anatomy lab at college. And I noticed with a flicker of hope that some
  of the ligaments were still intact and, most important, that a few good
  blood vessels still ran down to the lower part of the limb.
  I never said a word as I cleaned and disinfected the area, puffed
  iodoform into every crevice and began to stitch. I stitched interminably,
  pulling together shattered tendons, torn joint capsule and fascia. It was
  a warm morning and as the sun beat on the surgery window the sweat broke
  out on my forehead. By the time I had sutured the skin a little river was
  flowing down my nose and dripping from the tip. Next, more iodoform, then
  the lint and finally two of the plaster bandages, making a firm cast
  above the hock down over the foot.
  I straightened up and faced the young couple. They had never moved from
  their uncomfortable postures as they held the table upright but I gazed
  at them as though seeing them for the first time.
  I mopped my brow and drew a long breath. "Well, that's it. I'd be
  inclined to leave it as it is for a week, then wherever you are let a vet
  have a look at it."
  They were silent for a moment then the girl spoke. "I would rather you
  saw it yourself." Her husband nodded agreement.
  "Really?" I was amazed. I had thought they would never want to see me,
  my smelly waiting room or my collapsible table again.
  "Yes, of course we would," the man said. "You have taken such pains over
  him. Whatever happens we are deeply grateful to you, Mr. Brannan."
  "Oh, rm not Mr. Brannan, he's on holiday. I'm his locum, my name is
  Herriot."
  He held out his hand. "Well thank you again, Mr. Herriot. I am Peter
  Gillard and this is my wife, Marjorie."
 174ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  We shook hands and he took the dog in his arms and went out to the car.
  For the next few days I couldn't keep Kim's leg out of my mind, At times
  I felt I was crazy trying to salvage a limb that was joined to the dog
  only by a strip of skin. I had never met anything remotely like it before
  and in unoccupied moments the hock joint with all its imponderables would
  float across my vision.
  There were plenty of these moments because Stewie's was a restful
  practice. Apart from the three daily surgeries there was little activity,
  and in particular the uncomfortable pre-breakfast call so common in
  Darrowby was unknown here.
  The Brannans had left the house and me in the care of Mrs. Holroyd, an
  elderly widow of raddled appearance who slouched around in a flowered
  overall down which ash cascaded from a permanently dangling cigarette.
  She wasn't a good riser but she soon had me trained, because after a few
  mornings when I couldn't find her I began to prepare my own breakfast and
  that was how it stayed.
  However, at other times she looked after me very well. She was what you
  might call a good rough cook and pushed large tasty meals at me regularly
  with a "There y'are, luv," watching me impassively till I started to cat.
  The only thing that disturbed me was the long trembling finger of ash
  which always hung over my food from the cigarette that was part of her.
  Mrs. Holroyd also took telephone messages when I wasn't around. There
  weren't many outside visits but two have stuck in my memory.
  The first was when I looked on the pad and read, "Go to Mr. Pimmarov to
  see bulldog," in Mrs. Holroyd's careful backsloped script.
  "Pimmarov?" I asked her. "Was he a Russian gentleman?"
 "Dunno, luv, never asked 'im."
  "Well-did he sound foreign? I mean did he speak broken English?"
 "Nay, I uv, Yo rkshi re as me, 'e were.
  "Ah well, never mind, Mrs. Holroyd. What's his address?"
  She gave me a surprised look. "How should ah know? He never said."
       ALL TFUNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL175

  "But ... but Mrs. Holroyd. How can I visit him when I don't know where
  he lives?"
 "Well you'll know best about that, luv."
 I was baffled. "But he must have told you."
  "Now then, young man, Pimmarov was all 'e told me. Said you would know."
  She stuck out her chin, her cigarette quivered and she regarded me
  stonily. Maybe she had had similar sessions with Stewie, but she left me
  in no doubt that the interview was over.
  During the day I tried not to think about it btit the knowledge that
  somewhere in the neighbourhood there was an ailing bulldog that I could
  not succour was worrying. I just hoped it was nothing fatal.
 A phone call at 7 p.m. resolved my fears.
 "Is that t'vet?" The voice was gruff and grumpy.
 "Yes ... speaking."
  "Well, ah've been waitin' all day for tha. When are you comin' to see ma.
  flippin' bulldog?"
  A light glimmered. But still . . . that accent ... no suggestion of the
  Kremlin. . . not a hint of the Steppes.
  "Oh, I'm terribly sorry," I gabbled. "I'm afraid there's been a little
  misunderstanding. I'm doing Mr. Brannan's work and I don't know the
  district. I do hope your dog isn't seriously ill."
  "Nay, nay, nobbut a bit o' cough, but ah want 'im seein' to."
 "Certainly, certainly, I'll be right out, Mr. . . . er
  "Pym's ma name and ah live next to tpost office in Roff village."
 "Roff?"
 "Aye, two miles outside Hensfield."
  I sighed with relief. "Very good, Mr. Pym, I'm on my way.,,
  "Thank ye." The voice sounded mollified. "Well, tha knows me now, don't
  tha-Pym o' Roff ."
  The light was blinding. "Pym o' Roff!" Such a simple explanation.
  A lot of Mrs. Holroyd's messages were eccentric but I could usually
  interpret them after some thought. However one bizarre entry jolted me
  later in the week. It read simply: "Johnson, 12, Back Lane, Smiling Harry
  Syphilis."
  I wrestled with this for a long time before making a diffident approach
  to Mrs. Holroyd.
 176ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  She was kneading dough for scones and didn't look up as I entered the
  kitchen.
  "Ah, Mrs. Holroyd." I rubbed my hands nervously. "I see you have written
  down that I have to go to Mr. Johnson's."
 "That's right, luv."
  "Well, er . . . fine, but I don't quite understand the other part-tbe
  Smiling Harry Syphilis."
  She shot a sidelong glance at me. "Well that's 'ow you spell the word,
  isn't it? Ah looked it up once in a doctor's book in our 'ouse," she said
  defensively.
  "Oh yes, of course, yes, you've spelled it correctly. It's just the
  Smiling ... and the Harry."
  Her eyes glinted dangerously and she blew a puff of smoke at me. "Well,
  that's what t'feller said. Repeated it three times. Couldn't make no
  mistake."
 "I see. But did he mention any particular animal?"
  "Naw, 'e didn't. That was what 'e said. That and no more." A grey spicule
  of ash toppled into the basin and was immediately incorporated in the
  scones. "Ah do ma best, tha knows!"
  "Of course you do, Mrs. Holroyd," I said hastily. "I'll just pop round
  to Back Lane now."
  And Mr. Johnson put everything right within seconds as he led me to a
  shed on his allotment.
  "It's me pig, guvnor. Covered wi' big red spots. Reckon it's Swine
  Erysipelas."
  Only he pronounced it arrysipelas and he did have a slurring mode of
  speech. I really couldn't blame Mrs. Holroyd.
  Little things like that enlivened the week but the tension still mounted
  as I awaited the return of Kim. And even when the seventh day came round
  I was still in suspense because the Gillards did not appear at the
  morning surgery. When they failed to show up at the afternoon session I
  began to conclude that they had had the good sense to return south to a
  more sophisticated establishment. But at five thirty they were there.
  I knew it even before I pulled the curtains apart. The smell of doom was
  everywhere, filling the premises, and when I went through the curtains
  it hit me; the sickening stink of putrefaction.
  Gangrene. It was the fear which had haunted me all week and now it was
  realised.
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL177

  There were about half a dozen other people in the waiting room, all
  keeping as far away as possible from the young couple who looked up at
  me with strained smiles. Kim tried to rise when he saw me but I had eyes
  only for the dangling useless hind limb where my once stone-hard plaster
  hung in sodden folds.
  Of course it had to happen that the Gillards were last in and I was
  forced to see all the other animals first. I examined them and prescribed
  treatment in a stupor of misery and shame. What had I done to that
  beautiful dog out there? I had been crazy to try that experiment. A
  gangrenous leg meant that even amputation might be too late to save his
  life. Death from septicaernia was likely now and what the bell could I
  do for him in this ramshackle surgery?
  Nften at last it was their turn the Gillards came in with Kim limping
  between them, and it was an extra stab to realise afresh what a handsome
  animal he was. I bent over the great golden head and for a moment the
  friendly eyes looked into mine and the tail waved.
  "Right," I said to Peter Gillard, putting my arms tinder the chest. "You
  take the back end and we'll lift him up."
  As we hoisted the heavy dog on to the table the flimsy structure
  disintegrated immediately, but this time the young people were ready for
  it and thrust their legs under the struts like a well-trained team till
  the surface was level again.
  With Kim stretched on his side I fmgered the bandage. It usually took
  time and patience with a special saw to remove a plaster but this was
  just a stinking pulp. My hands shook as I cut the bandage lengthways with
  scissors and removed it.
  I had steeled myself against the sight of the cold dead limb with its
  green flesh but though there was pus and serous fluid everywhere the
  exposed flesh was a surprising, healthy pink. I took the foot in my hand
  and my heart gave a great bound. It was warm and so was the leg, right
  up to the hock. There was no gangrene.
  Feeling suddenly weak I leaned against the table. "I'm sorry about the
  terrible smell. All the pus and discharge have been decomposing under the
  bandage for a week but despite the mess it's not as bad as I feared."
  "Do you . . . do you think you can save his leg?" Marjorie Gillard's
  voice trembled.
 178ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "I don't know. I honestly don't know, So much has to happen. But I'd say
  it was a case of so far so good."
  I cleaned the area thoroughly with spirit, gave a dusting of iodoform and
  applied fresh lint and two more plaster bandages.
  "You'll feel a lot more comfortable now, Kim," I said, and the big dog
  flapped his tail against the wood at the sound of his name.
  I turned to his owners. "I want him to have another week in plaster, so
  what would you like to do?"
  "Oh, we'll stay around Hensfield," Peter Gillard replied. "We've found
  a place for our caravan by the river-it's not too bad."
  "Very well, till next Saturday, then." I watched Kim hobble out, holding
  his new white cast high, and as I went back into the house relief flowed
  over me in a warm wave.
  But at the back of my mind the voice of caution sounded. There was still
  a long way to go....
           CHAPTER

             22

 The second week went by without incident. I had a mildly indecent postcard
 from Stewie and a view of Blackpool Tower from his wife. The weather was
 scorching and they were having the best holiday of their lives. I tried
 to pieture them enjoying themselves but I had to wait a few weeks for the
 evidence-a snap taken by a beach photographer. The whole family were
 standing in the sea, grinning delightedly into the camera as the wavelets
 lapped round their ankles. The children brandished buckets and spades, the
 baby dangled bandy legs towards the water, but it was Stewie who
 fascinated me. A smile of blissful contentment beamed from beneath a
 knotted handkerchief, sturdy braces supported baggy flannel trousers
 rolled decorously calf high. He was the archetype of the British father
 on holiday.
  The last event of my stay in Hensfield was a visit to the local greyhound
  track. Stewie had an appointment there every other Friday to inspect the
  dogs.
  The Hensfield stadium was not prepossessing from the outside. It had been
  built in a natural hollow in the sooty hills and was surrounded by
  ramshackle hoardings.
  It was a cool night and as I drove down to the entrance I could bear the
  tinny blaring from the loudspeakers. It was George Formby singing "When
  I'm Cleaning Windows" and strumming on his famous ukelele.
  There are all kinds of greyhound tracks. My own experience had been as
  a student, accompanying vets who officiated under the auspices of the
  National Greyhound Racing Club, but this was an unlicensed or "flapping"
  track, and vastly different. I know there are many highly reputable
  flapping tracks but this one had a seedy air. It was, I thought wryly,
  just the sort of place that would be under the care of Stewie.

               179
 180ALL TONGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  First I had to go to the manager's office. Mr. Coker was a hard-eyed man
  in a shiny pin-striped suit and he nodded briefly before giving me a
  calculating stare.
  "Your duties here are just a formality," he said, twisting his features
  into a smile. "There'll be nothing to trouble you."
  I had the impression that he was assessing me with quiet satisfaction,
  looking me up and down, taking in my rumpled jacket and slacks,
  savouring; my obvious youth and inexperience. He kept the smile going as
  he stubbed out his cigar. "Well, I hope you'll have a pleasant evening.,,
 "Thank you," I replied, and left.
  I met the judge, timekeeper and other officials then went down to a long
  glass-fronted bar overlooking the track. Quite suddenly I felt I was in
  an alien environinent. The place was rapidly filling xip and the faces
  around me were out of a different mould from the wholesome rural
  countenan~es of Darrowby. There seemed to be a large proportion of fat
  men in camel coats with brassy blondes in tow. Shifty-looking characters
  studied race cards and glared intently at the flickering numbers on the
  tote board.
  I looked at my watch. It was time to, inspect the dogs for the first
  race. "When I'm cleanin' winders I" bawled George Formby as I made my way
  round the edge of the track to the paddock, a paved enclosure with a
  wire-netting surround. Five dogs were being led round the perimeter and
  I stood in the centre and watch8d them for a minute or two. Then I halted
  them and went from one to the other, looking at their eyes, examining
  their mouths for salivation and finally palpating their abdomens.
  They all appeared bright and normal except number four which seemed
  rather full in the stomach region. A greyhound should only have a light
  meal on the morning of a race and nothing thereafter and I turned to the
  man who was holding the animal.
  "Has this dog been fed within the last hour or two?" I asked.
 "No," he replied. "He's had nothing since breakfast."
  As I passed my fingers over the abdomen again I had the feeling that
  several of the onlookers were watching me with unusual intentness. But
  I dismissed it as imagination and passed on to the next animal.
 Number four was second favourite but from the moment
      ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFULT81

 it left its trap it was flagging. It finished last and from the darkness on
 the far side of the track a storm of booing broke out. I was able to make
 out some of the remarks which came across on the night air. "Open your
 bloody eyes, vet!" was one of them. And here, in the long, brightly lit bar
 I could see people nudging each other and looking at me.
  I felt a thrill of anger. Maybe some of those gentlemen down there thought
  they could cash in on Stewie's absence. I probably looked a soft touch to
  them.
  My next visit to the paddock was greeted with friendly nods and grins from
  all sides. In fact there was a strong atmosphere of joviality. When I went
  round the dogs all was well until I came to number five and this time I
  couldn't be mistaken. Under my probing fingers the stomach bulged tensely
  and the animal gave a soft grunt as I squeezed.
  "You'll have to take this dog out of the race," I said. "He's got a full
  stomach."
 The owner was standing by the kennel lad.
 "Can't 'ave!" he burst out. "He's had nowt!"
  I straightened up and looked him full in the face but his eyes were
  reluctant to meet mine. I knew some of the tricks; a couple of pounds of
  steak before the race; a bowlful of bread crumbs and two pints of milk-the
  crumbs swelled beautifully within a short time. .
  "Would you like me to vomit him?" I began to move away. "I've got some
  washing soda in my car-we'11 soon find out."
  The man held up a hand. "Naw, naw, I don't want you messin' about with me
  dog." He gave me a malevolent glare and trailed sulkily away.
  I had only just got back to the bar when I heard the announcement over the
  loudspeakers. "Will the vet please report to the manager's office."
  Mr. Coker looked up from his desk and glared at me through a haze of cigar
  smoke. "You've taken a dog out of the race!"
 "That's right. I'm sorry, but his stomach was full."
  "But damn it . . . !" He stabbed a finger at me then subsided and forced a
  tortured smile across his face. "Now, Mr. Herriot, we have to be reasonable
  in these matters. I've no doubt you know your job, but don't you think
  there's just a chance you could be wrong?" He
 182ALL TIHNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 waved his cigar expansively. "After all, anybody can make a mistake, so
 perhaps you would be kind enough to reconsider." He stretched his smile
 wider.
  "No, I'm sorry, Mr. Coker, but that would be impossible."
 There was a long pause. "That's your last word, then?"
 4111 is.,,
 The smile vanished and he gave me a threatening stare.
  "Now look," he said. "You've mucked up that race and it's a serious matter.
  I don't want any repetition, do you understand?" He ground his cigar out
  savagely and his jaw jutted. "So I hope we won't have any more trouble like
  this."
 "I hope so, too, Mr. Coker," I said as I went out.
  It seemed a long way down to the paddock on my next visit. It was very dark
  now and I was conscious of the hum of the crowd, the shouts of the bookies
  and George and his ukelele still going full blast. "Oh, don't the wind blow
  cold!" he roared.
  This time it was dog number two. I could feel the tension as I examined him
  and found the same turgid belly.
  "This one's out," I said, and apart from a few black looks there was no
  argument.
  They say bad news travels fast and I had hardly started my return journey
  when George was switched off and the loudspeaker asked me to report to the
  manager's office.
  Mr. Coker was no longer at his desk. He was pacing up and down agitatedly
  and when he saw me he did another length of the room before coming to a
  halt. His expression was venomous and it was clear he had decided that the
  tough approach was best
  "What the bloody hell do you think you're playing atT' he barked. "Are you
  trying to ruin this meeting?"
  "No," I replied. "I've just taken out another dog which was unfit to run.
  That's my job. That's what I'm here for."
  His face flushed deep red. "I don't think you know what you're here for.
  Mr. Brannan goes off on holiday and leaves us at the mercy of a young
  clever clogs like you, throwing your weight about and spoiling peoples
  pleasure. Wait till I see him!"
  "Mr. Brannan would have done just the same as I have. Any veterinary
  surgeon would."
  "Rubbishl Don't tell me what it's all about-you're still wet behind the
  ears." He advanced slowly towards me.
      ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL183

 "But I'll tell you this, I've had enough! So get it straight, once and for
 all-no more of this nonsense. Cut it out!"
  I felt my heart thudding as I went down to see the dogs for the next
  race. As I examined the five animals the owners and kennel lads fixed me
  with a hypnotic stare as though 1-were some strange freak. My pulse began
  to slow down when I found there were no full stomachs this time and I
  glanced back in relief along the line. I was about to walk away when I
  noticed that number one looked a little unusual. I went back and bent
  over him, trying to decide what it was about him that bad caught my
  attention. Then I realised what it was-be looked sleepy. The head was
  hanging slightly and he had an air of apathy.
  I lifted his chin and looked into his eyes. The pupils were dilated and
  every now and then there was a faint twitch of nystagmus. There was
  absolutely no doubt about it-he had received some kind of sedative. He
  had been doped.
  The men in the paddock were very still as I stood upright. For a few
  moments I gazed through the wire netting at the brightly fit green oval,
  feeling the night air cold on my cheeks. George was still at it on the
  loudspeakers.
 "Oh Mr. Wu," he trilled. "What can I do?"
  Well I knew what I had to do, anyway. I tapped the dog ou the back.
 "This one's out," I said.
  I didn't wait for the announcement and was half way up the steps to the
  manager's office before I heard the request for my presence blared across
  the stadium.
  When I opened the door I half expected Mr. Coker to rush at me and attack
  me and I was surprised when I found him sitting at his desk, his head
  buried in his hands. I stood there on the car-pet for some time before
  he raised a ghastly countenance to me.
  "Is it true?" he whispered despairingly. "Have you done it again?"
 I nodded. "Afraid so."
  His lips trembled but he didn't say anything, and after a brief,
  disbelieving scrutiny he sank his head in his hands again.
  I waited for a minute or two but when he stayed like that, quite
  motionless, I realised that the audience was at an end and took my leave.
 184ALL THINGS WISH AND WONDERFUL

  I found no fault with the dogs for the next race and as I left the
  paddock an unaccustomed peace settled around me. I couldn't understand
  it when I heard the loudspeaker again-"Will the vet please report . . ."
  But this time it was to the paddock and I wondered if a dog had been in-
  jured. Anyway, it would be a relief to do a bit of real vetting for a
  change.
  But when I arrived there were no animals to be seen;. only two men
  cradling a fat companion in their arms.
 "What's this?" I asked one of them.
  "Ambrose 'ere fell down the steps in the stand and skinned 'is knee."
 I stared at him. "But I'm a vet, not a doctor."
  "Ain't no doctor on the track," the man mumbled. "We reckoned you could
  patch 'im. up."
  Ah well, it was a funny night. "Put him over on that bench," I said.
  I rolled up the trouser to reveal a rather revolting fat dimpled knee.
  Ambrose emitted a hollow groan as I touched a very minor abrasion on the
  patella.
  "It's nothing much," I said. "You've just knocked a bit of skin off."
  Ambrose looked at me tremblingly. "Aye, but it could go t'wrong way,
  couldn't it? I don't want no blood poisonin'."
  "All right, I'll put something on it." I looked inside Stewie's medical
  bag. The selection was limited but I found some tincture of iodine and
  I poured a little on a pad of cotton wool and dabbed the wound.
  Ambrose gave a shrill yelp. "Bloody 'ell, that 'urtsl What are you doin'
  to me?" I-Es foot jerked up and rapped me sharply on the elbow.
  Even my human patients kicked me, it seemed. I smiled reassuringly.
  "Don't worry, it won't sting for long. I'll put a bandage on now."
  I bound up the knee, rolled down the trouser and patted the fat man's
  shoulder. "There you are-good as new."
  He got off the bench, nodded, then grimacing painfully, prepared to,
  leave. But an afterthought appeared to strike him and he pulled a handful
  of change from his pocket. He rummaged among it with a forefinger before
  selecting a coin which he pressed into my palm.
 "There Y'are," he said.
 I looked at the coin. It was a sixpence, the fee for my
      ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL185

 only piece of doctoring of my own species. I stared stupidly at it for a
 long time and when I finally looked up with the half-formed idea of
 throwing Ambrose's bonorarium back at his head the man was limping into
 the crowd and was soon lost to sight.
  Back in the bar I was gazing apathetically through the glass at the dogs
  parading round the track when I felt a hand on my arm. I turned and
  recognised a man I had spotted earlier in the evening. He was one of a
  group of three men and three women, the men dark, tight-suited, the women
  loud and overdressed. There was something sinister about them and I
  remembered thinking that in different clothes the men could have passed
  without question as a group of bandits.
  The man put his face close to mine and I had a brief impression of black,
  darting eyes and a predatory smile.
 "Is number three fit?" he whispered.
  I couldn't understand the question. He seemed to know I was the vet and
  surely it was obvious that if I had passed the dog I considered him fit.
 "Yes," I replied. "Yes, he is."
  The man nodded vigorously and gave me a knowing glance from hooded eyes.
  He returned and held a short, intimate conversation with his friends,
  then they all turned and looked over at me approvingly.
  I was bewildered, then it struck me that they may have thought I was
  giving them an inside tip. To this day I am not really sure but I think
  that was it because when number three finished nowhere in the race their
  attitude changed dramatically and they flashed me some black glares which
  made them look more like bandits than ever.
  Anyway I had no more trouble down at the paddock for the rest of the
  evening. No more dogs_ to take out, which was just as well, because I had
  made enough enemies for one night.
  After the last race I looked around the long bar. Most of the tables were
  occupied by people having a final drink, but I noticed an empty one and
  sank wearily into a chair. Stewie had asked me to stay for half an. hour
  after the finish to make sure all the dogs got away safely and I would
  stick to my bargain even though what I wanted most in the world was to
  get away from here and never come back.
 George was still in splendid voice on the loudspeakers.
 186ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "I always get to bed by half past nine," he warbled, and I felt strongly
 that he had a point there.
  Along the bar counter were assembled most of the people with whom I had
  clashed; Mr. Coker and other officials and dog owners. There was a lot,of
  nudging and whispering and I didn't have to be told the subject of their
  discussion. The bandits, too, were doing their bit with fierce side
  glances and I could almost feel the waves of antagonism beating against
  me.
  My gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a bookie and his
  clerk. The bookie dropped into a chair opposite me and tipped out a huge
  leather bag on to the table. I had never seen so much money in my life.
  I peered at the man over a mountain of fivers and pounds and ten-sbilling
  notes while little streams and tributaries of coins ran down its flanks.
  The two of them began a methodical stacking and counting of the loot
  while I watched hypnotically. They 'had eroded the mountain to about half
  its height when the bookie caught my eye. Maybe he thought I looked envi-
  ous or poverty-stricken or just miserable because he put his finger
  behind a stray half crown and flicked it expertly across the smooth
  surface in my direction.
 "Get yourself a drink, son," he said.
  It was the second time I had been offered money during the last hour and
  I was almost as much taken aback as the first time. The bookie looked at
  me expressionlessly for a moment then he grinned. He had an attractively
  ugly, good-natured face that I liked instinctively and suddenly I felt
  grateful to him, not for the money but for the sight of a friendly face.
  It was the only one I had seen all evening.
  I smiled back. "Thanks," I said. I lifted the half crown and went over
  to the bar.

 I awoke next morning with the knowledge that it was my last day at
 Hensfield. Stewie was due back at lunch time.
  When I parted the now familiar curtains at the morning surgery I still
  felt a vague depression, a hangover from my unhappy night at the dog
  track.
  But when I looked into the waiting room my mood lightened immediately.
  There was only one animal among the odd assortment of chairs but that
  animal was Kim, massive, golden and beautiful, sitting between his
  owners,
      ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL187

 and when he,saw me he sprang up with swishing tail and laughing mouth.
  There was none of the smell which had horrified me before but as I looked
  at the dog I could sniff something else-the sweet, sweet scent of
  success. Because he was touching the ground with that leg; not putting
  any weight on it but definitely dotting it down as he capered. around me.
  In an instant I was back in my world again and Mr. Coker and the events
  of last night were but the dissolving mists of a bad dream.
 I could hardly wait to get started.
  "Get him on the table," I cried, then began to laugh as the Gillards
  automatically pushed their legs against the collapsible struts. They knew
  the drill now.
  I had to restrain myself from doing a dance of joy when I got the plaster
  off. There was a bit of discharge but when I cleaned it away I found
  healthy granulation tissue everywhere. Pink new flesh binding the
  shattered joint together, smoothing over and hiding the original mu-
  tilation.
 "Is his leg safe now?" Marjorie Gillard asked softly.
  I looked at her and smiled. "Yes, it is. There's no doubt about it now."
  I rubbed my hand under the big dog's chin and the tail beat ecstatically
  on the wood. "He'll probably have a stiff joint but that won't matter,
  will it?"
  I applied the last of Stewie's bandages then we hoisted Kim off the
  table.
  "Well, that's it," I said. "Take him to your own vet in another
  fortnight. After that I don't think he'll need a bandage at all."
  The Gillards left on their journey back to the south and a couple of
  hours later Stewie and his family returned. The children were very brown;
  even the baby, still bawling resolutely, had a fine tan. The skin had
  peeled off Meg's nose but she looked wonderfully relaxed. Stewie, in open
  necked shirt and with a face like a boiled lobster, seemed to have put
  on weight.
  "That holiday saved our lives, Jim," he said. "I can't thank you enough,
  and please tell Siegfried how grateful we are." He looked fondly at his
  turbulent brood flooling through the house, then as an afterthought he
  turned to me.
 "Is everything all right in the practice?"
 INALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "Yes, Stewie, it is. I had my ups and downs of course." He laughed. "Don't
 we all."
 "We certainly do, but everything's fine now."
  And everything did seem fine as I drove away from the smoke. I watched the
  houses thin and fall away behind me till the whole world opened out clean
  and free and I saw the green line of the fells rising over Darrowby.
  I suppose we all tend to remember the good things but as it turned out I
  bad no option. The following Christmas I had a letter from the Gillards
  with a packet of snapshots showing a big golden dog clearing a gate,
  leaping high for a ball, strutting proudly with a stick in his mouth. There
  was hardly any stiffness in the leg, they,said; he was perfectly sound.
  So even now when I think of Hensfield the thing I remember best is Kim.
           CHAPTER

             23

 There was a lot of shouting -in the RAF. The NCOs always seemed to be
 shouting at me or at somebody else and a lot of them had impressively
 powerful voices. But for sheer volume I don't think any of them could beat
 Len Hampson.
  I was on the way to Len's farm and on an impulse I pulled up the car and
  leaned for a moment on the wheel. It was a hot still day in late summer
  and this was one of the softer corners of the Dales, sheltered by the
  enclosing fells from the harsh winds which shrivelled all but the heather
  and the tough moorland gmss.
  Here, great trees, oak, elm and sycamore in full rich leaf, stood in
  gentle majesty in the green dips and hollows, their branches quite still
  in the windless air.
  In all the grassy miles around me I could see no movement, nor could I
  hear anything except the fleeting hum of a bee and the distant bleating
  of a sheep.
  Through the open window drifted the scents of summer; warm grass, clover
  and the sweetness of hidden flowers. But in the car they had to compete
  with the allpervading smell of cow. I had spent the last hour injecting
  fifty wild cattle and I sat there in soiled breeches and sweat-soaked
  shirt looking out sleepily at the tranquil landscape,
  I opened the door and Sam jumped out and trotted into a nearby wood. I
  followed him into the cool shade, into the damp secret fragrance of pine
  needles and fallen leaves which came from the dark heart of the crowding
  boles. From somewhere in the branches high above I could hear that most
  soothing of sounds, the cooing of a woodpigeon.
  Then, although the farm was two fields away, I heard Len Hampson's voice.
  He wasn't caffing the cattle home
               189
 IgoALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 or anything like that. He was just conversing with his family as he always
 did in a long tireless shout.
  I drove on to the farm and he opened the gate to let me into the yard.
 "Good morning, Mr. Hampson," I said.
 11 NOW THEN, MR. HERRIOT," he bawled. "IT'S A GRAND
 MORNIN'."
  The blast of sound drove me back a step but his three sons smiled
  contentedly. No doubt they were used to it.
  I stayed at a safe distance. "You want me to see a pig. 11
  11 AYE, A GOOD BACON PIG. GONE RIGHT OFF. IT HASN'T ATE NOWT FOR TWO
  DAYS."
  We went into the pig pen and it was easy to pick out my patient. Most of
  the big white occupants careered around at the sight of a stranger, but
  one of them stood quietly in a corner.
  It isn't often a pig will stand unresisting as you take its temperature
  but this one never stirred as I slipped the thermometer into its rectum.
  There was only a slight fever but the animal had the look of doom about
  it; back slightly arched, unwilling to move, eyes withdrawn and anxious.
  I looked Lip at Len Hampson's red-faced bulk leaning over the wall of the
  pen.
 "Did this start suddenly or gradually?" I asked.
  11 RIGHT SUDDEN!" In the confined space the full throated yell was
  deafening. "HE WERE AS RIGHT AS NINEPENCE
 ON MONDAY NIGHT AND LIKE THIS ON TUESDAY MORNIN'. ,
  I felt my way over the pig's abdomen. The musculature was tense and
  boardlike and the abdominal contents were difficult to palpate because
  of this, but the whole area was tender to the touch.
  "I've seen them like this before," I said. "This pig has a ruptured
  bowel. They do it when they are fighting or jostling each other,
  especially when they are full after a meal."
 .1 WHAT'S GOTN' TO 'APPEN THEN?"
  "Well, the food material has leaked into the abdomen, causing
  peritonitis, I've opened up pigs like this and they are a mass of
  adhesions-the abdominal organs all growing together. I'm afraid the
  chances of recovery are very small."
 He took off his cap, scratched his bald head and re-      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL191

 placed the tattered headgear. "THAT'S A BUGGER. GOOD PIG AN' ALL. IS IT
 'OPELESS?" He still gave tongue at the top of his voice despite his
 disappointment.
  "Yes, I'm afraid it's pretty hopeless. They usually eat very little and
  just waste away. It would really be best to slaughter him."
  11 NAY, AH DON'T LIKE THAT MUCH! AH ALLUS LIKE TO 'AVE A GO. ISN'T THERE
  SUMMAT WE CAN DO? WHERE THERE'S LIFE THEREVOPE, THA KNAWS."
  I smiled. "I suppose there's always some hope, Mr. Hampson."
 "WELL THEN, LET'S GET ON. LET'S TRY!"
  "All right." I shrugged. "He's not really in acute pain -more
  discomfort-so I suppose there's no harm in treating him. I'll leave you
  a course of powders."
  As I pushed my way from the pen I couldn't help noticing the superb sleek
  condition of the other pigs.
  "My word," I said. "These pigs are in grand fettle. I've never seen a
  better lot. You must feed them well."
  It was a mistake. Enthusiasm added many decibels to his volume.
  "Aye!" he bellowed. "YOU'VE GOT TO GIVE STOCK A BIT 0' GOOD STUFF TO MEK
  'EM DO RIGHT!"
  My head was still ringing when I reached the car and opened the boot. I
  handed over a packet of my faithful sulphonamide powders. They had done
  great things for me but I didn't expect much here.

 It was strange that I should go straight from the chief shouter of the
 practice to the chief whisperer. Elijah Wentworth made all his
 communications sotto voce.
  I found Mr. Wentworth hosing down his cow byre and he turned and looked
  at me with his habitual serious expression. He was a tall thin man, very
  precise in his speech and ways, and though he was a hard-working farmer
  he didn't look like one. This impression was heightened by his clothes
  which were more suited to office work than his rough trade.
  A fairly new trilby hat sat straight on his head as he came over to me.'
  I was able, to examine it thoroughly because he came so close that we
  were almost touching noses.
  He took a quick look around him. "Mr. Herriot," he whispered, "I've got
  a real bad case." He spoke always as
 192ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 though every pronouncement was of the utmost gravity and secrecy.
 "Oh I'm sorry to hear that. What's the trouble?"
  "Fine big bullock, Mr. Herriot. Goin' down fast." He, moved in closer till
  he could murmur directly into my ear.
 "I suspect TB." He backed away, face drawn.
 "That doesn't sound so good," I said. "Where is he?"
  The farmer crooked a finger and I followed him into a loose box. The
  bullock was a Hereford Cross and should have weighed about ten
  hundredweight, but was gaunt and emaciated. I could understand Mr.
  Wentworth's fears, but I was beginning to develop a clinical sense and it
  didn't look like TB to me.
 "Is he coughing?" I asked.
 "No, never coughs, but he's a bit skittered."
  I went over the animal carefully and there were a few things-the
  submaxillary oedema, the pot-bellied appearance, the pallor of the mucous
  membranes-which made diagnosis straightforward.
  "I think he's got liver fluke, Mr. Wentworth. I'll take a dung sample and
  have it examined for fluke eggs but I want to treat him right away."
 "Liver fluke? Where would he pick that up?"
  "Usually from a wet pasture. Where has he been running lately?"
  The farmer pointed through the door. "Over yonder. I'll show you."
  I walked with him a few hundred yards and through a couple of gates into a
  wide flat field lying at the base of the fell. The squelchy feel of the
  turf and the scattered tufts of bog grass told the whole story.
  "This is just the place for it," I said. "As you know, it's a parasite
  which infests the liver, but during its life cycle it has to pass through
  a snail and that snail can only live where there is water."
  He nodded slowly and solemnly several times then began to look around him
  and I knew he was going to say something. Again he came very close then
  scanned the horizon anxiously. In all directions the grassland stretched
  empty and bare for miles but he still seemed worried he might be overheard.
 We were almost cheek to cheek as he breathed the
 Words into my ear. "Ah know who's to blame for this."-
 "Really? Who is that?"
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL193

  He made another swift check to ensure that nobody had sprung up through
  the ground then I felt his hot breath again. "It's me landlord."
 "How do you mean?"
  "Won't do anything for me." He brought his face round and looked at me
  wide-eyed before taking up h7is old position by my ear. "Been goin' to
  drain this field for years but done nowt."
  I moved back. "Ah well, I can't help that, Mr. Wentworth. In any case
  there's other things you can do. You can kill the snails with copper
  sulphate-I'll tell you about that Iater-but in the meantime I want to
  dose your bullock."
  I had some hexachlorethane with me in the car and I mixed it in a bottle
  of water and administered it toAhe animal. Despite his bulk he offered
  no resistance as I held his lower jaw and poured the medicine down his
  throat.
 "He's very weak, isn't he?" I said.
  The farmer gave me a haggard look. "He is that. I doubt be's a goner."
  "Oh don't give up hope, Mr. Wentworth. I know he looks terrible but if
  it is fluke then the treatment will do a lot for him. Let me know how he
  goes on."

 It was about a mo nth later, on a market day, and I was strolling among
 the stalls which packed the cobbles. In front of the entrance to the
 Drovers' Arms the usual press of farmers stood chatting among themselves,
 talking business with cattle dealers and corn merchants, while the shouts
 of the stallholders sounded over everything.
  I was particularly fascinated by the man in charge of the sweet stall.
  He held up a paper bag and stuffed into it handfuls of assorted
  sweetmeats while he kept up a nonstop brazen-voiced commentary.
  "Lovely peppermint drops! Delicious liquorice allsorts! How about some
  sugar candies! A couple o' bars o' chocolate! Let's 'ave some
  butterscotch an' all! Chuck in a beautiful slab o' Turkish Delight!" Then
  holding the bulging bag aloft in triumph "'ere! 'erel Who'll give me a
  tanner for the lot?"
  Amazing, I thought as I moved on. How did he do it? I was passing the
  door of the Drovers' when a familiar voice hailed me.
 194ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL
  .1 HEYI MR. HFRRIOT!" There was no mistaking Len Hampson. He hove in
  front of me, red-faced and cheer-
 fUl. "REMEMBER THAT PIG YE DOCTORED FOR MET' He
 had clearly consumed a few market-day beers and his
 voice was louder than ever.
  The packed mass of farmers pricked up their ears. There is nothing so
  intriguing as the ailments of another farmer's livestock.
 "Yes, of course, Mr. Hampson," I replied.
 .1 WELL 'E NEVER DID No GOOD I" bawled Len.
  I could see the farmers' faces lighting up. It is more interesting still
  when things go wrong.
 "Really? Well I'm sorry."
  4. NAW 'E DIDN'T. AH'V.E NEVER SEEN A PIG GO DOWN AS FAST!"
 "Is that so?"
 11 AYE, FLESH JUST MELTED OFF 'IM!"
  "Oh, what a pity. But if you recall I rather expected . . ."
  11 WENT DOWN TO SKIN AND DONE 'E DID!" The great bellow rolled over the
  market place, drowning the puny cries of tfie stallholders. In fact the man
  with the sweets had suspended operations and was listening with as much
  interest as the others.
  I looked around me uneasily. "Well, Mr. Hampson, I did warn you at the tim
  e . . ."
  11 LIKE A WALKIN' SKELETON 'E WERE! NEVER SEEN SUCH A OBJECK!"
  I realised Len wasn't in the least complaining. He was just telling me, but
  for all that I wished he would stop.
  "Well, thank you for letting me know," I said. "Now I really must be off .
  . ."
  11 AH DON'T KNOW WHAT THEM POWDERS WERE YOU GAVE'IM."
 I cleared my throat. "Actually they were. .
  THEY DID 'IM NO BLOODY GOOD ANY ROAD!"
 "I see. Well as I say, I have to run . .
  "AH GOT MALLOCK TO KNOCK 'IM ON VHEAD LAST WEEK."
 "Oh dear..
 91 FINISHED UP AS DOG MEAT, POOR BUGGER!"
 "Quite ... quite. . ."
  61 WELL, GOOD DAY TO YE, MR. HERRIOT." He turned and walked away, leaving
  a quivering silence behind him.
      ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL195

  With an uncomfortable feeling that I was the centre of attention I was
  about to retreat hastily when I felt a gentle hand on my arm. I turned
  and saw Elijah Wentworth.
 "Mr. Herriot," he whispered. "About that bullock."
  I stared at him, struck by the coincidence. The farmers stared, too, but
  expectantly.
 "Yes, Mr. Wentworth?"
  "Well now, I'll tell you." He came very near and breathed into my car.
  "It was like a miracle. He began to pick up straight away after you
  treated him."
  I stepped back. "Oh marvellous! But speak up, will you, I can't quite
  hear you." I looked around hopefully.
  He came after me again and put his chin on my shoulder. "Yes, I don't
  know what you gave 'im. but it was wonderful stuff. I could hardly
  believe it. Every day I looked at 'im be had put on a bit more."
 "Great! But do speak a little louder," I said eagerly.
  "He's as fat as butter now," The almost inaudible murmur wafted on my
  cheek. "Ah'm sure he'll get top gra7de at the auction mart."
  I backed away again. "Yes . . . yeswhat was that
 you said?"
  "I was sure he was dyin', Mr. Herriot, but you saved him by your skill,"
  he said, but every word was pianissimo, sighed against my face.
  The farmers had heard nothing and, their interest evaporating, they began
  to talk among themselves. Then as the man with the sweets started to fill
  his bags and shout again Mr. Wentworth moved in and confided softly and
  secretly into my private ear.
  "That was the most brilliant and marvellous cure I lave ever seen."
           CHAP ELEARt.

             24

 It must be unusual to feel senile in one's twenties, but it was happening to
 me. There were a few men of my own age among my RAF friends but for the most
 part I was surrounded by eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds.
  It seemed that the selection boards thought this the optimum age for
  training pilots, navigators and air gunners and I often wondered how we
  elderly gentlemen had managed to creep in.
  These boys used to pull my leg. The fact that I was not merely married but
  a father put me in the dotage class, and the saddest part was that I really
  did feel old in their company. They were all having the most marvellous
  time; chasing the local girls, drinking, going to dances and parties,
  carried along on the frothy insouciance which a war engenders. And I often
  thought that if it had all happened a few years earlier I would have been
  doing the same.
  But it was no good now. Most of me was still back in Darrowby. During the
  day there was enough pressure to keep my mind occupied; in the evenings
  when I was off the leash all I wanted to do were the simple things I had
  done with Helen; the long games of bezique by the fireside in our
  bed-sitter, tense battles on the push-ha'penny board; we even used to throw
  rings at hooks on a board on the wall. Kids' games after a hard slog round
  the practice, but even now as I look down the years I know I have never
  found a better way of living.
  It was when we were lying in bed one night that Helen brought up the
  subject of Granville Bennett.
  "Jim," she murmured sleepily. "Mr. Bennett 'phoned again today. And his
  wife rang last week. They keep asking us to have a meal with them."
               196
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL197

  "Yes . . . yes . . ." I didn't want to talk about anything at that
  moment. This was always a good time. The dying flames sent lights and
  shadows dancing across the ceiling. Oscar Rabin's band was playing Deep
  Purple on the bedside radio Ewan Ross gave us for a wedding present and
  I had just puffed off an unexpected victory at pushha'penny. Helen was
  a dab hand at that game, urging the coins expertly up the board with the
  ball of her thumb, her lips pushed forward in a pout of concentration.
  Of course she had a lifetime of experience behind her while I was just
  learning, and it was inevitable that I seldom won. But I had done it
  tonight and I felt good.
  My wife nudged me with her knee. "Jim, I can't understand you. You never
  seem to do anything about iL And yet you say you like him."
  "Oh, I do, be's a grand chap, one of the best." Everybody liked
  Granville, but at the same time there were many strong men who dived down
  alleys at the sight of him. I didn't like to tell Helen that every time
  I came into contact with him I got my wings singed. I fully realised that
  he meant well, that the whole thing was a natural extension of his
  extreme generosity. But it didn't help.
 "And you said his wife was very nice, too."
  "Zoe? Oh yes, she's lovely." And she was, too, but thanks to her husband
  she had never seen me in any other role than a drunken hulk. My toes
  curled under the blankets. Zoe was beautiful, kind and intelligent-just
  the kind of woman you wanted to observe you staggering and hiccuping all
  over the place. In the darkness I could feel the hot blush of shame on
  my cheeks.
  "Well then," Helen continued, with the persistence that is part of even
  the sweetest women. "Why don't we accept their invitation? I'd rather
  like to meet them-and it's a bit embarrassing when they keep 'pboning."
  I turned on my side. "Okay, we'll go one of these days, I promise."
  But if it hadn't been for the little papilloma on Sam's lip I don't think
  we would ever have got there. I noticed the thing-a growth smaller than
  a pea-near the left commissure when I was giving our beagle an illicit
  chocolate biscuit. It was a typical benign tumour and on anybody else's
  dog I should have administered a quick local
 198ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 and whipped it off in a minute. But since it was Sam I turned pale and
 phoned Granville.
  I have always been as soppy as any old lady over my pets and I suspect
  many of my colleagues are the same. I listened apprehensively to the
  buzz-buzz at the far end, then the big voice came on the line.
 "Bennett here."
 "Hello, Granville, it's. .
  "Jim!" The boom of delight was flattering. "Where have you been hiding
  yourself, laddie?"
  He didn't know how near he was to the truth. I told him about Sam.
  "Doesn't sound much, old son, but I'll have a look at him with pleasure.
  Tell you what. We've been trying to get you over here for a meal-why not
  bring the little chap with youT'
  "Well . . ." A whole evening in Granville's hands-it was a daunting
  prospect.
  "Now don't mess about, Jim. You know, there's a wonderful Indian
  restaurant in Newcastle. Zoe and I would love to take you both out there.
  It's about time we met your wife, isn't it?"
 "Yes ... of course it is.... Indian restaurant, eh?"
  "Yes, laddie. Superb curries-mild, medium or blast your bloody head off.
  Onion bhajis, bhuna lamb, gorgeous nan bread."
  My mind was working fast. "Sounds marvellous, Granville." It did seem
  fairly secure. He was most dangerous on his own territory and it would
  take forty-five minutes' driving each way to Newcastle. Then maybe an
  hour and a half in the restaurant. I should be reasonably safe for most
  of the evening. There was just the bit at his house before we left-that
  was the only worry.
  It was uncanny how he seemed to read my thoughts. "Before we leave, Jim,
  we'll have a little session in my garden."
 "Your garden?" It sounded strange in November.
 "That's right, old lad."
  Ah well, maybe he was proud of his late chrysanthemums, and I couldn't
  see myself coming to much harm there. "Well, fine, Granville. Maybe
  Wednesday night?"
 "Lovely, lovely, lovely-can't wait to meet Helen."
 Wednesday was one of those bright frosty late autumn
      ALL Tff1NGS WISE AND WONDERFUL199

 days which turn misty in the afternoon and by six o'clock the countryside
 was blanketed by one of the thickest fogs I had ever seen in Yorkshire.
  Creeping along in our little car, my nose almost on the windscreen, I
  muttered against the glass.
  "God's truth, Helen, we'll never get to Newcastle tonight! I know
  Granville's some driver but you can't see ten yards out there."
  Almost at walking pace we covered the twenty miles to the Bennett
  residence and it was with a feeling of relief that I saw the brightly lit
  doorway rising out of the mirk.
  Granville, as vast and impressive as ever, was there in the hall with
  arms outspread. Bashfulness had never been one of his problems and he
  folded my wife in a bear-like embrace.
  "Helen, my pet," he said and kissed her fondly and lingeringly. He
  stopped to take a breath, regarded her for a moment with deep
  appreciation then kissed her again.
  I shook bands decorously with Zoe and the two girls were introduced. They
  made quite a picture standing there. An attractive woman is a gift from
  heaven and it was a rare bonus to see two of them in close proximity.
  Helen very dark and blue-eyed, Zoe brown-haired with eyes of
  greyish-green, but both of them warm and smiling.
  Zoe had her usual effect on me. That old feeling was welling up; the
  desire to look my best, in fact better than my best. I cast a furtive
  glance at the hall mirror. Immaculately suited, clean shirted, freshly
  shaven, I was sure I projected the desired image of the clean-limbed
  young veterinary surgeon, the newly married man of high principles and
  impeccable behaviour.
  I breathed a silent prayer of thanks that at last she was seeing me stone
  cold sober and normal. Tonight I would expunge all her squalid memories
  of me from her mind.
  "Zoe, my sweet," carolled Granville. "Take Helen into the garden while
  I see Jim's dog."
  I blinked. The garden in this fog. I just didn't get it, but I was too
  anxious about Sam to give the thing much thought. I opened the car door
  and the beagle trotted into the house.
  My colleague greeted him with delight. "Come inside, my little man." Then
  he hollered at the top. of his voice.
 200ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "Phoebles! Victoria! Yoo-hoo! Come and meet cousin Sam!"
  The obese Staffordshire bull terrier waddled in, closely followed by the
  Yorkie, who bared her teeth in an ingratiating smile at all present.
  After the dogs had met and exchanged pleasantries Granville lifted Sam
  into his arms.
  "Is that what you mean, Jim? Is that what you're worried about?"
 I nodded dumbly.
  "Good God, I could take a deep breath and blow the damn thing off!" He
  looked at me incredulously and smiled. "Jim, old lad, why are you so daft
  about your dog?"
 "Why do you call Phoebe Phoebles?" I countered swiftly.
  "Oh well . . ." He cleared his throat. "I'll get my equipment. Hang on
  a minute."
  He disappeared and came back with a syringe and scissors. About half a
  cc was enough to numb the part, then he snipped off the papilloma,
  applied some styptic and put the beagle on the floor. The operation took
  about two minutes but even in that brief spell his unique dexterity was
  manifest.
  "That'll be ten guineas, Mr. Herriot,". he murmured, then gave a shout
  of laughter. "Come on, let's get into the garden. Sam will be quite happy
  with my dogs."
  He led me out of the back door and we stumbled through the fog by a
  rockery and rose bushes. I was just wondering how on earth he expected
  to show me anything in this weather when we came up against a stone
  outhouse. He threw open the door and I stepped into a brightly lit,
  sparkling Aladdin's cave.
  It was quite simply a fully fitted bar. At the far end a polished counter
  with beer handles and, behind, a long row of bottles of every imaginable
  liquor. A fire crackled in the hearth and hunting prints, cartoons and
  bright posters looked down from the walls. It was completely authentic.
  Granville saw my astonished face and laughed. "All right, eh. Jim? I
  thought it would be a nice idea to have my own little pub in the garden.
  Rather cosy, isn't it?"
 "Yes ... yes indeed . . . charming."
  "Good, good." My colleague slipped behind the counter. "Now what are you
  going to have?"
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL201

  Helen and Zoe took sherry and I made a quick decision to stick to one
  fairly harmless drink.
 "Gin and tonic, please, Granville."
  The girls received a normal measure of sherry but when the big man took
  my glass over to the gin bottle banging on the wall his hand seemed to
  be overcome by an uncontrollable trembling. The bottle was upended with
  one of those little optic attachments you push up with the rim of the
  glass to give a single measure.
  But as I say, as Granville inserted the neck of the bottle into the glass
  his whole arm jerked repeatedly as though he were going into a
  convulsion. It was obvious that the result would be about six gins
  instead of one and I was about to remonstrate when he took the glass away
  and topped it up quickly with tonic, ice and sliced lemon.
  I looked at it apprehensively. "Rather a big one, isn't it?"
  "Not at all, laddie, nearly all tonic. Well, cheers, so nice to see you
  both."
  And it certainly was. They were generous, warm people and veterinary folk
  like ourselves. I felt a gush of gratitude for the friendliness they had
  always shown me and as I sipped my drink, which was chokingly strong, I
  felt as I had often done that these contacts were one of the brightest
  rewards of my job.
 Granville held out his band. "Have another, laddie."
  "Well, hadn't we better be getting on our way? It's a terrible night-in
  fact I don't see us ever getting to Newcastle in this fog."
  "Nonsense, old son." He took my glass, reached up to the gin bottle and
  again was seized with a series of violent tremors of the forearm. "No
  problem, Jim. Straight along the north road-half an hour or so-know it
  like the back of my hand."
  The four of us stood around the fire. The girls clearly had a lot to say
  to each other and Granville and 1, like all vets, talked shop. it is
  wonderful how easy veterinary practice is in a warm room with good
  company and a dollop of alcohol in the stomach.
 "One for the road, Jim," my colleague said.
  "No really, Granville, I've had enough," I replied firmly. "Let's be
  off."
 "Jim, Jim." The familiar hurt look was creeping over his
                 1
 202ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 face. "There's no rush. Look, we'll just have this last one while I tell
 you about this gorgeous restaurant."
  Once more he approached the gin bottle and this time the rigor lasted so
  long I wondered if he had some history of malaria.
  Glass in hand he expounded. "It's not just the curry, the cooking in
  general is exquisite." He put his fingers to his lips and blew a reverent
  kiss into space. "The flavours are unbelievable. All the spices of the
  orient, Jim."
  He went on at length and I wished he would stop because he was making me
  hungry. I had had a hard day round the farms and had eaten very little
  with the evening's feast in view, and as my colleague waved his hand
  around and drew word pictures of how they blended the rare herbs with the
  meat and fish, then served it on a bed of saffron rice, I was almost
  drooling.
  I was relieved when I got through the third massive drink and Granville
  squeezed round to the front of the bar as if ready to go. We were on our
  way out when a man's bulk loomed in the doorway.
  "Raymond!" cried Granville in delight. "Come in, I've been wanting you
  to meet Jim Herriot. Jim, this is one of my neighbours-likes a bit of
  gardening, don't you Raymond?",
  The man replied with a fat chuckle. "Right, old boy! Splendid garden,
  this!" Granville seemed to know a lot of large, red-faced hearty men and
  this was one more.
  My friend was behind the counter again. "We must just have one with
  Raymond."
  I felt trapped as he again pressed my glass against the bottle and went
  into another paroxysm, but the girls didn't seem to mind. They were still
  deep in conversation and seemed unaware of the passage of time or the
  ravages of hunger.
  Raymond was just leaving when Tubby Pinder dropped in. He was another
  enthusiastic horticulturist and I wasn't surprised to see that he was
  large, red-faced and hearty.
  We had to have one with Tubby and I noticed with some alarm that after
  another palsied replenishment of my glass he had to replace the empty gin
  bottle with a fresh one. If the first one had been full then I had con-
  sumed nearly all of it.
 I could hardly believe it when at last we were in the
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL203

 hall putting on our coats. Granville was almost purring with contentment.
  "You two are going to love this place. It will be a joy to lead you
  through the menu."
  Outside the fog was thicker than ever. My colleague backed his enormous
  Bentley from the garage and began to usher us inside with great ceremony.
  He installed Helen and Zoe in the back, clucking solicitously over them,
  then he helped me into the passenger seat in front as though I were a
  disabled old man, tucking my coat in, adjusting the angle of the seat for
  maximum comfort, showing me how the cigar lighter worked, lighting up the
  glove compartment, enquiring which radio programme I desired.
  At last he himself was in residence behind the wheel, massive and
  composed. Beyond the windscreen the fog parted for a second to show a
  steep, almost vertical grassy bank opposite the house, then it closed
  down like a dirty yellow curtain cutting off everything.
  "Granville," I said. "We'll never get to Newcastle in this. It's over
  thirty miles."
  He turned and gave me a gentle smile. "Absolutely no problem, laddie.
  We'll be there in half an hour, sampling that wonderful food. Tandoori
  chicken, all the spices of the orient, old son. Don't worry about a
  thing-I really know these roads. No chance of losing my way."
  He started the engine and drove confidently off, but unfortunately
  instead of taking the orthodox route along the road he proceeded straight
  up the grassy bank. He didn't seem to notice as the nose of the great car
  rose steadily higher, but when we had achieved an angle of forty-five
  degrees Zoe broke in gently from the back.
 "Granville, dear, you're on the grass."
  My colleague looked round in some surprise. "Not at all, my love. The
  road slopes a little here if you remember." He kept his foot on the
  throttle. -
  I said nothing as my feet rose and my head went back. There was a point
  when the Bentley was almost perpendicular and I thought we were going
  over backwards, then I heard Zoe again.
  "Granville, darling." There was a hint of urgency in her tone. "You're
  going up the bank."
  This time it seemed her husband was prepared to concede a little.
 204ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "Yes ... yes, my pet," he murmured as we hung there, all four of us
  gazing up at the fog-shrouded sky. "Possibly I have strayed a little on
  to the verge."
  He took his foot off the brake and the car shot backwards at frightening
  speed into the darkness. We were brought up by a grinding crunch from the
  rear.
 Zoe again: "You've hit Mrs. Thompson's wall, dear."
  "Have 1, sweetheart? Ah, one moment. We'll soon be on our way.
  With undiminished aplomb he let in his clutch and we surged forward
  powerfully. But only for two seconds. From the gloom ahead there sounded
  a dull crash followed by a tinkling of glass and metal.
  "Darling," Zoe piped. "That was the thirty miles an hour sign."
  "Was it really, my angel?" Granville rubbed his hand on the window. "You
  know, Jim, the visibility isn't too good." He paused for a moment.
  "Perhaps it would be a good idea if we postponed. our visit till another
  time."
  He manoeuvred the big car back into the garage and we got out. We had
  covered, I should think, about five yards on our journey to Newcastle.
  Back in the garden bar, Granville was soon in full cry again. And I
  was,all for it because my earlier trepidation had vanished entirely. I
  was floating in a happy haze and I offered no resistance as my colleague
  jerked and twitched more samples from the gin bottle.
  Suddenly- he held up a hand. "I'm sure we're all starving. Let's have
  some hot dogsl"
  "Hot dogs?" I cried. "Splendid idea!" It was a long call from all the
  spices of the orient but I was ready for anything.
  "Zoe, sweet," he said. "We can use the big can of saveloy sausages if you
  would just heat it up."
  His wife left for the kitchen and Helen touched my arm.
 "Jim," she said. "Saveloys . . . T'
  I knew what she meant. I have a pretty good digestion but there are
  certain things I can't eat. A single saveloy was enough to bring my
  entire metabolism to a halt, but at that moment it seemed a pettifogging
  detail.
  "Oh don't worry, Helen," I whispered, putting my arm round her. "They
  won't hurt me."
 When Zoe came back with the food Granville was in
       ALL THNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL205

 his element, slicing the juicy smoked sausages lengthways, slapping
 mustard on them and enclosing them in rolls.
  As I bit into the first one I thought I had never tasted anything so
  delicious. Chewing happily I found it difficult to comprehend my previous
  ridiculous prejudice.
  "Ready for another, old son?" Granville held up a loaded roll.
  "Sure! These are absolutely marvellous. Best hot dogs I've ever tasted!"
  I munched it down quickly and reached for a third.
  I think it was when I had downed five of them that my friend prodded me
  in the ribs.
  "Jim, lad," he said between chews. "We want a drop of beer to wash these
  down, don't you agree?"
  I waved my arm extravagantly. "Of course we dol Bloody gin's no good for
  this jobl"
  Granville pulled two pints of draught. Powerful delicious ale which
  flowed in a cooling wave over my inflamed mucous membranes, making me
  feel I had been waiting for it all my life. We each had three pints and
  another hot dog or two while waves of euphoria billowed around me.
  The occasional anxious glance from Helen didn't worry me in the least.
  She was making signs that it was time to go home, but the very idea was
  unthinkable. I was having the time of my life, the world was a wonderful
  place and this little private pub was the finest comer of it.
  Granville put down a half-eaten roll. "Zoe, my precious, it would be nice
  to have something sweet to top this off. Why don't you bring out some of
  those little gooey things you made yesterday?"
  She produced a plateful of very rich-looking cakelets. I do not have a
  sweet tooth and normally skip this part of the meal but I bit into one
  of Zoe's creations with relish. It was beautifully made and I could
  detect chocolate, marzipan, caramel and other things.
  It was when I was eating the third that matters began to deteriorate. I
  found that my merry chatter had died and it was Granville doing all the
  talking, and as I listened to him owlishly I was surprised to see his
  face becoming two faces which floated apart and came together repeatedly.
  It was an astonishing phenomenon and it was happening with everything
  else in the room.
 2o6ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  And I wasn't feeling so healthy now. That boundless vigour was no longer
  surging through my veins and I felt only a great weariness and a rising
  nausea.
  I lost count of time around then. No doubt the conversation went on among
  the four of us but I can't remember any of it and my next recollection was
  of the party breaking up. Granville was helping Helen on with her coat and
  there was a general air of cheerful departure.
 "Ready, Jim?" my friend said briskly.
  I nodded and got slowly to my feet and as I swayed be put his arm round me
  and assisted me to the door. Outside, the fog had cleared and a bright
  pattern of stars overhung the village, but the clean cold air only made me
  feel worse and I stumbled through the darkness like a sleepwalker. When I
  reached the car a long griping spasm drove through me, reminding me
  horribly of the sausages, the gin and the rest. I groaned and leaned on the
  roof.
  "Maybe you'd better drive, Helen," my colleague said. He was about to open
  the door when, with a dreadful feeling of helplessness, I began to slide
  along the metal.
  Granville caught my shoulders. "He'd be better in the back," he gasped and
  began to lug me on to the seat. "Zoe, sweetheart, Helen, love, grab a leg
  each, will you? Fine, now I'll get round the other side and pull him in."
  He trotted round to the far side, opened the door and hauled at my
  shoulders.
  "Down a bit your side, Helen, dear. Now to me a little. Up a trifle your
  side, Zoe, pet. Now back to you a bit. Lovely, lovely."
  Clearly be was happy at his work. He sounded like an expert furniture
  remover and through the mists I wondered bitterly how many inert forms he
  had stuffed into their cars after an evening with him.
  Finally they got me in, half lying across the back seat. My face was
  pressed against the side window and from the outside it must have been a
  grotesque sight with the .nose squashed sideways and a solitary
  dead-mackerel eye staring sightlessly into the night.
  With an effort I managed to focus and saw Zoe looking down at me anxiously.
  She gave a tentative wave of goodbye but I could produce only a slight
  twitch of the cheek in reply.
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL207

  Granville kissed Helen fondly then slammed the car door. Moving back, he
  peered in at me and brandished his arms.
  "See you soon, I hope, Jim. It's been a lovely evening!" His big face was
  wreathed in a happy smile and as I drove away my final impression was
  that he was thoroughly satisfied.

 I
           CHAPTER
              25

 Being away from Darrowby and living a different life I was able to stand
 back and assess certain things objectively. I asked myself many questions.
 Why, for instance, was my partnership with Siegfried so successful?
  Even now, as we still jog along happily after thirtyfive years, I wonder
  about it. I know I liked him instinctively when I first saw him in the
  garden at Skeldale House on that very first afternoon, but I feet there
  is another reason why we get on together.
  Maybe it is because we are opposites. Siegfried's restless energy impels
  him constantly to try to alter things while I abhor change of any kind.
  A lot of people would call him brilliant, while not even my best friends
  would apply that description to me. His mind relentlessly churns out
  ideas of all grades-excellent, doubtful and very strange indeed. 1, on
  the other hand, rarely have an idea of any sort. He likes hunting,
  shooting and fishing; I prefer football, cricket and tennis. I could go
  on and on-we are even opposite physical types-and yet, as I say, we get
  along.
  This of course doesn't mean that we have never had our diff erences. Over
  the years there have been minor clashes on various points.
  One, I recall, was over the plastic calcium injectors. They were
  something new so Siegfried liked them, and by the same token I regarded
  them with deep suspicion.
  My doubts were nourished by my difficulties with them. Their early
  troubles have now been ironed out but at the beginning I found the things
  so temperamental that I abandoned them.
  My colleague pulled me up about it when he saw me washing out my flutter
  valve by running the surgery tap through it.
               208
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL209

  "For God's sake, James, you're not still using that old thing, are you?"
 "Yes, I'm afraid I am."
 "But haven't you tried the new plastics?"
 "I have."
 "Well ... T'
 "Can't get away with them, Siegfried."
 "Can't ... what on earth do you mean?"
  I trickled the last drop of water through the tube, rolled it small and
  slipped it into its case. "Well, the last time I used one the calcium
  squirted all over the place. And iVs messy, sticky stuff. I had great
  white streaks down my coat."
  "But James!" He laughed incredulously. "That's crazyl They're childishly
  simple to use. I haven't had the slightest trouble."
  "I believe you," I said. "But you know me. I havenI got a mechanical
  mind."
  "For heaven's sake, you don't need a mechanical mind. They're foolproof."
 "Not to me, they aren't. I've had enough of them."
  My colleague put his hand on my shoulder and his patient look began to
  creep across his face. "James, James, you must persevere." He raised a
  finger. "There is another point at issue here, you know."
 "What's that?"
  "The matter of asepsis. How do you know that length of rubber you,have
  there is clean?"
  "Well, I wash it through after use, I use a boiled needle, and. . ."
  "But don't you see, my boy, you're only trying to achieve what already
  exists in the plastic pack. Each one is self-contained and sterilised."
  "Oh I know all about that, but what's the good of it if I can't get the
  stuff into the cow?" I said querulously.
  "Oh piffle, James!" Siegfried assumed a grave expression. "It only needs
  a little application on your part, and I must stress that you are
  behaving in a reactionary manner by- being stubborn. I put it to you
  seriously that we have to move with the times and every time you use that
  antiquated outfit of yours it is a retrograde step."
  We stood, as we often did, eyeball to eyeball, in mutual disagreement
  till he smiled suddenly. "Look,
 210ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 you're going out now, aren't you, to see that milk-fever cow I treated at
 John Tillot's. I understand it's not up yet."
 "That's right."
  "Well, as a favour to me, will you give one of the new packs a try?"
  I thought for a moment. "All right, Siegfried, I'll have one more go."
  When I reached the farm I found the cow comfortably ensconced in a field,
  in the middle of a rolling yellow ocean of buttercups.
  "She's had a few tries to get on 'er feet," the farmer said. "But she can't
  quite make it."
  "Probably just wants another shot." I went to my car which I had driven,
  rocking and bumping, over the rig and furrow of the field, and took one of
  the plastic packs from the boot.
  Mr. Tillot raised his eyebrows when he saw me coming back. "Is that one o'
  them new things?"
  "Yes, it is, Mr. Tillot, the very latest invention. All completely
  sterilised."
 "Ah don't care what it is, ah don't Eke itl"
 "You don't?"
 "Naw!"
 "Well . . . why not?"
  "Ah'11 tell ye. Mr. Farnon used one this mornin'. Some of the stuff went in
  me eye, some went in 'is ear 'ole and the rest went down 'is trousers. Ah
  don't think t'bloody cow got any!"

 There was another time Siegfried had to take me to task. An old-age
 pensioner was leading a small mongrel dog along the passage on the other end
 of a piece of string. I patted the, consulting room table.
 "Put him up here, will you?" I said.
 The old man bent over slowly, groaning and puffing.
  "Wait a minute." I tapped his shoulder. "Let me do it." I hoisted the
  little animal on to the smooth surface.
  "Thank ye, sir." The man straightened up and rubbed his back and leg. "I
  'ave arthritis bad and I'm not much good at liftin'. My name's. Bailey and
  I live at t'council houses.9'
 "Right, Mr. Bailey, what's the trouble?"
      ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL211

  "It's this cough. He's allus at it. And 'e kind of retches at Cend of it."
 "I see. How old is he?"
 "He were ten last month."
  "Yes . . ." I took the temperature and carefully auscultated the chest. As
  I moved the stethoscope over the ribs Siegfried came in and began to
  rummage in the cupboard.
  "It's a chronic bronchitis, Mr. Bailey," I said. "Many older dogs suffer
  from it just like old folks."
  He laughed, "Aye, ah'm a bit wheezy meself sometimes."
 "nat's right, but you're not so bad, really, are you?"
 "Naw, naw."
  "Well neither is your little dog. I'm going to give him an injection and a
  course of tablets and it will help him quite a bit. I'm afraid he'll never
  quite get rid of this cough, but bring him in again if it gets very bad."
  He nodded vigorously. "Very good, Sir. Tbank ye kindly, Sir."
  As Siegfried banged about in the cupboard I gave the injection and counted
  out twenty of the new M&B 693 tablets.
  The old man gazed at them with interest then put them in his pocket. "Now
  what do ah owe ye, Mr. Herriot?"
  I looked at the ragged tie knotted carefully over the frayed shirt collar,
  at the threadbare antiquity of the jacket. His trouser knees had been
  darned but on one side I caught a pink glimpse of the flesh through the
  material.
  "No, that's all right, Mr. Bailey. Just see how he goes on.,,
 "Eh?"
 "There's no charge."
 "But . .
  "Now don't worry about it-it's nothing, really. Just see he gets his
  tablets regularly."
  "I will, sir, and it's very kind of you. I never expected . . ."
  "I know you didn't, Mr. Bailey. Goodbye for now and bring him back if he's
  not a lot better in a few days."
  The sound of the old man's footsteps had hardly died away when Siegfried
  emerged from the cupboard. "God,
 212ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 I've been ages hunting these down. I'm sure you deliberately hide things
 from me, James."
  I smiled but made no reply and as I was replacing my syringe on the trolley
  my colleague spoke again.
  "James, I don't like to mention this, but aren't you rather rash, doing
  work for nothing?"
  I looked at him in surprise. "He was an old-age pensioner. Pretty hard up
  I should think."
  "Maybe so, but really, you know, you just cannot give your services free."
  "Oh but surely occasionally, Siegfried-in a case like this..."
  "No, James, not even occasionally. It's just not practical."
 "But I've seen you do it-time and time again!"
  "Me?" His eyes widened in astonishment. "Never! I'm too aware of the harsh
  realities of life for that. Everything has become so frightfully expensive.
  For instance, weren't those M&B 693 tablets you were dishing out? Heaven
  help us, do you know those things are threepence each? It's no good-you
  must never work without charging.,,
  "But dammit, you're always doing itl" I burst out. .,Only last week there
  was that. . ."
  Siegfried held up a restraining hand, "Please, James, please. You imagine
  things, that's your trouble."
  I must have given him one of my most exasperated stares because he reached
  out and patted my shoulder.
  "Believe me, my boy, I do understand. You acted from the highest possible
  motives and I have often been tempted to do the same. But you must be firm.
  These are hard times and one must be hard to survive. So remember in
  future-no more Robin Hood stuff, we can't afford it."
  I nodded and went on my way somewhat bemusedly, but I soon forgot the
  incident and would have thought no more about it had I not seen Mr. Bailey
  about a week later.
  His dog was once more on the consulting room table and Siegfried was giving
  it an injection. I didn't want to interfere so I went back along the
  passage to the front office and sat down to write in the day book. It was
  a summer afternoon, the window was open and through a parting in the
  curtain I could see the front steps.
 As I wrote I heard Siegfried and the old man passing
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL213

 on their way to the front door. They stopped on the steps. The little dog,
 still on the end of its string, looked much as it did before.
  "All right, Mr. Bailey," my colleague said. "I can only tell you the same
  as Mr. Herriot. I'm afraid he's got that cough for life, but when it gets
  bad you must came and see us."
  "Very good, Sir," the old man put his hand in his pocket. "And what is
  the charge, please?"
 "The charge, oh yes . . . the charge Siegfried
 cleared his throat a few times but seemed unable to artic
 ulate. He kept looking from the mongrel dog to the old
 man's tattered clothing and back again. Then he glanced
 furtively into the house and spoke in a hoarse whisper.
 "It's nothing, Mr. Bailey."
 "But Mr. Farnon, I can't let ye
  "Shh! Shh!" Siegfried waved a hand agitatedly in the old man's face. "Not
  a word now! I don't want to hear any more about it."
 Having silenced Mr. Bailey he produced a large bag.
  "There's about a hundred M&B tablets in here," he said, throwing an
  anxious glance over his shoulder. "He's going to keep needing them, so
  I've given you a good supply."
  I could see my colleague had spotted the hole in the trouser knee because
  he gazed down at it for a long time before putting his hand in his jacket
  pocket.
  "Hang on a minute." He extracted a handful of assorted chattels. A few
  coins fell and rolled down the steps as he prodded in his palm among
  scissors, thermometers, pieces of string, bottle openers. Finally his
  search was rewarded and he pulled out a bank note.
  "Here's a quid," he whispered and again nervously shushed the man's
  attempts to speak.
  Mr. Bailey, realising the futility of argument, pocketed the money.
  "Well, thank ye, Mr. Farnon. Ah'II take tmissus to Scarborough wi' that."
  "Good lad, good lad," muttered Siegfried, still looking around him
  guiltily. "Now off you go."
  The old man solemnly raised his cap and began to shuffle painfully down
  the street.
  "Hey, hold on, there," my colleague called after him. "What's the matter?
  You're not going very weU."
 214ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "It's this dang arthritis. Ah go a long way in a long time."
  "And you've got to walk all the way to the council houses?" Siegfried
  rubbed his chin irresolutely. "It's a fair step." He took a last wary peep
  down the passage then beckoned with his hand.
  'Too~, my car's right here," he whispered. "Nip in and I'll run you home."

 Some of our disagreements were sharp and short.
  I was sitting at the lunch table, rubbing and flexing my elbow. Siegfried,
  carving enthusiastically at a joint of roast mutton, looked up from his
  work.
 "What's the trouble, James-rheumatism?"
  "No, a cow belted me with her horn this morning. Right on the funny bone."
  "Oh, bad luck. Were you trying to get hold of her nose?"
 "No, giving her an injection."
  My colleague, transporting a slice of mutton to MY plate, paused in
  mid-air. "Injecting her? Up there?"
 "Yes, in the neck."
 "Is that where you do it?"
 "Yes, always have done. Why?"
  "Because if I may say so, it's rather a daft place. I always use the rump."
  "Is that so?" I helped myself to mashed potatoes. "And what's wrong with
  the neck?"
  "Well, you've illustrated it yourself, - haven't you? It's too danm near
  the horns for a start."
 "Okay, well the rump is too damn near the hind feet."
  "Oh, come now, James, you know very well a cow very seldom kicks after a
  rump injection."
 "Maybe so, but once is enough."
 "And once is enough with a bloody horn, isn't it?"
  I made no reply, Siegfried plied the gravy boat over both our plates and we
  started to eat. But he had hardly swallowed the first mouthful when he
  returned to the attack.
  "Another thing, the rump is so handy. Your way you have to squeeze up
  between the cows."
 "Well, so what?"
  "Simply that you get your ribs squashed and your toes stood on, that's
  all."
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL215

  "All right." I spooned some green beans from the tureen. "But your way you
  stand an excellent chance of receiving a faceful of cow shit."
  "Oh rubbish, James, you're just making excuses!" He hacked violently at his
  mutton.
  "Not at all," I said. "It's what I believe. And anyway, you haven't made
  out a case against the neck."
  "Made out a case? I haven't started yet. I could go on indefinitely. For
  instance, the neck is more painful."
  "The rump is more subject to contamination," I countered.
  "The neck is often thinly muscled," snapped Siegfried. "You haven't got a
  nice pad there to stick your needle into."
 "No, and you haven't got a tail either," I growled.
 "Tail? What the hell are you talking about?"
  "I'm talking about the bloody tail! It's all right if you have somebody
  holding it but otherwise it's a menace, lashing about."
  Siegfried gave a few rapid chews and swallowed quickly. "Lashing about?
  What in God's name has that got to do with it?"
  "Quite a lot," I replied. "I don't like a whack across the face from a
  shitty tail, even if you do."
  There was a heavy-breathing lull then my colleague spoke in an ominously
  quiet voice. "Anything else about the tail?"
  "Yes, there is. Some cows can whip a syringe out of your hand with their
  tails. The other day one caught my big fifty cc and smashed it against a
  wall. Broken glass everywhere."
  Siegfried flushed slightly and put down his knife and fork. "James, I don't
  like to speak to you in these terms, but I am bound to tell you that you
  are talking the most unmitigated balls, bullshit and poppycock."
 I gave him a sullen glare. "That's your opinion, is it?"
 "It is indeed, James."
 "Right."
 "Right."
 "Okay.,,
 "Very well."
 We continued our meal in silence.

 But over the next few days my mind kept returning to the conversation.
 Siegfried has always had a persuasive
  216 ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL
  way with him and the thought kept recurring that there
  might be a lot in what he said.
   It was a week later that I paused, syringe in hand, be
  fore pushing between two cows. The animals, divining
  my intent as they usually did, swung their craggy hind
  ends together and blocked my way. Yes, by God,
  Siegfried had a point. Why should I fight my way in there
  when the other end was ready and waiting?
 J                                 I came to a decision. "Hold the tail,
 please," I said
  to the farmer and pushed my needle into the rump.
   The cow never moved and as I completed the injection
  and pulled the needle out I was conscious of a faint sense
  -of shame. That lovely pad of gluteal muscle, the easy
  availability of the site-my colleague had been dead right
  and I had been a pigheaded fool. I knew what to do in
  future.
   The farmer laughed as he stepped back across the
  dung channel. "It's a funny thing how you fellers all
  have your different ways."
   "What do you mean?"
   "Well, Mr. Farnon was 'ere yesterday, injecting that cow
  over there."
   "He was?" A sudden light flashed in my mind. Could it
  be that Siegfried was not the only convincing talker in
  our practice. . . ? "What about it?"
   "Just that 'e had a different system from you. Had
  savage good arguments 'gainst goin' near the rump. He
  injected into the neck."
   Something in my expression must have conveyed a
  message to him. "There now, Mr. Herriot, ye mustn't let
  that bother ye." He touched my arm sympathetically.
  "You're still young. After aff, Mr. Farnon is a man of
  experience."
           CHAPTER
              26

 1 leaned on the handle of my spade, wiped away the sweat which had begun
 to run into my eyes and gazed around me at the hundreds of men scattered
 over the dusty green.
  We were still on our toughening course. At least
 that's what they told us it was. I had a private suspicion
 that they just didn't know what to - do with all the air
 crews under training and that somebody had devised this
 method of getting us out of the way.
  Anyway, we were building a reservoir near a charming little Shropshire
  town and a whole village of tents had sprung up to house us. Nobody was
  quite sure about the reservoir but we were supposed to be building
  something. They issued us with denim suits and pick-axes and spades and
  for hour after hour we pecked desultorily at a rocky hillside.
  But, hot as I was, I couldn't help thinking that thing's could be a lot
  worse. The weather was wonderful and it was a treat to be in the open all
  day. I looked down the slope and away across the sweetly rolling
  countryside to where low hills rose in the blue distance; it was a
  gentler landscape than the stark fells and moors I had left behind in
  Yorkshire, but infinitely soothing.
  And the roofs of the town showing above the trees held a rich promise.
  During the hours tinder the fierce sun, with the rock rust caking round
  our lips, we built up a gargantuan thirst which we nurtured carefully
  till the evening when we were allowed out of camp.
  There, in cool taverns in the company of country folk, we slaked it with
  pints of glorious rough cider. I don't suppose you would find any there
  now. It is mostly factory-made cider which is drunk in the South of En-
  gland these days, but many of the pubs used to have
               217
            I

 218ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 their own presses, where they squeezed the juice from the local apples.
  To me, there was something disturbing about sleeping in a tent. Each
  morning when I awoke with the early sun beating on the thin walls it was
  as if I were back in the hills above the Firth of Clyde long before the
  war was dreamed of. There was something very evocative about the tent
  smell of hot canvas and rubber groundsheet and crushed grass and the
  flies buzzing in a little cloud at the top of the pole. I was jerked back
  in an instant to Rosneath and when I opened my eyes I half expected to
  find Alex Taylor and Eddie Hutchison, the friends of my boyhood, lying
  there in their sleeping bags.
  The three of us went camping at Rosneath every weekend from Easter to
  October, leaving the smoke and dirt of Glasgow behind us; and here in
  Shropshire, in the uncanny tent smell, when I closed my eyes I could see
  the little pine-wood behind the tent and the green hillside running down
  to -the turn and, far below, the long blue mirror of the Gareloch
  glinting under the great mountains of Argyll. They have desecrated
  Rosneath and the Gareloch now, but to me, as a boy, it was a fairyland
  which led me into the full wonder and beauty of the world.
  It was strange that I should dwell on that period when I was in my teens
  because Alex was in the Middle East, Eddie was in Burma and I was in
  another tent with a lot of different young men. And it was as though the
  time between had been rubbed away and Darrowby and Helen and all my
  struggles in veterinary practice had never happened. Yet those years in
  Darrowby had been the most important of my life. I used to sit up and
  shake myself, wondering at how my thoughts had been mixed up by the war.
  But as I say, I quite enjoyed Shropshire. The only snag was that
  reservoir, or whatever it was that we were hacking out of the face of the
  hill. I could never get really involved with it. So that I pricked up my
  ears when our Flight Sergeant made an announcement one morning.
  "Some of the local farmers want help with their harvest," he called out
  at the early parade. "Are there any volunteers?"
  My hand was the first up and after a few moments' hesitation others
  followed, but none of my particular
      ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL219

 friends volunteered for the job. When everything had been sorted out I
 found I had been allotted to a farmer Edwards with three other airmen who
 were from a different flight and strangers to me.
  Mr. Edwards arrived the following day and packed the four of us into a
  typical big old-fashioned farmer's car. I sat in the front with him while
  the three others filled the back. He asked our names but nothing else,
  as though he felt that our station in civil life was none of his concern.
  He was about thirty-five with jet black hair above a sunburnt face in
  which his white teeth and clear blue eyes shone startlingly.
  He looked us over with a good-humoured grin as we rolled into his
  farmyard.
  "Well, here we are, lads," he said. 'This is where we're going to put you
  through it."
  But I hardly heard him. I was looking around me at the scene which had
  been part of my life a few months ago. The cobbled yard, the rows of
  doors leading to cow byre, barn, pigsties and loose boxes. An old man was
  mucking out the byre and as the rich bovine smell drifted across, one of
  my companions wrinkled his nose. But I inhaled it like perfume.
  The farmer led us all into the fields where a reaper and binder was at
  work, leaving the sheaves of corn lying in long golden swathes.
 "Any of you ever done any stooking?" he asked.
 We shook our heads dumbly.
  "Never mind, you'll soon learn. You come with me, Jim."
  We spaced ourselves out in the big field, each of my colleagues with an
  old man while Mr. Edwards took charge of me. It didn't take me long to
  realise that I had got the tough section.
  The farmer grabbed a sheaf in each hand, tucked them under his arms,
  walked a few steps and planted them -on end, resting against each other.
  I did the same till there were eight sheaves making up a stook. He showed
  me how to dig the stalks into the ground so that they stood upright and
  sometimes he gave a nudge with his knee to keep them in the right
  alignment.
  I did my best but often my sheaves would fall over and I had to dart back
  and replace them. And I noticed with some alarm that Mr. Edwards was
  going about twice
 220ALL THINGS WTSE AND WONDERFUL '

 as fast as the three old men. We had nearly finished the row while they
 were barely half way along, and my aching arms and back told me I was in
 for a testing time.
  We went on like that for about two hours; bending, lifting, bending,
  lifting and shuffling forward without an instant's respite. One of the
  strongest impressions I had gained when I first came into country
  practice was that farming was the hardest way of all of making a living,
  and now I was finding out for myself. I was about ready to throw myself
  down on the stubble when Mrs. Edwards came over the field with her young
  son and daughter. They carried baskets with the ingredients for our ten
  o'clock break; crusty apple tart and jugs of cider.
  The farmer, watched me quizzically as I sank gratefully down and began
  to drink like a parched traveller in the desert. The cider, from his own
  press, was superb, and I closed my eyes as I swallowed. The right thing,
  it seemed to me, would be to lie here in the sunshine for the rest of the
  day with about a gallon of this exquisite brew by my side, but Mr.
  Edwards had other ideas. I was still chewing at the solid crust when he
  grasped a fresh pair of sheaves.
  "Right, lad, must get on," he grunted, and I was back on the treadmiR.
  With a pause at lunchtime for bread, cheese and more cider we went on at
  breakneck speed all day. I have always been grateful to the RAF for what
  they did for my physical well-being. When I was called up there was no
  doubt I was going slightly to seed under Helen's beneficent regime. Too
  much good cooking and the discovery of the charms of an'armchair; I was
  getting fat. But the RAF changed all that and I don't think I have ever
  slipped back.
  After the six months at Scarborough I am certain I didn't carry a surplus
  pound. Marching, drilling, PT, running-I could trot five miles along the
  beach and cliffs without trouble. When I arrived in Shropshire I was
  really fit. But I wasn't as fit as Mr. Edwards.
  He was a compact bundle of power. Not very big but with the wiry
  durability I remembered in the Yorkshire farmers. He seemed tireless,
  hardly breaking sweat as he moved along the rows, corded brown arms
  bulging from the sleeves of a faded collarless shirt, slightly bowed legs
  stumping effortlessly.
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              221

   The sensible thing would have been to tell him straight that I couldn't go
   at his pace, but some demon of pride impelled me to keep up with him. I am
   quite sure he didn't mean to rub it in. Like any other farmer he had a job
   to do and was anxious to get on with it. At the lunch break he looked at me
   with some commiseration as I stood there, shirt sticking to my back, mouth
   hanging open, ribs heaving.
   "You're doin' fine, Jim," he said, then, as if noticing my distress for the
   first time, he shifted his feet awkwardly. "I know you city ]ads ain't used
   to this kind of work and . . . well . . . it's not a question of strength,
   it's just knowin' how to do it."
   When we drove back to camp that night I could hear my companions groaning
   in the back of the car. They, too, had suffered, but not as badly as me.
   After a few days I did begin to get the knack of the thing and though it
   still tested me to the utmost I was never on the border of collapse again.
   Mr. Edwar& noticed the improvement and slapped me playfully on the
   shoulder. "What did I tell you? It's just knowin' how to do it!"
   But a new purgatory awaited me when we started to
  load the corn on to the stack. Forking the sheaves up on
  to, the cart, roping them there then throwing them
  again, higher and higher as the stack grew in size, I
  realised with a jolt that stooking ha ' d been easy.
   Mrs. Edwards joined in this part. She stood on the top of the stack with
   her husband, expertly turning the sheaves towards him while he arranged
   them as they should be. I had the unskilled job way below, toiling as never
   before, back breaking, the handle of the fork blistering my palms.
   I just couldn't go fast enough and Mr. Edwards had to hop down to help me,
   grasping a fork and hurling the sheaves up with easy flicks of the wrist.
   He looked at me as before and spoke the encouraging words. "You're comin'
   along grand, Jim. It's just knowin'how to do it."
   But there were many compensations. The biggest was being among farming folk
   again. Mrs. Edwards in her undemonstrative way was obviously anxious to
   show hospitality to these four rather bewildered city boys far from,home,
   and set us down to a splendid meal every
  222         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  evening. She was dark like her husband, with large eyes which joined in
  her quick smile and a figure which managed to be thin and shapely at the
  same time. She hadn't much chance to get fat because she never stopped
  working. When she wasn't outside throwing the corn around like any man she
  was cooking and baking, looking after her children and scouring her great
  barn of a farmhouse.
   Those evening meals were something to look forward to and remember.
   Steaming rabbit pies with fresh green beans and potatoes from the garden.
   Bilberry tarts and apple crumble and a massive jug of thick cream to pour
   ad lib. Home-baked bread and farm cheese.
   The four of us revelled in the change from the RAF fare. It was said the
   aircrews got the best food in the services and I believed it, but after
   a while it all began to taste the same. Maybe it was the bulk cooking but
   it palled in time.
   Sitting at the farm table, looking at Mrs. Edwards serv,ing us, at her
   husband eating stolidly and at the two children, a girl of ten whose dark
   eyes showed pron-dse of her mother's attractiveness and a sturdy, brown-
   limbed boy of eight, the thought recurred; they were good stock.
   The clever economists who tell us that we don't need British agriculture
   and that our farms should be turned into national parks seem to ignore
   the rather obvious snag that an unfriendly country could starve us into
   submission in a week. But to me a greater tragedy still would be the loss
   of a whole community of people like the Edwardses.
   It was late one afternoon and I was feeling more of a weakling than ever,
   with Mr. Edwards throwing the sheaves around as though they were
   weightless while I groaned and strained. The farmer was called away to
   attend to a calving cow and as he hopped blithely from the stack he
   patted my shoulder as I leaned on my fork.
   "Never mind, Jim," he laughed.
   An hour later we were going into the kitchen for our meal when Mrs.
   Edwards said, "My husband's still on with that cow. He must be having
   difficulty with her."
   I hesitated in the doorway. "Do you mind if I go and see how he's getting
   on?"
   She smiled. "All right, if you like. I'll keep your food warm for you."
   I crossed the yard and went into the byre. One of the
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               223

  old men was holding the tail of a big Red Poll and puffing his pipe
  placidly. Mr. Edwards, stripped to the waist, had his arm in the cow up to
  the shoulder. But it was a different Mr. Edwards. His back and chest
  glistened and droplets of sweat ran down his nose and dripped steadily from
  the end. His mouth gaped and he panted as he fought his private battle
  somewhere inside.
   He turned glazed eyes in my direction. At first he didn't appear to see me
   in his absorption, then recognition dawned.
   ... Ullo, Jim," he muttered breathlessly. "I've got a right job on 'ere."
  "Sorry to hear that. What's the trouble?"
   He began to reply then screwed up his face. "Aaahl The old bitchl She's
   squeezin' the life out of me arm again! She'll break it afore she's
   finished!" He paused, head hanging down, to recover, then he looked up at
   me. "The calf's laid wrong, Jim. There's just a tail comin' into the
   passage and I can't get the hind legs round."
   A breech. My favourite presentation but one which always defeated farmers.
   I couldn't blame them really because they had never had the opportunity to
   read Franz Benesch's classical work on Veterinary Obstetrics which explains
   the mechanics, of parturition so lucidly. One phrase has always stuck in my
   mind: "The necessity for simultaneous application of antagonistic forces."
   Benesch points out that in order to correct many malpresentations it is
   necessary to apply traction and repulsion at the same time, and to do that
   with one hand in a straining cow is impossible.
   As though to endorse my thoughts Mr. Edwards burst out once more. "Dang it,
   I've missed it again! I keep pushin' the hock away then grabbin' for the
   foot but the old bitch just shoves it all back at me. I've been doin' this
   for an hour now and I'm about knackered."
   I never thought I would hear such words from this tough little man, but
   there was no doubt he had suffered. The cow was a massive animal with a
   back like a dining table and she was heaving the farmer back effortlessly
   every time she strained. We didn't see many Red Polls in Yorkshire but the
   ones I had met were self-willed and strong as elephants; the idea of
   pushing against one for an hour made me quail.
  Mr. Edwards pulled his arm out and stood for a mo-  224         ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  ment leaning against the hairy rump. The animal was quite unperturbed by the
  interference of this puny human but the farmer was a picture of exhaustion.
  He worked his dangling fingers gingerly then looked up at me.
   "By God!" he grunted. "She's given me some stick. I've got hardly any
   feelin' left in this arm."
   He didn't have to tell me. I had known that sensation many a time. Even
   Benesch in the midst of his coldly scientific "reposition s,"
   "retropulsions," "malpositions" and "counteracting pressures" so far
   unbends as to state that "Great demands are made upon the strength of the
   operator." Mr. Edwards would agree with him.
   The farmer took a long shuddering breath and moved over to the bucket of
   hot water on the floor. He washed his arms then turned back to the cow with
   something like dread on his face.
  "Look," I said. "Please let me help you."
   He gave me a pallid smile. "Thanks, Jim, but there's nuthin' you can do.
   Those legs have got to come round."
  "That's what I mean. I can do it."
  "What ... T'
   "With a bit of help from you. Have you got a piece of binder twine handy?"
   "Aye, we've got yards of it, lad, but I'm tellin' you you need experience
   for this job. You know nuthin' about . . ."
   He stopped because I was already pulling my shirt over my head. He was too
   tired to argue in any case.
   Hanging the shirt on a nail on the wall, bending over the bucket and
   soaping my arms with the scent of the antiseptic coming up to me brought a
   rush of memories which was almost overwhelming. I held out my hand and Mr.
   Edwards wordlessly passed me a length of twine.
   I soaked it in the water, then quickly tied a slip knot at one end and
   inserted my hand into the cow. Ah yes, there was the tail, so familiar,
   hanging between the calf's pelvic bones. Oh, I did love a breech, and I ran
   my hand with almost voluptuous satisfaction along the hair of the limb till
   I reached the tiny foot. It was a moment's work to push the loop over the
   fetlock and tighten it while I passed the free end between the digits of
   the cloven foot.
   "Hold that," I said to the farmer, "and pull it steadily when I tell you."
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               225

   1 put my hand on the hock and began to push it away from me into the
   uterus.
  "Now pull," I said. "But carefully. Don't jerk."
   Like a man in a dream he did as I said and within seconds the foot popped
   out of the vulva.
  "Hell!" said Mr. Edwards.
   "Now for the other one," I murmured as I removed the loop.
   I repeated the procedure, the farmer, slightly pop-eyed, pulling on the
   twine. The second little hoof, yellow and moist, joined its fellow on the
   outside almost immediately.
  "Bloody hell!" said Mr. Edwards.
   "Right," I said. "Grab a leg and we'll have him out in a couple of
   ticks."
   We each took a bold and leaned back, but the big cow did the job for us,
   giving a great heave which deposited the calf wet and wriggling into my
   arms. I staggered back and dropped with it on to the straw.
   "Grand bull calf, Mr. Edwards," I said.-"Better give him a rub down."
   The farmer shot me a disbelieving glance then twisted some hay into a
   wisp and began to dry off the little creature.
   "If you ever get stuck with a breech presentation again," I said, "I'll
   show you what you ought to do. You have to push and pull at the same time
   and that's where the twine comes in. As you repel the hock with your hand
   somebody else pulls the foot round, but you'll notice I have the twine
   between the calf's cleats and that's important. That way it lifts the
   sharp little foot up and prevents injury to the vaginal wall."
   The farmer nodded dumbly and went on with his rubbing. When he had
   finished he looked up at me in bewilderment and his lips moved
   soundlessly a few times before he spoke.
   "What the                                       how . . . how the heck do you know
  all that?"
  I told him.
  There was a long pause then he exploded.
  "You young bugger! You kept that dark, didn't you?"
  "Well ... you never asked me."
  He scratched his head. "Well, I don't want to be nosey
  226         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  with you ]ads that helps me. Some folks don't like it. His voice trailed
  away.
   We dried our arms and donned our shirts in silence. Before leaving he
   looked over at the calf, already making strenuous efforts to rise as its
   mother licked it.
   "He's a lively little beggar," he said. "And we might have lost 'im. I'm
   right grateful to you." He put an arm round my shoulders. "Anyway, come on,
   Mister Veterinary Surgeon, and we'll 'ave some supper."
   Half way across the yard he stopped and regarded me ruefully. "You know, I
   must have looked proper daft to you, fumblin' away inside there for an hour
   and damn near killin' myself, then you step up and do it in a couple of
   minutes. I feet as weak as a girl."
   "Not in the least, Mr. Edwards," I replied. "It's I hesitated a moment.
   "It's not a question of strength, it's just knowing how to do it."
   He nodded, then became very still and the seconds stretched out as he
   stared at me. Suddenly his teeth shone as the brown face broke into an
   ever-widening grin which developed into a great shout of laughter.
   He was still laughing helplessly when we reached the house and as I opened
   the kitchen door he leaned against the wall and wiped his eyes.
   "You young devil!" he said. "I allus had a feeling there was something
   behind that innocent face of yours."
                 CHAPTER
                     27

  At last we were on our way to Flying School. It was at Windsor and that
  didn't seem far on the map, but it was a typical wartime journey of endless
  stops and changes and interminable waits. It went on all through the night
  and we took our sleep in snatches. I stole an hour's fitful slumber on the
  waiting-room table at a tiny nameless station and despite my hard pillowless
  bed I drifted deliciously back to Darrowby.
   I was bumping along the rutted track to Nether Lees Farm, hanging on to the
   jerking wheel. I could see the house below me, its faded red tiles showing
   above the sheltering trees, and behind the buildings the scrubby hillside
   rose to the moor.
   Up there the trees were stunted and sparse and dotted widely over the steep
   flanks. Higher still there was only scree and cliff and right at the top,
   beckoning in the sunshine, I saw the beginning of the moor-smooth, unbroken
   and bare.
   A scar on the broad sweep of green showed where long ago they quarried the
   stones to build the massive farmhouses and the enduring walls which have
   stood against the unrelenting climate for hundreds of years. Those houses
   and those endlessly marching walls would still be there when I was gone and
   forgotten.
   Helen was with me in the car. I loved it when she came with me on my
   rounds, and after the visit to the farm we climbed up the fell-side,
   panting through the scent of the warm bracken, feeling the old excitement
   as we neared the summit.
   Then we were on the top, facing into the wide free moorland and the clean
   Yorkshire wind and the cloud shadows racing over the greens and browns.
   Helen's hand was warm in mine as we wandered among the heather
                       227
  228         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  through green islets nibbled to a velvet sward by the sheep. She raised
  a finger as a curlew's lonely cry sounded across the wild tapestry and the
  wonder in her eyes sbone through the dark flurry of hair blowing across
  her face.
   The gentle shaking at my shoulder pulled me back to wakefulness, to the
   hiss of steam and the clatter of boots. The table top was hard against
   my hip and my neck was stiff where it had rested on my pack.
   "Train's in, Jim." An airman was looking down at me. "I hated to wake
   you-you were smiling."

  Two hours later, sweaty, unshaven, half asleep, laden with kit, we
  shuffled into the airfield at Windsor. Sitting in the wooden building we
  only half listened to the corporal giving us our introductory address.
  Then suddenly his words struck home.
   "'Mere's one other thing," he said. "Remember to wear your identity discs
   at all times. We had two prangs last week-couple of fellers burned beyond
   recognition and neither of 'em was wearing his discs. We didn't know who
   they were." He spread his hands appealingly. "This sort of thing makes
   a lot of work for us, so remember what I've told you."
   In a moment we were all wide awake and listening intently. Probably
   thinking as I was-that we had only been playing at being airmen up till
   now.
   I looked through the window at the wind sock blowing over the long flat
   stretch of green, at the scattered aircraft, the fire tender, the huddle
   of low wooden huts. The playing was over now. This was where everything
   started.
                 CHAPTER

                     28

  This was a very different uniform. The wellingtons and breeches of my
  country vet days seemed far away as I climbed into the baggy flying suit
  and pulled on the sheepskin boots and the gloves-the silk ones first then
  the big clumsy pair on top. It was all new but I had a feeling of pride.
   Leather helmet and goggles next, then I fastened on my parachute passing
   the straps over my shoulders and between my legs and buckling them
   against my chest before shuffling out of the flight hut on to the long
   stretch of sunlit grass.
   Flying Officer Woodham was waiting for me there. He was to be my
   instructor and he glanced at me apprehensively as though he didn't relish
   the prospect. With his dark boyish good looks be resembled all the
   pictures I had seen of Battle of Britain pilots and in fact, like all our
   instructors, he had been through this~ crisis in our history. They had
   been sent here as a kind of holiday after their tremendous experience but
   it was said that they regarded their operations against the enemy as a
   picnic compared with this. They had faced the might of the Luftwaffe
   without flinching but we terrified them.
   As we walked over the grass I could see one of my friends coming in to
   land. The little biplane slewed and weaved crazily in the sky, just
   missed a clump of trees then about fifty feet from the ground it dropped
   like a stone, bounced high on its wheels, bounced twice again then
   zig-zagged to a halt. The helmeted head in the rear cockpit jerked and
   nodded as though it were making some pointed remarks to the head in
   front. Flying Officer Woodham's face was expressionless but I knew what
   he was thinking. It was his turn next.
  The Tiger Moth looked very small and.alone on the
                       229
  230         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  wide stretch of green. I climbed up and strapped myself into the cockpit
  while my instructor got in behind me. He went through the drill which I
  would soon know by heart like a piece of poetry. A fitter gave the
  propellor a few turns for priming. Then "Contact!" the fitter swung the
  prop, the engine roared, the chocks were pulled away from the wheels and
  we were away, bumping over the grass, then suddenly and miraculously
  lifting and soaring high over the straggle of huts into the summer sky
  with the patchwork of the soft countryside of southern England unfolding
  beneath us.
   I felt a sudden elation, not just because I liked the sensation but
   because I had waited so long for this moment. The months of drilling and
   marching and studying navigation bad been leading up to the time when I
   would take the air and now it had arrived.
   F. 0. Woodham's voice came over the intercom. "Now you've got her. Take
   the stick and hold her steady. Watch the artificial horizon and keep it
   level. See that cloud ahead? Line yourself up with it and keep your nose
   on it."
   I gripped the joystick in my gauntleted hand. This was lovely. And easy,
   too. They had told me flying would be a simple matter and they had been
   right. It was child's play. Cruising along I glanced down at the
   grandstand of Ascot racecourse far below.
   I was just beginning to smile happily when a voice crashed in my ear.
   "Relax, for God's sake! What the hell are you play i ng at?"
   I couldn't understand him. I felt perfectly relaxed and I thought I was
   doing fine, but in the mirror I could see my instructor's eyes glaring
   through his goggles.
   "No, no, no! That's no bloody good! Relax, can't you hear me, relax!"
   "Yes, Sir," I quavered and immediately began to stiffen up. I couldn't
   imagine what was troubling the man but as I began to stare with
   increasing desperation, now at the artificial horizon then at the nose
   of the aircraft against the cloud ahead, the noises over the intercom
   became increasingly apoplectic.
   I didn't seem to have a single problem, yet all I could hear were curses
   and --roans and on one occasion the voice rose to a scream. "Get your
   bloody finger out, will you!"
   I stopped enjoying myself and a faint misery welled in me. And as always
   when that happened I began to
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               231

  think of Helen and the happier life I had left behind. In the open cockpit
  the wind thundered in my ears, lending vivid life to the picture forming
  in my mind.
   The wind was thundering here, too, but it was against the window of our
   bed-sitter. It was early November and a golden autumn had changed with
   brutal suddenness to arctic cold. For two weeks an icy rain had swept the
   grey towns and villages which huddled in the folds of the Yorkshire
   Dales, turning the fields into shallow lakes and the farmyards into
   squelching mudholes.
   Everybody had colds. Some said it was flu, but whatever it was it
   decimated the population. Half of Darrowby seemed to be in bed and the
   other half sneezing at each other.
   I myself was on a knife edge, crouching over the fire, sucking an
   antiseptic lozenge and wincing every time I had to swallow. My throat
   felt raw and there was an ominous tickling at the back of my nose. I
   shivered as the rain hurled a drumming cascade of water against the
   glass. I was all alone in the practice. Siegfried had gone away for a few
   days and I just daren't catch cold.
   It all depended on tonight. If only I could stay indoors and then have
   a good sleep I could throw this off, but as I glanced over at the phone
   on the bedside table it looked like a crouching beast ready to spring.
   Helen was sitting on the other side of the fire, knitting. She didn't
   have a cold-she never did. And even in those early days of our marriage
   I couldn't help feeling it was a little unfair. Even now, thirty-five
   years later, things are just the same and, as I go around sniffling, I
   still feel tight-lipped at her obstinate refusal to join me.
   I pulled my chair closer to the blaze. There was always a lot of night
   work in our kind of practice but maybe I would be lucky. It was eight
   o'clock with never a cheep and perhaps fate had decreed that I would not
   be hauled out into that sodden darkness in my weakened state.
   Helen came to the end of a row and held up her knitting. It was a sweater
   for me, about half done.
  "How does it look, Jim?" she asked.
   I smiled. There was something in her gesture that seemed to epitomise our
   life together. I opened my mouth to tell her it was simply smashing when
   the 'phone pealed with a suddenness which made me bite my tongue.
  Tremblingly I lifted the receiver while horrid visions of
  232         ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  calving heifers floated before me. An hour with my shirt off would just tip
  Me DiCely over the brink.
  "This is Sowden of Long Pasture," a voice croaked.
   "Yes, Mr. Sowdcn?" I gripped the phone tightly. I would know my fate in a
   moment.
   "I 'ave a big calf 'ere. Looks very dowly and gruntin' bad. Will ye come?"
   A long breath of relief escaped me. A calf with probable stomach trouble.
   It could have been a lot worse.
  "Right, I'll see you in twenty minutes," I said.
   As I turned back to the cosy warmth of the little room the injustice of
   life smote me.
  "I've got to go out, Helen."
  "Oh, what a shame."
   "Yes, and I have this cold coming on," I whimpered. "And just listen to
   that rain!"
  "Yes, you must wrap up well, Jim."
   I scowled at her. "That place is ten miles away, and a cheerless dump if
   ever there was one. There's not a warm corner anywhere." I fingered my
   aching throat. "A trip out there's just what I need-I'm sure I've got a
   temperature." I don't know if all veterinary surgeons blame their wives
   when they get an unwanted call, but heaven help me, I've done it all my
   life.
   Instead of giving me a swift kick in the pants Helen smiled up at me. "I'm
   really sorry, Jim, but maybe it won't take you long. And you can have a
   bowl of hot soup when you get back."
   I nodded sulkily. Yes, that was something to look forward to. Helen had
   made some brisket broth that day, rich and meaty, crowded with celery,
   leeks and carrots and with a flavour to bring a man back from the dead. I
   went over and kissed her and trailed off into the night.
   Long Pasture Farm was in the little hamlet of Dowsett and I had travelled
   this narrow road many times. It snaked its way high into the wild country
   and on Summer days the bare lonely hills had a serene beauty; treeless and
   austere, but with a clean wind sweeping over the grassy miles.
   But tonight as I peered unhappily through the streaming windscreen the
   unseen surrounding black bulk pressed close and I could imagine the
   dripping stone walls climbing high to the summits where the rain drove
   across the
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               *233

  moorland, drenching the heather and bracken, churning the dark mirrors of
  the bog water into liquid mud.
   When I saw Mr. Sowden I realised that I was really quite fit. Hehad
   obviously been suffering from the prevalent malady for some time, but
   like most farmers he just had to keep going at his hard ceaseless work.
   He looked at me from swimming eyes, gave a couple of racking coughs that
   almost tore him apart and led me into the buildings. He held an oil lamp
   high as we entered a lofty barn and in the feeble light I discerned
   various rusting farm implements, a heap of potatoes and another of tur-
   nips and in a corner a makeshift pen where my patient stood.
   It wasn't the two week old baby calf I had half expected, but a little
   animal of six months, almost stirk age, but Dot well grown. It had all
   the signs of a "bad doer"-thin and pot-beffied with its light roan coat
   hanging in a thick overgrown fringe below its abdomen.
   "Allus been a poor calf," Mr. Sowden wheezed between coughs. "Never
   seemed to put on flesh. Rain stopped for a bit this afternoon, so ah let
   'im out for a bit of fresh air and now look at 'im."
   I climbed into the pen and as I slipped the thermometer into the rectum
   I studied the little creature. He offered no resistance as I gently
   pushed him to one side, his head hung down and he gazed apathetically at
   the floor from deep sunk eyes. Worst of all was the noise he was making.
   It was more than a grunt-rather a long, painful groan repeated every few
   seconds.
   "It certainly looks like his stomach," I said. "Which field was he in
   this afternoon?"
   "I nobbut let 'irn have a walk round Vorchard for a couple of hours."
   "I see." I looked at the thermometer. The temperature was subnormal. "I
   suppose there's a bit of fruit lying around there."
   Mr. Sowden went into another paroxysm, then leaned on the boards of the
   pen to recover his breath. "Aye, there's apples and pears all over
   t'grass. Had a helluva crop this year."
   I put the stethoscope over the rumen and instead of the normal surge and
   bubble of the healthy stomach I heard only a deathly silence. I palpated
   the flank and felt the typical doughy fullness of impaction.
  234         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   "Well, Mr. Sowden, I think he's got a bellyful of fruit and it's brought
   his digestion to a complete halt. He's in a bad way."
   The farmer shrugged. "Well, if Vs just a bit bunged up a good dose of
   linseed oil 'ud shift 'im."
   "I'm afraid it's not as simple as that," I said. "nis is a serious
   condition."
   "Well what are we goin' to do about it, then?" He wiped his nose and
   looked at me morosely.
   I hesitated. It was bitterly cold in the old building and already I was
   feeling shivery and my throat ached. The thought of Helen and the
   bed-sitter and the warm fire was unbearably attractive. But I had seen
   impactions like this before and tried treating them with purgatives and
   it didn't work. This animal's temperature was falling to the moribund
   level and be had a sunken eye-if I didn't do something drastic be would
   be dead by morning.
   "There's only one thing will save him," I said. "And that's a
   rumenotomy."
  "A what?"
   "An operation. Open up his first stomach and clear out all the stuff that
   shouldn't be there."
   "Are ye sure? D'ye not think a good pint of oil would put 'im right. It
   'ud be a lot easier."
   It would indeed. For a moment the fireside and Helen glowed like a jewel
   in a cave, then I glanced at the calf. Scraggy and long-haired, he looked
   utterly unimportant, infinitely vulnerable and dependent. It would be the
   easiest thing in the world to leave him groaning in the dark till
   morning.
   "I'm quite sure, Mr. Sowden. He's so weak that I think I'll do it under
   a local anaesthetic, so we'll need some help."
   The farmer nodded slowly. "Awright, ah'Il go down t'village and get
   George Hindley." He coughed again, painfully. "But by gaw, ah could do
   without this tonight. Ah'm sure I've got brown chitis."
   Brown chitis was a common malady among the farmers of those days and
   there was no doubt this poor man was suffering from it but my pang of
   sympathy faded as he left because he took the lamp with him and the
   darkness closed tightly on me.
   There are all kinds of barns. Some of them are small, cosy and fragrant
   with hay, but this was a terrible place. I had been in here on sunny
   afternoons and even then the
           ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              235

  dank gloom of crumbling walls and rotting beams was like a clammy blanket
  and all warmth and softness seemed to disappear among the cobwebbed
  rafters high above. I used to feel that people with starry-eyed notions
  of farming ought to take a look inside that barn. It was evocative of the
  grim comfortless other side of the agricultural life.
   I had it to myself now, and as I stood there listening to the wind
   rattling the door on its latch a variety of draughts whistled round me
   and a remorseless drip-drip from the broken pantiles on the roof sent icy
   droplets trickling over my head and neck. And as the minutes ticked away
   I began to hop from foot to foot in a vain effort to keep warm.
   Dales farmers are never in a hurry and I hadn't expected a quick return,
   but after fifteen minutes in the impenetrable blackness bitter thoughts
   began to assail me. Where the hell was the man? Maybe he and George
   Hindley were brewing a pot of tea for themselves or perhaps settling down
   to a quick game of dominoes. My legs were trembling by the time the oil
   lamp reappeared in the entrance and Mr. Sowden ushered his neighbour
   inside.
  "Good evening, George," I said. "How are you?"
   "Only moderate, Mr. Herriot," the newcomer sniffled. `17his bloody caud's
   just-ab-ah-whooosh-just gettin' a haud o' me." He blew lustily into a red
   handkerchief and gazed at me blearily.
   I looked around me. "Well let's get 9tarted. We'll need an operating
   table. Perhaps you could stack up a few straw bales?"
   The two men trailed out and returned, carrying a couple of bales apiece.
   When they -were built up they were about the right height but rather
   wobbly.
   "We could do with a board on top." I blew on my freezing fingers and
   stamped my feet. "Any ideas?"
   Mr. Sowden rubbed his chin. "Aye, we'll get a door." He shuffled out into
   the yard with his lamp and I watched him.struggling to lift one of the
   cow byre doors from its hinges. George went to give him a hand and as the
   two of them pulled and heaved I thought wearily that veterinary
   operations didn't trouble me all that much but getting ready for them was
   a killer.
   Finally the men staggered back into the barn, laid the door on top of the
   bales and the theatre was ready.
  236         ALL THINGS *ISE AND WONDERFUL

  "Let's get him up," I gasped.
   We lifted the unresisting little creature on to the improvised table and
   stretched him on his right side. Mr. Sowden held his head while George
   took charge of the tail and the rear end.
   Quickly I laid out my instruments, removed coat and jacket and rolled up
   my shirt sleeves. "Damn! We've no hot water. Will you bring some, Mr.
   Sowden?"
   I held the head and again waited interminably while the farmer went to
   the house. This time it was worse without my warm clothing and the cold
   ate into me as I pictured the farm kitchen and the slow scooping of the
   water from the side boiler into a bucket, then the unhurried journey back
   to the buildings.
   When Mr. Sowden linally reappeared I added antiseptic to the bucket and
   scrubbed my arms feverishly. Then I clipped the hair on the left side and
   filled the syringe with local anaesthetic. But as I infiltrated the area
   I felt my hopes sinking.
   "I can hardly see a damn thing." I looked helplessly at the oil lamp
   balanced on a nearby turnip chopper. "That light's in the wrong place."
   Wordlessly Mr. Sowden left his place and began to tie a length of plough
   cord to a beam. He threw it over another beam and made it fast before
   suspending the lamp above the calf. It was a big improvement but it took
   a long time and by the time he had finished I had abandoned all hope of
   ever throwing off my cold. I was frozen right through and a burning
   sensation had started in my chest. I would soon be in the same state as
   my helpers. Brown chitis was just round the corner.
   Anyway, at least I could start now, and I incised skin, muscles,
   peritoneum and rumenal wall at record speed. I plunged an arm deep into
   the opened organ, through the fermenting mass of stomach contents, and
   in a flash all my troubles dissolved. Along the floor of the rumen apples
   and pears were spread in layers, some of them bitten but most of them
   whole and intact. Bovines take most of their food in big swallows and
   chew it over later at their leisure, but no animal could make cud out of
   this lot.
   I looked up happily. "It's just as I thought. He's full of fruit."
   "Hhrraaagh!" replied Mr. Sowden. Coughs come in various forms but this
   one was tremendous and fundamental,
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               237

  starting at the soles of his hob-nailed boots and exploding right in my
  face. I hadn't realised how vulnerable I was with the farmer leaning over
  the calf's neck, his head a few inches from mine. "Hhrraaagh!" he
  repeated, and a second shower of virus laden moisture struck me. Appar-
  ently Mr. Sowden either didn't know or didn't care about droplet
  infection, but with my hands inside my patient there was nothing I could
  do about it.
   Instinctively I turned my face a little in the other direction.
   "Whoosh!" went George. It was a sneeze rather than a cough, but it sent
   a similar deadly spray against my other cheek. I realised there was no
   escape. I was hopelessly trapped between the two of them.
   But as I say, my morale had received a boost. Eagerly I scooped out great
   handfuls of the offending fruit and within minutes the floor of the barn
   was littered with Bramley's seedlings and Conference pears.
  "Enough here to start a shop," I laughed.
  "Hhrraaagh!" responded Mr. Sowden.
  "Whooosh!" added George, not to be outdone.
   When I had sent the last apple and pear rolling into the darkness I
   scrubbed up again and started to stitch. This is the longest and most
   wearisome part of a rumenotomy. The excitement of diagnosis and discovery
   is over and it is a good time for idle chat, funny stories, anything to
   pass the time.
   But there in the circle of yellow light with the wind whirling round my
   feet from the surrounding gloom and occasional icy trickles of rain
   running down my back I was singularly short of gossip, and my companions,
   sunk in their respective miseries, were in no mood for badinage.
   I was half way down the skin sutures when a tickle mounted at the back
   of my nose and I had to stop and stand upright.
   "Ah-ah-ashooo!" I rubbed my forearm along my nose.
   "He's startin'," murmured George with mournful satisfaction.
  "Aye, I e's off," agreed Mr. Sowden, brightening visibly.
   I was not greatly Worried. I had long since come to the conclusion that
   my cause was lost. The long session of freezing in my shirt sleeves would
   have done it without
  238          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL ,

  the incessant germ bombardment from either side. I was resigned to my fate
  and besides, when I inserted the last stitch and helped ' the calf down
  from the table I felt a deep thrill of satisfaction. That horrible groan
  had vanished and the little animil was looking around him as -though he
  had been away for a while. He wasn't cheerful yet, but I knew his pain had
  gone and that he would live.
   "Bed him up well, Mr. Sowden." I started to wash my instruments in the
   bucket. "And put a couple of sacks round him to keep him warm. I'll call
   in a fortnight to take out the stitches."
   That fortnight seemed to last a long time. My cold, as I had confidently
   expected, developed into a raging holocaust which settled down into the
   inevitable brown chitis with an accompanying cough that rivalled Mr.
   Sowden's.
   Mr. Sowden was never an ebullient man but I expected him to look a little
   happier when I removed the stitches. Because the calf was bright and
   lively and I had to chase him around his pen to catch him.
   Despite the fire in my chest I had that airy feeling of success.
   "Well," I said expansively. "He's done very well. He'll make a good
   bullock some day."
   Ile farmer shrugged gloomily. "Aye, reckon 'e will. But there was no need
   for all that carry on."
  "No need ... ?"
   "Naw. Ah've been talkin' to one or two folk about t'job and they all said
   it was daft to open 'im up like that. Ah should just 'ave given 'im a
   pint of oil like I said."
  "Mr. Sowden, I assure you. . ."
   "And now ah'll have a big bill to pay." He dug his hands deep into his
   pockets.
  "Believe me, it was worth it."
   "Nay, nay, never." He started to walk away, then looked over his
   shoulder. "It would've been better if you 'adn't come."

  I had done three circuits with F. 0. Woodharn and on this third one he had
  kept fairly quiet. Obviously I was doing all right now and I could start
  enjoying myself, again. Flying was lovely.
   The voice came over the intercom again. "I'm going to let you land her
   yourself this time. I've told you how to do it. Right, you've got her."
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               239

   "I've got her," I replied. He had indeed told me how to do it-again and
   again-and I was sure I would have no trouble.
   As we lost height the tops of the trees appeared then the grass of the
   airfield came tip to meet us. It was the moment of truth. Carefully I eased
   the stick back, then at what I thought was the right moment I slammed it
   back against my stomach. Maybe a bit soon because we bounced a couple of
   times and that made me forget to seesaw the rudder bar so that we careered
   from side to side over the turf before coming to a halt.
   With the engine stilled I took a deep breath. That was my first landing and
   it hadn't been bad. In fact I had got better and better all the time and
   the conviction was growing in me that my instructor must have been im-
   pressed with my initial showing. We climbed out and after walking a few
   steps in silence F. 0. Woodham halted and turned to me.
  "What's your name?" he asked.
   Ah yes, here was the proof. He knew I had done well. He was interested in
   me.
  "Herriot, Sir," I replied smartly.
   For a few moments he gave me a level stare. "Well, Herriot," he murmured.
   "That was bloody awful."
   He turned and left me. I gazed down at my feet in their big sheepskin
   boots. Yes, the uniform was different, but things hadn't changed all that
   much.
                 CHAPTER
                     29

  Life in the RAF reminded me of something I always knew: Men are like
  animals. I don't mean men are "beastly." The fact is I don't think animals
  are "beastly." What I mean is that no two are exactly alike. Many people
  think my farm patients are all the same, but cows, pigs, sheep and horses
  can be moody, placid, vicious, docile, spiteful, loving.
   There was one particular pig called Gertrude, but before I come to her I
   must start with Mr. Barge.
   Nowadays the young men from the pharmaceutical companies who call on
   veterinary surgeons are referred to as "reps," but nobody would have
   dreamed of applying such a term to Mr. Barge. He was definitely a "repre-
   sentative" of Cargill and Sons, Manufacturers of Fine Chemicals since 1850,
   and he was so old that he might have been in on the beginning.
   It was a frosty morning in late winter when I opened the front door at
   Skeldale House and saw Mr. Barge standing on the front step. He raised his
   black homburg a few inches above the sparse strands of silver hair and his
   pink features relaxed into a smile of gentle benevolence. He had always
   treated me as a favourite son and I took it as a compliment because he was
   a man of immense prestige.
   "Mr. Herriot," he murmured, and bowed slightly. The bow was rich in dignity
   and matched the dark morning coat, striped trousers and shiny leather
   briefcase.
   "Please come in, Mr. Barge," I said, and ushered him into the house.
   He always called at midday and stayed for lunch. My young boss, Siegfried
   Farnon, a man not easily overawed, invariably treated him with deference
   and in fact the visit was something of a state occasion.
                       240
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               241

   The modern rep breezes in, chats briefly about blood levels of antibiotics
   and steroids, says a word or two about bulk discounts, drops a few data
   sheets on the desk and hurries away. In a way I feel rather sorry for these
   young men because, with a few exceptions, they are all selling the same
   things.
   Mr. Barge, on the other hand, like all his contemporaries, carried a thick
   catalogue of exotic remedies, each one peculiar to its own firm.
   Siegfried pulled out the chair at the head of the dining table. "Come and
   sit here, Mr. Barge."
   "You are very kind." The old gentleman inclined his head slightly and took
   his place.
   As usual there was no reference to business during the meal and it wasn't
   until the coffee appeared that Mr. Barge dropped his brochure carelessly on
   the table as though this part of the visit was an unimportant afterthought.
   Siegfried and I browsed through the pages, savouring the exciting whiff of
   witchcraft which has been blown from our profession by the wind of science.
   At intervals my boss placed an order.
   "I think we'd better have a couple of dozen electuaries, Mr. Barge."
   "Thank you so much." The old gentleman flipped open a leather-bound
   notebook and made an entry with a silver pencil.
   "And we're getting a bit low on fever drinks, aren't we, James?" Siegfried
   glanced round at me. "Yes, we'll need a gross of them if you please."
   "I am most grateful," Mr. Barge breathed, noting that down, too.
   My employer murmured his requests as he riffled through the catalogue. A
   Winchester of spirits of nitre and another of formalin, castration clams,
   triple bromide, Stockholm tar-all the things we never use now-and Mr. Barge
   responded gravely to each with "I do thank you" or "Thank you indeed," and
   a flourish of his silver pencil.
   Finally Siegfried lay back in his chair. "Well now, Mr. Barge, I think
   that's it-unless you have anything new."
   "As it happens, my dear Mr. Farnon, we have." The eyes in the pink face
   twinkled. "I can offer you our latest product, Soothitt, an admirable
   sedative."
  In an instant Siegfried and I were all attention. Every
  242         ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  animal doctor is keenly interested in sedatives. Anything which makes our
  patients more amenable is a blessing. Mr. Barge extolled the unique
  properties of Soothitt and we probed for further information.
   "How about unmaternal sows?" I asked. "You know -the kind which savage
   their young. I don't, suppose it's any good for that?"
   "My dear young Sir." Mr. Barge gave me the kind of sorrowing smile a bishop
   might bestow on an erring curate. "Soothitt is a specific for this
   condition. A single injection to a farrowing sow and you will have no
   problems."
   "That's great," I said. "And does it have any effect on car sickness in
   dogs?"
   The noble old features lit up with quiet triumph. "Another classical
   indication, Mr. Herriot. Soothitt comes in tablet form for that very
   purpose."
   "Splendid." Siegfried drained his cup and stood up. "Better send us a good
   supply then. And if you will excuse us, we must start the afternoon round,
   Mr. Barge. Thank you so much for calling."
   We all shook hands, Mr. Barge raised his homburg again on the front step
   and another gracious occasion was over.
   Within a week the new supplies from Cargill and Sons arrived. Medicines
   were always sent in tea chests in those days and as I prised open the
   wooden lid I looked with interest at the beautifully packed phials and
   tablets of Soothitt. And it seemed uncanny that I had a call for the new
   product immediately.
   That same day one of the town's bank managers, Mr. Ronald Beresford, called
   to see me.
   "Mr. Herriot," he said. "As You know I have worked here for several years
   but I have been offered the managership of a bigger branch down south and
   I leave tomorrow for Portsmouth." From his gaunt height he looked down at
   me with the unsmiling gaze which was characteristic of him.
  "Portsmouth! Gosh, that's a long way."
   "Yes, it is-about three hundred miles. And I have a problem."
  "Really?"
   "I have, I fear. T recently purchased a six month old cocker spaniel and he
   is an excellent little animal but for the fact that he behaves peculiarly
   in the car."
          ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              243

  "In what way?"
   He hesitated. "Well, he's outside now. If you've got a minute to spare I
   could demonstrate."
  "Of course," I said. "I'll come with you now."
   We went out to the car. His wife was in the passenger seat, as fat as her
   husband was thin, but with the same severe unbending manner. She nodded at
   me coldly but the attractive little animal on her lap gave-me an en-
   thusiastic welcome.
  I stroked the long silky ears. "He's a nice little fellow."
   Mr. Beresford gave me a sidelong glance. "Yes, his name is Coco and he
   really is quite charming. It's only when the engine is running that the
   trouble begins."
   I got in the back, he pressed the starter and we set off. And I saw
   immediately what he meant. The spaniel stiffened and raised his head till
   his nose pointed at the roof. He formed his lips into a cone and emitted a
   series of high-pitched howls.
  "Hooo, hooo, hooo, hooo," wailed Coco. -
   It really startled me because I had never heard anything quite like it. I
   don't know whether it was the perfectly even spacing of the hoots, their
   piercing, jarring quality, or the fact that they never stopped which drove
   the sound deep into my brain, but my head was singing after a two minute
   circuit of the town. I was vastly relieved when we drew up again outside
   the surgery.
   Mr. Beresford switched off the engine and it was as though he had switched
   off the noise, too, because the little animal relaxed instantly and began
   to lick my hand.
   "Yes       I said. "You have a problem without a doubt."
   He pulled nervously at his tie. "And it gets louder the longer you drive.
   Let me take you a bit farther round and . . ."
   "No-no, no-no," I put in hastily. "That won't be necessary. I can see
   exactly how you are placed. But you say you haven't had Coco for long. He
   isn't much more than a pup. I'm sure he'll get used to the car in time."
   "Very possibly he will." Mr. Beresford's voice was taut with apprehension.
   "But I'm thinking of tomorrow. I've got to drive all the way to Portsmouth
   with my wife and this dog and I've tried car sickness tablets without
   result."
   A full day with that appalling din was unthinkable but at that moment the
   image of Mr. Barge rose before me. He
  244         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  had sprouted wings and floated in front of my eyes like an elderly guardian
  angel. What an incredible piece of luck!
   "As it happens," I said with a reassuring smile, "there is something new
   for this sort of thing, and by a coincidence we have just received a batch
   of it today. Come in and I'll fix you up."
   "Well, thank heavens for that." Mr. Beresford examined the box of tablets.
   "I just give one half an hour before the journey and all will be well?"
   "That's the idea," I replied cheerfully. "I've given you a few extra for
   future journeys."
   "I am most grateful, you've taken a great load off my mind." He went out to
   the car and I watched as he started the engine. As if in response to a
   signal the little brown head on the back seat went up and the lips pursed.
   "Hooo, hooo, hooo, hooo," Coco yowled, and his master shot me a despairing
   look as he drove away.
   I stood on the steps for some time, listening incredulously. Many people in
   Darrowby didn't like Mr. Beresford very much, probably because of his cold
   manner, but I felt he wasn't a bad chap and he certainly had my sympathy.
   Long after the car bad disappeared round the corner of Trengate I could
   still hear Coco.
  "Hooo, hooo, hooo, hooo."

  About seven o'clock that evening I had a phone call from Will Hollin.
   "Gertrude's started farrowin'!" he said urgently. "And she's tryin' to
   worry her pigs!"
   It was bad news. Sows occasionally attacked their piglets after birth and
   in fact would kill them if they were not removed from their reach. And of
   course it meant that suckling was impossible.
   It was a tricky problem at any time but particularly so in this case
   because Gertrude was a pedigree sow-an expensive animal Will Hollin had
   bought to improve his strain of pigs.
  "How many has she had?" I asked.
   "Four-and she's gone for every one." His voice was tense.
   It was then I remembered Soothitt and again I blessed the coming of Mr.
   Barge.
  1 smiled into the receiver. "There's a new product I
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              245

can use, Mr. Hollin. Just arrived today. I'll be right out." I trotted through
  to the dispensary, opened the box of phials and had a quick read at the
  enclosed pamphlet. Ah yes, there it was. "Ten cc's intramuscularly and the
  sow will accept the piglets within twenty minutes."
   It wasn't a long drive to the Hollin farm but as I sped through the
   darkness I could discern the workings of fate in the day's events. The
   Soothitt had arrived this morning and right away I had two urgent calls for
   it. There was no doubt Mr. Barge had been sent for a purpose-living proof,
   perhaps, that everything in our lives is preordained. It gave me a
   prickling at the back of my neck to think about it.
   I could hardly wait to get the injection into the sow and climbed eagerly
   into the pen. Gertrude didn't appreciate having a needle rammed into her
   thigh and she swung round on me with an explosive bark. But I got the ten
   cc's in before making my escape.
   "We just wait twenty minutes, then?" Will Hollin leaned on the rail and
   looked down anxiously at his pig. He was a hard-working smallholder in his
   fifties and I knew this meant a lot to him.
   I was about to make a comforting reply when Gertrude popped Out another
   pink, squirming piglet. The farmer leaned over and gently nudged the little
   creature towards the udder as the sow lay on her side, but as soon as the
   nose made contact with the teat the big pig was up in a flash, all growls
   and yellow teeth.
   He snatched the piglet away quickly and deposited it with the others in a
   tall cardboard box. "Well, you see how it is, Mr. Herriot."
  "I certainly do. How many have you got in there now?"
  "There's six. And they're grand pigs, too."
   I peered into the box at the little animals. They all had the classical
   long-bodied shape. "Yes, they are. And she looks as though she has a lot
   more in her yet."
  The farmer nodded and we waited.
   It seemed to take a long time for the twenty minutes to pass but finally I
   lifted a couple of piglets and clambered into the pen. I was about to put
   them to the sow when one of them squealed. Gertrude rushed across with a
   ferocious roar, mouth gaping, and I leaped to safety with an agility which
   surprised me.
  "She don't look very sleepy," Mr. Hollin said.
  246        ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   "No ... no ... she doesn't, does she? Maybe we'd better wait a bit longer."
   We gave her another ten minutes and tried again with the same result. I
   injected a further ten cc's of the Soothitt, then about an hour later a
   third one. By nine o'clock Gertrude had produced fifteen beautiful young
   pigs and had chased me and her family from the pen six times. She was, if
   anything, livelier and fiercer than when I started.
   "Well, she's cleansed," Mr. Hollin said gloomily. "So it looks like she's
   finished." He gazed, sad-faced, into the box. "And now I've got fifteen
   pigs to rear without their mother's milk. I could lose all this lot."
   "Nay, nay." The voice came from the open doorway. "You won't lose 'em."
   I looked round. It was Grandad Hollin, his puckish features set in their
   customary smile. He marched to the pen and poked Gertrude's ribs with his
   stick.
   She responded with a snarl and a malignant glare and the old man's smile
   grew broader.
  "Ah'll soon fettle the awd beggar," he said.
   "Fettle her?" I shifted my feet uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"
  ,.,Why, she just wants quietin', tha knaws."
   I took a long breath. "Yes, Mr. Hollin, that's exactly what I've been
   trying to do."
   "Aye, but you're not doin' it the right way, young man."
   I looked at him narrowly. The know-all with his liberal advice in a
   difficult situation is a familiar figure most veterinary surgeons have to
   tolerate, but in Grandad Hollin's case I didn't feel the usual irritation.
   I liked him. He was a nice man, the head of: a fine family. Will was the
   eldest of his four sons and he had several farmer grandsons in the
   district.
   Anyway, I had failed miserably. I was in no position to be uppity.
  "Well, I've given her the latest injection," I mumbled.
   He shook his head. "She don't want injections, she wants beer."
  "Eh?"
   "Beer, young man. A drop o' good ale." He, turned to his son. "Hasta got a
   clean bucket, Will, ]ad?"
  "Aye, there's a new-scalded one in t'milk house."
           ALL TTITNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               247

   "Right, ah'11 slip down to the pub. Won't be long." Grandad swung on his
   heel and strode briskly into the night. He must have been around eighty
   but from the back be looked like a twenty five year old-upright~
   square-shouldered, jaunty.
   Will Hollin and I didn't have much to say to each other. He was sunk in
   disappointment and I was awash with shame. It was a relief when Grandad
   returned bearing an enamel bucket brimming with brown liquid.
   "By gaw," he chuckled. "You should've seen their faces down at Magon and
   Horses. Reckon they've never heard of a two gallon order afore."
  I gaped at him. "You've got two gallons of beer?"
   "That's right, young man, and she'll need it all." He turned again to his
   son. "She hasn't had a drink for a bit, has she, Will?"
   "Naw I was goin' to give her some water when she'd finished piggin', but
   I haven't done it yet."
   Grandad poised his bucket. "She'll be nice and thirsty, then." He leaned
   over the rail and sent a dark cascade frothing into the empty trough.
   Gertrude ambled moodily across and sniffed at the strange fluid. After
   some hesitation she dipped her snout and tried a tentative swallow, and
   within seconds the building echoed with a busy slobbering.
  "By heck, she likes it!" Will exclaimed.
   "She should," Grandad murmured wistfully. "It's John Smith's best
   bitter."
   It took the big sow a surprisingly short time to consume the two gallons
   and when she had finished she licked out every corner of the trough
   before turning away. She showed no inclination to return to her straw bed
   but began to saunter round the pen. Now and then she stopped at the
   trough to check that there was no more beer in it and from time to time
   she looked up at the three faces overhanging the timber walls.
   On one of these occasions I caught her eye and saw with a sense of
   disbelief that the previously baleful little orb now registered only a
   gentle benevolence. In fact with a little effort I could have imagined
   she was smiling.
   As the minutes passed her perambulations became increasingly erratic.
   There were times when she stumbled and almost fell and finally with an
   unmistakable hiccup she flopped on the straw and rolled on to her side.
  248         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   Grandad regarded her expressionlessly for a few momerits, whistling
   tunelessly, then he reached out again and pushed his stick against the
   fleshy thigh; but the only response he received from the motionless animal
   was a soft grunt of pleasure.
   Gertrude was stoned to the wide.
   The old man gestured towards the cardboard box. "Put the little 'uns in
   now."
   Will went into the pen with a wriggling armful, then another, and like all
   new born creatures they didn't have to be told what to do. Fifteen ravenous
   little mouths fastened on to the teats and with mixed feelings I gazed at
   the sight which I had hoped to bring about with my modeTn veterinary skill,
   the long pink row filling their tiny stomachs with the life-giving fluid.
   Well, I had fallen down on the job and an octogenarian farmer had wiped my
   eye with two gallons of strong ale. I didn't feel great.
   Sheepishly I closed the box of Soothitt phials and was beating an
   unobtrusive retreat to my car when Will HoIlin called after me.
   "Come in and have a cup o' coffee afore you go, Mr. Herriot." His voice was
   friendly, with nothing to suggest that I had made no useful contribution
   all evening.
   I I made my way into the kitchen and as I went over to the table Will dug
   me in the ribs.
   "Hey, look at this." He held out the bucket in which a quantity of the good
   beer still sloshed around the bottom. "There's surnmat better than coffee
   'ere-enough for a couple of good drinks. I'll get two glasses."
   He was fumbling in the dresser when Grandad walked in. The old man hung his
   hat and stick on a hook on the wall and rubbed his hands.
   "Tha can get another glass out, Will," he said. "Remember A did the pourin'
   and A left enough for three."

  Next morning I might have been inclined to dwell despondently on my
  chastening experience but I had a prebreakfast call to a cow with a
  prolapsed uterus and there is nothing like an hour of feverish activity to
  rid the mind of brooding.
   It was 8 a.m. when I drove back into Darrowby and I pulled into the market
   place petrol station which was just opening. With a pleasantly blank mind
   I was watching
           ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              249

  Bob Cooper running the petrol into my tank when I heard the sound in the
  distance.
  "Hooo, hooo, hooo, hooo."
   Tremblingly I scanned the square. There was no other vehicle in sight but
   the dread ululation approached inexorably until Mr. Beresford's car
   rounded the far corner, heading my way.
   I shrank behind a petrol pump but it was of no avail. I had been spotted
   and the car bumped over the strip of cobbles before screeching to a halt
   beside me.
   "Hooo, booo, hooo, hooo." At close quarters the noise was insupportable.
   I peeped round the pump and into the bulging eyes of the bank manager as
   he lowered his window. He switched off the engine and Coco stopped his
   howling and gave me 4 friendly wag through the glass.
  His master, however, did not look at all friendly.
  "Good morning, Mr. Herriot," he said, grim-faced.
   "Good morning," I replied hoarsely, then working up a smile I bent at the
   window. "And good morning to you, Mrs. Beresford."
   The lady withered me with a look and was about to speak when her husband
   went on.
   "I administered one of the wonderful new tablets early this morning on
   your advice." I-Es chin quivered slightly.
  "Oh, yes ... ?"
   "Yes, I did, and it had no effect, so I gave him another." He paused.
   "Since this produced a similar result I tried a third and a fourth."
  I swallowed. "Really ... ?"
   "Indeed." He gave me a cold stare. "So I am driven to the conclusion that
   the tablets are useless."
  "Well ... er ... it certainly does look. .
   He held up a hand. "I cannot listen to explanations. I have already
   wasted enough time and there are three hundred miles' driving in front
   of me."
   "I'm truly sorry . . ." I began, but he was already closing the window.
   He started the engine and Coco froze immediately into his miniature wolf
   position, nose high, lips puckered into a small circle. I watched the car
   roll across the square and turn out of sight on the road to the south.
   For quite a while after it had gone I could still hear Coco.
  "Hooo, hooo, hooo, hooo."
  250         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   Feeling suddenly weak, I leaned against the pump. My heart went out to Mr.
   Beresford. As I have said, I felt sure he was a decent man.
   In fact I quite liked him, but for all that I was profoundly grateful that
   I would probably never see him again.

  Our audiences with Mr. Barge usually took place every three months and it
  was mid June before I saw him again at the head of our luncheon table. The
  silvery head gleamed under the summer sunshine as he sipped his coffee and
  murmured politenesses. At the end of the meal he dabbed his lips with a
  napkin and slid his brochure unhurriedly along the table cloth.
   Siegfried reached for it and asked the inevitable question. "Anything new,
   Mr. Barge?"
   "My dear sir." The old gentleman's smile seemed to convey that the follies
   of the young, though incomprehensible to him, were still delightful.
   "Cargill and Sons never send me to you without a host of new products, many
   of them specific, all of them efficient. I have many sovereign remedies to
   offer you."
   I must have uttered some sort of strangled sound because he turned and
   regarded me quizzically. "Ah, Mr. Herriot, did you say something, young
   sir?"
   I swallowed a couple of times and opened my mouth as the waves of
   benevolence flowed over me, but against that dignity and presence I was
   helpless.
   "No . . . not really, Mr. Barge," I replied. I knew I would never be able
   to tell him about the Soothitt.

  0
                 CHAPTER
                     30

  Now that we were faced with the reality of life at flying school, the ties
  which bound me to my fellow airmen were strengthened. We had a common aim,
  a common worry.
   The feeling of comradeship was very like my relationship with Siegfried and
   Tristan, back in Darrowby. But there, the pressures came not from learning
   to fly but from the daily challenge of veterinary practice. Our existence
   was ruled by sudden and unexpected alarms.
   Tristan, however, didn't let it get him down. He and I were sitting in t1ke
   big room at Skeldale House one night when tke telephone burst into strident
   voice.
  He reached from kis chair and lifted the receiver.
  "Allo, pHs, oo is dis?" he enquired.
   He listened attentively for a few moments then shook his head.
   "Naw, naw, verree sorry, but Meester Farnon no at home. Yis, yis, I tell
   heem when he come. Hokey dokey, bye bye-"
   I looked across at him wonderingly from the other side of the fireplace as
   he replaced the instrument. These strange accents were only one facet of
   his constant determination to extract amusement from every situation. He
   didn't do it all the time, only when the mood was on him, but it was not
   unusual for farmers to say that "some foreign feller" had answered tke
   phone.
   Tristan settled comfortably bekind his Daily Mirror and was fumbling for a
   Woodbine when the ringing started again. He stretched out once more.
   "Yaas, yaas, goot efening, howdy do. Vat you vant, huh?"
   I could just hear a deep rumble from the other end of the line and Tristan
   suddenly snapped upright in his
                       251
  252         ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  chair. His Daily Mirror and cigarettes slithered to the floor.
   "Yes, Mr. Mount," he said smartly. "No, Mr. MounL Yes, indeed, Mr. Mount,
   I shall pass on your message immediately. Thank you very much, goodbye."
   He fell back in the chair and blew out his cheeks. "That was Mr. Mount."
   "So I gathered. And he certainly wiped the smile off your face, Triss."
   "Yes . . . yes ... just a little unexpected." He recovered his Woodbines
   and lit one thoughtfully.
  "Quite," I said. "What did he ring for, anywayT'
   "Oh, he has a cart horse to see tomorrow morning. Something wrong with its
   hind feet."
   I made a note on the pad and turned back to the young man. "I don't know
   how you find the time in your hectic love life, but you're running around
   with that chap's daughter, aren't you?"
   Tristan took the cigarette from his mouth and studied the glowing end.
   "Yes, as a matter of fact I have taken Deborah Mount out a few times. Why
   do you ask?"
   "Oh, no particular reason. Her old man seems a bit formidable, that's all."
   I could picture Mr. Mount the last time I saw him. He was well named; a
   veritable massif of a man towering several inches over six feet. From
   shoulders like the great buttresses of the fell which overhung his farm
   rose a beetling cliff of head with craggy outcrops of jaw and cheek and
   brow. He had the biggest hands I had ever seen -approximately three times
   the size of my own.
   "Oh, I don't know," Tristan said. "He's not a bad sort."
   "I agree, I've nothing against him." Mr. Mount was deeply religious and had
   the reputation of being hard but fair. "It's just that I wouldn't like him
   to come up to me and ask if I was trifling with his daughter's affections."
   Tristan swallowed, and anxiety flitted briefly in his eyes. "Oh, that's
   ridiculous. Deborah and I have a friendly relationship, that's all."
   "Well I'm glad to bear it," I said. "I've been told her father is very
   protective about her and I'd hate to feel those big bands round my throat."
  Tristan gave me a cold stare. "You're a sadistic bugger
          ALL TIHNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               253

  at times, Jim. Just because I occasionally enjoy a little fernale company
  . . ."
   "Oh, forget it, Triss, I'm only kidding. You've nothing to worry about.
   When I see old Mount tomorrow I promise I won't mention that Deborah is
   one of your harem." I dodged a flying cushion and went through to the
   dispensary to stock up for the next day's round.
   But I realised next morning that my joke was barbed when I saw Mr. Mount
   coming out of the farm house. For a moment his bulk filled the doorway
   then he advanced with measured tread over the cobbles tW he loomed over
   me, blocking out the sunshine, throwing a large area around me into
   shade.
   "That young man, Tristan," he said without preamble. "He was speakin' a
   bit funny like on the phone last night. What sort of a feller is he?"
   I looked up at the great head poised above me, at the unwavering grey
   eyes probing into mine from beneath a bristling overhang of brow.
   "Tristan?" I answered shakily. "Oh, he's a splendid chap. A really fine
   type."
   "Mmm." The huge man continued to look at me and one banana-like finger
   rubbed doubtfully along his chin. "Does he drinkT'
   Mr. Mount was renowned for his rigid antagonism to alcohol and I thought
   it unwise to reply that Tristan was a popular and esteemed figure at most
   of the local hostelries.
   "Oh, er-" I said. "Hardly at all . . . in the strictest moderation. . ."
   At that moment Deborah came out of the house and began to walk across the
   yard.
   She was wearing a flowered cotton dress. About nineteen, shining golden
   hair falling below her shoulders, she radiated the healthy buxom beauty
   of the country girl. As she went by she flashed a smile at me and I had
   a heartlifting glimpse of white teeth and warm brown eyes. It was in the
   early days before I had met Helen and I had as sharp an interest in a
   pretty lass as anybody. I found myself studying her legs appreciatively
   after she had passed.
   It was then that I had an almost palpable awareness of her father's gaze
   upon me. I turned and saw a new expr-ssion tbere-a harsh disapproval
   which chilled me and left a deep conviction in my mind. Deborah was a
   little
  254         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  smasher all right, and she looked nice, too, but no                           no
  . never. Tristan had more courage than I had.
   Mr. Mount turned away abruptly. "This 'oss is in the stable," he grunted.
   In those late thirties the tractor had driven a lot of the draught horses
   from the land but most of the farmers kept a few around, perhaps because
   they had always worked horses and it was part of their way of life and
   maybe because of the sheer proud beauty of animals like the one which stood
   before me now.
   It was a magnificent Shire gelding, standing all of eighteen hands. He was
   a picture of massively muscled power but when his master spoke, the great
   white-blazed face which turned to us was utterly docile.
   The farmer slapped him on the rump. "He's a good sort is Bobby and I think
   a bit about 'im. What A noticed first was a strange smell about his hind
   feet and then A had a look for meself. I've never seen owt like it."
   I bent and seized a handful of the long feathered hair behind the horse's
   pastern. Bobby did not resist as I lifted the huge spatulate foot and
   rested it on my knee. It seemed to occupy most of my lap but it was not the
   size which astonished me. Mr. Mount had never seen owt like it and neither
   had 1. The sole was a ragged, sodden mass with a stinking exudation oozing
   from the underrun horn, but what really bewildered me was the series of
   growths sprouting from every crevice.
   They were like nightmare toadstools-long papillae
  with horny caps growing from the diseased surface. I had
  read about them in the books; they were - called ergots, but
  I had never imagined them in such profusion. My thoughts
  raced as I moved behind the horse and lifted the other
  foot. It was just the same. Just as bad.
   I had been qualified only a few months and was still trying to gain the
   confidence of the Darrowby farmers. This was just the sort of thing I
   didn't want.
   ")"at is it?" Mr. Mount asked, and again I felt that unwinking gaze
   piercing me.
   I straightened up and rubbed my bands. "It's canker, but a very bad case."
   I knew all about the theory of the thing, in fact I was bursting with
   theory, but putting it into practice with this animal was a bit different.
  "How are you going to cure it?" Mr. Mount had an
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              255

  uncomfortable habit of going straight to the heart of things.
   "Well, you see, all that loose horn and those growths will have to be cut
   away and then the surface dressed with caustic," I replied, and it sounded
   easy when I gaid it.
  "It won't get better on its own, then?"
   "No, if you leave it the sole will disintegrate and the pedal bone will
   come through. Also the discharge will work up under the wall of the hoof
   and cause separation."
   The farmer nodded. "So he'd never walk again, and that would be the end of
   Bobby."
  "I'm afraid so."
   "Right, then." Mr. Mount threw up his head with a decisive gesture. "When
   are you going to do it?"
   It was a nasty question, because I was preoccupied at that moment not so
   much with when I would do it but how I would do it.
  "Well now, let's see," I said huskily. "Would it be .
   The farmer broke in. "We're busy hay-makin' all this week, and you'll be
   wantin' some men to help you. How about Monday next week?"
   A wave of relief surged through me. Thank heavens he hadn't said tomorrow.
   I had a bit of time to think now.
   "Very well, Mr. Mount. That suits me fine. Don't feed him on the Sunday
   because he'll have to have an anaesthetic."
   Driving from the farm, a sense of doom oppressed me. Was I going to ruin
   that beautiful animal in my ignorance? Canker of the foot was unpleasant at
   any time and was not uncommon in the days of the draught horse, but this
   was something away out of the ordinary. No doubt many of my contemporaries
   have seen feet like Bobby's, but to the modern young veterinary surgeon it
   must be like a page from an ancient manual of farriery.
   As is my wont when I have a worrying case I started mulling it over right
   away. As I drove, I rehearsed various procedures. Would that enormous horse
   go down with a chloroform muzzle? Or would I have to collect all Mr.
   Mount's men and rope him and pull him down? But it would be like trying to
   pull down St. Paul's cathedral. And then how long would it take me to hack
   away all that horn-all those dreadful vegetations?
   Within ten minutes my palms were sweating and I was tempted to throw the
   whole lot over to Siegfried. But I
  256         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  was restrained by the knowledge that I had to establish myself not only with
  the farmers but with my new boss. He wasn't going to think much of an
  assistant who couldn't handle a thing on his own.
   I did what I usually did when I was worried; drove off the unfenced road,
   got out of the car and followed a track across the moor. The track wound
   beneath the brow of the fell which overlooked the Mount farm and when I had
   left the road far behind I flopped on the grass and looked down on the
   sunlit valley floor a thousand feet below.
   In most places you could hear something-the call of a bird, a car in the
   distance-but here there was a silence which was absolute, except when the
   wind sighed over the hill top, rustling the bracken around me.
   The farm lay in one of the soft places in a harsh countryside; lush flat
   fields where cattle grazed in comfort and the Cut hay lay in long even
   swathes.
   It was a placid scene, but it was up here in the airy heights that you
   found true serenity. Peace dwelt here in the high moorland, stealing across
   the empty miles, breathing from the silence and the tufted grass and the
   black, peaty earth.
   The heady fragrance of the hay rose in the warm summer air and as always I
   felt my troubles dissolving. Even now, after all the years, I still count
   myself lucky that I can so often find tranquillity of mind in the high
   places.
   As I rose to go I filled with a calm resolve. I would do the job somehow.
   Surely I could manage the thing without troubling Siegfried.
   In any case Siegfried had other things on his mind when I met him over the
   lunch table.
   "I looked in at Granville Bennett's surgery at Hartington this morning," he
   said, helping himself to some new potatoes which had been picked that
   morning from the garden. "And I must say I was very impressed with his
   waiting room. All those magazines. I know we don't have the numbers to
   cater for, but there's often a lot of farmers in there." He poured gravy on
   to a corner of his plate. "Tristan, I'll give you the job. Slip round to
   Garlow's and order a few suitable things to be delivered every week, will
   you?"
   "Okay," his student brother replied. "I'll do it this afternoon."
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               257

   "Splendid." Siegfried chewed happily. "We must keep progressing in every
   way. Do have some more of these potatoes, James, they really are very
   good."
   Tristan went into action right away and within two days the table and
   shelves in our waiting room carried a tasteful selection of periodicals,
   the Illustrated London News, the Farmer's Weekly, the Farmer and Stock-
   breeder, Punch. But as usual he had to embroider the situation.
   "Look at this, Jim," he whispered one afternoon, guiding me through the
   door. "I've been having a little harmless sport."
   "What do you mean?" I looked around me uncomprekendingly.
   Tristan said nothing, but pointed to one of the shelves. There, among the
   innocent journals, was a German naturist magazine displaying a startling
   frontispiece of full frontal nudity. Even in these permissive days it
   would have caused a raised eyebrow but in rural Yorkshire in the thirties
   it was cataclysmic.
   "Where the devil did you get this?" I gasped, leafing through it
   hurriedly. It was just the same inside. "And what's the idea, anyway?"
   Tristan repressed a giggle. "A fellow at college gave it to me. And it's
   rather a lark to sneak in quietly and find some solid citizen having a
   peek when he thinks nobody's looking. I've had some very successful
   incursions. My best bags so far have been a town councillor, a Justice
   of the Peace and a lay preacher."
   I shook my head. "I think you're sticking your neck out. What if
   Siegfried comes across it?"
   "No fear of that," he said. "He rarely comes in here and he's always in
   too much of a hurry. Anyway, it's well out of the way."
   I shrugged. Tristan had been blessed with an agile intelligence which I
   envied, but so much of it was misapplied. H6wever, at the moment I hadn't
   time for his tricks. My mind was feverishly preoccupied.
   Mentally I had cast that horse by innumerable methods and operated on his
   feet a thousand times by night and day. In daylight, riding around in the
   car, it wasn't so bad, but the operations I carried out in bed were truly
   bizarre. All the time I had the feeling that something was wrong, that
   there was some fatal flaw in the picture of myself carv-
     258         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  ing away those hideous growths in one session. Finally I buried my pride.
   "Siegfried," I said, one afternoon when the practice was slack. "I have
   rather a weird horse case."
   My boss's eyes glinted and the mouth beneath the small sandy moustache
   crooked into a smile. The word "horse" usually had this effect.
  "Really, James? Tell me."
  I told him.
   "Yes ... yes                                   he murmured. "Maybe we'd better
  have a look together."
   The Mount farm was deserted when we arrived. Everybody was in the
   hayfields working frantically while the sunshine lasted.
  "Where is he?" Siegfried asked.
  "In here." I led the way to the stable.
   My boss lifted a hind foot and whistled softly. Then he moved round and
   examined the other one. For a full minute he gazed down at the obscene
   fungi thrusting from the tattered stinking horn. When he stood up be
   looked at me expressionlessly.
   It was a few seconds before he spoke. "And you were just going to pop
   round here on Monday, tip this big fellow on to the grass and do the
   job?"
  "Yes," I replied. "That was the idea."
   A strange smile spread over my employer's face. It held something of
   wonder, sympathy, amusement and a tinge of admiration. Finally he laughed
   and shook his head.
  "Ah, the innocence of youth," he murmured.
   "What do you mean?" After all, I was only six years younger thart
   Siegfried.
   He came over and patted my shoulder. "I'm not mocking you, James. This
   is the worst case of canker I've ever seen and I've seen a few."
  "You mean I couldn't do it at one go?"
   "That's exactly what I mean. There's six weeks' work here, James."
  "Six weeks . . . T'
   "Yes, and there'll be three men involved. We'll have to get this horse
   in to one of the loose boxes at Skeldale House and then the two of us
   plus a blacksmith will have a go at him. After that his feet wW have to
   be dressed every day in the stocks."
           ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              259

   "T see.~,
   "Yes, yes." Siegfried was warming to his subject. "We'll use the
   strongest caustic-nitric acid-and he'll be shod with special shoes with
   a metal plate to exert pressure on the sole." He stopped, probably
   because I was beginning to look bewildered, then he continued in a
   gentler tone. "Believe me, James, all this is necessary. The alternative
   is to shoot a fine horse, because he can't go on much longer than this."
   I looked at Bobby, at the white face again turned towards us. The thought
   of a bullet entering that noble head was unbearable.
   "All right, whatever you say, Siegfried," I mumbled, and just then Mr.
   Mount's vast bulk darkened the entrance to the stable.
   "Ah, good afternoon to you, Mr. Mount," my boss said. "I hope you're
   getting a good crop of hay."
   "Aye, thank ye, Mr. Farnon. We're doing very nicely. We've been lucky
   with the weather." The big man looked curiously from one of us to the
   other, and Siegfried went on quickly.
   "Mr. Herriot asked me to come and look at your horse. He's been thinking
   the matter over and has decided that it would be better to hospitalise
   him at our place for a few weeks. I must say I agree with him. It's a
   very bad case and the chances of a permanent cure would be increased."
   Bless you, Siegfried, I thought. I had expected to emerge from this
   meeting as the number one chump, but all was suddenly well. I
   congratulated myself, not for the first time, on having an employer who
   never let me down.
   Mr. Mount took off his hat and drew a forearm across his sweating brow.
   "Aye well, if that's what you think, both of ye, we'd better do it. Ah
   want the best for Bobby. He's a favourite o' mine."
   "Yes, he's a grand sort, Mr. Mount." Siegfried went round the big animal,
   patting and stroking him, then as we walked back to the car he kept up
   an effortless conversation with the farmer. I had always found it
   difficult to speak to this formidable man, but in my colleague's presence
   he became quite chatty. In fact there were one or two occasions when he
   almost smiled.
  Bobby came in to the yard at Skeldale House the fol-  26o          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  lowing day and when I saw the amount of sheer hard labour which the
  operation entailed I realised the utter impossibility of a single man
  doing it at one go.
   Pat Jenner the blacksmith with his full tool kit was pressed into service
   and between us, taking it in turns, we removed all the vegetations and
   diseased tissue, leaving only healthy horn. Siegfried applied the acid
   to cauterise the area, then packed the sole with twists of tow which were
   held in place by the metal plate Pat had made to fit under the shoe. This
   pressure from the tow was essential to effect a cure.
   After a week I was doing the daily dressings myself. This was when I
   began to appreciate the value of the stocks with their massive timbers
   sunk deep into the cobbles of the yard. It made everything so much easier
   when I was able to lead Bobby into the stocks, pull up a foot and make
   it fast in any position I wished.
   Some days Pat Jenner came in to check on the shoes and he and I were busy
   in the yard when I heard the familiar rattle of my little Austin in the
   back lane. The big double doors were open and I looked up as the car
   turned in and drew alongside us. Pat looked too, and his eyes popped.
   "Bloody 'ell!" he exclaimed, and I couldn't blame him, because the car
   had no driver. At least it looked that way since there was nobody in the
   seat as it swung in from the lane.
   A driverless car in motion is quite a sight, and Pat gaped open-mouthed
   for a few seconds. Then just as I was about to explain, Tristan shot up
   from the floor with a piercing cry.
  "Hi there!" he shrieked.
   Pat dropped his hammer and backed away. "God 'elp usl" he breathed.
   I was unaffected by the performance because it was old
  stuff to me. Whenever I was in the yard and a call came
  in, Tristan would dri ' ve my car round from the front
  street and this happened so many times that inevitably he
  grew bored and tried to find a less orthodox method.
   After a bit of practice he mastered the driverless technique. He crouched
   on the floor with a foot on the accelerator and one hand on the wheel and
   nearly frightened the life out of me the first time he did it. But I was
   used to it now, and blas6.
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               261

   Within a few days I was able to observe another of Tristan's little
   jokes. As I turned the corner of the passage at Skeldale House I found
   him lurking by the waiting-room door which was slightly ajar.
   "I think I've got a victim in there," he whispered. "Let's see what
   happens." He gently pushed the door and tiptoed inside.
   As I peeped through the crack I could see that he had indeed scored a
   success. A man was standing there with his back to him and he was poring
   over the nudist magazine with the greatest absorption. As he slowly
   turned the pages, his enthralment showed in the way he frequently moved
   the pictures towards the light from the french window, inclining his head
   this way and that to take in all the angles. He looked as though he would
   be happy to spend all day there but when he heard Tristan's exquisitely
   timed cough he dropped the magazine as though it was white hot, snatched
   hurriedly at the Farmer's Weekly and swung round.
   That was when Tristan's victory went flat. It was Mr. Mount.
   The huge farmer loomed over him for a few seconds and the deep bass
   rumble came from between clenched teeth.
   "It's you, is it?" He glanced quickly from the young man to the
   embarrassing magazine and back again and the eyes in the craggy face
   narrowed dangerously.
   "Yes . . . yes ... yes, Mr. Mount," Tristan replied unsteadily. "And how
   are you, Mr. Mount?"
  "Ah'm awright."
   "Good . . . good . . . splendid." Tristan backed away a few steps. "And
   how is Deborah?"
   The eyes beneath the sprouting bristles drew in further. "She's awright."
   There was a silence which lingered interminably and I felt for my young
   friend. It was not a merry meeting.
   At last he managed to work up a sickly smile. "Ah well, yes, er . . . and
   what can we do for you, Mr. Mount?"
  "Ah've come to see me 'oss."
   "Yes, indeed, Of Course, certainly. I believe Mr. Herriot is just outside
   the room."
   I led the big man down the long garden into the yard. His encounter with
   Tristan had clearly failed to improve
  262          ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  his opinion of the young man and he glowered as I opened the loose box.
   But his expression softened when he saw Bobby eating hay contentedly. He
   went in and patted the arching neck. "How's he goin' on, then?"
   '~Oh, very well." I lifted a hind foot and showed him the metal plate. "I
   can take this off for you if you like."
   "Nay, nay, ah don't want to disturb the job. As long as all's well, that's
   all ah want to know."
   The dressings went on for a few more weeks till finally Siegfried was
   satisfied that the last remnants of the disease had been extirpated. Then
   he telephoned for Mr. Mount to collect his horse the following morning.
   It is always nice to be in on a little triumph, and I looked over my boss's
   shoulder as he lifted Bobby's feet and displayed the finished job to the
   owner. The necrotic jumble on the soles had been replaced by a clean,
   smooth surface with no sign of moisture anywhere.
   Mr. Mount was not enthusiastic by nature but he was obviously impressed. He
   nodded his head rapidly several times. "Well now, that's champion. I'm
   right capped wi' that."
   Siegfried lowered the foot to the ground and straightened with a pleased
   smile. There was a general air of bonhomie in the yard, and then I heard my
   car in the back lane.
   I felt a sudden tingle of apprehension. Oh no, Tristan, not this time,
   please. You don't know.... My toes curled as I waited but I realised all
   was lost when the car turned in through the double doors. It had no driver.
   With a dreadful feeling of imminent catastrophe I watched as it stopped
   within a few feet of Siegfried and Mr. Mount who were staring at it in
   disbelief.
   Nothing happened for a few seconds, then without warning Tristan catapulted
   like a jack-in-the-box into the open window.
   "Yippeeeet" he screeched, but his happy grin froze as he found himself
   gazing into the faces of his brother and Mr..Mount. Siegfried's expression
   of exasperation was familiar to me, but the farmer's was infinitely more
   menacing. The eyes in the stony visage were mere slits, the jaw jutted, the
   great tangle of eyebrows bristled fiercely. There was no doubt he had
   finally made up his mind about Tristan.
          ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              263

   1 felt the young man had suffered enough, and I kept off the subject for a
   week or two afterwards, but we were sitting in the big room at Skeldale
   House when he mentioned casually that he wouldn't be taking Deborah out any
   more.
  "Seems her father has forbidden it," he said.
   I shrugged in sympathy, but said nothing. After all, it had been an
   ill-starred romance from the beginning.
                 CHAPTER
                     31

  "Circuits and bumps" they called it. Taking off, circling the field and
  landing, over and over and over. After an hour of it with F. 0. Woodham
  in full voice I had had enough and it was a blessed relief when we climbed
  out at the end.
   As my instructor walked away, one of his fellow officers strolled by his
   side. "How are you getting on with that chap, Woody?" he asked, smiling.
   F. 0. Woodham did not pause in his stride or turn his head. "Oh Godl" he
   said with a hollow groan, and that was all.
   I knew I wasn't meant to hear the words but they bit deep. My spirits.did
   not rise till I entered the barrack hut and was greeted by the cheerful
   voices of my fellow airmen.
   "Hello, Jim!" "How's it going, Jim?" The words were like balm.
   I looked around at the young men sprawled on their beds, reading or
   smoking and I realised that I needed them and their friendship.
   Animals are the same. They need friends. Have you ever watched.two
   animals in a field? They may be of different species-a pony and a
   sheep-but they hang together. This comradeship between animals has always
   fascinated me, and I often think of Jack Sanders' two dogs as a perfect
   eiample of mutual devotion.
   One of them was called Jingo and as I injected the local anaesthetic,
   alongside the barbed wire tear in his skin the powerful white bull.
   terrier whimpered. just once. Then he decided to resign himself to his
   fate and looked stolidly to the front as I depressed the plunger.
   Meanwhile his inseparable friend, Skipper the corgi, gnawed gently at
   Jingo?s hind leg. It was odd to see two
                       264
          ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               1265

  dogs on the table at once, but I knew the relationship between them and made
  no comment as their master hoisted them both up.
   After I had infiltrated the area around the wound I began to stitch and
   Jingo relaxed noticeably when he found that he could feel nothing.
   "Maybe this'll teach you to avoid barbed wire fences in future, Jing," I
   said.
   Jack Sanders laughed. "I doubt if it will, Mr. Herriot. I thought the coast
   was clear when I took him down the lane this morning, but he spotted a dog
   on the other side of the fence and he was through like a bullet.
   Fortunately it was a greyhound and he couldn't catch it."
   "You're a regular terror, Jing." I patted my patient, and the big
   Roman-nosed face turned to me with an earto-ear grin and at the other end
   the tail whipped delightedly.
   "Yes, it's amazing, isn't it?" his master said. "He's always looking for a
   fight, yet people and children can do anything with him. He's the best
   natured dog in the world."
   I finished stitching and dropped the suture needle into a kidney dish on
   the trolley. "Well, you've got to- remember that the bull terrier is the
   original English fighting dog and Jing is only obeying an age-old
   instinct."
   "Oh I realise that. I'll just have to go on scanning the horizon every time
   I let him off the lead. No dog is safe from him."
   "Except this one, Jack." I laughed and pointed to the little corgi who had
   tired of his companion's leg and was now chewing his ear.
   "Yes, isn't it marvellous. I think he could bite Jing's ear off without
   reprisal."
   It was indeed rather wonderful. The corgi was eleven years old and
   beginning to show his age in stiffness of movement and impairment of sight
   while the bull terrier was only three, at the height of his strength and
   power. A squat, barrel-chested bundle of bone and muscle, he was a
   formidable animal. But when the ear-chewing became too violent, all he did
   was turn and gently engulf Skipper's head in his huge jaws till the little
   animal desisted. Those jaws could be as merciless as a steel trap but they
   held the tiny head in a loving embrace.
  Ten days later their master brought both dogs back to
  266          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  the surgery for the removal of the stitches. He looked worried as he lifted
  the animals on to the table.
   "Jingo isn't at all well, Mr. Herriot," he said. "He's been off his food
   for a couple of days and he looks miserable. Could that wound make him ill
   if it turned septic?"
   "Yes it could, of course." I looked down anxiously at the area of the flank
   where I had stitched, and my fingers explored the long sear. "But there's
   not the slightest sign of infection here. No swelling, no pain. He's healed
   beautifully.,,
   I stepped back and looked at the bull terrier. H~ was strangely
   disconsolate, tail tucked down, eyes gazing ahead with total lack of
   interest. Not even the busy nibbling of his friend at one of his paws
   relieved his apathy.
   Clearly Skipper didn't like being ignored in this fashion. He transferred
   his operations to the front end and started on the big dog's ear. As his
   efforts still went unnoticed he began to chew and tug harder, dragging the
   massive head down to one side, but as far as Jingo was concerned he might
   as well not have been there.
   "Hey, that's enough, Skipper," I said. "Jing isn't in the mood for rough
   stuff today." I lifted him gently to the floor where he paced indignantly
   around the table legs.
   I examined the bull terrier thoroughly and the only significant finding was
   an elevated temperature.
   "It's a hundred and five, Jack. He's very ill, there's no doubt about
   that."
  "But what's the matter with him?"
   "With a high fever like that he must have some acute infection. But at the
   moment it's difficult to pinpoint." I reached out and stroked the broad
   skull, running my fingers over the curving white face as my thoughts raced.
   For an instant the tail twitched between his hocks and the friendly eyes
   rolled round to me and then to his master. It was that movement of the eyes
   which seized my whole attention. I quickly raised the upper lid. The con-
   junctiva appeared t6 be a normal pink, but in the smooth white sclera I
   could discern the faintest tinge of yellow.
   "He's got jaundice," I said. "Have you noticed anything peculiar about his
   urine?"
   Jack Sanders nodded. "Yes, now you mention it. I saw him cock his leg in
   the garden and his water looked a bit dark."
           ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              267

   "Those are bile pigments." I gently squeezed the abdomen and the dog
   winced slightly. "Yes, he's definitely tender in there."
   "Jaundice?" His master stared at me across the table. "Where would he get
   that?"
   I rubbed my chin. "Well, when I see a dog like this I think firstly of
   two things-phosphorus poisoning and leptospirosis. In view of the high
   temperature I go for the leptospirosis."
  "Would he catch it from another dog?"
   "Possibly, but more likely from rats. Does he come into contact with any
   rats?"
   "Yes, now and then. There's a lot of them in an old hen house at the foot
   of the lane and Jing sometimes gets in there after them."
   "Well that's it." I shrugged. "I don't think we need to look any further
   for the cause."
   He nodded slowly. "Anyway, it's something to know what's wrong with him.
   Now you can set about putting him right."
   I looked at him for a moment in silence. It wasn't like that at all. I
   didn't want to upset him, but on the other hand he was a highly
   intelligent and sensible man in his forties, a teacher at the local
   school. I felt I had to tell him the whole truth.
   "Jack," I said. "This is a terrible condition to treat. If there's one
   thing I hate to see'it's a jaundiced dog."
  "You mean it's serious?"
  "I'm afraid so. In fact the mortality rate is very high."
   I felt for him when I saw the sudden pain and concern in his face, but
   a warning now was better than a shock later, because I knew that Jingo
   could be dead within a few days. Even now, thirty years later, I quail
   when I see that yellowish discolouration in a dog's eyes. Penicillin and
   other antibiotics have some effect against the causal organism of
   leptospirosis but the disease is still very often f atal.
   "I see . . . I see                               He was collecting his thoughts.
  "But surely you can do something?"
   "Yes, yes, of course," I said briskly. "I'm going to give him a big shot
   of antileptospiral serum and some medicine to administer by the mouth.
   It isn't completely hopeless."
  I injected the serum in the knowledge that it didn't have
  268          ALL THMGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  much effect at this stage, but I had nothing else to offer. I gave Skipper
  a shot, too, with the happier feeling that it would protect him against
  the infection.
   "One thing more, Jack," I added. "This disease also affects humans, so
   please take all hygienic precautions when handling Jingo. All right?"
   He nodded and lifted the bull terrier from the table. The big dog, as
   most of my patients do, tried to hurry away from the disturbing
   white-coat-and-antiseptic atmosphere of the surgery. As he trotted along
   the passage his master turned to me eagerly.
  "Look at that! He doesn't seem too bad, does he?"
   I didn't say anything. I hoped with all my heart that he was right, but
   I was fighting off the convictiou that this nice animal was doomed. At
   any rate I would soon know.
   I knew, in fact, next day. Jack Sanders was on the ,phone before nine
   o'clock in the morning.
   "Jing's not so good," he said, but the tremor in his voice belied the
   lightness of his words.
  . "Oh." I experienced the familiar drooping of the spirits. "What is he
  doing?"
  "Nothing, I'm afraid. Won't eat a thing ... lying around
  . just lifeless. And every now and then he vomits."
   It was what I expected, but I still felt like kicking the desk by my
   side. "Very well, I'll be right round."
   There were no tail wags from Jing to-day. He was crouched before the
   fire, gazing listlessly into the coals. The yellow in his eyes had
   deepened to a rich orange and his temperature still soared. I repeated
   the serum injection, but the big dog did not heed the entry of the
   needle. Before I left I ran my hand over the smooth white body and
   Skipper as ever kept burrowing in on his friend, but Jingo's thoughts
   were elsewhere, sunk in his inner misery.
   I visited him daily and on the fourth day I found him stretched almost
   comatose on his side. The conjunctiva, sclera, and the mucous membranes
   of the mouth were a dirty chocolate colour.
  "Is he suffering?" Jack Sanders asked.
   I hesitated for a moment. "I honestly don't think he's in pain. Sickness,
   nausea, yes, but I'd say that's all."
   "Well I'd like to keep on trying," he said. "I don't want to put him down
   even though you think it's hopeless. You do. . . don't you?"
  I made a non-committal gesture. I was watching Skip-          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               269

  per who seemed bewildered. He had given up his worrying tactics and was
  sniffing round his friend in a puzzled manDer. Only once did he pull very
  gently at the unresponsive ear.
   I went through the motions with a feeling of helplessness and left with
   the unpleasant intuition that I would never see Jingo alive again.
   And even though I was waiting for it, Jack Sanders' 'phone call next
   morning was a bad start to the day.
   "Jing died during the night, Mr. Herriot. I thought I'd better let you
   know. You said you were coming back this morning." He was trying to be
   matter-of-fact.
  "I'm sorry, Jack," I said. "I did rather expect. .
  "Yes, I know. And thank you for what you did."
   It made it worse when people were nice at these times. The Sanderses were
   a childless couple and devoted to their animals. I knew how he was
   feeling.
   I stood there with the receiver in my hand. "Anyway, Jack, you've still
   got Skipper." It sounded a bit lame, but it did help to have the comfort
   of one remaining dog, even though he was old.
   "That's right," he replied. "We're very thankful for Skipper."
   I went on with my work. Patients died sometimes and once it was over it
   was almost a relief, especially when I knew in Jingo's case that the end
   was inevitable.
   But this thing wasn't over. Less than a week later Jack Sanders was on
   the 'phone again.
   "It's Skipper," he said. "He seems to be going the same way as Jing."
  A cold hand took hold of my stomach and twisted it.
   "But ... but ... he can't bel I gave him the protective injectionl"
   "Well, I don't know, but he's hanging around miserably and hardly eats
   a thing. He seems to be going down fast."
   I ran out and jumped into my car. And as I drove to the edge of the town
   where the Sanderses lived my heart thudded and panicky thoughts jostled
   around in my mind. How could he have got the infection? I had little
   faith in the serum as a cure but as a prevention I felt it was safe. I
   had even given him a second shot to make sure. The idea of these people
   losing both their dogs was bad enough but I couldn't bear the thought
   that the second one might be my fault.
  270         ALL TIHNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   The little corgi trailed unhappily across the carpet when he saw me and I
   lifted him quickly on to the kitchen table. I almost snatched at his
   eyelids in my anxiety but there was no sign of jaundice in the sclera nor
   in the mucous membranes of the mouth. The temperature was dead normal and
   I felt a wave of relief.
  "He hasn't got leptospirosis, anyway," I said.
   Mrs. Sanders clasped her hands. "Oh thank God for that. We were sure it was
   the same thing. He looks so awful.,,
   I examined the little animal meticulously and when I finished I put my
   stethoscope in my pocket. "Well, I can't find much wrong here. He's got a
   bit of a heart murmur but you've known about that for some time. He's old,
   after all."
   "Do you think he could be fretting for Jing?" Jack Sanders asked.
  "Yes, I do. They were such friends. He must feel lost."
  "But he'll get over that, won't he?"
   "Oh of course he will. I'll leave some mild sedative tablets for him and
   I'm sure they'll help."
  I met Jack a few days later in the market place.
  "How is Skipper?" I asked.
   He blew out his cheeks. "About the same. Maybe a bit worse. The trouble is
   he eats practically nothing-he's getting very thin."
   I didn't see what else I could do but on the following day I looked in at
   the Sanderses' as I was passing.
   I was shocked at the little corgi's appearance. Despite his age he had been
   so cocky and full of bounce, and when Jing was alive he had been
   indisputably the boss dog. But now he was utterly deflated. He looked at me
   with lack-lustre eyes as I came in, then crept stiffly to his basket where
   he curled himself as though wishing to shut out the world.
   I examined him again. The heart murmur seemed a little more pronounced but
   there was nothing else except that he looked old and decrepit and done.
   "You know, I'm beginning to wonder if he really is fretting," I said. "It
   could be just his age catching up on him. After all, he'll be twelve in the
   spring, won't he?"
   Mrs. Sanders nodded. "That's right. Then you think . this could be the
   end?"
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               271

   "It's possible." I knew what she was thinking. A couple of weeks ago two
   healthy dogs rolling around and playing in this house and now there could
   soon be none.
   "But isn't there anything else you can do?"
   "Well I can give him a course of digitalis for his heart. And perhaps you
   would bring in a sample of his urine. I want to see how his kidneys are
   functioning."
   I tested the urine. There was a little albumen, but no more than you would
   expect in a dog of his age. I ruled out nephritis as a cause.
   As the days passed I tried other things; vitamins, iron tonics,
   organo-phosphates, but the little animal declined steadily. It was about a
   month after Jing's death that I was called to the house again.
   Skipper was in his basket and when I called to him he slowly raised his
   head. His face was pinched and fleshless and the filmed eyes regarded me
   without recognition.
   "Come on, lad," I said encouragingly. "Lets see you get out of there."
   Jack Sanders shook his head. "It's no good, Mr. Herriot. He never leaves
   his basket now and when we lift him out he's almost too weak to walk.
   Another thing . . . he makes a mess down here in the kitchen during the
   night. That's something he's never done."
   It was like the tolling of a sad bell. Everything he said pointed to a dog
   in the last stages of senility. I tried to pick my words.
   "I'm sorry, Jack, but it all sounds as if the old chap has come to the end
   of the road. I don't think fretting could possibly cause all this."
   He didn't speak for a moment. He looked at his wife then down at the
   forlorn little creature. "Well of course this has been in the back of our
   minds. But we've kept hoping he would start to eat. What ... what do you
   suggest?"
   I could not bring myself to say the fateful words. "It seems to me that we
   can't stand by and let him suffer. He's just a little skeleton and I can't
   think he's getting any pleasure out of his life now."
   "I see," he said. "And I agree. He lies there all dayhe has no interest in
   anything." He paused and looked at his wife again. "I tell you what, Mr.
   Herriot. Let us think it over till tomorrow. But you do think there's no
   hope?"
  272         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   "Yes, Jack, I do. Old dogs often go this way at the end. Skipper has just
   cracked up . . . he's finished, I'm afraid."
   He drew a long breath. "Right, if you don't hear from me by eight o'clock
   tomorrow morning, please come and put him to sleep."
   I had small hope of the call coming and it didn't. In those early days
   of our marriage Helen worked as a secretary for one of the local millers.
   We often started our day together by descending the long flights of
   stairs from our bed-sitter and I would see her out of the front door
   before getting ready for my round.
   This morning she gave me her usual kiss before going out into the street
   but then she looked at me searchingly. "You've been quiet all through
   breakfast, Jim. What's the matter?"
   "It's nothing, really. Just part of the job," I said. But when she kept
   her steady gaze on me I told her quickly about the Sanderses.
   She touched my arm. "It's such a shame, Jim, but you can't let your sad
   cases depress you. You'd never survive."
   "Aagh, I know that. But I'm a softy, that's my trouble. Sometimes I think
   I should never have been a vet."
   "You're wrong there," she said. "I couldn't imagine you as anything else.
   You'll do what you have to do, and you'll do it the right way." She
   kissed me again, turned and ran down the steps.
   It was mid morning before I drew up outside the Sanderses' home. I opened
   the car boot and took out the syringe and the bottle of concentrated
   anaesthetic which would give the old dog a peaceful and painless end.
   The first thing I saw when I went into the kitchen was a fat little white
   puppy waddling across the floor.
  I looked down in astonishment. "What's this ... ?"
   Mrs. Sanders gave me a strained smile. "Jack and I had a talk yesterday.
   We couldn't bear the idea of not having a dog at all, so we went round
   to Mrs. Palmer who bred Jing and found she had a litter for sale. It
   seemed like fate. We've called him Jingo, too."
   "What a splendid idea!" I lifted the pup which squirmed in my hand,
   grunted in an obese manner and tried to lick my face. This, I felt, would
   make my unpleasant task easier. "I think you've been very sensible."
  I lifted the bottle of anaesthetic unobtrusively from
          ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              273

  my pocket and went over to the basket in the comer. Skipper was still curled
  in the unheeding ball of yesterday and the comforting thought came to me
  that all. I was going to do was push him a little further along the journey
  he had already begun.
   I pierced the rubber diaphragm on the bottle with my needle and was about
   to withdraw the barbiturate when I saw that Skipper bad raised his head.
   Chin resting on the edge of the basket, he seemed to be watching the pup.
   Wearily his eyes followed the tiny creature as it made its way to a dish of
   milk and began to lap busily. And there was something in his intent
   expression which had not been there for a long time.
   I stood very still as the corgi made a couple of attempts then heaved
   himself to a standing position. He almost fell out of the basket and
   staggered on shaking legs across the floor. When he came alongside the pup
   he remained there, swaying, for some time, a gaunt caricature of his former
   self, but as I watched in disbelief, he reached forward and seized the
   little white ear in his mouth.
   Stoicism is not a characteristic of pups and Jingo the Second yelped
   shrilly as the teeth squeezed. Skipper, undeterred, continued to gnaw with
   rapt concentration.
   I dropped bottle and syringe back in my pocket. "Bring him some food," I
   said quietly.
   Mrs. Sanders hurried to the pantry and came back with a few pieces of meat
   on a saucer. Skipper continued his ear-nibbling for a few moments then
   sniffed the pup unhurriedly from end to end before turning to the saucer.
   He hardly had the strengtk to chew but he lifted a portion of meat and his
   jaws moved slowly.
   "Good heavensl" Jack Sanders burst out. "That's the first thing he's eaten
   for days I"
   His wife seized my arm. "What's happened, Mr. Herriot? We only got the
   puppy because we couldn't have a house without a dog."
   "Well, it looks to me as though you've got two again." I went over to the
   door and smiled back at the two people watching fascinated as the corgi
   swallowed then started determinedly on another piece of meat.

  About eight months later, Jack Sanders came into the surgery and put Jingo
  Two on the table. He was growing
  274        ALT, THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  into a fine animal with the wide chest and powerful legs of the breed. His
  good-natured face and whipping tail reminded me strongly of his
  predecessor.
   "He's got a bit of eczema between his pads," Jack said, then he bent and
   lifted Skipper up.
   At that moment I had no eyes for my patient. All my attention was on the
   corgi, Plump and bright-eyed, nibbling at the big white dog's hind limbs
   with all his old bounce and vigour.
   "Just look at that!" I murmured. "It's like turning the clock back."
   Jack Sanders laughed. "Yes, isn't it. They're tremendous friendS-ju9t
   like before."
   "Come here, Skipper." I grabbed the little corgi and looked him over.
   When I had finished I held him for a moment as he tried to wriggle his
   way back to his friend. "Do you know, I honestly think he'll go on for
   years yet."
   "Really?" Jack Sanders looked at me with a mischievous light in his eyes.
   "But I seem to remember you saying quite a long time ago that his days
   were over-he was finished."
   I held up a hand. "I know, I know. But sometimes it's lovely to be
   wrong."
                 CHAPTER
                     32

  "To-day," said F. 0. Woodham, "we're going to try a few new things.
  Spinning, side-slipping and how to come out of a stall." His voice was
  gentle, and before he pulled on his helmet he turned his dark, fine-featured
  face towards me and smiled. Walking over the grass I thought what a likeable
  chap he was. I could have made a friend of him.
   But he was always like that on the ground. He was altogether different in
   ihe air.
   Yet I could never understand it. Flying was no trouble at all, and as we
   spun and dropped and soared about the Summer sky his instructions appeared
   simple and easy to carry out. But the rot, as always, began to set in very
   soon.
   "Didn't I tell you opposite rudder and stick to sideslip?" he bawled over
   the intercom.
   "Yes sir," was all I replied, instead of the more appropriate "That's just
   what I'm doing, you stupid bugger!" which I might have used in civil life.
   The goggled eyes bulged in the mirror. "Well, why the bloody hell aren't
   you doing it?" His voice rose to a wild shriek.
  "Sorry, sir."
   "Well take her up. We'll try again. And for God's sake keep your wits about
   you!"
   It was the same with the spins and stalls. I hadn't the slightest
   difficulty in pulling out of them but at times I thought my instructor was
   going out of his mind.
   Berserk cries rang in my ears. "Full opposite rudder and centralise the
   stick! Centralise it! Can't you hear me? Oh God, God!"
   And of course the panic gradually crept in and I began to crack. One moment
   I could see a railway station in
                       275
  276         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  front of me whirling around in crazy circles, then there was nothing but
  the empty heavens and within seconds fields and trees would start to rush
  at me. Everything kept changing bewilderingly except the enraged eyes in
  the mirxor and the exasperated yells.
   "Centralise it, you bloody fool! Keep your eyes on that cloud! Watch your
   artificial horizon! Don't you know what the altimeter's for? I told you
   to keep at 1,000 feet but it's like talking to a bloody wall!"
   After a while a kind of numbness took over and the words rang
   meaninglessly in my head, one sentence seeming to contradict another.
   Desperately I tried to sort out the volleys of advice, but the whole
   thing began to slip from my grasp.
   Back on the ground and still dizzy, not from the flight but from the
   bewildering cataract of words, it occurred to me that I had felt like
   this somewhere before. There was a familiar ring about this jumble in my
   brain. Then it came back to me. It was like being back at the Birtwhis-
   tles'. '
   The trouble with the Birtwhistles was that they all spoke at once. Mr.
   Birtwhistle invariably discussed his livestock, his wife concentrated on
   family matters and Len, their massive eighteen year old son, talked of
   nothing but football.
   I was examining Nellie, the big white cow that always stood opposite the
   doorway in the grey stone byre. She had been lame for over a week and I
   didn't like the look of her.
   "Lift her foot, will you, Len," I said. It was wonderful to have a
   muscular giant to hoist the hind limb instead of going through the
   tedious business of hauling it up with a ,rope over a beam.
   With the cloven hoof cradled in the great hands I could see that my fears
   were realised. The space between the cleats was clear but there was a
   significant swelling around the interphalangeal joint.
   I looked up from my stooping position. "Can you see that, Mr.
   Birtwhistle? The infection is spreading upwards."
   "Aye . . . aye . . ." The farmer thrust a finger against the turnefied
   area and Nellie flinched. "It's goin' up her leg on that side right
   enough. Ah thought it was nowt but a bit o' foul and I've been puttin'
   . . ."
          ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               277

   "By gaw," Len interjected. "The ]ads 'ad a good win against Hellerby on
   Saturday. Johnnie Nudd got another couple o' goals and . . ."
   11. . . puttin' that caustic lotion between 'er cleats." Mr. Birtwhistle
   didn't appear to have heard his son, but it was always like that. "Done it
   regular night and mornin'. And ah'll tell ye the best way to do it. Get a
   hen feather an'. .
   ". . . ah wouldn't be surprised if 'e scores a few more this Saturday,"
   continued Len unheedingly. "He's a right bobby dazzler when 'e . . ."
   ". . . ye just dip it in t'lotion and push the feather in between t'cleats.
   It works like a . . ."
   ". . . gets that ball on 'is right foot. He just whacks lem in . . ."
   I raised a hand. "Wait a minute. You must realise this cow hasn't got foul.
   She has suppurative arthritis in this little joint just at the coronet
   here. I don't want to use a lot of big words but she has pus-matter-right
   inside the joint cavity, and it's a very nasty thing."
   Mr. Birtwhistle nodded slowly. "Sort of a abscess, you mean? Well, maybe it
   'ud be best to lance it. Once you let t'matter out it would . . ."
   ". . . just like a rocket," went on Len. "Ah'll tell ye, Johnnie could get
   a trial for Darlington one o' these days and then . . ."
   I always think it is polite to look at a person when they are talking to
   you, but it is difficult when they are both talking at once, especially
   when one of them is bent double and the other standing behind you.
   "Thank you, Len," I said. "You can put her foot down now." I straightened
   up and directed my gaze somewhere between them. "The trouble with this
   condition is that you can't just stick a knife into it and relieve it. Very
   often the smooth surfaces of the joint are eaten away and it's terribly
   painful."
   Nellie would agree with me. It was the outside cleat which was affected and
   she was standing with her leg splayed sideways in an attempt to take the
   weight on the healthy inner digit.
   The farmer asked the inevitable question. "Well, what are we goin' to do?"
  I had an uncomfortable conviction that it wasn't going
  278         ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  to make much difference what we did, but I had to make an effort.
   "We'll give her a course of sulphanilamide powders and I also want you
   to put a poultice on that foot three times daily."
   "Poultice?" The farmer brightened. "Ah've been doin' that. Ah've been .
   . ."
  "If Darlington signed Johnnie Nudd I reckon..."
   "Hold on, Len," I said. "What poultice have you been using, Mr.
   Birtwhistle?"
   "Cow shit," the farmer replied confidently. "Ye can't beat a good cow
   shit poultice to bring t'bad out. Ah've used it for them bad cases o' .
   . ."
   ". . . ah'd have to go through to Darlington now and then instead of
   watchin' the Kestrels," Len broke in. "Ah'd have to see how Johnnie was
   gettin' on wi' them professionals because . . ."
   I managed a twisted smile. I like football myself and I found it touching
   that Len ignored the great panorama of league football to concentrate on
   a village team who played in front of about twenty spectators. "Yes, yes,
   Len, I quite understand how you feel." Then I turned to his father. "I
   was thinking of a rather different type of poultice, Mr. Birtwhistle."
   The farmer's face lengthened and the corners of his mouth drooped. "Well,
   ah've never found owt better than cow shit and ah've been among stock all
   me life."
   I clenched my teeth. This earthy medicament was highly regarded among the
   Dales farmers of the thirties and the damnable thing was that it often
   achieved its objective. There was no doubt that a sackful of bovine
   faeces applied to an inflamed area set up a tremendous heat and
   counter-irritation. In those days I had to go along with many of the
   ancient cures and keep my tongue between my teeth but I had never
   prescribed cow shit and I wasn't going to start now.
   "Maybe so," I said firmly, "but what I was thinking of was kaolin. You
   could call down at the surgery for some. You just heat the tin in a pan
   of hot water and apply the poultice to the foot. It keeps its heat for
   several hours."
   Mr. Birtwhistle showed no great enthusiasm so I tried again. "Or you
   could use bran. I see you've got a sack over there."
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              279

  He cheered up a little. "Aye ... that's right."
   "Okay, put on some hot bran three times a day and give her the powders and
   I'll see her again in a few days." I knew the farmer would do as I said,
   because he was a conscientious stockman, but I had seen cases like this be-
   fore and I wasn't happy. Nothing seems to pull a good cow down quicker than
   a painful foot. Big fat animals could be reduced to skeletons within weeks
   because of the agony of septic arthritis. I could only hope.
   "Very good, Mr. Herriot," Mr. Birtwhistle said. "And now come into the
   house. T'missus has a cup o' tea ready for you."
   I seldom refuse such an invitation but as I entered the kitchen I knew this
   was where the going got really tough.
   "Now then, Mr. Herriot," the farmer's wife said, beaming as she handed me
   a steaming mug. "I was talkin' to your good lady in the market place
   yesterday, and she said . . ."
   "And ye think them powders o' yours might do the trick?" Her husband looked
   at me seriously. "I 'ope so, because Nellie's a right good milker. Ah
   reckon last lactation she gave . . ."
   "Kestrels is drawn agin Dibharn in t'Hulton cup," Len chimed in. "It'll be
   some game. Last time. . ."
  Mrs. Birtwhistle continued without drawing breath,
   . . you were nicely settled in at top of Skeldale House. It must be right
   pleasant up there with the lovely view and . . ."
   ". . . five gallons when she fust calved and she kept it up for . . ."
   ". . . they nearly kicked us off t'pitch, but by gaw ahT tell ye, we'll .
   . ."
   ". . . you can see right over Darrowby. But it wouldn't do for a fat body
   like me. I was sayin' to your missus that you 'ave to be young and slim to
   live up there. All them stairs and . . ."
   I took a long draught from my cup. It gave me a chance to focus my eyes and
   attention on just one thing as the conversation crackled unceasingly around
   me. I invariably found it wearing trying to listen to all three
   Birtwhistles in full cry and of course it was impossible to look at them
   all simultaneously and adjust my expression to their different remarks.
  280         ALL THINGS WISP AND WONDERFUL

   The thing that amazed me was that none of them ever became angry at the
   others butting in. Nobody ever said, "I'm speaking, do you mind?" or
   "Don't interrupt!" or "For Pete's sake, shut upl" They lived together in
   perfect harmony with all of them talking at once and none paying the
   slightest heed to what the other was saying.
   When I saw the cow during the following week she was worse. Mr.
   Birtwhistle had followed my instructions faithfully but Nellie could
   scarcely hobble as he brought her in from the field.
   Len was there to lift the foot and I gloomily surveyed the increased
   swelling. It ran right round the coronet from the heel to the
   interdigital cleft in front, and the slightest touch from my finger
   caused the big cow to jerk her leg in pain.
   I didn't say much, because I knew what was in store for Nellie, and I
   knew too that Mr. Birtwhistle wasn't going to like it when I told him.
   When I visited again at the end of the week I had only to look at the
   farmer's face to realise that everything had turned out as I feared. For
   once he was on his own and he led me silently into the byre.
   Nellie was on three legs now, not daring even to bring the infected foot
   into momentary contact with the cobble flooring. And worse, she was in
   an advanced state of emaciation, the sleek healthy animal of two weeks
   ago reduced to little more than bone and hide.
  "I doubt she's 'ad it," Mr. Birtwhistle muttered.
   Cow's hind feet are difficult to lift, but today I didn't need any help
   because Nellie had stopped caring. I examined the swollen digit. It was
   now vast-a great ugly club of tissue with a trickle of pus discharging
   down the wan.
   "I see it's bust there," the farmer poked a finger at the ragged opening.
   "But it hasn't given 'er no relief."
   "Well, I wouldn't expect it to," I said. "Remember I told you the trouble
   is all inside the joint."
   "Well, these things 'appen," he replied. "Ah might as well telephone for
   Mallock. She's hardly givin' a drop o' milk, poor awd lass, she's nowt
   but a screw now."
   I always had to wait for the threat of the knacker man's humane killer
   before I said what I had to say now. Right from the start this had been
   a case for surgery, but it would have been a waste of time to suggest it
   at the be-
             ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               281

  ginning. Amputation of the bovine digit has always filled farmers with
  horror and even now I knew I would have trouble convincing Mr.
  Birtwhistle.
   "There's no need to slaughter her," I said. "There's another way of
   curing this."
  "Another way? We've tried 'ard enough, surely."
   I bent and lifted the foot again. "Look at this." I seized the inner
   cleat and moved it freely around. "This side is perfectly healthy.
   There's nothing wrong with it. It would bear Nellie's full weight."
  "Aye, but . . . how about Vother 'orrible thing?"
  "I could remove it."
  "You mean . cut it off?"
  "Yes.,,
   He shook his head vigorously. "Nay, nay, I'm not bavin' that. She's
   suffered enough. Far better send for Jeff Mallock and get the job over."
   Here it was again. Farmers are anything but shrinking violets, but there
   was something about this business which appalled them.
   "But Mr. Birtwbistle," I said. "Don't you see-the pain is immediately
   relieved. The pressure is off and all the weight rests on the good side."
   "Ah said no, Mr. Herriot, and ah mean no. You've done your best and I
   thank ye, but I'm not havin' her foot cut off and that's all about it."
   He turned and began to walk away.
   I looked after him helplessly. bne thing I hate to do is talk a man into
   an operation on one of his beasts for the simple reason that if anything
   goes wrong I get the blame. But I was just about certain that an hour's
   work could restore this good cow to her former state. I couldn't let it
   go at this.
   I trotted from the byre. 'Me farmer was already half way across the yard
   on his way to the 'phone.
   I panted up to him as he reached the farmhouse door. "Mr. Birtwhistle,
   listen to me for a minute. I never said anything about cutting off her
   foot. Just one cleat."
   "Well that's half a foot, isn't it?" he looked down at his boots. "And
   it's ower much for me."
   "But she wouldn't know a thing," I pleaded. "She'd be under a general
   anaesthetic. And I'm nearly sure it would be a success."
  282         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   "Mr. Herriot, I just don't fancy it. I don't like fidea. And even if it
   did work it would be like havin' a crippled cow walkin' about."
   "Not at all. She would grow a little stump of horn there and I'd Re to
   bet you'd never notice a thing."
   He gave me a long sideways look and I could see he was weakening.
   "Mr. Birtwhistle," I said, pressing home the attack. "Within a month
   Nellie could be a fat cow again, giving five gallons of milk a day."
   This was silly talk, not to be recommended to any veterinary surgeon, but
   I was seized by a kind of madness. I couldn't bear the thought of that
   cow being cut up for dog food when I was convinced I could put her right.
   And there was another thing; I was already savouring the pleasure,
   childish perhaps, of instantly relieving an animal's pain, of bringing
   off a spectacular cure. There aren't many operations in the field of
   bovine surgery where you can do this but digit amputation is one of them.
   Something of my fervour must have been communicated to the farmer because
   he looked at me steadily for a few moments then shrugged.
  "When do you want to do it?" he asked.
  "romorrow."
  "Right. Will you need a lot o' f ellers to help?"
  "No, just you and Len. I'll see you at ten o'clock."

  Next day the sun was warm on my back as I laid out my equipment on a small
  field near the house. It was a typical setting for many large animal
  operations I have carried out over the years; the sweet stretch of green,
  the grey stone buildings and the peaceful bulk of the fells rising calm
  and unheeding into the white scattering of clouds.
   It took a long time for them to lead Nellie out, though she didn't have
   far to go, and as the bony scarecrow hopped painfully towards me,
   dangling her useless limb, the brave words of yesterday seemed foolhardy.
   'All right," I said. "Stop there. That's a good spot." On the grass,
   nearby, lay my tray with the saw, chloroform, bandages, cotton wool and
   iodoform. I had my long casting rope too, which we used to pull cattle
   down, but I had a feeling Nellie wouldn't need it.
          ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               283

   1 was right. I buckled on the muzzle, poured some chloroform on to the
   sponge and the big white cow sank almost thankfully on to the cool green
   herbage.
   "Kestrels had a smashin' match on Wednesday night," Len chuckled happily.
   "Johnnie Nudd didn't score but Len Bottonfley . . ."
   "I 'ope we're doin' Vright thing," muttered Mr. Birtwhistle. "The way she
   staggered out 'ere I'd say it was a waste of time to . . ."
   ". . . cracked in a couple o' beauties." Len's face lit up at the memory.
   "Kestrels is lucky to 'ave two fellers like. .."
   "Get hold of that bad foot, Len!" I barked, playing them at their own game.
   "And keep it steady on that block of wood. And you, Mr. Birtwhistle, hold
   her head down. I don't suppose she'll move, but if she does we'll have to
   give her more chloroform."
   Cows are good subjects for chloroform anaesthesia but I don't like to keep
   them laid out too long in case of regurgitation of food. I was in a hurry.
   I quickly tied a bandage above the hoof, pulling it tight to serve as a
   tourniquet, then I reached back to the tray for the saw. The books are full
   of sophisticated methods of digit amputation with much talk of curved
   incisions, reflections of skin to expose the region of the articulations,
   and the like. But I have whipped off hundreds of cleats with a few brisk
   strokes of the saw below the coronary band with complete success.
   I took a long breath. "Hold tight, Len." And set to work.
   For a few moments there was silence except' for the rhythmic grating of
   metal on bone, then the offending digit was lying on the grass, leaving a
   flat stump from which a few capillary vessels spurted. Using curved
   scissors I speedily disarticulated the remains of the pedal bone from the
   second phalanx and held it up.
   "Look at thatl" I cried. "Almost eaten away." I pointed to the necrotic
   tissue in and around the joint. "And d'you see all that rubbish? No wonder
   she was in pain." I did a bit of quick curetting, dusted the surface with
   iodoform, applied a thick pad of cotton wool and prepared to bandage.
  And as I tore the paper from the white rolls I felt a
  284         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  stab of remorse. In my absorption I had been rather rude. I had never
  replied to Len's remark about his beloved team. Maybe I could pass the
  next few minutes with a little gentle banter.
   "Hey, Len," I said. "When you're talking about the Kestrels you never
   mention the time Willerton beat them five nil. How is that?"
   In reply the young man hurled himself 1111hesitatingly at me, butting me
   savagely on the forehead. The assault of the great coarse-haired head
   against my skin was like being attacked by a curlypolled bull, and the
   impact sent me flying backwards on to the grass. At first the inside of
   my cranium was illuminated by a firework display but as consciousness
   slipped away my last sensation was of astonishment and disbelief.
   I loved football myself but never had I thought that Len's devotion to
   the Kestrels would lead him to physical violence. He had always seemed
   a most gentle and harmless boy.
   I suppose I was out for only a few seconds but I fancy I might have spent
   a good deal longer lying on the cool turf but for the fact that something
   kept hammering out the message that I was in the middle of a surgical
   procedure. I blinked and sat up.
   Nellie was still sleeping peacefully against the green background of
   hills. Mr. Birtwhistle, hands on her neck, was regarding me anxiously,
   and Len was lying unconscious face down across the cow's body.
  "Has he hurt tha, Mr. Herriot?"
  "No ... no ... not really. What happened?"
   "I owt to have told ye. He can't stand the sight o' blood. Great daft
   beggar." The farmer directed an exasperated glare at his slumbering son.
   "But ah've never seen 'im go down as fast as that. Pitched right into
   you, 'e did!"
   I rolled the young man's inert form to one side and began again. I
   bandaged slowly and carefully because of the danger of post operative
   haemorrhage. I finished with several layers of zinc oxide plaster then
   turned to the farmer.
   "You can take her mulzle off now, Mr. Birtwhistle. The job's done."
   I was starting to wash my instruments in the bucket when Len sat up
   almost as suddenly as he had slumped
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               285

  down. He was deathly pale but he looked at me with his usual friendly
  smile.
   "What was that ye were sayin' about t'Kestrels, Mr. Herriot?"
  , "Nothing, Len," I replied hastily. "Nothing at all."

  After three days I returned and removed the original dressing which was
  caked hard with blood and pus. I dusted the stump with powder again and
  bandaged on a clean soft pad of cotton wool.
   "She'll feel a lot more comfortable now," I said, and indeed Nellie was
   already looking vastly happier. She was taking some weight on the
   affected f oot-rather gingerly, as though she couldn't believe that
   terrible thing had gone from her life.
   As she watked away I crossed my fingers. The only thing that can ruin
   these operations is if the infection spreads to the other side. The
   inevitable result then is immediate slaughter and terrible
   disappointment.
   But it never happened to Nellie. When I took off the second dressing she
   was almost sound and I didet see her again until about five weeks after
   the operation.
   I had finished injecting one of Mr. Birtwhistle's pigs when I asked
   casually, "And how's Nellie?"
   "Come and 'ave a look at her," the farmer replied. "She's just in that
   field at side of t'road."
   We walked together over the grass to where the white cow was standing
   among her companions, head down, munching busily. And she must have done
   a lot of that since I saw her because sbe was fat again.
   "Get on, lass." The farmer gently nudged her rump with his thumb and she
   ambled forward a few paces before setting to work on another patch of
   grass. There wasn't the slightest trace of lameness.
   "Well, that's grand," I said. "And is she milking well, too?"
   "Aye, back to five gallons." He pulled a much dented tobacco tin from his
   pocket, unscrewed the lid and produced an ancient'watch. "It's ten
   o'clock, young man. Len'll have gone into t'house for his tea, and
   lowance. Will ye come in and have a cup?"
   I squared my shoulders and followed him inside, and the barrage began
   immediately.
  286         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   "Summat right funny happened on Saturday," Len said with a roar of
   laughter. "Walter Gimmet was refereein' and 'e gave two penalties agin
   t'Kestrels. So what did the lads do, they . . ."
   "Eee, wasn't it sad about old Mr. Brent?" Mrs. Birtwhistle put her head on
   one side and looked at me piteously. "We buried 'im on Saturday and. . ."
   "You know, Mr. Herriot," her husband put in. "Ah thought you were pullin'
   ma leg when you said Nellie would be givin' five gallons again. I never .
   . ."
   ". . . dumped the beggar in a 'oss trouah. He won't give no more penalties
   agin t'Kestrels. You should 'ave seen. . ."
   ". . . it would 'ave been his ninetieth birthday today, poor old man. He
   was well liked in t'village and there was a big congregation. Parson said
   . . ."
   ". . . expected owt like that. Ali thought she might maybe put on a bit of
   flesh so we could get 'er off for beef. Ah'm right grateful to . . ."
   At that moment, fingers clenched tensely around my cup, I happened to catch
   sight of my reflection in a cracked mirror above the kitchen sink. It was
   a frightening experience because I was staring glassily into space with my
   features contorted almost out of recognition. There was something of an
   idiot smile as I acknowledged the humour of Walter in the horse trough, a
   touch of sorrow at Mr. Brent's demise, and, I swear, a suggestion of
   gratification at the successful outcome of Nellie's operation. And since I
   was also trying to look in three directions at once, I had to give myself
   full marks for effort.
   But as I say, I found it a little unnerving and excused myself soon
   afterwards. The men were still busy with Mrs. Birtwhistle's apple pie and
   scones and the conversation was raging unabated when I left. The closure of
   the door behind me brought a sudden peace. The feeling of tranquillity
   stayed with me as I got into my car and drove out of the yard and onto the
   narrow country road. It persisted as I stopped the car after less than a
   hundred yards and wound down the window to have a look at my patient.
   Nellie was lying down now. She had eaten her fill and was resting
   comfortably on her chest as she chewed her cud. To a doctor of farm animals
   there is nothing more
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              287

  reassuring than that slow lateral grinding. It means contentment and health.
  She gazed at me across the stone wall and the placid eyes in the white face
  added to the restfulness of the scene, accentuating the silence after the
  babel of voices in the farmhouse.
   Nellie couldn't talk, but those calmly moving jaws told me all I wanted to
   know.
                 CHAPTER
                     33

  To me there are few things more appealing than a dog begging. This one was
  tied to a lamp Post Outside a shop in Windsor. Its eyes were fixed
  steadfastly on the shop doorway, willing its owner to come out, and every
  now and then it sat up in mute entreaty.
   Flying had been suspended for an afternoon. It gave us all a chance to
   relax and no doubt it eased the frayed nerves of our instructors, but as
   I looked at that dog all. the pressures of the RAF fell away and I was
   back in Darrowby.
   It was when Siegfried and I were making one of our market day sorties
   that we noticed the little dog among the stalls.
   When things were quiet in the surgery we often used to walk together
   across the cobbles and have a word with the farmers gathered round the
   doorway of the Drovers Arms. Sometimes we collected a few outstanding
   bills or drummed up a bit of work for the forthcoming week -and if
   nothing like that happened we still enjoyed the fresh air.
   The thing that made its notice the dog was that he was sitting up begging
   in front of the biscuit stall.
   "Look at that little chap," Siegfried said. "I wonder where he's sprung
   from."
   As he spoke, the stallholder threw a biscuit which the dog devoured
   eagerly but when the man came round and stretched out a hand the little
   animal trotted away.
   He stopped, however, at another stall which sold produce; eggs, cheese,
   butter, cakes and scones. Without hesitation he sat up again in the
   begging position, rock steady, paws dangling, head pointing expectantly.
  I nudged Siegfried. "There he goes again."
   My colleague nodded. "Yes, be's an engaging little thing, isn't he? What
   breed would you call him?"
                       288
          ALL TTHNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               289

   "A cross, I'd say. He's like a little brown sheepdog, but there's a touch
   of something else-maybe terrier."
   It wasn't long before he was munching a bun, and this time we walked over
   to him. And as we drew near I spoke gently.
   "Here, boy," I said, squatting down a yard away. "Come on, let's have a
   look at you."
   He faced me and for a moment two friendly brown eyes gazed at me from a
   singularly attractive little face. The fringed tail waved in response to my
   words but as I inched nearer he turned and ambled unhurriedly among the
   market day crowd till he was lost to sight. I didn't want to make a thing
   out of the encounter because I could never quite divine Siegfried's
   attitude to the small animals. He was eminently wrapped up in his horse
   work and often seemed amused'at the way I rushed around after dogs and
   cats.
   At that time, in fact, Siegfried was strongly opposed to the whole idea of
   keeping animals as pets. He was quite vociferous on the subject-said it was
   utterly foolish-despite the fact that five assorted dogs travelled every-
   where with him in his car. Now, thirty-five years later, he is just as
   strongly in favour of keeping pets, though he now carries only one dog in
   his car. So, as I say, it was difficult to assess his reactions in this
   field and I refrained from following the little animal.
   I was standing there when a young policeman came up to me.
   "I've been watching that little dog begging among the stalls all morning,"
   he said. "But like you, I haven't been able to get near him."
   "Yes, it's strange. He's obviously friendly, yet he's afraid. I wonder who
   owns him."
   "I reckon be's a stray, Mr. Herriot. I'm interested in dogs myself and I
   fancy I know just about all of them around here. But this 'un's a stranger
   to me."
   I nodded. "I bet you're right. So anything could have happened to him. He
   could have been ill-treated by somebody and run away, or he could have been
   dumped from a car."
   "Yes," he replied. "There's some lovely people around. It beats me how
   anybody can leave a helpless animal to fend for itself like that. I've had
   a few goes at catching him myself but it's no good."
  290         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   The memory stayed with me for the rest of the day and even when I lay in
   bed that night I was unable to dispel the disturbing image of the little
   brown creature wandering in a strange world, sitting up asking for help in
   the only way he knew.

  I was still a bachelor at that time and on the Friday night of the same week
  Siegfried and I were arraying ourselves in evening dress in preparation for
  the Hunt Ball at East Hirdsley, about ten miles away.
   It was a tortuous business because those were the days of starched shirt
   fronts and stiff high collars and I kept hearing explosions of colourful
   language from Siegfried's room as he wrestled with his studs.
   I was in an even worse plight because I had outgrown my suit and even when
   I had managed to secure the strangling collar I had to fight my way into
   the dinner jacket which nipped me cruelly under the arms. I had just
   managed to (ion the complete outfit and was trying out a few careful
   breaths when the 'phone rang.
   It was the same young policeman I had been speaking to earlier in the week.
   "We've got that dog round here, Mr. Herriot. You know-the one that was
   begging in the market place."
  "Oh yes? Somebody's managed to catch him, then?"
   There was a pause. "No, not really. One of our men found him lying by the
   roadside about a mile out of town and brought him in. He's been in an
   accident."
   .1 told Siegfried. He looked at his watch. "Always happens, doesn't it,
   James. Just when we're ready to go out. It's nine o'clock now and we should
   be on our way." He thought for a moment. ."Anyway, slip round there and
   have a took and I'll wait for you. It would be better if we could go to
   this affair together."
   As I drove round to the Police Station I hoped fervently that there
   Wouldn't be much to do. This Hunt Ball meant a lot to my boss because it
   would be a gathering of the horse-loving fraternity of the district and he
   would have a wonderful time just chatting and drinking with so many kindred
   spirits even though he hardly danced at all. Also, he maintained, it was
   good for business to meet the clients socially.
   The kennels were at the bottom of a yard behind the Station and the
   policeman led me down and opened one
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               291

  of the doors. The little dog was lying very still under the single electric
  bulb and when I bent and stroked the brown coat his tail stirred briefly
  among the straw of his bed.
  "He can still manage a wag, anyway," I said.
   The policeman nodded. "Aye, there's no doubt he's a good-natured little
   thing."
   I tried to examine him as much as possible without touching. I didn't want
   to hurt him and there was no saying what the extent of his injuries might
   be. But even at a glance certain things were obvious; he had multiple
   lacerations, one hind leg was crooked in the unmistakable posture of a
   fracture and there was blood on his lips.
   This could be from damaged teeth and I gently raised the head with a view
   to looking into his mouth. He was lying on his right side and as the head
   came round it was as though somebody had struck me in the face.
   The right eye had been violently dislodged from its socket and it sprouted
   like some hideous growth from above the check bone, a great glistening orb
   with the eyelids tucked behind the white expanse of sclera.
   I seemed to squat there for a long time, stunned by the obscenity, and as
   the seconds dragged by I looked into the little dog's face and he looked
   back at me-trustingly from one soft brown eye, glaring meaninglessly from
   the grotesque ball on the other side.
   The policeman's voice broke my thoughts. "He's a mess, isn't he?"
   "Yes . . . yes . . . must have been struck by some vehicle-maybe dragged
   along by the look of all those wounds."
  "What d'you think, Mr. Herriot?"
   I knew what he meant. It was the sensible thing to ease this lost unwanted
   creature from the world. He was grievously hurt and he didn't seem to
   belong to anybody. A quick overdose of anaesthetic-his troubles would be
   over and I'd be on my way to the dance.
   But the policeman didn't say anything of the sort. Maybe, like me, he was
   looking into the soft depths of that one trusting eye.
  I stood up quickly. "Can I use your 'phone?"
   At the other end of the line Siegfried's voice crackled with impatience.
   "Hell, James, it's half past nine! If we're going to this thing we've got
   to go now or we might as
  292         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  well not bother. A stray dog, badly injured. It doesn't sound such a great
  problem."
   "I know, Siegfried. I'm sorry to bold you up but I can't make tip my mind.
   I wish you'd come round and tell me what you think."
   There was a silence then a long sigh. "All right, James. See you in five
   minutes."
   He created a slight stir as he entered the Station. Even in his casual
   working clothes Siegfried aways managed to look distinguished, but as he
   swept into the Station newly bathed and shaved, a camel coat thrown over
   the sparkling white shirt and black tie, there was something ducal about
   him.
   He drew respectful glances from the men sitting around, then my young
   policeman stepped forward.
   "This way, Sir," he said, and we went back to the kennels.
   Siegfried was silent as he crouched over the dog, looking him over as I had
   done without touching him. Then he carefully raised the head and the
   monstrous eye glared.
   "My God!" he said softly, and at the sound of his voice the long fringed
   tail moved along the ground.
   For a few seconds he stayed very still looking fixedly at the dog's face
   while in the silence, the whisking tail rustled the straw.
   Then he straightened up. "Let's get him round there," Jae murmured.
   In the surgery we anaesthetised the little animal and as he lay unconscious
   on the table we were able to examine him thoroughly. After a few minutes
   Siegfried stuffed his stethoscope into the pocket of his white coat and
   leaned both hands on the table.
   "Luxated eyeball, fractured femur, umpteen deep lacerations, broken claws.
   There's enough here to keep us going till midnight, James."
  I didn't say anything.
   My boss pulled the knot from his black tie and undid the front stud. He
   peeled off the stiff collar and hung it on the cross bar of the surgery
   lamp.
   "By God, that's better," he muttered, and began to lay out suture
   materials.
   I looked at him across the table. "How about the Hunt Ball?"
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              293

   "Oh bugger the Hunt Ball," Siegfried said. "Let's get busy."
   We were busy, too, for a long time. I hung up my collar next to my
   colleague's and we began on the eye. I know we both felt the same-we wanted
   to get rid of that horror before we did anything else.
   I lubricated the great ball and pulled the eyelids apart while Siegfried
   gently manoeuvered it back into the orbital cavity. I sighed as everything
   slid out of sight, leaving only the cornea visible.
   Siegfried chuckled with satisfaction. "Looks like an eye again, doesn't
   it." He seized an ophthalmoscope and peered into the depths.
   "And there's no major damage-COuld be as good as new again. But we'll just
   stitch the lids together to protect it for a few days."
   The broken ends of the fractured tibia were badly displaced and we had a
   struggle to bring them into apposition before applying the plaster of
   paris. But at last we finished and started on the long job of stitching the
   many cuts and lacerations.
   We worked separately for this, and for a long time it was quiet in the
   operating room except for the snip of scissors as we clipped the brown hair
   away from the wounds. I knew and Siegfried knew that we were almost
   certainly working without payment, but the most disturbing thought was that
   after all our efforts we may stiH have to put him down. lie was still in
   the care of the police and if nobody claimed him within ten days it meant
   euthanasia. And if his late owners were really interested in his fate, why
   hadn't they tried to contact the police before now ... ?
   By the time we had completed our work and washed the instruments it was
   after midnight. Siegfried dropped the last suture needle into its tray and
   looked at the sleeping animal.
   "I think he's beginning to come round," he said. "Let's take him through to
   the fire and we can have a drink while he recovers."
   We stretchered the dog through to the sitting room on a blanket and laid
   him on the rug before the. brightly burning coals. My colleague reached a
   long arm up to the glass-fronted cabinet above the mantelpiece and pulled
   down the whisky bottle and two glasses. Drinks in
  294         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  hand, collarless, still in shirt sleeves, with our starched white fronts
  and braided evening trousers to remind us of the lost dance we lay back
  in our chairs on either side of the fireplace and between us our patient
  stretched peacefully.
   He was a happier sight now. One eye was closed by the protecting stitches
   and his bind leg projected stiffly in its white cast, but he was tidy,
   cleaned up, cared for. He looked as though he belonged to somebody-but
   then there was a great big doubt about that.
   It was nearly one o'clock in the morning and we were getting well down
   the bottle when the shaggy brown head began to move.
   Siegfried leaned forward and touched one of the ears and immediately the
   tail flapped against the rug and a pink tongue lazily licked his fingers.
   "What an absolutely grand little dog," he murmured, but his voice had a
   distant quality. 1 knew he was worried too.

  I took the stitches out of the eyelids in two days and was delighted to
  find a normal eye underneath.
   The young policeman was as pleased as I was. "Look at thatl" he
   exclaimed. "You'd never know anything had happened there."
   "Yes, it's done wonderfully well. All the swelling and inflammation has
   gone." I hesitated for a moment. "Has anybody enquired about him?"
   He shook his head. "Nothing yet. But there's another eight days to go and
   we're taking good care of him here."
   I visited the Police Station several times and the little animal greeted
   me with undisguised joy, all his fear gone, standing upright against my
   legs on his plastered limb, his tail swishing.
   But all the time my sense of foreboding increased, and on the tenth day
   I made my way almost with dread to the police kennels. I had heard
   nothing. My course of action seemed inevitable. Putting down old or
   hopelessly ill dogs was often an act of mercy but when it was a young
   healthy dog it was terrible. I hated it, but it was one of the things
   veterinary surgeons had to do.
  The young policeman was standing in the doorway.
  "Still no news?" I asked, and he shook his head.
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               295

   1 went past him into the kennel and the shaggy little creature stood up
   against my legs as before, laughing into my face, mouth open, eyes
   shining.
   I turned away quickly. I'd have to do this right now or I'd never do it.
   "Mr. Herriot." The policeman put his hand on my arm. "I think I'll take
   him."
  "You?" I stared at him.
   "Aye, that's right. We get a lot o' stray dogs in here and though I feet
   sorry for them you can't give them all a home, can you?"
  "No, you can't," I said. "I have the same problem."
   He nodded slowly. "But somehow this 'un's different, and it seems to me
   he's just come at the -right time. I have two little girls and they've
   been at me for a bit to get 'em a dog. This little bloke looks just right
   for the job."
   Warm relief began to ebb through me. "I couldn't agree more. He's the
   soul of good nature. I bet he'd be wonderful with children."
   "Good. That's settled then. I thought I'd ask your advice first." He
   smiled happily.
   I looked at him as though I had never seen him before. "What's your
   name?"
  "Phelps," he replied. "P. C. Phelps."
   He was a good-looking young fellow, clear-skinned, with cheerful blue
   eyes and a solid dependable look about him. I had to fight against an
   impulse to wring his hand and thump him on the back. But I managed to
   preserve the professional exterior.
   "Well, that's fine." I bent and stroked the little dog. "Don't forget to
   bring him along to the surgery in ten days for removal of the stiches,
   and we'll have to get that plaster off in about a month."

  It was Siegfried who took out the stitches, and I didn't see our patient
  again until four weeks later.
   P. C. Phelps had his little girls, aged four and six, with him as well
   as the dog.
   "You said the plaster ought to come off about now," he said, and I
   nodded.
   He looked down at the children. "Well, come on, you two, lift him on the
   table."
  296         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   Eagerly the little girls put their arms around their new pet and as they
   hoisted him the tail wagged furiously and the wide mouth panted in delight.
  "Looks as though he's been a success," I said.
   He smiled. "That's an understatement. He's perfect with these two. I can't
   tell you what pleasure he's given us. He's one of the family."
   I got out my little saw and began to hack at the plaster.
   "It's worked both ways, I should say. A dog loves a secure home."
   "Well, he couldn't be more secure." He ran his hand along the brown coat
   and laughed as he addressed the little dog. "That's what you get for
   begging among the stalls on market day, my lad. You're in the hands of the
   law now."
                 CHAPTER
                     34

  When I entered the RAF I had a secret fear. All my life I have suffered from
  vertigo and even now I have only to look down from the smallest height to be
  engulfed by that dreadful dizziness and panic. What would I feel, then, when
  I started to fly?
   As it turned out, I felt nothing. I could gaze downwards from the open
   cockpit through thousands of feet of space without a qualm, so my fear was
   groundless.
   I I had my fears in veterinary practice, too, and in the early days the
   thing which raised the greatest terror in my breast was the Ministry of
   Agriculture.
   An extraordinary statement, perhaps, but true. It was the clerical side
   that scared me-all those forms. As to the practical Ministry work itself,
   I felt in all modesty that I was quite good at it. My thoughts often turned
   back to all the tuberculin testing I used to do-clipping a clean little
   area from just the right place in the cow's neck, inserting the needle into
   the thickness of the skin and injecting one tenth of a cc of tuberculin.
   It was on Mr. Hill's farm, and I watched the satisfactory intradermal "pea"
   rise up under my needle. That was the way it should be, and when it came up
   like that you knew you were really doing your job and testing the animal
   for tuberculosis.
   "That 'un's number 65," the farmer said, then a slightly injured look
   spread over his face as I checked the number in the ear.
   "You're wastin' your time, Mr. Herriot. I 'ave the whole list, all in
   t'correct order. Wrote it out special for you so you could take it away
   with you."
   I had my doubts. All farmers were convinced that their herd records were
   flawless but I had been caught out before. I seemed to have the gift of
   making every possible
                       297
  298         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  clerical mistake and I didn't need any help from the farmers.
   But still . . . it was tempting. I looked at the long list of figures
   dangling from the horny fingers. If I accepted it I would save a lot of
   time. There were still more than fifty animals to test here and I had to
   get through two more herds before lunch time.
   I looked at my watch. Damn! I was well behind my programme and I felt the
   old stab of frustration.
   "Right, Mr. Hill, I'll take it and thank you very much." I stuffed the
   sheet of paper into my pocket and began to move along the byre, clipping
   and injecting at top speed.
   A week later the dread words leaped out at me from the open day book.
   "Ring Min." The cryptic phrase in Miss Harbottle's writing had the power
   to freeze my blood quicker than anything else. It meant simply that I had
   to telephone the Ministry of Agriculture office, and whenever our
   secretary wrote those words in the book it meant that I was in trouble
   again. I extended a trembling hand towards the receiver.
   As always, Kitty Pattison answered my call and I could detect the note
   of pity in. her voice. She was the attractive girl in charge of the
   office staff and she knew all about my misdemeanours. In fact when it was
   something very trivial she sometimes brought it to my attention herself,
   but when I had really dropped a large brick I was dealt with by the boss,
   Charles Harcourt the Divisional Inspector.
   "Ah, Mr. Herriot," Kitty said lightly. I knew she sympathised with me but
   she couldn't do a thing about it. "Mr. Harcourt wants a word with you."
   There it was., The terrible sentence that always set my heart thumping.
   "Thank you," I said huskily, and waited an eternity as the 'phone was
   switched through.
  "Herriot!" The booming voice made me jump.
   I swallowed. "Good morning, Mr. Harcourt. How are you?"
   "I'll tell you how I am, I'm bloody annoyed!" I could imagine vividly the
   handsome, bigh-coloured, choleric face flushing deeper, the greenish eyes
   glaring. "In fact I'm hopping bloody madl"
  'Oh."
  "It's no use saying 'oh.' That's what you said the last
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              299

  time when you tested that cow of Frankland's that had been dead for two
  years! That was very clever-I don't know how you managed it. Now I've been
  going over your test at Hill's of High View and there are two cows here that
  you've tested-numbers 74 and 103. Now our records show that he sold both of
  them at Brawton Auction Mart six months ago, so you've performed another
  miracle."
  "I'm sorry. . .19
   "Please don't be sorry, it's bloody marvellous how you do it. I have all
   the figures here-skin measurements, the lot. I see you found they were both
   thin-skinned animals even though they were about fifteen miles away at the
   time. Clever stuff!"
  "Well I ...
   "All right, Herriot, I'll dispense with the comedy. I'm going to tell you
   once more, for the last time, and I hope you're listening." He paused and
   I could almost see the big shoulders hunching as he barked into the phone.
   "LOOK IN THE BLOODY EARS IN FUTURE!"
   I broke into a rapid gabble. "I will indeed, Mr. Harcourt, I assure you
   from now on . . ."
  "All right, all right, but there's something else."
  "Something else?"
   "Yes, I'm not finished yet." The voice took on a great weariness. "Can I
   ask you to cast your mind back to that cow you took under the TB order from
   Wilson of Low Parks?"
   I dug my nails into my palm. We were heading for deep water. "Yes-I
   remember it."
   "Well now, Herriot, lad, do you remember a little chat we had about the
   forms?" Charles was trying to be patient, because he was a decent man, but
   it was costing him dearly. "Didn't anything I told you sink in?"
  "Well yes, of course."
   "Then why, why didn't you send me a receipt for slaughter?"
  "Receipt for ... didn't,1. .. T'
   "No, you didn't," he said. "And bonestly I can't understand it. I went over
   it with you step by step last time when you forgot to forward a copy of the
   valuation agreement."
  "Oh dear, I really am sorry."
  Adeep sigh came from the other end. "And theres
  300         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  nothing to it." He paused. "Tell you what we'll do. Let's go over the
  procedure once more, shall we?"
  :,Yes, by all means."
   'Very well," he said. "First of all, when you find an infected animal you
   serve B. 205.D.T., Form A., which is the notice requiring detention and
   isolation of the animal. Next," and I could hear the slap of finger on palm
   as he enumerated his points. "Next, there is B. 207 D.T., Form C., Notice
   of intended slaughter. Then B. 208 D.T., Form D., Post Mortem Certificate.
   Then B. 196 D.T., Veterinary Inspector's report. Then B. 209 D.T.,
   Valuation agreement, and in cases where the owner objects, there is B. 213
   D.T., Appointment of valuer. Then we have B. 212 D.T., Notice to owner of
   time and place of slaughter, followed by B. 227 D.T., Receipt for animal
   for slaughter, and finally B. 230 D.T., Notice -requiring cleansing and
   disinfection. Dammit, a child could understand that. It's perfectly simple,
   isn't it?"
   "Yes, yes, certainly, absolutely." It wasn't simple to me, but I didn't
   mention the fact. He had calmed down nicely and I didn't want to inflame
   him again.
   "Well thank you, Mr. Harcourt," I said. "I'll see it doesn't happen again."
   I put down the receiver with the feeling that things could have turned out
   a lot worse, but for all that my nerves didn't stop jangling for some time.
   The trouble was that the Ministry work was desperately important to general
   practitioners. In fact, in those precarious days it was the main rent
   payer.
   This business of the Tuberculosis Order. When a veterinary surgeon came
   upon a cow with open TB it was his duty to see that the animal was
   slaughtered immediately because its milk could be a danger to the public.
   That sounds easy, but unfortunately the law insisted that the demise of
   each unhappy creature be commemorated by a confetti-like shower of the
   doom-laden forms.
   It wasn't just that there were so many of these forms, but they had to be
   sent to an amazing variety of people. Sometimes I used to think that there
   were very few people in England who didn't get one. Apart from Charles
   Harcourt, other recipients included the farmer concerned, the police, the
   Head Office of the Ministry, the knacker man, the local authority. I nearly
   always managed to forget one of them. I used to have nightmares about
   standing in the middle of the market place,
           ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              301

  throwing the forms around me at the passers-by and laughing hysterically.
   Looking back, I can hardly believe that for all this wear and tear on the
   nervous system the payment was one guinea plus ten and sixpence for the
   post mortem.
   It was a mere two days after my interview with the Divisional Inspector
   that I had to take another cow under the T.B. Order. When I came to fill in
   the forms I sat at the surgery desk in a dither of apprehension, going over
   them again and again, laying them out side by side and enclosing them one
   by one in their various envelopes. This time there must be no mistake.
   I took them over to the post myself and uttered a silent prayer as I
   dropped them into the box. Charles would have them the following morning,
   and I would soon know if I had done it again. When two days passed without
   incident I felt I was safe, but midway through the third morning I dropped
   in at the surgery and read the message in letters of fire. "RING MIN!"
   Kitty Pattison sounded strained. She didn't even try to ~ppear casual. "Oh
   yes, Mr. Herriot," she said hurriedly. "Mr. Harcourt asked me to call you.
   I'm putting you through now."
   My heart almost stopped as I waited for the familiar bellow, but when the
   quiet voice came on the line it frightened me even more.
   "Good morning, Herriot." Charles was curt and impersonal. "I'd like to
   discuss that last cow you took under the Order."
  "Oh yes?" I croaked.
   "But not over the telephone. I want to see you here in the office."
  "In the ... the office?"
  "Yes, right away if you can."
   I put down the 'phone and went out to the car with my knees knocking.
   Charles was really upset this time. There was a kind of restrained fury in
   his words, and this business of going to the office-that was reserved for
   serious transgressions.
   Twenty minutes later my footsteps echoed in the corridor of the Ministry
   building. Marching stiffly like a condemned man I passed the windows'where
   I could see the typists at work, then I read "Divisional Inspector" on the
   door at the end.
  302         ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  I took one long shuddering breath then knocked.
  "Come in." The voice was still quiet and controlled.
   Charles looked up unsmilingly from his desk as I entered. He motioned me to
   a chair and directed a cold stare at me.
   "Herriot," he said unernotionally. "You're really on the carpet this time."
   Charles had been a Major in the Punjabi Rifles and he was very much the
   Indian Army officer at this moment. A fine looking man, clear-skinned and
   ruddy, with massive cheek bones above a powerful jaw. Looking at the dan-
   gerously glinting eyes it struck me that only a fool would trifle with
   somebody like him-and I had a nasty feeling that I had been trifling.
  Dry-mouthed, I waited.
   "You know, Herriot," he went on. "After our last telephone conversation
   about TB forms I thought you might give me a little peace."
  "Peace . . . T'
   "Yes, yes, it was silly of me, T know, but when I took all that time to go
   over the procedure with you I actually thought you were listening."
  "Oh I was, I was!"
   "You were? Oh good." He gave me a mirthless smile. "Then I suppose it was
   even more foolish of me to expect you to act upon my instructions. In my
   innocence I thought you cared about what I was telling you."
  "Mr. Harcourt, believe me, I do care, I . . .11
   "THEN WHY," he bawled without warning, bringing his great hand flailing
   down on the desk with a crash that made pens and inkwells dance. "WHY THE
   BLOODY HELL DO YOU KEEP MAKING A BALLS OF ITT'
   I resisted a strong impulse to run away. "Making a ... I don't quite
   understand."
   "You don't?" He kept up his pounding on the desk. "Well IT tell you. One of
   my veterinary officers was on that farm, and he found that you hadn't
   served a Notice of Cleansing and Disinfection!"
  "Is that so?"
   "Yes, it bloody well is so! You didn't give one to the farmer but you sent
   one to me. Maybe you want me to go and disinfect the place, is that it?
   Would you like me to slip along there and get busy with a hosepipe I'll go
   now if it'll make you feel any happierl"
          ALL THrNcs WISP AN6 WOND,ERFTJL                303

  "Oh no, no, no ... no."
   Charles was apparently not satisfied with the thunderous noise he was
   making because he began to use both hands, bringing them down
   simultaneously with sickening force on the wood while he glared wildly.
   "Herriot!" he shouted. "There's just one thing I want to know from
   you--do you want this bloody work or don't you? Just say the word and
   I'll give it to another practice and then maybe we'd both be able to live
   a quiet life!"
   "Please, Mr. Harcourt, I give you my word, I we . . . we do want the work
   very much." And I meant it with all my heart.
   The big man slumped back in his chair and regarded me for a few moments
   in silence. Then he glanced at his wrist watch.
   "Ten past twelve," he murmured. "They'll be open at the Red Lion. Let's
   go and have a beer."
   In the pub lounge he took a long pull at his glass, placed it carefully
   on the table in front of him, then turned to me with a touch of
   weariness.
   "You, know, Herriot, I do wish you'd stop doing this sort of thing. It
   takes it out of me."
   I believed him. His face had lost a little of its colour and his hand
   trembled slightly as he raised his glass again.
   "I'm truly sorry, Mr. Harcourt, I don't know how it happened. I did try
   to get it right this time and I'll do my best to avoid troubling you in
   future."
   He nodded a few times then clapped me on the shoulder. "Good, good-let's
   just have one more."
   He moved over to the bar, brought back the drinks then fished out a brown
   paper parcel from his pocket.
   "Little wedding present, Herriot. Understand you're getting married
   soon-this is from my missus and me with our best wishes."
   I didn't know what to say. I fumbled the wrapping away and uncovered
   a-small square barometer.
   Shame engulfed me as I muttered a few words of thanks. This man was the
   head of the Ministry in the area while I was the newest and lowest of his
   minions. Not only that, but I was pretty sure I caused him more trouble
   than all the others put together-I was like a hair shirt to him. There
   was no earthly reason why he should give me a barometer.
  304         ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  This last experience deepened my dread of form filling to the extent that
  I hoped it would be a long time before I encountered another tuberculous
  animal, but fate decreed that I had some concentrated days of clinical in-
  spections and it was with a feeling of inevitability that I surveyed Mr.
  Moverley's Ayrshire cow.
   It was the soft cough which made me stop and look at her more closely,
   and as I studied her my spirits sank. This was another one. The skin
   stretched tightly over the bony frame, the slightly accelerated
   respirations and that deep careful cough. Mercifully you don't see cows
   like that now, but in those days they were all too common.
   I moved along her side and examined the wall -in front of her. The
   tell-tale blobs of sputum were clearly visible on the rough stones and
   I quickly lifted a sample and smeared it on a glass slide.
   Back at the surgery I stained the smear by ZiehlNielson's method and
   pushed the slide under the microscope. The red clumps of tubercle bacilli
   lay among the scattered cells, tiny, iridescent and deadly. I hadn't
   really needed the grim proof but it was there.
   Mr. Moverley was not amused when I told him next morning that the animal
   would have to be slaughtered.
   "It's nobbut got a bit of a chill," he grunted. The farmers were never
   pleased when one of their milk producers was removed by a petty
   bureaucrat like me. "But ah suppose it's no use arguin'."
   "I assure you, Mr. Moverley, there's no doubt about it. I examined that
   sample last night and . . ."
   "Oh never mind about that." The farmer waved an impatient hand. "If
   t'bloody government says me cow's got to go she's got to go. But ah get
   compensation, don't I?"
  "Yes, you do."
  "How much?"
   I thought rapidly. The rules stated that the animal be valued as if it
   were up for sale in the open market in its present condition. The minimum
   was five pounds and there was no doubt that this emaciated cow came into
   that category.
  "The statutory value is five pounds," I said.
  "Shit!" replied Mr. Moverley.
  "We can appoint a valuer if you don't agree."
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               305

   "Oh 'ell, let's get t'job over with." He was clearly disgusted and I
   thought it imprudent to tell him that he would only get a proportion of the
   five pounds, depending on the post mortem.
   "Very well," I said. "I'll tell Jeff Matlock to collect her as soon as
   possible."

  The fact that I was unpopular with Mr. Moverley didn't worry me as much as
  the prospect of dealing with the dreaded forms. The very thought of sending
  another batch winging hopefully on its way to Charles Harcourt brought me
  out in a sweat.
   Then I had a flash of inspiration. Such things don't often happen to me,
   but this struck me as brilliant. I wouldn't send off the forms till I'd had
   them vetted by Kitty Pattison.
   I couldn't wait to get the plan under way. Almost gleefully I laid the
   papers out in a long row, signed them and laid them by their envelopes,
   ready for their varied journeys. Then I 'phoned the Ministry office.
   Kitty was patient and kind. I am sure she realised that I did my work
   conscientiously but that I was a clerical numbskull and she sympathised.
   When I had finished going through the list she congratulated me. "Well
   done, Mr. Herriot, you've got them right this timel All you need now is the
   knacker man's signature and your post mortem. report and you're home and
   dry."
  "Bless you, Kitty," I said. "You've made my day."
   And she had. The airy sensation of relief was tremendous. The knowledge
   that there would be no come-back from Charles this time was like the sun
   bursting through dark clouds. I felt like singing as I went round to Mat-
   lock's yard and arranged with him to pick up the cow.
   "Have her ready for me to inspect tomorrow, Jeff," I said, and went on my
   way with a light heart.
   I couldn't understand it i when Mr. Moverley waved me down from his farm
   gate next day. As I drew up I could see he was extremely agitated.
   "Heyl" he cried. "Ah've just got back from the market and my missus tells
   me Matlock's been!"
   I smiled. "That's right, Mr. Moverley. Remember I told you I was going to
   send him round for your cow."
   "Aye, ah know all about thatl" He paused and glared at me. "But he's took
   the wrong onel"
  3o6 . ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "Wrong ... wrong what?"
   "Wrong cow, that's what! He's off wi' the best cow in me herd. Pedigree
   Ayrshire-ah bought 'er in Dumfries last week and they only delivered 'er
   this mornin'."
   Horror drove through me in a freezing wave. I had told the knacker man to
   collect the Ayrshire which would be isolated in the loose box in the yard.
   The new animal would be in a box, too, after her arrival. I could see Jeff
   and his man leading her up the ramp into his wagon with a dreadful clarity.
   "This is your responsibility, tha knaws!" The farmer waved a threatening
   finger. "If he kills me good cow you'll 'ave to answer for it!"
   He didn't have to tell me. I'd have to answer for it to a lot of people,
   including Charles Harcourt.
   "Get on the 'phone to the knacker yard right away!" I gasped.
   The farmer waved his arms about. "Ah've tried that and there's no reply. Ah
   tell ye he'll shoot 'er afore we can stop 'im. Do you know how much ah paid
   for that cow?"
  :'Never mind about that! Which way did he go?"
   'T'missus said he went towards Grampton-about ten minutes ago."
   I started my engine. "He'll maybe be picking up other beasts-I'll go after
   him."
   Teeth clenched, eyes popping, I roared along the Grampton road. The
   enormity of this latest catastrophe was almost more than I could
   assimilate. The wrong form was bad enough, but the wrong cow was
   unthinkable. But it had happened. Charles would crucify me this time. He
   was a good bloke but he would have no option, because the higher-ups in the
   Ministry would get wind of an immortal boner like this and they would howl
   for blood.
   Feverishly but vainly I scanned each farm entrance in Grampton village as
   I shot through, and when I saw the open countryside ahead of me again the
   tension was almost unbearable. I was telling myself that the thing was
   hopeless when in the far distance above a row of trees I spotted the
   familiar top of Mallock's wagon.
   It was a high, wooden-sided vehicle and I couldn't mistake it. Repressing
   a shout of triumph I put My foot on the boards and set off in that
   direction with the fanatical zeal of the hunter. But it was a long way off
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               307

  and I hadn't travelled a mile before I realised I had lost it.
   Over the years many things have stayed in my memory, but the Great Cow
   Chase is engraven deeper than most. The sheer terror I felt is vivid to
   this day. I kept sighting the wagon among the maze of lanes and side roads
   but by the time I had cut across country my quarry had disappeared behind
   a hillside or dipped into one of the many hollows in the wide vista. I was
   constantly deceived by the fact that I expected him to be turning towards
   Darrowby after passing through a village, but he never did. Clearly he had
   other business on the way.
   The whole thing seemed to last a very long time and there was no fun in it
   for me. I was gripped throughout by a cold dread, and the violent
   swings-the alternating scents of hope and despair-were wearing to the point
   of exhaustion. I was utterly drained when at last I saw the tall lorry
   rocking along a straight road in front of me.
   I had him DOW! Forcing my little car to the limit, I drew abreast of him,
   sounding my horn repeatedly till be stopped. Breathlessly I pulled tip in
   front of him and ran round to offer iny explanations. But as I looked up
   into the driver's cab my eager smile vanished. It wasn't Jeff Matlock at
   all. I had been following the wrong man.
   It was the "ket fetter." He had exactly the same type of wagon as Matlock
   and he went round a wide area of Yorkshire picking up the nameless odds and
   ends of the dead animals which even the knacker men didn't want. It was a
   strange job and he was a strange-looking man. The oddly piercing eyes
   glittered uncannily from tinder a tattered army peaked cap.
   "Wot's tip, guvnor'?" He removed a cigarette from his mouth and spat
   companionably into the roadway.
   My throat was tight. "I-I'm sorry. I thought you were Jeff Matlock."
   The eyes did not change expression, but the corner of his mouth twitched
   briefly. "If tha wants Jeff he'll be back at his yard now, A reckon." He
   spat again and replaced his cigarette.
   I nodded dully. Jeff would be there now all right-long ago. I had been
   chasing the wrong wagon for about an hour and that cow would be dead and
   hanging LIP on hooks at this moment. The knacker man was a fast and
  308         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  skilful worker and wasted no time when he got back with his beasts.
   "Well, ah'm off 'ome now," the ket feller said. "So long, boss." He
   winked at me, started his engine and the big vehicle rumbled away.
   I trailed back to my car. There was no hurry now. And strangely, now that
   all was lost my mood relaxed. In fact, as I drove away, a great calm
   settled on me and I began to assess my future with cool objectivity. I
   would be drummed out of the Ministry's service for sure, and idly I
   wondered if they had any special ceremony for the occasion-perhaps a
   ritual stripping of the Panel Certificates or something of the sort.
   I tried to put away~ the thought that more than the Ministry would be
   interested in my latest exploit. How about the Royal College? Did they
   strike you off for something like this? Well, it was possible, and in my
   serene state of mind I toyed with the possibilities of alternative
   avenues of employment. I had often thought it must be fun to run a second
   hand book shop and now that I began to consider it seriously I felt sure
   there was an opening for one in Darrowby. I experienced a comfortable
   glow at the vision of myself sitting under the rows of dusty volumes,
   pulling one down from the shelf when I felt like it or maybe just looking
   out into the street through the window from my safe little world where
   there were no forms or telephones or messages saying "Ring Min."
   In Darrowby I drove round without haste to the knacker yard. I left my
   car outside the grim little building with the black smoke drifting from
   its chimney. I pulled back the sliding door and saw Jeff seated at his
   ease on a pile of cow hides, holding a slice of apple pie in
   blood-stained fingers. And, ah yes, there, just behind him hung the two
   great sides of beef and on the floor, the lungs, bowels and other
   viscera-the sad remnants of Mr. Moverley's pedigree Ayrshire.
  "Hello, Jeff," I said.
   "Now then, Mr. Herriot." He gave me the beatific smile which mirrored his
   personality so well. "Ah'm just havin' a little snack. I allus like a
   bite about this time." He sank his teeth into the pie and chewed
   appreciatively.
   "So I see." I sorrowfully scanned the hanging carcase. Just dog meat and
   not even much of that. Ayrshires
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               309

  were never very fat. I was wondering how to break the news to him when he
  spoke again.
   "Ah'm sorry you've caught me out this time, Mr. Herriot," he said, reaching
   for a greasy mug of tea.
  "What do you mean?"
   "Well, I allus reckon to have t'beast dressed and ready for you but you've
   come a bit early."
   I stared at him. "But . . . everything's here, surely." I waved a hand
   around me.
  "Nay, nay, that's not 'er."
  "You mean ... that isn't the cow from Moverley's."
   "That's right." He took a long draught from the mug and wiped his mouth
   with the back of his hand. "I 'ad to do this 'un first. Moverley's cow's
   still in t'wagon out at the back."
  "Alive?"
   He looked mildly surprised. "Aye, of course. She's never had a finger on
   'er. Nice cow for a screw, too."
   I could have fainted with relief. "She's no screw, Jeff. That's the wrong
   cow you've got there!"
   "Wrong cow?" Nothing ever startled him but he obviously desired more
   information. I told him the whole story. .
   When I had finished, his shoulders began to shake gently and the beautiful
   clear eyes twinkled in the pink face.
   "Well, that's a licker," he murmured, and continued to laugh gently. There
   was nothing immoderate in his mirth and indeed nothing I had said disturbed
   him in the least. The fact that he had wasted his journey or that the farm-
   er might be annoyed was of no moment to him.
   Again, looking at Jeff Mallock, it struck me, as many times before, that
   there was nothing like a lifetime of dabbling among diseased carcases and
   lethal bacteria for breeding tranquillity of mind.
  "You'll slip back and change the cow?" I said.
   "Aye, in a minute or two. There's nowt spoilin'. Ah never likes to hurry me
   grub." He belched contentedly. "And how about you, Mr. Herriot? You could
   do with summat to keep your strength up." He produced another mug and broke
   off a generous wedge of pie which he offered to me.
  "No ... no . er                                  no, thank you, Jeff. It's kind of
  you, but no . . . no ... not just now."
  He shrugged his shoulders and smiled as he stretched
  310         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  an arm for his pipe which was balanced on a sheep's skull. Flicking away
  some shreds of stray tissue from the stem he applied a match and settled
  down blissfully on the hides.
   "I'll see ye later, then," he said. "Come round tonight and everything'll
   be ready for you." He closed his eyes and again his shoulders quivered.
   "Ah'd better get the right lun this time."

  It must be more than twenty years since I took a cow under the TB Order,
  because the clinical cases so rarely exist now. "Ring Min" no longer has
  the power to chill my blood, and the dread forms which scarred my soul lie
  unused and yellowing in the bottom of a drawer.
   All these things have gone from my life. Charles Harcourt has gone too,
   but I think of him every day when I look at the little barometer which
   still hangs on my wall.
                 CHAPTER

                     35

  The food was so good at the Winckfield flying school that it was said that
  those airmen whose homes were within visiting distance wouldn't take a
  day's leave because they might miss some culinary speciality. Difficult
  to believe, maybe, but I often think that few people in wartime Britain
  fared as well as the handful of young men in the scatter of wooden huts
  on that flat green stretch outside Windsor.
   It wasn't as though we had a French chef, either. The cooking was done
   by two grizzled old men-civilians who wore cloth caps and smoked pipes
   and went about their business with unsmiling taciturnity.
   It was rumoured that they were two ex-army cooks from the first world
   war, but whatever their origins they were artists. In their bands, simple
   stews and pies assumed a new significance and it was possible to rhapso-
   dise even oyer the perfect flouriness of their potatoes.
   So it was surprising when at lunch time my neighbour on the left threw
   down his spoon, pushed away his plate and groaned. We ate on trestle
   tables, sitting in rows on long forms, and I was right up against the
   young man.
   "What's wrong?" I asked. "This apple dumpling is terrific."
   "Ah, it's not the grub." He buried his face in his hands for a few
   seconds then looked at me with tortured eyes. "I've been doing circuits
   and bumps this morning with Routledge and he's torn the knackers off
   me-all the time, it never stopped."
   Suddenly my own meal lost some of its flavour. I knew just what he meant.
   F. 0. Woodharn did the same to me.
   He gave me another despairing glance then stared straight ahead.

                       311
  312          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   "I know one thing, Jim. I'll never make a bloody pilot."
   His words sent a chill through me. He was voicing the conviction which
   had been gradually growing in me. I never seemed to make any
   progress-whatever I did was wrong, and I was losing heart. Like all the
   others I was hoping to be graded pilot, but after every session with F.
   0. Woodharn the idea of ever flying an aeroplane all on my own seemed
   more and more ludicrous. And I had another date with him at 2 p.m.
   He was as quiet and charming as ever when I met him -till we got up into
   the sky and the shouting started again.
   "Relax! For heaven's sake, relax!" or "Watch your heightl Where the hell
   d'you think you're going?" or "Didn't I tell you to centralise the stick?
   Are you bloody deaf or something?" And finally, after the first circuit
   when we juddered to a halt on the grass, "That was an absolutely bloody
   ropy landingl Take off againl"
   On the second circuit he fell strangely silent. And though I should have
   felt relieved I found something ominous in the unaccustomed peace. It
   could mean only one thing-he bad finally given me up as a bad job. When
   we landed he told me to switch off the engine and climbed out of'the rear
   cockpit. I was about to unbuckle my stiaps and follow him when he
   signalled me to remain in my seat.
   "Stay where you are," he said. "You can take her up now."
  I stared down at him through my goggles. "What ... 2"
  "I said take her up."
  "You mean, on my own ... ? Go solo ... T'
   "Yes, of course. Come and see me in the flight hut after you've landed
   and taxied in." He turned and walked away over the green. He didn't look
   back.
   After a few minutes a fitter came over to where I sat trembling in my
   seat. He spat on the turf then looked at me with deep distaste.
   "Look, mate," he said. "That's a-good aircraft you've got there."
  I nodded agreement.
  "Well I don't want it-well smashed up, okay?"
  "Okay.,'
           ALL TFUNGS WISE AND WONDERFTM              3r3

   He gave me a final disgusted glance then went round to the propellor.
   Panic-stricken though I was, I did not forget the cockpit drill which had
   been dinned in to me so often. I never thought I'd have to use it in
   earnest but now I automatically tested the controls-rudder, ailerons and
   elevator. Fuel on, switches off, throttle closed, then switches on,
   throttle slightly open.
  "Contact!" I cried.
   The fitter swung the propellor and the engine roared. I pushed the
   throttle full opi5n and the Tiger Moth began to bump its way over the
   grass. As we gathered speed I eased the stick forward to lift the tail,
   then as I pulled it back again the bumping stopped and we climbed
   smoothly into the air with the long dining hut at the end of the airfield
   flashing away beneath.
   I was gripped by exhilaration and triumph. The impossible had happened.
   I was up here on my own, flying, really flying at last. I had been so
   certain of failure that the feeling of relief was overpowering. In fact
   it intoxicated me, so that for a long time I just sailed along, grinning
   foolishly to myself.
   When I finally came to my senses I looked down happily over the side. It
   must be time to turn now, but as I stared downwards cold reality began
   to roll over me in a gathering flood. I couldn't recognise a thing in the
   great hazy tapestry beneath me. And everything seemed smaller than usual.
   Dry-MOUthed, I looked at the altimeter. I was well over 2,000 feet.
   And suddenly it came to me that F. 0. Woodham's shouts had not been
   meaningless; he had been talking sense, giving me good advice, and as
   soon as I got up in the air by myself I had ignored it all. I hadn't
   lined myself up on a cloud, I hadn't watched my artificial horizon, I
   hadn't kept an eye on the altimeter. And I was lost.
   It was a terrible feeling, this sense of utter isolation as I desperately
   scanned the great chequered landscape for a familiar object. What did you
   do in a case like this? Soar around southern England till I found some
   farmer's field big enough to land in, then make my own abject way back
   to Winckfield? But that way I was going to look the complete fool, and
   also I'd stand an excellent chance of
  314         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  smashing up that fitter's beloved aeroplane and maybe myself.
   It seemed to me that one way or another I was going to make a name for
   myself. Funny things had happened to some of the other lads-many had been
   air-sick and vomited in the cockpit, one had gone through a hedge,
   another on his first solo had circled the airfield again and again-seven
   times he had gone round-trying to find the courage to land while his
   instructor sweated blood and cursed on the ground. But nobody had really
   got lost like me. Nobody had flown off into the blue and returned on foot
   without his aeroplane.
   My visions of my immediate fate were reaching horrific proportions and
   my heart was hammering uncontrollably when far away on my left I spotted
   the dear familiar bulk of the big stand on Ascot racecourse. Almost
   weeping with joy, I turned towards it and within minutes I was banking
   above its roof as I had done so often.
   And there, far below and approaching with uncomfortable speed was the
   belt of trees which fringed the airfield and beyond, the windsock blowing
   over the wide green. But I was still far too high-I could never drop down
   there in time to hit that landing strip, I would have to go round again.
   The ignominy of it went deep. They would all be watching on the ground
   and some would have a good laugh at the sight of Herriot over-shooting
   the field by several hundred feet and cruising off again into the clouds.
   But what was I thinking about? There was a way of losing height rapidly
   and, bless you, F. 0. Woodham, I knew how to do it.
   Opposite rudder and stick. He had'told me a hundred times how to side
   slip and I did it now as hard as I could, sending the little machine
   slewing like an airborne crab down, down towards those trees.
   And by golly it workedl The green copse rushed up at me and before I knew
   I was almost skimming the branches. I straightened up and headed for the
   long stretch of grass. At fifty feet I rounded out then checked the stick
   gradually back till just above the ground when I slammed it into my
   abdomen. The undercarriage made contact with the earth with hardly a
   tremor and I worked the rudder bar to keep straight until I came to a
          ALL THYNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               315

  halt. 11en I taxied in, climbed from the cockpit and walked over to the
  flight hut.
   F. 0. Woodham was sitting at a table, cup in hand, and he looked up as
   I entered. He had got out of his flying suit and was wearing a battle
   dress jacket with the wings we all dreamed about and the ribbon of the
   DFC.
   "Ah, Herriot, I'm just having some coffee. Will you join me?"
  'Thank you, Sir."
  I sat down and he pushed a cup towards me.
   "I saw your landing," he said. "Delightful, quite delightful."
  "Thank you, sir."
   "And that side-slip." One comer of his mouth twitched upwards. "Very good
   indeed, really masterly."
   He reached for the coffee pot and went on. "You've done awfully well,
   Herriot. Solo after nine hours' instruction, eh? Splendid. But then I
   never had the slightest doubt about you at any time."
   He poised the pot over my cup. "How do you like your coffee-black or
   whiteT'
                 CHAPTER
                     36

  I was only the third man in our flight of fifty to go solo and it was a
  matter of particular pride to me because so many of my comrades were
  eighteen and nineteen year olds. They didn't say so but I often had the
  impression that they felt that an elderly gentleman like me in my twenties
  with a wife and baby had no right to be there, training for aircrew. In the
  nicest possible way they thought I was past it.
   Of course, in many ways they had a point. The pull I had from home was
   probably stronger than theirs. When our sergeant handed out the letters on
   the daily parade I used to secrete mine away till I had a few minutes of
   solitude to read about how fast little Jimmy was growing, how much he
   weighed, the unmistakable signs of outstanding intelligence, even genius,
   which Helen could already discern in him.
   I was missing his babyhood and it saddened me. It was something I deeply
   regret because it comes only once and is gone so quickly. But I still have
   the bundles of letters which his proud mother wrote to keep me in touch
   with every fascinating stage, and when I read them now it is almost as
   though I had been there to see it all.
   At the time, those letters pulled me back almost painfully to the comforts
   of home. On the other hand there were occasions when life in Darrowby
   hadn't been all that comfortable. . . .
   I think it was the early morning calls in the winter which were the worst.
   It was a fairly common experience to be walking sleepy-eyed into a cow byre
   at 6 a.m. for a calving but at Mr. Blackburn's farm there was a difference.
   In fact several differences.
   Firstly, there was usually an anxious-faced farmer to greet me with news of
   how the calf was coming, when
                       P6
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               317

  labour had started, but today I was like an unwelcome stranger. Secondly,
  I had grown accustomed to the sight of a few cows tied up in a cobbled
  byre with wooden partitions and an oil lamp, and now I was gazing down a
  long avenue of concrete under blazing electric light with a seemingly
  endless succession of bovine backsides protruding from tubular metal
  standings. Thirdly, instead of the early morning peace there was a
  clattering of buckets, the rhythmic pulsing of a milking machine and the
  blaring of a radio loudspeaker. There was also a frantic scurrying of
  white-coated, white-capped men, but none of them paid the slightest
  attention to me.
   This was one of the new big dairy farms. In place of a solitary figure
   on a milk stool, head buried in the cow's side, pulling forth the milk
   with a gentle "hiss-hiss," there was this impersonal hustle and bustle.
   I stood just inside the doorway while out in the yard a particularly cold
   snow drifted from the blackness above. I had left a comfortable bed and
   a warm wife to come here and it seemed somebody ought at least to say
   "hello." Then I noticed the owner hurrying past with a bucket. He was
   moving as fast as any of his men.
   "Hey, Mr. Blackburnl" I cried. "You rang me-you've got a cow calving?"
   He stopped and looked at me uncomprehendingly for a moment. "Oh aye . .
   . aye . . . she's down there on t'riglat." He pointed to a light roan
   animal half way along the byre. She was easy to pick out-the only one
   lying down.
   "How long has she been on?" I asked, but when I turned round Mr.
   Blackburn had gone. I trotted after him, cornered him in the milk house
   and repeated my question.
   "Oh, she should've calved last night. Must be summat amiss." He began to
   pour his bucket of milk over the cooler into the churn.
  "Have you had a feel inside her?"
   "Nay, haven't had time." He turned harassed eyes towards me. "We're a bit
   behind with milkin' this mornin'. We can't be late for t'milk man."
   I knew what he meant. The drivers who collected the churns for the big
   dairy companies were a fierce body of men. Probably kind husbands and
   fathers at normal times but subject to violent outbursts of rage if they
   were
  P8          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  kept waiting even for an instant. I couldn't blame them, because they had a
  lot of territory to cover and many farms to visit, but I had seen them when
  provoked and their anger was frightening to behold.
   "All right," I said. "Can I have some hot water, soap and a towel, please?"
   Mr. Blackburn jerked his head at the comer of the milk house. "You'll 'ave
   to help yourself. There's everythin' there. Ah must get on." He went off
   again at a brisk walk. Clearly he was more in fear of the milk man than he
   was of me.
   I filled a bucket, found a piece of soap and threw a towel over my
   shoulder. When I reached my patient I looked in vain for some sign of a
   name. So many of the cows of those days had their names printed above their
   stalls but there were no Marigolds, Alices or Snowdrops here, just numbers.
   Before taking off my jacket I looked casually in the ear where the tattoo
   marks stood out plainly against the creamy white surface. She was number
   eighty seven.
   I was in more trouble when I stripped off my shirt. In a modern byre like
   this there were no nails jutting from the walls to serve as hangers. I bad
   to roll my clothes into a ball and carry them through to the milk house.
   There I found a sack which I tied round my middle with a length of binder
   twine.
   Still ignored by everybody, I returned, soaped my arm and inserted it into
   the cow. I had to go a long way in to reach the calf, which was strange
   considering the birth should have taken place last night. It was the top of
   the little creature's head I touched first; the nose was tucked downwards
   instead of thrusting its way along the vagina towards the outside world,
   and the legs were similarly coiled under the body.
   And I noticed something else. The entry of my arm did not provoke any
   answering strain from the cow, nor did she try to rise to her feet. There
   was something else troubling Number Eighty Seven.
   Lying flat on the concrete, still buried to the shoulder in the cow, I
   raised my head and looked along the shaggy back with its speckle of light
   red and white hairs, and when I reached the neck I knew I need seek no
   further. The lateral kink was very obvious. Number Eighty Seven, slumped on
   her chest, was gazing wearily and without
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               319

  interest at the wall in front of her but there was that funny little bend in
  her neck that told me everything.
   I got up, washed and dried my arm and looked for Mr. Blackburn. I found him
   bending by tke side of a fat brown animal, pulling the cups from her teats.
   I tapped him on the shoulder.
  "She's got milk fever," I said.
   "Oh aye," he replied, then he hoisted the bucket, brushed past me and made
   off down the byre.
   I kept pace with bim. "That's why she can't strain. Her uterus has lost its
   tone. She'll never calve till she gets some calcium."
   "Right." He still didn't look at me. "Ye'll give 'er some then?"
  "Yes," I said to his retreating back.
   The snow still swirled in the outer darkness and I toyed with the idea of
   getting dressed. But I'd only have to strip again so I decided to make a
   dash for it. With the car boot open it seemed to take a long time to fish
   out the bottles and Rutter valve with the Rakes settling thickly on my
   naked flesh.
   Back in the byre I looked around for a spare man to belp me but there was
   no lessening of the feverish activity. I would have to roll this cow onto
   her side and inject into her milk vein without assistance. It all depended
   on how comatose she was.
   And she must have been pretty far gone because when I braced my feet
   against the tubular steel and pushed both hands against her shoulder she
   flopped over without resistance. To keep her there I lay on top of her as
   I pushed in the needle and ran the calcium into the vein.
   One snag was that my sprawling position took me right underneath the
   neighbouring cow on the right, a skittish sort of animal who didn't welcome
   the rubberbooted legs tangling with her hind feet. She expressed ber
   disapproval by treading painfully on my ankles and giving me a few smart
   kicks on the thigh, but I daren't move because the calcium was flowing in
   beautifully.
   When the bottle was empty I kneed my patient back onto her chest and ran
   another bottle of calcium magnesium and phosphorus under her skin. By the
   time I had finished and rubbed away the subcutaneous fluid Number Eighty
   Seven was looking decidedly happier.
  I didn't hurry over cleaning and putting away my in-  320         ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  jection outfit and re-soaping my arms because I knew that every minute would
  bring back strength to my patient.
   The lightning response to intravenous calcium has always afforded me a
   simple pleasure and when I pushed my arm in again the difference was
   remarkable. The previously flaccid uterus gripped at my hand and as the cow
   went into a long expulsive effort she turned her head, looked back at me
   and opened her mouth in a muffled bellow. It was not a sound of pain but
   rather as though she was saying, "I'm back in business now."
   "All right, my lass," I replied. "I'll stay with you till it's all over."
   At other times I might have been a little chary of being overheard
   conversing with a cow, but with the clamour of buckets and the nonstop
   blasting of the radio there was no chance of that happening.
   I knew that I had to guide the calf back into the correct position and that
   it would take time, but I had a strange sense of oneness with this animal
   because neither of us seemed to be of the slightest importance in the
   present setting. As I lay there face down on the concrete which grew harder
   all the time and with the milkers stumbling over my prostrate form I felt
   very much alone. There was just myself and Number Eighty Seven for it.
   Another thing I missed was the sense of occasion. There was a compensation
   in many an arduous calving in the feeling of a little drama being enacted;
   the worried farmer, attentive stockmen, the danger of losing the calf or
   even the mother-it was a gripping play and there was no doubt the vet was
   the leading man. He may even be the villain but he was number one. And here
   I was now, a scrabbling nonentity with hardly a mention in the cast. It was
   the shape of things to come.
   And yet . . . and yet . . . the job was still there. I lifted the calf's
   lower jaw and as the cow gave a heave I eased it over the brim of the
   pelvis. Then I groped for the tiny legs and straightened them as another
   expulsive effort pushed the little creature towards me. He was definitely
   on his way now.
   I didn't rush things-just lay there and let the cow get on with it. My
   worst moment was when one of the men came to put the milking machine on the
   temperamental animal on my right. As he tried to step up beside her she
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               32r

  swung round, cocked her tail and sent a jet of faeces cascading across my
  back.
   The man pushed her back into place, slipped on the teat cups then lifted
   the hose which was lying ready for swilling down the byre. A moment later
   I felt the icy flow of water playing from my shoulders to my hips then
   the application of a spare udder cloth as the helpful fellow cleaned me
   off.
   "Thanks very muck," I gasped. And I was really grateful. It was the only
   attention I had received all morning.
   Within half an hour the feet appeared at the vulva followed by a wet nose
   whose nostrils twitched reassuringly. But they were big feet-this would
   be a bull calf and his final entry into the world could be a tight
   squeeze.
   I got into a sitting position and gripped a slippery cloven hoof in each
   hand. Leaning back, feet against the dung channel, I addressed Number
   Eighty Seven again.
   "Come on, old lass. A couple of good shoves and we're there."
   She responded with a mighty inflation of the abdomen and the calf surged
   towards me as I pulled, giving me a glimpse of a broad forehead and a
   pair of slightly puzzled eyes. For a moment I thought the ears were going
   to slip through but then the cow relaxed and the head disappeared back
   inside.
   "Once more, girll" I pleaded, and this time it seemed that she had
   decided to stop playing around and get the job over with. She gave a
   prolonged strain which sent head and shoulders through, and as I hauled
   away I had only that momentary panic I always feel that the hips might
   jam in the pelvis. But this one didn't stick and came sliding beautifully
   on to my lap.
   Puffing slightly, I got to my feet and parted the hind legs. Sure enough
   the little scrotum was there; he was a fine bull calf. I pulled some hay
   from the rack and dried him off and within minutes he was sitting up,
   sniffing and snorting, looking around him with interest.
   He wasn't the only interested party. His' mother, craning round in her
   neck chain, gazed fascinatedly at the new arrival before releasing a
   deafening bellow. I seized the front feet again and pulled the calf up
   to the front of the stall where the cow after a brief examination began
   to lick him from head to tail. Then as I watched,
  322         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  entranced, she suddenly rose to her feet so that she could reach some of the
  little creature's more inaccessible corners.
   I smiled to myself. So that was that. She had got over the milk fever and
   had a nice live calf, too. All was well with Number Eighty Seven.
   Mr. Blackburn came up and stood by my side and I realised that the noise in
   the byte had subsided. The milking was finished.
   The farmer took off his white hat and wiped away the sweat from his brow.
   "By gaw, that was a rush. We were short-handed this mornin' and I was sure
   we were goin' to miss that milk feller. He's a terror-won't wait a minute,
   and I've had to chase after 'im in a tractor with the churns afore now."
   As he finished speaking a hen leaped with a squawk from the rack. Mr.
   Blackburn reached forward and lifted a warm newlaid egg out of the hay.
   He inspected it for a moment then turned to me. "Have you 'ad your
   breakfast?"
  "No, of course not."
   "Well tell your missus to put this in the fryin' pan," he said, handing me
   the egg.
   "Oh, thank you very much, Mr. Blackburn, I'll enjoy that."
   He nodded and continued to stand there, gazing at the cow and calf. Dairy
   farming is one of the hardest ways of making a living and this pre-dawn
   turmoil was an every day occurrence in his life. But I knew he was pleased
   with my efforts because he faced me suddenly and his weathered features
   broke into a delighted grin. Without warning he gave me a friendly thump on
   the chest.
  "Good old Jiml" he said, and walked away.
   I dressed, got into the car and placed my egg with the utmost care on the
   dash, then I eased myself gingerly on to the seat, because that hosing had
   sent a pint or two of dirty water down into my underpants and sitting down
   was intensely uncomfortable.
   As I drove away the darkness was thinning into the grey beginning of a new
   day and around me the white bulk of the fells began to lift from the half
   light-massive, smooth and inexpressibly cold.
  I looked at the egg rocking gently on the dash, and
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               323

  smiled to myself. I could still see Mr. Blackburn's sudden grin, still
  feel his punch on the chest, and my main sensation was of reassurance.
   Systems may be changing, but cows and calves and Yorkshire farmers
   were just the same.
                 CHAPTER
                     37

  On my wage of seven and threepence a day, out of which was deducted
  maintenance for wife and child, I was unable to indulge in high living even
  if I had wanted to, but one evening in Windsor I decided to allow myself the
  luxury of one glass of beer, and as I pushed open the pub doorway the first
  thing I saw was a man sitting at the corner of the bar with a small dog
  under his chair.
   Little things like that could lift me effortlessly back to my old life, and
   I could almost hear George Wilks, the auctioneer, in the Drovers Arms at
   Darrowby.
   "I reckon that's the best Pub Terrier I've ever seen." He bent down from
   the bar counter and patted Theo's shaggy head as it protruded from beneath
   his master's stool.
   It struck me that "Pub Terrier" wasn't a bad description. Theo was small
   and mainly white, though there were odd streaks of black on his flanks, and
   his muzzle had a bushy outgrowth of hair which made him undeniably
   attractive but still more mysterious.
   I warmed to a Scottish colleague recently who, when pressed by a lady
   client to diagnose her dog's breed and lineage replied finally, "Madam, I
   think it would be best to call him a wee broon dug."
   By the same token Theo could with safety be described as a wee white dug,
   but in Yorkshire the expression "Pub Terrier" would be more easily
   understood.
   His m aster, Paul Cotterell, looked down from his high perch.
   "What's he saying about you, old chap?" he murmured languidly, and at the
   sound of his voice the little animal leaped, eager and wagging, from his
   retreat.
   Theo spent a considerable part of his life between the four metal legs of
   that stool, as did his master on the
                       324
           ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              325

  seat. And it often seemed to me to be a waste of time for both of them. I
  often took my own dog, Sam, into pubs and fie would squat beneath my seat,
  but whereas it was an occasional thing with me-maybe once or twice a
  week-with Paul Cotterell it was an unvarying ritual. Every night from eight
  o'clock onwards he could be found sitting there at the end of the bar of the
  Drovers' Arms, pint glass in front of him, little curly pipe drooping over
  his chin.
   For a young man like him-he was a bachelor in his late thirties-and a
   person of education and intelligence, it seemed a sterile existence.
   He turned to me as I approached the counter. "Hello, Jim, let me get you a
   drink."
   "That's very kind of you, Paul," I replied. "I'll have a pint."
   "Splendid." He turned to the barmaid with easy courtesy. "Could I trouble
   you, Moyra?"
   We sipped our beer and we chatted. This time it was about the music
   festival at Brawton and then we got on to music in general. As with any
   other topic I had discussed with him he seemed to know a lot about it.
   "So you're not all that keen on Bach?" he enquired lazily.
   "No, not really. Some of it, yes, but on the whole I like something a bit
   more emotional. Elgar, Beethoven, Mozart. Even Tchaikovsky-I suppose you
   highbrows look down your noses at him?"
   He shrugged, puffed his little pipe and regarded me with a half smile, one
   eyebrow raised. He often looked like that and it made me feet he ought to
   wear a monocle. But he didn't enthuse about Bach, though it seemed he was
   his favourite composer. He never enthused about anything, and he listened
   with that funny look on his face while I rhapsodised about the Elgar violin
   concerto.
   Paul Cotterell was from the south of England, but the locals had long since
   forgiven him for that because he was likeable, amusing, and always ready to
   buy anybody a drink from his corner in the Drovers'. To me, he had a charm
   which was very English; casual, effortless. He never got excited, he was
   always polite and utterly self contained.
   "While you're here, Jim," he said. "I wonder if you'd have a look at Theo's
   foot?"
  326         ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   "Of course." It is one of a vet's occupational hazards that wherever he
   goes socially it is taken for granted that there is nothing he would rather
   do than dole out advice or listen to symptoms. "Let's have him up."
   "Here, boy, come on." Paul patted his knee and the little dog jumped up and
   sat there, eyes sparkling with pleasure. And I thought as I always did that
   Theo should be in pictures. He was the perfect film dog with that
   extraordinarily fuzzy laughing face. People paid good money to see dogs
   just like him in cinemas all over the world.
   "All right, Theo," I said, scooping him from his master's knee. "Where's
   the trouble?"
   Paul indicated the right fore foot with the stem of his pipe. "It's that
   one. He's been going a bit lame off and on for the I ast few days.,,
   "I see." I rolled the little animal on his back and then laughed. "Oh, he's
   only got a broken claw. There's a little bit hanging off here. He must have
   caught it on a stone. Hang on a minute." I delved in my pocket for the
   scissors which'always dwelt there. A quick snip and the job was done.
  "Is that all?" asked Paul.
  "Yes, that's it."
   One eyebrow went up mockingly as he looked at Theo. "So that's what you
   were making all the fuss about, eh? Silly old trout." He snapped his
   fingers. "Back you go."
   The little dog obediently leaped to the carpet and disappeared into his
   sanctuary beneath the stool. And at that moment I had a flash of intuition
   about Paul-about his charm which I had often admired and envied. He didn't
   really care. He was fond of his dog, of course. He took him everywhere with
   him, exercised him regularly by the river, but there was none of the
   anxiety, the almost desperate concern which I had so often seen in the eyes
   of my clients when I dealt with even the most trivial of their ailments.
   They cared too much-as I have always done with my own animals.
   And of course he was right. It was an easier and more comfortable way to
   live. Caring made you vulnerable while Paul cruised along, impregnable.
   That attractive casualness, the nonchalant good manners, the imperturbabil-
   ity-they all had their roots in the fact that nothing touched him very
   deeply.
          ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL               327

   And despite my snap diagnosis of his character I still envied him. I have
   always been blown around too easily by my emotions; it must be lovely to
   be like Paul. And the more I thought about it the more I realised how
   everything fitted in. He had never cared enough to get married. Even
   Bach, with his mathematical music, was part of the pattern.
   "I think that major operation deserves another pint, Jim." He smiled his
   lop-sided smile. "Unless you demand a higher fee?"
   I laughed. I would always like him. We are all different and we have to
   act as we are made, but as I started my second glass I though~t again of
   his carefree life. He had a good job in the government offices in
   Brawton, no domestic responsibilities, and every night he sat on that
   same stool drinl6ng beer with his dog underneath. He hadn't a worry in
   the world.
   Anyway, he was part of the Darrowby scene, part of something I liked, and
   since I have always hated change it was in a sense reassuring to know
   that no matter what night you went into the Drovers' you would find Paul
   Cotterell in the corner and Theo's shaggy muzzle peeping from below.
   I felt like that one night when I dropped in near closing time.
   "D'you think he's got worms?" The question was typically off-hand.
  "I don't know, Paul. Why do you ask?"
   He drew on his pipe. "Oh I just thought he looked a bit thin lately. Come
   up, Theo!"
   The little dog, perched on his master's knee, looked as chirpy as ever
   and when I reached over and lifted him he licked my hand. But his,ribs
   did feel rather prominent.
   "Mram, yes," I said. "Maybe he has lost a bit of weight. Have you noticed
   him passing any worms?"
  "I haven't, actually."
   "Not even little bits-whitish segments sticking round his rear?"
   "No, Jim." He shook his head and smiled. "But I haven't looked all that
   closely, old boy."
   "Okay," I said. "Let's worm him, just in case. I'll bring in some tablets
   tomorrow night. You'll be here ... T'
  The eyebrow went up. "I think that's highly probable."
  Theo duly got his worm tablets and after that there
  328          ALL THMGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  was a space of several weeks when I was too busy to visit the Drovers'.
  When I finally did get in it was a Saturday night and the Athletic Club
  dance was in full spate. A rhythmic beat drifted from the ballroom, the
  little bar was packed, and the domino players were under pressure,
  squashed into a corner by the crush of dinner jackets and backless
  dresses.
   In the noise and beat I struggled towards the bar, thinking that the
   place was unrecognisable. But there was one feature unchanged-Paul
   Cotterell on his stool at the far end of the counter.
   I squeezed in next to him and saw he was wearing his usual tweed jacket.
   "Not dancing, Paul?"
   He half closed his eyes, shook his head slowly and smiled at me over his
   bent little pipe. "Not for me, old boy," he murmured. "Too much like
   work."
   I glanced down and saw that something else hadn't changed. Theo was
   there, too, keeping his nose well clear of the milling feet. I ordered
   two beers and we tried to converse, but it was difficult to shout above
   the babel. Arms kept poking between us towards the counter, red faces
   pushed into ours and shouted greetings. Most of the time we just looked
   around us.
   Then Paid leaned close and spoke into my ear. "I gave Theo those pills
   but he's still getting thinner."
  "Really?" I shouted back. "That's unusual."
  "Yes ... perhaps you'd have a look at him?"
   I nodded, he snapped his fingers and the little dog was on his knee in
   an instant. I reached and lifted him onto mine and I noticed immediately
   that he was lighter in my hands.
  "You're right," I said. "He's still losing weight."
   Balancing the dog in my lap, I pulled down an eyelid and saw that the
   conjunctiva was pale.
   I shouted again. "He's anaemic." I felt my way back over his face and
   behind the angle of the jaw I found that the post pharyngeal lymph glands
   were very enlarged. This was strange. Could he have some form of mouth
   or throat infection? I looked helplessly around me, wishing fervently
   that Paul wouldn't invariably consult me about his dog in a pub. I wanted
   to examine the animal, but I couldn't very well deposit him among the
   glasses on the bar.
          ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL              329

   1 was trying to get a better grip with a view to looking down his throat
   when my hand slipped behind his fore leg and my heart gave a sudden thump
   a$ I encountered the axillary gland. It, too, was grossly enlarged. I
   whipped my fingers back into his groin and there was the inguinal gland,
   prominent as an egg. The prescapular was the same, and as I groped around
   feverishly I realised that every superficial lymph gland was several times
   its normal size.
   Hodgkin's disease. For a few moments I was oblivious of the shouting and
   laughter, the muffled blare of music. Then I looked at Paul who was
   regarding me calmly as he puffed his pipe. Bow could I tell him in these
   surroundings? He would ask me what Hodgkin's disease was and I would have
   to explain that it was a cancer of the lymphatic system and that his dog
   was surely going to die.
   As my thoughts raced I stroked the shaggy head and Theo's comic whiskered
   face turned towards me. People jostled past, hands reached out and bore
   gins and whiskies and beers past my face, a fat man threw his arm round my
   neck.
  I leaned across. "Paul," I said.
  "Yes, Jim?"
   "Will you . . . will you bring Theo round to the surgery tomorrow morning.
   It's ten o'clock on a Sunday."
   Momentarily the eyebrow twitched upwards, then he nodded.
  "Right, old boy."
   I didn't bother to finish my drink. I began to push my way towards the door
   and as the crush closed around me I glanced back. The little dog's tail was
   just disappearing under the stool.
   Next day I had one of those early waking mornings when I started tossing
   around at six o'clock and finished by staring at the ceiling.
   Even after I had got my feet on the ground and brought Helen a cup of tea
   the waiting was interminable until the moment arrived which I had been
   dreadingwhen I faced Paul across the surgery table with Theo standing
   between us.
   I told him straight away. I couldn't think of any easy way to lead up to
   it.
  330         ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

   His expression did not change, but he took his pipe out of his mouth and
   looked steadily at me, then at the dog and back again at me.
  "Oh," he said at last. "I see.9'
   I didn't say anything and he slowly ran his hand along the little
   animal's back. "Are you quite sure, Jim?"
  "Absolutely. I'm terribly sorry."
  "Is there no treatment?"
   "There are various palliatives, Paul, but I've never seen any of them do
   any good. The end result is always the same."
   "Yes . He nodded slowly. "But he doesn't look so bad. What will happen
   if we don't do anything?"
  I paused. "Well, as the internal glands enlarge, various
  things will happen. Ascites --- dropsy-will develop in the
  abdomen. In fact you can see he's a little bit pot-bellied
  now."
   "Yes . . . I do see, now you mention it. Anything else?"
  "As the thoracic glands get bigger he'll begin to pant."
   "I've noticed that already. He's breathless after a short walk."
   "And all the time he'll get thinner and thinner and more debilitated."
   Paul looked down at his feet for a few moments then faced me. "So what
   it amounts to is that he's going to be pretty miserable for the rest of
   his life." He swallowed. "And how long is that going to be?"
  "A few weeks. It varies. Maybe up to three months."
   "Well, Jim." He smoothed back his hair. "I can't let that happen. It's
   my responsibility. You must put him to sleep now, before he really starts
   to suffer. Don't you agree?"
  "Yes, Paul, it's the kindest thing to do."
   "Will you do it immediately-as soon as I am out of that door?"
   "I will," I replied. "And I promise you he won't know a thing."
   His face held a curious fixity of expression. He put his pipe in his
   mouth, but it had gone out so he stuffed it into his pocket. Then he
   leaned forward and patted his dog once on the head. The bushy face with
   the funny shock of hair round the muzzle turned to him and for a few
   seconds they looked at each other.
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL331

  Then, "Goodbye, old chap," he muttered and strode quickly from the room.
 I kept my promise.
  "Good lad, good old neo," I murmured, and stroked the face and ears again
  and again as the little creature slipped peacefully away. Like all vets I
  hated doing this, painless though it was, but to me there has always been
  a comfort in the knowledge that the last thing these helpless animals knew
  was the sound of a friendly voice and the touch of a gentle hand.
  Sentimental, maybe. Not like Paul. He had been practical and utterly
  rational in the way he had acted. He had been able to 'do the right thing
  because he was not at the mercy of his emotions.
  Later, over a Sunday lunch which I didn7t enjoy as much as usual I told
  Helen about Theo.
  I had to say something because she had produced a delicious pot roast on
  the gas ring which was our only means of cooking and I wasn't doing justice
  to her skill.
  Sitting at our bench I looked down at her. It was my turn for the high
  stool.
  "You know, Helen," I said. "That was an object lesson for me. The way Paul
  acted, I mean. If I'd been in his position I'd have shilly-shallied-tried
  to put off something which was inevitable."
  She thought for a moment. "Well, a lot of people would."
  "Yes, but he didn't." I put down my knife and fork and stared at the wall.
  "He behaved in a mature way. I suppose Paul has one of those personalities
  you read .about. Well-adjusted, completely adequate."
  '~Come on, Jim, eat your lunch. I know it was a sad thing but it had to be
  done and you mustn't start criticising yourself. Paul is Paul and you are
  you."
  I started again on the meat but I couldn't repress the rising sense of my
  own inadequacy. Then as I glanced to one side I saw that my wife was
  smiling up at me.
  I felt suddenly reassured. It seemed that she at least didn't seem to mind
  that I was me.

 That was on the Sunday, and on Tuesday morning I was handing out some wart
 lotion to Mr. Sangster who kept a few dairy cows down by the station.
 "Dab that on the udder night and morning after milk- 332ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 ing," I said. "I think you'll find that the warts will start to drop off,
 after a week or two."
  "Thank ye." He handed over half a crown and I was dropping it into the
  desk drawer when he spoke again.
 "Bad job about Paul Cotterell, wasn't it?"
 "What do you mean?"
 "Ah thought you'd have heard," he said. "He's dead."
 "Dead!" I stared at him stupidly. "How ... what ... 2"
 "Found 'im this momin'. He did away with 'isself."
 I leaned with both hands on the desk. "Do you mean
 . suicide?"
  "Aye, that's what they say. Took a lot o' pills. It's all ower Vtown."
  I found myself hunching over the day book, sightlessly scanning the list
  of calls while the farmer's voice seemed to come from far away.
  "It's a bad job, right enough. He were a nice feller. Reckon everybody
  liked 'im."
  Later that day I was passing Paul's lodgings when I saw his landlady,
  Mrs. Clayton, in the doorway. I pulled up and got out of the car.
 "Mrs. Clayton," I said. "I still can't believe this."
  "Nor can 1, Mr. Herriot, it's terrible." Her face was pale, her eyes red.
  "He was with me six years, you know -he was like a son."
 "But why on earth.. . T'
  "Oh, it was losin' his dog that did it. He just couldn't stand it."
  A great wave of misery rose and engujfed me and she put her hand on my
  arm.
  "Don't look like that, Mr. Herriot. It wasn't your fault. Paul told me
  all about it and nobody could have saved Theo. People die of that, never
  mind dogs."
 I nodded dumbly and she went on.
  "But IT tell you something in confidence, Mr. Herriot. Paul wasn't able
  to stand things like you or me. It was the way he was made-you see he
  suffered from depression."
 "Depression! Paul ... T'
  "Oh yes, he's been under the doctor for a long time and takin' pills
  regular. He allus put a brave face on, but he's had nervous trouble off
  and on for years."
 "Nervous trouble . . . I'd never have dreamed
  "No, nobody would, but that's how it was. He had an unhappy childhood
  from what I made out. Maybe thaVs
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL333

 why he was so fond of his dog. He got too attached to him, really."
 "Yes ... yes. .
  She took out a screwed up handkerchief and blew her nose. "Well, as I said,
  the poor lad had a rough time most of his life, but he was brave."
  There didn't seem anything else to say. I drove away out of the town and
  the calm green hills offered a quiet contrast to the turmoil which can fill
  a man's mind. So much for Herriot as a judge of character. I couldn't have
  been more wrong, but Paul had fought his secret battle with a courage which
  had deceived everybody.
  I thought of the object lesson which I thought he had given me, but in fact
  it was a lesson of another kind and one which I have never forgotten; that
  there are countless people like Paul who are not what they seem.
           CHAPTER
             38

 The shock of Paul Cotterell's death stayed with me for a. long time, and in
 fact I know I have never quite got over it because even now when the company
 in the bar of the Drovers' has changed and I am one of the few old faces
 left from thirty-five years ago I can still see the jaunty figure on the
 corner stool and the bushy face peeping from beneath.
  It was the kind of experience I didn't want repeated in my -lifetime yet,
  uncannily, I ran into the same sort of thing almost immediately afterwards.
  It couldn't have been more than a week after Paul's funeral that Andrew
  Vine brought his fox terrier to the surgery.
  I put the little dog on the table and exan-dned each of his eyes carefully
  in turn.
 "I'm afraid he's getting worse," I said.
  Without warning the man slumped across the table and buried his face in his
  hands.
  I put my hand on his shoulder. "What is it, Andrew? What on earth's the
  matter?"
  At first he did not answer but stayed there, huddled grotesquely by the
  side of his dog as great sobs shook his body.
  When he spoke at last it was into his hands and his voice was hoarse and
  desperate. "I can't stand it! If Digger goes blind I'll kill myself!"
  I looked down at the bowed head in horrified disbelief. It couldn't be
  happening again. Not so soon after Paul. And yet there were similarities.
  Andrew was another bachelor in his thirties and the terrier was his
  constant companion. He lived in lodgings and appeared to have no worries
  though he was a shy, diffident man with a fragile look about his tall
  stooping frame and pahid face.
               334
      ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL335

  He had first consulted me about Digger several months ago.
  "I call him that because be's dug large holes in the garden ever since his
  puppy days," he said with a half smite, looking at me almost apprehensively
  from large dark eyes.
  I laughed. "I hope you haven't brought him to me to cure that, because I've
  never read anything in the books about it."
  "No, no, it's about something else-his eyes. And he's had that trouble
  since he was a pup, too."
 "Really? Tell me."
  "Well, when I first got him he had sort of mattery eyes, but the breeder
  said he'd probably just got some irritant in them and it would soon clear
  up. And in fact it did. But he's never been quite right. He always seems to
  have a little discomfort in his eyes."
 "How do you mean?"
  "He rubs the side of his face along the carpet and he blinks in bright
  light."
  "I see." I pulled the little animal's face around towards me and looked
  intently at the eyelids. My mind had been busy as he spoke and I was fairly
  sure I should find either entropion (inversion of the eyelids) or
  distichiasis (an extra row of lashes rubbing against the eyeball) but there
  was no sign of -either. The surface of the cornea, too, looked normal,
  except perhaps that the deeper structures of lens and iris were not as easy
  to define as usual.
  I moved over to a cupboard for the ophthalmoscope. "How old is he now?"
 "About a year."
 "So he's had this for about ten months?"
  "Yes, about that. But it varies a lot. Most of the time he seems normal
  then there are days when he goes and lies in his basket with his eyes half
  closed and you can tell there's something wrong. Not pain, really. More
  like discomfort as I said."
  I nodded and hoped I was looking wise but none of this added up to anything
  familiar. I switched on the little light on the ophthalmoscope and peered
  into the depths of that most magical and delicate of all organs, down
  through the lens to the brilliant tapestry of the retina with its optic
  papilla and branching blood vessels. I couldn't find a thing wrong.
 336ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "Does he still dig holes?" I asked. When baffled I often snatch at straws
  and I wondered if the dog was suffering from a soil irritation.
  Andrew shook his head. "No, very seldom now, and anyway, his bad days are
  never associated with his digging."
  "Is that so?" I rubbed my chin. The man was obviously ahead of me with
  his thinking and I had an uncomfortable feeling of bewilderment. People
  were always bringing their dogs in with "bad eyes" and there was
  invariably something to be seen, some cause to be found. "And would you
  say that this was one of his bad days?"
  "Well I thought so this morning, but be seems a bit better now. Still,
  he's a bit blinky, don't you think?"
  "Yes ... maybe so." Digger did appear to be reluctant to open his eyes
  fully to the sunshine streaming through the surgery window. And
  occasionally he kept them closed for a second or two as though he wasn't
  very happy. But damn it, nothing gave me the slightest clue.
  I didn't tell the owner that I hadn't the faintest idea what was wrong
  with his dog. Such remarks do not inspire confidence. Instead, I took
  refuge in businesslike activity.
  "I'm going to give you some lotion," I said briskly. "Put a few drops
  into his eyes three times daily. And let me know how he goes on. It's
  possible he has some long-standing infection in there."
  I handed over a bottle of 2% boric acid solution and patted Digger's
  head. "I hope that will clear things up for you, lad," I said, and the
  stumpy tail wagged in reply. He was a sharp looking little animal,
  attractive and good-natured and a fine specimen of the smooth-haired
  breed with his long head and neck, pointed nose and beautifully straight
  limbs.
  He jumped from the table and leaped excitedly around his master's legs.
  I laughed. "He's eager to go, like most of my patients." I bent and
  slapped him playfully on the rump. "My word, doesn't he look fit!"
  "He is fit." Andrew smiled proudly. "In fact I often think that apart
  from those eyes he's a perfect little physical machine. You should see
  him out in the fieldshe ran run like a whippet."
 "I'll bet he can. Keep in touch, will you?" I waved
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL337

 them out of the door and turned to my other work, mercifully unaware that I
 had just embarked on one of the most frustrating cases of my career.
  After that first time I took special notice of Digger and his owner. ~
  Andrew, a sensitive likeable man, was a representative for a firm of
  agricultural chemists and, like myself, spent most of his time driving
  around the Darrowby district. His dog was always with him and I had been
  perfunctorily amused by the fact that the little animal was invariably
  peering intently through the windscreen, his paws either on the dash or
  balanced on his master's hand as he operated the gear lever.
  But now that I was personally interested I could discem the obvious delight
  which the little animal derived from taking in every detail of his
  surroundings. He missed nothing in his daily journeys. The road ahead, the
  houses and people, trees and fields which flashed by the windows-these made
  up his world.
  I met him one day when I was exercising Sam up on the high moors which
  crown the windy summits of the fells. But this was May, the air was soft
  and a week's hot sunshine had dried the green paths which wandered among
  the heather. I saw Digger flashing like a white streak over the velvet turf
  and when he spotted Sam he darted up to him, set himself teasingly for a
  moment then shot back to Andrew who was standing in a natural circular
  glade among the harsh brown growth.
  Here gorse bushes blazed in full yellow glory and the little dog hurtled
  round and round the arena, exulting in his health and speed.
 "That's what I'd call sheer joy of living," I said.
  Andrew smiled shyly. "Yes, isn't he beautiful," he murmured.
 "How are the eyes?" I asked.
  He shrugged. "Sometimes good, sometimes not so good. Much the same as
  before. But I must say he seems easier whenever I put the drops in."
 "But he still has days when he looks unhappy?"
  "Yes . . . I have to say yes. Some days they bother him a lot."
  Again the frustration welled in me. "Let's walk back to the car," I said.
  "I might as well have a look at him."
  I lifted Digger on to the bonnet and examined him again. There wasn't a
  single abnormality in the eyelids-
   338ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 I had wondered if I had missed something last time-but as the bright
 sunshine slanted across the eyeballs I could just discern the faintest
 cloudiness in the cornea. There was a slight keratitis there which hadn't
 been visible before. But why ... why?
  "He'd better have some stronger lotion." I rummaged in the car boot.
  "I've got some here. We'll try silver nitrate this time."
  Andrew brought him in about a week later. The corneal discolouration had
  gone-probably the silver nitrate had moved it-but the underlying trouble
  was unchanged. There was still something sadly wrong. Something I
  couldn't diagnose.
  That was when I started to get really worried. As the weeks passed I
  bombarded those eyes with everything in the book; oxide of mercury,
  chinosol, zinc sulphide, ichthyol and a host of other things which are
  now buried in history.
  I had none of the modern sophisticated antibiotic and steroid
  applications but it would have made no difference if I had. I know that
  now.
  The real nightmare started when I saw the first of the pigment cells
  beginning to invade the cornea. Sinister brown specks gathering at the
  limbus and pushing out dark tendrils into the smooth membrane which was
  Digger's window on the world. I had seen cells like them before. When
  they came they usually stayed. And they were opaque.
  Over the next month I fought them with my pathetic remedies, but they
  crept inwards, slowly but inexorably, blurring and narrowing Digger's
  field of vision. Andrew noticed them too, and when he brought the little
  dog into the surgery he clasped and unclasped his hands anxiously.
  "You know, he's seeing less all the time, Mr. Herriot. I can tell. He
  still looks out of the car windows but he used to bark at all sorts of
  things he didn't like-other dogs for instance-and now he just doesn't
  spot them He's-he's losing his sigbt."
  I felt like screaming or kicking the table, but since that wouldn't have
  helped I just looked at him.
 "It's that brown stuff, isn't it?" he said. "What is it?"
  "It's called pigmentary keratitis, Andrew. It sometimes happens when the
  cornea-the front of the eyeball
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL339

 -has been inflamed over a long period, and it is very difficult to treat.
 I'll do the best I can."
  My best wasn't enough. That slow, creeping tide was pitiless, and as the
  pigment cells were laid down thicker and thicker the resulting layer was
  almost black, lowering a dingy curtain between Digger and aH the things
  he had gazed at so eagerly.
  And all the time I suffered a long gnawing worry, a helpless wretchedness
  as I contemplated the inevitable.
  It was when I examined the eyes five months after I had first seen them
  that Andrew broke down. There wag hardly anything to be seen of the
  original corneal structure now; just a brown-black opacity which left
  only minute chinks for moments of sight. Blindness was not far away.
  I patted the man's shoulder again. "Come on, Andrew. Come over here and
  sit down." I pulled over the single wooden chair in the consulting room.
  He staggered across the floor and almost collapsed on the seat. He sat
  there, head in hands, for some time then raised a tear-stained face to
  me. His expression was distraught.
  "I can't bear the thought of it," he gasped. "A friendly little thing
  like Digger-he loves everybody. What has he ever done to deserve this?"
  "Nothing, Andrew. It's just one of the sad things which happen. I'm
  terribly sorry."
  He rolled his head from side to side. "Oh God, but it's worse for him.
  You've seen him in the car-he's so interested in everything. Life
  wouldn't be worth living for him if he lost his sight. And I don't want
  to live any more either!"
  "You mustn't talk like that, Andrew," I said. "That's going too far." I
  hesitated. "Please don't be offended, but you ought to see your doctor."
  "Oh I'm always at the doctor," he replied dully. "I'm full of pills right
  now. He tells me I have a depression."
  The word was like a mournful knell. Coming so soon after Paul it sent a
  wave of panic through me.
 "How long have you been like this?"
 "Oh, weeks. I seem to be getting worse."
 "Have you ever had it before?"
 "No, never." He wrung his hands and looked at the
 340ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 floor. "The doctor says that if I keep on taking the pills I'll get over it,
 but I'm reaching the end of my tether now."
  "But the doctor is right, Andrew. You've got to stick it and you'll be as
  good as new."
  "I don't believe it," he muttered. "Every day lasts a year. I never enjoy
  anything. And every morning when I wake up I dread having to face the world
  again."
  I didn't know what to say or how to help. "Can I get you a glass of water?"
 "No ... no thanks."
  He turned his deathly pale face up to me again and the dark eyes held a
  terrible blankness. "What's the use of going on? I know I'm going to be
  miserable for the rest of my life."
  I am no psychiatrist but I knew better than to tell somebody in Andrew's
  condition to snap out of it. And I had a flash of intuition.
  "All right," I said. "Be miserable for the rest of your life, but while
  you're about it you've got to look after this dog.,,
  "Look after him? What can I do? He's going blind. There's nothing anybody
  can do for him now."
  "You're wrong, Andrew. This is where you start doing things for him. He's
  going to be lost without your help."
 "How do you mean?"
  "Well, you know all those walks you take himyou've got to get him used to
  the same tracks and paths so that he can trot along on familiar ground
  without fear. Keep him clear of holes and ditches."
  He screwed up his face. "Yes, but he won't enjoy the walks any more."
 "He will," I said. "You'll be surprised."
 "Oh, but.. ."
  "And that nice big lawn at the back of your house where he runs. You'll
  have to be on the lookout all the time in case there are things left lying
  around on the grass that he might bump into. And the eye dropsyou say they
  make him more comfortable. Who's going to put them in if you don't?"
  "But Mr. Herriot ... you've seen how he always looks out of the car when
  he's with me.
 "He'll still look out."
 "Even if he can't see?"
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL341

  "Yes." I put my hand on his arm. "You must understand, Andrew, when an
  animal loses his sight he doesn't realise what's happened to him. It's
  a terrible thing, I know, but he doesn't suffer the mental agony of a
  human being."
  He stood up and took a long shuddering breath. "But I'm having the agony.
  I've been dreading this happening for so long. I haven't been able to
  sleep for thinking about it. It seems so cruel and unjust for this to
  strike a helpless animal-a little creature who's never done anybody any
  harm." He began to wring his bands again and pace about the room.
  "You're just torturing yourself!" I said sharply. "That's part Of Your
  trouble. You're using Digger to punish yourself instead of doing
  something useful."
  "Oh but what can I do that will really help? All those things you talked
  about-they can't give him a happy life."
  "Oh but they can. Digger can be happy for years and years if you really
  work at it. It's up to you."
  Like a man in a dream he bent and gathered Ws dog into his arms and
  shuffled along the passage to the front door. As he went down the steps
  into the street I called out to him.
  "Keep in touch with your doctor, Andrew. Take your pills regularly-and
  remember." I raised my voice to a shout. "Remember you've got a job to
  do with that dog!"

 After Paul I was on a knife edge of apprehension but this time there was
 no tragic news to shatter me. Instead I saw Andrew Vine frequently,
 sometimes in the town with Digger on a lead, occasionally in his car Arith
 the little white head framed always in the windscreen, and most often in
 the fields by the river where he seemed to be carrying out my advice by
 following the good open tracks again and again.
  It was by the river that I stopped him one day. "How are things going,
  Andrew?"
  He looked at me unsmilingly. "Oh, he's finding his way around not too
  badly. I keep my eye on him. I always avoid that field over there-there's
  a lot of boggy places in it."
 "Good, that's the idea. And how are you yourself?"
 "Do you really want to know?"
 342ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "Yes, of course."
  He tried to smile. "Well this is one of my good days. I'm just tense and
  dreadfully unhappy. On my bad days I'm terror-stricken, despairing, utterly
  desolate."
 "I'm sorry, Andrew."
  He shrugged. "Don't think I'm wallowing in self pity. You asked me. Anyway,
  I have a system. Every morning I look at myself in the mirror and I say,
  'Okay, Vine, here's another bloody awful day coming up, but you're going to
  do your job and you're going to look after your dog.' $9
  "That's good, Andrew. And it will all pass. The whole thing will go away
  and you'll be all right one day."
  "That's what the doctor says." He gave me a sidelong glance. "But in the
  meantime . . ." He looked down at his dog. "Come on, Digger."
  He turned and strode away abruptly with the little dog trotting after him,
  and there was something in the set of the man's shoulders and the forward
  thrust of his head which gave me hope. He was a picture of fierce
  determination.
  My hopes were fulfilled. Both Andrew and Digger won through. I knew that
  within months, but the final picture in my mind is of a meeting I had with
  the two of them about two years later. It was on the flat table-land above
  Darrowby where I had first seen Digger hurtling joyously among the gorse
  bushes.
  He wasn't doing so badly now, running freely over the smooth green turf,
  sniffing among the herbage, cocking a leg now and then with deep
  contentment against the drystone wall which ran along the hillside.
  Andrew laughed when he saw me. He had put on weight and looked a different
  person. "Digger knows every inch of this walk," he said. "I think it's just
  about his favourite spot-you can see how he's enjoying himself."
 I nodded. "He certainly looks a happy little dog."
  "Yei, he's happy all right. He has a good life and honestly I often forget
  that he can't see." He paused. "You were right, that day in your surgery.
  You said this would happen."
  "Well that's great, Andrew," I said. "And you're happy, too, aren't you?"
  "I am, Mr. Herriot. Thank God, I am." A shadow crossed his face. "When I
  think how it was then, I can't
      ALL THINGS WTSE AND WONDERFUL343

 believe my luck. It was like being in a dark valley, and bit by bit I've
 climbed out into the sunshine."
 "I can see that. You're as good as new, now."
  He smiled. "I'm better than that-better than I was before. That terrible
  experience did me good. Remember yoti said I was torturing myself? I
  realised I had spent all my days doing that. I used to take every little
  mishap of life and beat myself over the head with it."
  "You don't have to tell me, Andrew," I said ruefully. "I've always been
  pretty good at that myself."
  "Well yes, I suppose a lot of us are. But I became an expert and look where
  it got me. It helped so much to have Digger to look after." His face lit up
  and he pointed over the grass. "Just look at that!"
  The little dog had been inspecting an ancient fence, a few rotting planks
  which were probably part of an old sheep fold, and as we watched he leaped
  effortlessly between the spars to the other side.
  "Marvellous!" I said delightedly. "You'd think there was nothing wrong with
  him."
  Andrew turned to me. "Mr. Herriot, when I see a thing like that it makes me
  wonder. Can a blind dog do such a thing. Do you think ... do you think
  there's a chance he can see just a little?"
  I hesitated. "Maybe he can see a bit through that pigment, but it can't be
  much-a flicker of light and shade, perhaps. I really don't know. But in any
  case, he's become so clever in his familiar surroundings that it doesn't
  make much difference."
  "Yes ... yes." He smiled philosophically. "Anyway, we must get on our way.
  Come on, Digger!"
  He snapped his fingers and set off along a track which pushed a vivid green
  finger through the heather, pointing clean and unbroken to the sunny
  skyline. His dog bounded ahead of him, not just at a trot but at a gallop.

 I have made no secret of the fact that I never really knew the cause of
 Digger's blindness, but in the light of modern developments in eye surgery
 I believe it was a condition called keratitis sicca. This was simply not
 recogDised in those early days and anyway, if I had known I cotild have done
 little about it. The name means "dryness of the cornea" and it occurs when
 the dog is not producing enough tears. At the present time it is treated by
 in-
  344ALL THWGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 stilling artificial tears or by an intricate operation whereby the
 salivary ducts are transferred to the eyes. But even now, despite these
 things, I have seen that dread pigmentation taking over in the end.
  When I look back on the whole episode my feeling is of thankfulness. AR
  sorts of things help people to pull out of a depression. Mostly it is
  their family-the knowledge that wife and children are dependent on
  them-sometimes it is a cause to work for, but in Andrew Vine's case it
  was a dog.
  I often think of the dark valley which closed around him at that time and
  I am convinced he came out of it on the end of Digger's lead.
           CHAPTER
             39

 Now that I had done my first solo I was beginning to appreciate the
 qualities of my instructor. There was no doubt F. 0. Woodham was a very good
 teacher.
  There was a war on and no time for niceties. He had to get green young men
  into the air on their own without delay and he had done it with me.
  I used to fancy myself as a teacher, too, with the boys who came to see
  practice in Darrowby. I could see myself now, smiling indulgently at one of
  my pupils.
  "You don't see this sort of thing in country practice, David," I said. He
  was one of the young people who occasionally came with me on my rounds.
  Fifteen years old, and like all the others he thought he wanted to be a
  veterinary surgeon. But at the moment he looked a little bewildered.
  I really couldn't blame him. It was his first visit and he had expected to
  spend a day with me in the rough and tumble of large animal practice in the
  Yorkshire Dales and now there was this lady with the poodle and Emmeline.
  The lady's progress along the passage to the consulting room had been
  punctuated by a series of squeaking noises produced by her squeezing a
  small rubber doll. At each squeak Lucy advanced a few reluctant steps until
  a final pressure lured her on to the table. There she stood trembling and
  looking soulfully around her.
  "She won't go anywhere without Emmeline," the lady explained.
 "Emmeline?"
  "The doll." She held up the rubber toy. "Since this trouble started Lucy
  has become devoted to her."
 "I see. And what trouble is that?"
 "Well, it's been going on for about two weeks now.
               345
 346ALL TWNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 She7s so listless and strange, and she hardly eats any-
   9P
 thing.
  I reached behind me to the trolley for the thermometer. "Right, we'll
  have a look at her. There's something wrong when a dog won't eat."
  The temperature was normal. I went over her chest thoroughly with my
  stethoscope without finding any unusual sounds. The heart thudded
  steadily in my ears. Careful palpation of the abdomen revealed nothing
  out of the way.
  The lady stroked Lucy's curly poll and the little animal looked up at her
  with sorrowful liquid eyes. -rrn getting really worried about her. She
  doesn't want to go for walks. In fact we can7t even entice her from the
  house without Emmeline."
 "Eh?9'
  "I say she won't take a step outside unless we squeak Emmeline at her,
  and then they both go out together. Even then she just trails along like
  an old dog, and she's only three after 0. You know how lively she is
  normally."
  I nodded. I did know. This little poodle was a bundle of energy. I had
  seen her racing around the fields down by the river, jumping to enormous
  heights as she chased a ball. She must be suffering from something pretty
  severe, but so far I was baffled.
  And I wished the lady wouldn't keep on about Emmeline and the squeaking.
  I shot a side glance at David. I had been holding forth to him, telling
  him how ours was a scientific profession and that he would have to be
  really hot at physics, chemistry and biology to gain entrance to a
  veterinary school, and it didn't fit in with all this.
  Maybe I could guide the conversation along more clinical lines.
  "Any more symptoms?" I asked. "Any cough, constipation, diarrhoea? Does
  she ever cry out in pain?"
  The lady shook her head. "No. Nothing like that. She just looks around
  looking at us with such a pitiful expression and searching for Emmeline."
  Oh dear, there it was again. I cleared my throat. "She never vomits at
  all? Especially after a meal?"
  "Never. When she does eat a little she goes straight away to find
  Emmeline and takes her to her basket."
  .'Really? Well I can't see that that has anything to do with it. Are you
  sure she isn't lame at times?"
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL347

  The lady didn't seem to be listening. "And when she gets Emmeline into
  her basket she sort of circles around, scratching the blanket as though
  she was making a bed for the little thing."
  I gritted my teeth. Would she never stop? Then a light Bashed in the
  darkness.
 "Wait a minute," I said. "Did you say making a bedr'
  "Yes, she scratches around for ages then puts Emmeline dovW'
  "Ah yes." ne next question would settle it. "When was she last in
  seasonr'
  The lady tapped a finger against her cheek. "Let me see, It was in the
  middle of May-that would be about
 weeks ago."
 There wasn!t a mystery any more.
 "Roll her over, please," I said.
  With Lucy stretched on her back, her eyes regarding the surgery ceiling
  with deep emotion, I ran my fingers over the mammary glands. They were
  turgid and swollen. I gently squeezed one of the teats and a bead of milk
  appeared.
 "She's got false pregnancy," I said.
  "What on earth is that?" The lady looked at me, roundeyed.
  "Oh, it's quite common in bitches. They get the idea they are going to
  have pups and around the end of the gestation period they start this
  business. Making a bed for the pups is typical, but some of them actually
  swell in the abdomen. They do all sorts of peculiar things."
  "My goodness, how extraordinaryl" The lady began to laugh. "Lucy, you
  silly little thing, worrying us over nothing." She looked at me across
  the table. "How long is she going to be like this?"
  I turned on the hot tap and began to wash my hands. "Not for long. I'll
  give you some tablets for her. If she's not much better in a week come
  back for more.'But you needn't worry-even if it takes a bit longer she'll
  be her old self in the end."
  I went through to the dispensary, put the tablets in a box and handed
  them over. The lady thanked me then turned to her pet who was sitting on
  the tiled floor looking dreamily into space.
  "Come along Lucy," she said, but the poodle took no notice. "Lucyl Do you
  hear me? Were going nowl" She
 348ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 began to walk briskly along the passage but the little animal merely put
 her head on one side and appeared to be hearkening to inward music. After
 a minute her mistress reappeared and regarded her with some exasperation.
 "Oh really, you are naughty. I suppose there's only one way." She opened
 her handbag and produced the rubber toy.
  "Squeak-squeak," went Emmeline and the poodle raised her eyes with misty
  adoration. "Squeak-squeak, squeaksqueak." The sound retreated along the
  passage and Lucy followed entranced until she disappeared round the
  corner.
  I turned to David with an apologetic grin. "Right," I said. "We'll get
  out on the road. I know you want to see farm practice and I assure you
  it's vastly different from what you've seen here."
  Sitting in the car, I continued. "Mind you, don't get me wrong. I'm not
  decrying small animal work. In fact I'd have to admit that it is the most
  highly skilled branch of the profession and I personally think that small
  animal surgery is tremendously demanding. Just don't judge it all by
  Emmeline. Anyway, we have one doggy visit before we go out into the
  country."
 "What's that?" the lad asked.
  "Well, I've had a call from a Mr. Rington to say that his dalmatian bitch
  has completely altered her behaviour. In fact she's acting so strangely
  that he doesn't want to bring her to the surgery."
 "What do you think that might be?"
  I thought for a moment. "It seems a bit silly, but the first thing that
  comes to my mind is rabies. This is the most dreadful dog disease of all,
  but thank heaven we've managed to keep it out of this country so far by
  strict quarantine regulations. But at college it was hammered into us so
  forcibly that it is always at the back of my mind even though I don't
  really expect to see it. But this case of the dalmatian could be
  anything. I only hope she hasn't turned savage because that's the sort
  of thing that leads to a dog being put down and I hate that."
 Mr. Rington's opening remark didn't cheer me.
  "Tessa's become really fierce lately, Mr. Herriot. Started moping about
  and growling a few days ago and frankly I daren't trust her with
  strangers now. She nailed the postman by the ankle this morning. Most
  embarrassing."
 My spirits sank lower. "Actually bit somebodyl" Mr.
      ALL THWGS WISE AND WONDERFUL349

 Rington went on. "It's unbelievable-she's such a softie. I've always been
 able to do anything with her."
  "I know, I know," he muttered. "She's marvellous with children, too. I
  can't understand it. But come and have a look at her."
  The dalmatian was sitting in a comer of the lounge and she glanced up
  sulkily as we entered. She was a favourite patient and I approached her
  confidently.
  "Hello, Tessa," I said, and held out my hand. I usually had a
  tail-lashing, tongue-lolling welcome from this animal but today she froze
  into complete immobility and her lips withdrew silently from her teeth.
  It wasn't an ordinary snarl-it was as though the upper lip was operated
  by strings and there was something unnerving about it.
  "What's the matter, old girl?" I enquired, and again the gleaming
  incisors were soundlessly exposed. And as I stared uncomprehendingly I
  could see that the eyes were glaring at me with blazing primitive hatred.
  Tessa was unrecognizable.
  "Mr. Herriot." Her owner looked at me apprehensively. "I don't think I'd
  go any nearer if I were you."
  I withdrew a pace. "Yes, I'm inclined to agree with you. I don't think
  she'd cooperate if I tried to examine her. But never mind, tell me all
  about her."
  "Well, there's really nothing more to tell," Mr. Rington said helplessly.
  "She's just diff erent-like this."
 "Appetite good?"
 "Yes, fine. Eats everything in front of her."
 "No unusual symptoms at all?"
  "None, apart from the altered temperament. The family can handle her, but
  quite frankly I think she'd bite any stranger who came too -near."
  I ran my fingers through my hair. "Any change in family circumstances?
  New baby? Different domestic help? Unusual people coming to the house?"
 "No, nothing like that. There's been no change."
  "I ask because animals sometimes act like this out of jealousy or
  disapproval."
  "Sorry." Mr. Rington shrugged his shoulders. "Everything is just as it's
  always been. Only this morning my wife was wondering if Tessa was still
  cross with us because we kept her indoors for three weeks while she was
  in season. But that was a long time ago-about two months now."
 350ALL TIHNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 I whipped round and faced him. "Two months?"
 "Yes, about that."
  Surely not againl I gestured to the owner. "Would you please lift her up so
  that she's standing on her hind legs?"
  "Like this?" He put his arms round the dalmatian's chest and hoisted till
  she was in the upright position with her abdomen facing me.
  And it was as if I knew beforehand. Because I felt not the slightest
  surprise when I saw the twin row of engorged teats. It was unnecessary, but
  I leaned forward, grasped a little nipple and sent a white jet spurting.
 "She's bulging with milk," I said.
 'Milk?"
  "Yes, she's got false pregnancy. This is one of the more unusual side
  effects, but I'll give you some tablets and she'll-soon be the docile Tessa
  again."
  As we got back into the car I had a good idea what the schoolboy was
  thinking. He would be wondering where the chemistry, physics and biology
  came in.
  "Sorry about that, David," I said. "I've been telling you all about the
  constant variety of a vet's life and the first two cases you see are the
  same condition. But we are going out to the farms now and as I said, you'll
  find it very different. I mean, those two cases were really psychoIogical
  things. You don't get that in country practice. It's a bit rough but it's
  real and down to earth."
  As we drove into the farmyard I saw the farmer carrying a bag of meal over
  the cobbles.
  I got out of the car with David. "You've got a pig ill, Mr. Fisher?"
  "Aye, a big sow. She's in 'ere." He led the way into a pen and pointed to
  a huge white pig lying on her side.
  "She's been off it for a few days," he said. "Hardly eats owt-just picks at
  her food. And she just lays there all t'time. Ah don't think she's got
  strength to get to her feet."
  My thermometer had been in the pig's rectum as he spoke and I fished it out
  and read the temperature. It was 102.2-dead normal. I auscultated the chest
  and palpated the abdomen with growing puzzlement. Nothing wrong. I looked
  over at the trough nearby. It was filled to the brim with fresh meal and
  water-untouched. And pigs do love their food.
 I nudged her thigh with my fist. "Come on, lass, get
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL351

 up." And I followed it with a brisk slap across the rump. A healthy pig
 would have leaped to her feet but the sow never moved.
  I tried not to scratch my head. There was something very funny here. "Has
  she ever been ill before, Mr. Fisher?"
  "Nay, never ailed a thing and she's allus been a real lively pig, too. Ah
  can't reckon it up."
  Nor could 1. "What beats me," I said, "is that she doesn't look like a sick
  animal. She's not trembling or anxious, she's lying there as if she hadn't
  a care in the world."
  "Aye, you're right, Mr. Herriot. She's as 'appy as Larry, but she'll
  neither move nor eat. It's a rum 'un, isn't it?"
  It was very rum indeed. I squatted on my heels, watching the big sow. She
  reached forward and pushed gently with her snout at the straw bedding round
  her head. Sick pigs never did that. It was a gesture of well-being. And
  those little grants which issued from deep in her chest. They were grunts
  of deep contentment and there was something familiar about the sound of
  them . . . something lurking,at the back of my mind which wouldn't come
  forWard. It was the same with the way the sow eased herself further on to
  her side, pushing the great stretch of abdomen outward as though in
  offering.
  I had heard and seen it so many times before-the happy sounds, the careful
  movements. Then I remembered. Of coursel She was like a sow with a litter,
  only there was no litter.
  A wave of disbelief flowed over me. Oh no, no, please not a third timel It
  was dark in the pen and I couldn't get a clear view of the mammary glands.
  I turned to the farmer. "Open the door a little, will you, please."
  As the sunshine flooded in everything was obvious. It was mere routine to
  reach out to the long turnefied udder and squirt the milk against the wall.
  I straightened up wearily and was about to make my now commonplace
  announcement when David did it for me.
 "False pregnancy?" he said.
 I nodded dumbly.
 "What was that?" enquired Mr. Fisher.
 "Well your sow has got it into her head that she is
 352ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 pregnant," I said. "Not only that, but she thinks she has given birth to a
 litter and she's suckling the imaginary piglets now. You can see it, can't
 youT'
  The farmer gave a long soft whistle. "Aye . . . aye you're right. That's
  what she's doin' . . . enjoyin' it, too." He took off his cap, rubbed the
  top of his head and put the cap on again. "Well, there's allus summat new,
  isn't there?"
  It wasn't new to David, of course. Old stuff, in fact, and I didn't want to
  bore him further with a lengthy dissertation.
  "Nothing to worry about, Mr. Fisher," I said hastily. "Call down to the
  surgery and I'll give you something to put in her food. She'll soon be back
  to normal."
  As I left the pen the sow gave a deep sigh of utter fulfillment and moved
  her position with the utmost care to avoid crushing her phantom family. I
  looked back at her and I could almost see the long pink row of piglets
  sucking busily. I shook my head to dispel the vision and went out to the
  car.
  I was opening the door when the farmer's wife trotted towards me. "I've
  just had a phone call from your surgery, Mr. Herriot. They want you to go
  to Mr. Rogers of East Farm. There's a cow calving."
  An emergency like this in the middle of a round was usually an irritant,
  but today the news came as a relief. I had promised this schoolboy some
  genuine country practice and I was beginning to feel embarrassed.
  "Well, David," I said with a light laugh as we drove away. "You must be
  thinking all my patients are neurotic. But you're going to see a bit of the
  real thing nowthere's nothing airy-fairy about a calving cow. This is where
  the hard work of our job comes in. It's often pretty tough fighting against
  a big straining cow, because you must remember the vet only sees the
  difficult cases where the calf is laid wrong."
  The situation of East Farm seemed to add weight to my words. We were
  bumping up the fellside along a narrow track which was never meant for
  motor cars and I winced as the exhaust grated against the jutting rocks.
  The farm was perched almost on the edge of the hilltop and behind it the
  sparse fields, stolen from the moorland, rolled away to the skyline. The
  crumbling stonework
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL153

 and broken roof tiles testified to the age of the squat grey house.
  I pointed to some figures, faintly visible on the massive stone lintel
  above the front door. "What does that date mean to you, David?"
  "Sixteen sixty-six, the great fire of London," he replied promptly.
  "Well done. Strange to think they were building this place in the same
  year as old London burned down."
  Mr. Rogers appeared, carrying a steaming bucket and a towel. "She's out
  in ffield, Mr. Herriot, but she's a quiet cow and easy to catch."
  "All right." I followed him through the gate. It was another little
  annoyance when the farmer didn't have the cow inside for me but again I
  felt that if David wanted to be a vet he ought to know that a lot of our
  work was carried out in the open, often in the cold and rain.
  Even now on this July morning a cool breeze whipped round my chest and
  back as I pulled off my shirt. It Was never very warm in the high country
  of the Dales but I felt at home here. With the cow standing patiently as
  the farmer held her halter, the bucket perched among the tufts of wiry
  grass, and only a few stunted wind-bent trees breaking the harsh sweep
  of green, it seemed that at last this boy was seeing me in my proper
  place.
  I soaped my arms to the shoulder. "Hold the tail, will you, David. This
  is where I find out what kind of job it's going to be."
  As I slipped my hand into the cow it struck me that it would be no bad
  thing if it was a hard calving. If the lad saw me losing a bit of sweat
  it would give him a truer picture of the life in front of him.
  "Sometimes these jobs take an hour or more," I said. "But you have the
  reward of delivering a new living creature. Seeing a calf wriggling on
  the ground at the end of it is the biggest thrill in practice."
  I reached forward, my mind alive with the possibilities. Posterior? Head
  back? Breech? But as I groped through the open cervix into the uterus I
  felt a growing astonishment. There was nothing there.
  I withdrew my arm and leaned for a moment on the hairy rump. The day's
  events were taking on a dreamlike quality. Then I looked up at the
  farmer.
 354ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "There's no calf in this cow, Mr. Rogers."
 'Eh?"
 "She's empty. She's calved already."
  The farmer gazed around him, scanning the acres of bare grass. "Well where
  the hangment is the thing? INs cow was messin' about last night and I
  thought she'd calve, but there was nowt to find this mornin'."
 His attention was caught by a cry from the right.
  "Hey, Williel Just a minute, Willie!" It was Bob Sellars from the next
  farm. He was leaning over the drystone wall about twenty yards away.
 "What's matter, BobT'
  "Ah thowt ah'd better tell ye. Ah saw that cow hidin' her calf this
  mornin'."
 "Hidin'. . . ? What are ye on about?"
  "Ah'm not jokin' nor jestin', Willie. She hid it in yon gutter over there
  and every time t'calf tried to get out she pushed it back in again."
  "But . . . nay, nay, I can't 'ave that. I've never heard of such a thing.
  Have you, Mr. Herriot?"
  I shook my head, but the whole thing seemed to fit in with the air of
  fantasy which had begun to pervade the day's work.
  Bob Sellars began to climb over the wall. "Awright, if ye won't believe me
  I'll show ye."
  He led the way to the far end of the field where a dry ditch ran along the
  base of the wall. "There 'e is!" he said triumphantly.
  And there indeed he was. A tiny red and white calf half concealed by the
  long herbage. He was curled comfortably in his grassy bed, his nose resting
  on his fore legs.
  When the little creature saw his mother he staggered to his feet and
  clambered shakily up the side of the ditch, but no sooner had he gained the
  level of the field than the big cow, released now from her halter, lowered
  her head and gently nudged him back in again.
  Bob waved his arm. "There y'are, she's hiding it, isn't she?"
  Mr. Rogers said nothing and I merely shrugged my shoulders, but twice more
  the calf managed to scramble from the ditch and twice more his mother
  returned him firmly with her head.
  "Well it teks a bit o' believin'," the farmer murmured, half to himself.
  "She's had five calves afore this and we've
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL355

 taken 'em straight away from 'er as we allus do. Maybe she wants to keep
 this 'un for 'erself? I dunno . . . I dunno
 ." His voice trailed away.
  Later, as we rattled down the stony track, David turned to me. "Do you
  think that cow really hid her calf . . . so that she could keep it for
  herself?"
  I stared helplessly through the glass of the windscreen. "Well, anybody
  would tell you it's impossible, but you saw what happened. I'm like Mr.
  Rogers, I just don't know." I paused as the car dipped into a deep rut
  and sent us bobbing about. "But you see some funny things at our job."
  The schoolboy nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, it seems to me that yours is a
  funny life altogether."
           CHAPTER
             40

 The doctor put down the folder containing my case history and gave me a
 friendly smile across the desk.
  "I'm sorry, Herriot, but you've got to have an operation."
  His words, though gentle, were like a slap in the face. After flying school
  we had been posted to Heaton Park, Manchester, and I heard within two days
  that I had been graded pilot. Everything seemed at last to be going
  smooth-
  
 ly."An operation ... are you sure?"
  "Absolutely, I'm afraid," he said, and he looked like a man who knew his
  business. He was a Wing Commander, almost certainly a specialist in civil
  life, and I had been sent to him after a medical inspection by one of
  theregular doctors.
  "This old scar they mention in your documents," he went on. "You've already
  had surgery there, haven't you?"
 "Yes, a few years ago."
  "Well, I'm afraid the thing is opening up again and needs attention."
  I seemed to have run out of words and could think of only one.
 "When?"
 "Immediately. Within a few days, anyway."
  I stared at him. "But my flight's going overseas at the end of the week."
  "Ah well, that's a pity." He spread his hands and smiled again. "But
  they'll be going without you. You will be in hospital."
  I had a sudden feeling of loss, of something coming to an end, and it
  lingered after I had left the Wing Commander's office. I realised painfully
  that the fifty men with whom I had sweated my way through all those new
  ex-
               356
      ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL357

 periences had become my friends. The first breaking-in at St. John's Wood
 in London, the hard training at Scarborough ITW, the "toughening course"
 in Shropshire and the final flying instruction at Winckfield; it had bound
 us together and I had come to think of myself not as an individual but as
 part of a group. My mind could hardly accept the fact that I was going to
 be on my own.
  The others were sorry, too, my own particular chunu looking almost
  bereaved, but they were all too busy to pay me much attention. They were
  being pushed around all over the place, getting briefed and kitted out
  for their posting and it was a hectic time for the whole flight-except
  me. I sat on my bed in the Nissen hut while the excitement billowed
  around me.
  I thought my departure would go unnoticed but when I got my summons and
  prepared to leave I found, tucked in the webbing Of my pack, an envelope
  filled with the precious coupons with which we drew our ration of ciga-
  rettes in those days. It seemed that nearly everybody had chipped in and
  the final gesture squeezed at my throat as I made my lonely way from the
  camp.
  Tle hospital was at Creden Hill, near Hereford, and I suppose it is one
  of the consolations of service life that you can't feel lonely for very
  long. The beds in the long ward were filled with people like myself who
  had been torn from their comrades and were eager to be friendly.
  In the few days before my operation we came to know each other pretty
  well. The young man in the bed on my left spent his time writing
  excruciating poetry to his girt friend and insisted on reading it out to
  me, stanza by stanza. The lad on the right seemed a pensive type. Ev-
  erybody addressed him as "Sammy" but he replied only in grunts.
  When he found out I was a vet he leaned from the sheets and beckoned to
  me.
  "I get fed up wi' them blokes callin' me Sammy," he muttered in a ripe
  Birmingham accent. "Because me name's not Sammy, it's Desmond."
 "Really? Why do they do it, then?"
  He leaned out further. "That's what I want to talk to you about. You
  bein' a vet-you'll know about these things. It's because of what's wrong
  with me-why I'm in ,ere."
 "Well, why are you here? What's your trouble?"
 358ALL TONGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  He looked around him then spoke in a confidevrIA whisper. "I gotta big
  ball."
 "A what?"
 "A big ball.0ne of me balls is a right whopper."
 "Ali, I see, but I still don't understand.. ."
  "Well, it's like this," ke said. "All the fellers in the ward keep sayin!
  the doctor's goin' to cut it off-then I'd be like Sammy Hall."
  I nodded in comprehension. Memories from my college days filtered back.
  It had been a popular ditty at the parties. "My name is Sammy Hall and
  I've only got one ball . . ."
  "Oh, nonsense, they're pulling your leg," I said. "An enlarged testicle
  can be all sorts of things. Can you remember what the doctor called it?"
  He screwed up his face. "It was a funny name. Like vorry or varry
  something."
 "Do you mean varicocele?"
 "That's itl" He threw up an arm. "That's the word!"
  "Well, you can stop worrying," I said. "It's quite a simple little
  operation. Trifling, in fact."
 "You mean they won't cut me ball off?"
  "Definitely not. Just remove a few surplus blood vessels, that's all. No
  trouble."
  He fell back on the pillow and gazed ecstatically at the ceiling.
  "'I'lianks, mate," he breathed. "You've done me a world o' good. I'm
  gettin' done tomorrow and I've been dreadin' it."
  He was like a different person all that day, laughing and joking with
  everybody, and next morning when the nurse came to give him his pre-med
  injection he turned to me with a last appeal in his eyes.
  "You wouldn't kid me, mate, would you? They're not goin' to ... T'
  I held up a hand. "I assure you, Sammy-er-Desmond, you've nothing to
  worry about. I give you my word."
  Again the beatific smile crept over his face and it stayed there until
  the "blood wagon," the operating room trolley pushed by a male orderly,
  came to collect him.
  The blood wagon was very busy each morning and it was customary to raise
  a cheer as each man was wheeled out. Most of the victims responded with
  a sleepy wave before the swing doors closed behind them, but., when I
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL359

 saw Desmond grinning cheerfully and giving the thumbsup sign I felt I had
 really done something.
  Next morning it was my turn. I had my injection at around eight o'clock
  and by the time the trolley appeared I was pleasantly woozy. They removed
  my pyjamas and arrayed me in a sort of nightgown with laces at the neck
  and pulled thick woollen socks over my feet. As the orderly wheeled me
  away the inmates of the ward broke into a ragged chorus of encouragement
  and I managed the ritual flourish of an arm as I left.
  It was a cheerless journey along white-tiled corridors until the trolley
  pushed its way into the anaesthetics room. As I entered, the doors at the
  far end parted as a doctor came towards me bearing a loaded syringe. I
  had a chilling glimpse of the operating theatre beyond, with the lights
  beating on the long table and the masked surgeons waiting.
  The doctor pushed up my sleeve and swabbed my forearm with surgical
  spirit. I decided I had seen enough and closed my eyes, but an
  exclamation from above made me open them.
 "Good God, it's Jim Herriot!"
  I looked up at the man with the syringe. It was Teddy McQueen. He had
  been in my class at school and I hadn't seen him since the day I left.
  My throat was dry after the injection but I felt I had to say something.
 "Hello, Teddy," I croaked.
  His eyes were wide. "What the hell are you doing here?"
  "What the hell do you think?" I rasped crossly. "I'm going in there for
  an operation."
  "Oh, I know that-I'm the anaesthetist here-but I remember you telling me
  at school that you were going to be a vet."
 "That's right. I am a vet."
  "You are?" His face was a picture of amazement. "But what the devil is
  a vet doing in the RAFT'
  It was a good question. "Nothing very much, Teddy," I replied.
  He began to laugh. Obviously he found the whole situation intriguing.
 "Well, Jim, I can't get over this!" He leaned over me
 36oALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 and giggled uncontrollably. "Imagine our meeting here after all these years.
 I think it's an absolute hoot!" His whole body began to shake and he had to
 dab away the tears from his eyes.
  Lying there on the blood wagon in my nightie and woolly socks I didn't find
  it all that funny, and my numbed brain was searching for a withering
  riposte when a voice barked from the theatre.
  "What's keeping you, McQueen? We can't wait all morningl"
  Teddy stopped laughing. "Sorry, Jim old chum," he said. "But your presence
  is requested within." He pushed the needle into my vein and my last memory
  as I drifted away was of his lingering amused smile.
  I spent three weeks at Creden Hill and towards the end of that time those
  of us who were almost fully recovered were allowed out to visit the nearby
  town of Hereford. This was embarrassing because we were all clad in the
  regulation suit of hospital blue with white shirt and red tie and it was
  obvious from the respectful glances we received that people thought we had
  been wounded in action.
  When a veteran of the first war came up to me and asked, "Where did you get
  your packet, mate?" I stopped going altogether.

 I left the RAF hospital with a feeling of gratitudeparticularly towards the
 hard-working, cheerful nurses. They gave us many a tongue lashing for
 chattering after lights out, for smoking under the blankets, for messing up
 our beds, but all the time I marvelled at their dedication.
  I used to lie there and wonder what it was in a girl's character that made
  her go in for the arduous life of nursing. A concern for people's welfare?
  A natural caring instinct? Whatever it was, I am sure a person is born with
  it.
  This trait is part of the personalities of some animals and it was
  exemplified in Eric Abbot's sheepdog, Judy.
  I first met Judy when I was treating Eric's bullock for wooden tongue. The
  bullock was only a young one and the farmer admitted ruefully that he had
  neglected it because it was almost a walking skeleton.
 "Damnl" Eric grunted. "He's been runnin' out with that
      ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL361

 bunch in the far fields and I must have missed 'im. I never knew he'd got to
 this state."
  When actinobacillosis affects the tongue it should be treated right at the
  start, when the first symptoms of salivation and swelling beneath the jaw
  appear. Otherwise the tongue becomes harder and harder till finally it
  sticks out of the front of the mouth, as unyielding as the wood which gives
  the disease its ancient name.
  This skinny little creature had reached that stage, so that he not only
  looked pathetic but also slightly comic as though he were making a derisive
  gesture at me. But with a tongue like that he just couldn't eat and was
  literally starving to death. He lay quietly as though he didn't care.
  "There's one thing, Eric," I said. "Giving him an intravenous injection
  won't be any problem. He hasn't the strength to resist."
  The great new treatment at that time was sodium iodide into the vein-modern
  and spectacular. Before that the farmers used to paint the tongue with
  tincture of iodine, a tedious procedure which sometimes worked and
  sometimes didn't. The sodium iodide was a magical improvement and showed
  results within a few days.
  I inserted the needle into the jugular and tipped up the bottle of clear
  fluid. Two drachms of the iodide I used to use, in eight ounces of
  distilled water and it didn't take long to flow in. In fact the bottle was
  nearly empty before I noticed Judy.
  I had been aware of a big dog sitting near me all the time, but as I neared
  the end of the injection a black nose moved ever closer till it was almost
  touching the needle. Then the nose moved along the rubber tube up to the
  bottle and back again, sniffing with the utmost concentration. When I
  removed the needle the nose began a careful inspection of the injection
  site. Then a tongue appeared and began to lick the bullock's neck
  methodically.
  I squatted back on my heels and watched. This was something more than mere
  curiosity; everything in the dog's attitude suggested intense interest and
  concern.
  "You know, Eric," I said. "I have the impression that this dog isn't just
  watching me. She's supervising the whole job."
  The farmer laughed. "You're right there. She's a funny old bitch is
  Judy-sort of a nurse. If there's anything amiss she's on duty. You can't
  keep her away."
 362ALL TMNOS WISE AM VVONDERFM

  Judy looked up quickly at the sound of her name. She was a handsome animal;
  not the usual colour, but a variegated brindle with waving lines of brown
  and grey mingling with the normal black and white of the farm collie. Maybe
  there was a cross somewhere but the result was very attractive and the
  effect was heightened by her bright-eyed, laughing-mouthed friendliness.
  I reached out and tickled the backs of her ears and she wagged mightily-not
  just her tail but her entire rear end. "I suppose shesjust good-natured."
  "Oh aye, she is," the farmer said. "But it's not only that. It sounds daft
  but I think Judy feels a sense of responsibility to all the stock on
  ffarm."
  I nodded. "I believe you. Anyway, let's get this beast on to his chest."
  We got down in the straw and with our hands under the back bone, rolled the
  bullock till he was resting on his sternum. We balanced him there with
  straw bales on either side then covered him with a horse rug.
  In that position he didn't look as moribund as before, but the emaciated
  head with the useless jutting tongue lolled feebly on his shoulders and the
  saliva drooled uncontrolled on to the straw. I wondered if I'd ever see him
  alive again.
  Judy however didn't appear to share my pessimism. After a thorough sniffing
  examination of rug and bales she moved to the front, applied an encouraging
  tongue to the shaggy forehead then stationed herself comfortably facing the
  bullock, very like a night nurse keeping an eye on her patient.
  "Will she stay there?" I closed the half door and took a last look inside.
  "Aye, nothing11 shift her till he's dead or better," Eric replied. "She's
  in her element now."
  "Well, you never know, she may give him an interest in life, just sitting
  there. He certainly needs some help. You must keep him alive with milk or
  gruel till the injection starts to work. If he'll drink it it'll do hiin
  most good but otherwise you'll have to bottle it into him. But be care,
  ful-you can choke a beast that way."

 A case like this had more than the usual share of the old fascination
 because I was using a therapeutic agent which really worked-something that
 didn't happen too often at
      ALL TUNGS WISE AND WO"ERFM  363
 that time. So I was eager to get back to see if I had been able to puU
 that bullock from the brink of death. But I knew I had to give the drug
 a chance and kept away for five days.
  When I walked across the yard to the box I knew there would be no further
  doubtL He would either be dead or on the road to recovery.
  The sound of my steps on the cobbles haMt gone unnoticed. Judy's head,
  ears cocked, appeared above the half door. A little well of triumph
  brimmed in me. If the nurse was still on duty then the patient must be
  alive. And I felt even more certain when the big dog disappeared for a
  second then came soaring effortlessly over the door and capered up to me,
  working her hind end into convolutions of delight. She seemed to be doing
  her best to teU me all was well.
  Inside the box the bullock was still lying down but be turned to look at
  me and I noticed a strand of bay hanging from his mouth. The tongue
  itself had disappeared behind the lips.
  "Well, we're winnin', aren't we?" Eric Abbot came in from the yard.
  "Without a doubt," I said. "Me tongue's much softer and I see hes been
  trying to eat hay."
  "Aye, can't quite manage it yet, but bes suppin' the milk and gruel like
  a good 'un. He's been up a time or two but he's very wobbly on his pins."
  I produced another bottle of sodium iodide and repeated the injection
  with Judy's nose again almost touching the needle as she sniffed avidly.
  Her eyes were focused on the injection site with fierce concentration and
  so intent was she on extracting the full savour that she occasionally
  blew out her nostrils with a sharp blast before recommencing her
  inspection.
  When I bad finished she took up her position at the head and as I
  prepared to leave I noticed a voluptuous swaying of her hips which were
  embedded in the straw. I was a little puzzled until I realiscd she was
  wagging in the sitting position.
 "Well, Judy's happy at the way things are going," I said.
  The farmer nodded. "Yes, she is. She likes to be in charge. Do you know,
  she gives every new-born calf a good lick over as soon as it comes into
  tworld and it's the same whenever one of our cats 'as kittens:1
 364ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 :'Bit of a midwife, too, eh?"
  'You could say that. And another funny thing about 'er -she lives with the
  livestock in the buildings. She's got a nice warm kennel but she never
  bothers with it-sleeps with the beasts in the straw every night."
  I revisited the bullock a week later and this time he galloped round the
  box like a racehorse when I approached him. When I finally trapped him in
  a comer and caught his nose I was breathless but happy. I slipped my
  fingers into his mouth; the tongue was pliable and almost normal.
  "One more shot, Eric," I said. "Wooden tongue is the very devil for
  recurring if you don't get it cleared up thoroughly." I began to unwind the
  rubber tube. "By the way, I don't see Judy around."
  "Oh, I reckon she feels he's cured now, and anyway, she has summat else on
  her plate this momin'. Can you see her over there?"
  I looked, through the doorway. Judy was stalking importantly across the
  yard. She had something in her mouth -a yellow, fluffy object.
 I craned out further. "What is she carrying?"
 :'It's a chicken."
 'A chicken?"
  "Aye, there's a brood of them runnin' around just now. They're only a month
  old and t'awd bitch seems to think they'd be better off in the stable.
  She's made a bed for them in there and she keeps tryin' to curl herself
  round them. But the little things won't 'ave it."
  I watched Judy disappear into the stable. Very soon she came out, trotted
  after a group of tiny chicks which were pecking happily among the cobbles
  and gently scooped one up. Busily she made her way back to the stable but
  as she entered the previous chick reappeared in the doorway and pottered
  over to rejoin his friends.
  She was having a frustrating time but I knew she would keep at it because
  that was the way she was. Judy the nurse dog was still on duty.
           CHAPTER
              41

 My experience in the RAF hospital made me think. As a veterinary surgeon
 I had become used to being on the other end of the knife and I preferred
 it that way.
  As I remembered, I was quite happy that morning a couple of years ago as
  I poised my knife over a swollen ear. Tristan, one elbow leaning wearily
  on the table, was holding an anaesthetic mask over the nose of the
  sleeping dog when Siegfried came into the room.
  He glanced briefly at the patient. "Ah yes, that haematoma you were
  telling me about, James." Then he looked across the table at his brother.
  "Good God, you're a lovely sight this morning I When did you get in last
  night?"
  Tristan raised a pallid countenance. His eyes were bloodshot slits
  between puffy lids. "Oh, I don't quite know. Fairly late, I should
  think."
  "Fairly latel I got back from a farrowing at four o'clock and you hadn't
  arrived then. Where the hell were you, anyway?"
  "I was at the Licensed Victuallers' Ball. Very good do, actually."
  "I bet it wasl" Siegfried snorted. "You don~t miss a thing, do you? Darts
  Team Dinner, Bellringers' Outing, Pigeon Club Dance and now it's the
  Licensed Victuallers' Ball. If there's a good booze-up going on anywhere
  you'll find it."
  When under fire Tristan always retained his dignity and he drew it around
  him now like a threadbare cloak.
  "As a matter of fact," he said, "many of the Licensed Victuallers are my
  friends."
  His brother flushed. "I believe you. I should think you're the best
  bloody customer they've ever hadl"
  Tristan made no reply but began to make a careful check of the flow of
  oxygen into the ether bottle.
               365
 366ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "And another thing," Siegfried continued. "I keep seeing you slinking
  around with about a dozen different women. And you're supposed to be
  studying for an exam."
  "That's an exaggeration." The young man gave him a pained look. "I admit
  I enjoy a little female company now and then-just like yourself."
  Tristan believed in attack as the best form of defence, and it was a
  telling blow because there was a constant stream of attractive girls
  laying siege to Siegfried at Skeldale House.
  But the elder brother was only temporarily halted. "Never mind me!" he
  shouted. "I've passed all my exams. I'm talking about you! Didn't I see
  you with that new barmaid from the Drovers' the other night? You dodged
  rapidly into a shop doorway but I'm bloody sure it was you.,,
  Tristan cleared his throat. "It quite possibly was. I have recently
  become friendly with Lydia-she's a very nice
 girl."
  "I'm not saying she isn't. What I am saying is that I want to see you
  indoors at night with your books instead of boozing and chasing women.
  Is that clear?"
  "Quite." The young man inclined his head gracefully and turned down the
  knob on the anaesthetic machine.
  His brother regarded him balefully for a few moments, breathing deeply.
  These remonstrations always took it out of him. Then he turned away
  quickly and left.
 Tristan's fagade crumbled as soon as the door closed.
  "Watch the anaesthetic for a minute, Jim," he croaked. He went over to
  the basin in the comer, filled a measuring jar with cold water and drank
  it at a long gulp. Then he soaked some cotton wool under the tap and
  applied it to his brow.
  "I wish he hadn't come in just then. I'm in no mood for the raised voices
  and angry words." He reached up to a large bottle of aspirins, swallowed
  a few and washed them down with another gargantuan draught. "All right
  then, Jim," be murmured as he returned to the table and took over the
  mask again. "Let's go."
  I bent once more over the sleeping dog. He was a Scottie called Hamish
  and his mistress, Miss Westerman, had brought him in two days ago.
  She was a retired school teacher and I always used to think she must have
  had little trouble in keeping her
      ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL367

 class in order. The chilly pale eyes looking straight into mine reminded
 me that she was as tall as I was and the square jaw between the muscular
 shoulders completed a redoubtable presence.
  "Mr. Herriot," she barked. "I want you to have a look at Hamish. I do
  hope it's nothing serious but his ear has become very swollen and
  painful. They don't get-ercancer there, do they?" For a moment the steady
  gaze wavered.
  "Oh that's most unlikely." I lifted the little animal's chin and looked
  at the left ear which was drooping over the side of his face. His whole
  head, in fact, was askew as though dragged down by pain.
  Carefully I lifted the ear and touched the tense swelling with a
  forefinger. Hamish looked round at me and whimpered.
  "Yes, I know, old chap. It's tender, isn't it?" As I turned to Miss
  Westerman I almost bumped into the closecropped iron-grey bead which was
  hovering close over the little dog.
 "He's got an aural haematoma," I said.
 "What on earth is that?"
  "It's when the little blood vessels between the skin and cartilage of the
  ear rupture and the blood flows out and causes this acute distension."
  She patted the jet black shaggy coat. "But what causes it?"
 "Canker, usually. Has he been shaking his head lately?"
  "Yes, now you mention it, he has. Just as though he had got something in
  his car and was trying to get rid of it."
  "Well that's what bursts the blood vessels. I can see he has a touch of
  canker though it isn't common in this breed."
 She nodded. "I see. And how can you cure it?"
 "Only by an operation, I'm afraid."
  "Oh dear!" She put her hand to her mouth. "I'm not keen on that."
  "There's nothing to worry about," I said. "It's just a case of letting
  the blood out and stitching the layers of the ear together. If we don't
  do this soon he'll suff er a lot of pain and finish up with a cauliflower
  car, and we don1 want that because he's a bonny little chap."
  I meant it, too. Hamish was a proud-strutting, trim %ttle dog. The
  Scottish terrier is an attractive rmntnYe '57*
 368ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 I often lament that there are so few around in these modem days.
  After some hesitation Miss Westerman agreed and we fixed a date two days
  from then. When she brought him in for the operation she deposited Hamish
  in my arms, stroked his head again and again then looked from Tristan to
  me and back again.
  "You'll take care of him, won't you," she said, and the jaw jutted and
  the pale blue eyes stabbed. For a moment I felt like a little boy caught
  in mischief, and I think my colleague felt the same because he blew out
  his breath as the lady departed.
  "By gum, Jim, that's a tough baby," he muttered. "I wouldn't like to get
  on the wrong side of her."
  I nodded. "Yes, and she thinks all the world of this dog, so let's make
  a good job of him."

 After Siegfried's departure I lifted the ear which was now a turgid cone
 and made an incision along the inner skin. As the pent-up blood gushed
 forth I caught it in an enamel dish, then I squeezed several big clots
 through the wound.
  "No wonder the poor little chap was in pain," I said softly. "He'll feel
  a lot better when he wakes up."
  I filled the cavity between skin and cartilage with sulphanilamide then
  began to stitch the layers together, using a row of buttons. You had to
  do something like this or the thing filled up again within a few days.
  When I first began to operate on aural haematomata I used to pack the
  interior with gauze then bandage the ear to the head. The owners often
  made little granny-hats to try to keep the bandage in place, but a frisky
  dog usually had it off very soon.
  The buttons were a far better idea and kept the layers in close contact,
  lessening the chance of distortion.
  By lunch time Hamish had come round from the anaesthetic and though still
  slightly dopey he already seemed to be relieved that his bulging ear had
  been deflated. MissWesterman had gone away for the day and was due to
  pick him up in the evening. The little dog, curled in his basket, waited
  philosophically.
  At tea time, Siegfried glanced across the table at his brother. "I'm
  going off to Brawton for a few hours, Tris-
        ALL TIENGS WISE AND WONDERFUL369

 tan," he said. "I want you to stay in the house and give Miss Westerman
 her dog when she arrives. I don't know just when she'll come." He scooped
 out a spoonful of jam. "You can keep an eye on the patient and do a bit
 of studying, too. It's about time you had a night at home."
  Tristan nodded. "Right, I'll do that." But I could see he wasn't
  enthusiastic.
  When Siegfried had driven away Tristan rubbed his chin and gazed
  reflectively through the french window into the darkening garden. "This
  is distinctly awkward, Jim.09
 Wfty?,$

  "Well, Lydia has tonight off and I promised to see her." He whistled a
  few bars under his breath. "It seems a pity to waste the opportunity just
  when things are building up nicely. I've got a strong feeling that girl
  fancies me. In fact she's nearly eating out of my hand."
  I looked at him wonderingly. "My God, I thought you'd want a bit of peace
  and quiet and an early bed after last nightl"
 "Not me," he said. "I'm raring to go again."
  And indeed he looked fresh and fit, eyes sparkling, roses back in his
  cheeks.
  "Look, Jim," he went on. "I don't suppose you could stick around with
  this dog?"
  I shrugged. "Sorry, Triss. I'm going back to see that cow of Ted
  Binns'-right at the top of the Dale. I'll be away for nearly two hours."
  For a few moments he was silent, then he raised a finger. "I think I have
  the solution. It's quite simple, in fact it's perfect. I'll bring Lydia
  in here."
 "Whatl Into the house?"
  "Yes, into this very room. I can put Hamish in his basket by the fire and
  Lydia and I can occupy the sofa. Marvellousl What could be nicer on a
  cold winter's night. Cheap, too."
  "But Trissl How about Siegfried's lecture this morning? What if he comes
  home early and catches the two of you here?"
  Tristan lit a Woodbine and blew out an expansive cloud. "Not a chance.
  You worry about such tiny things, Jim. He's always late when he goes to
  Brawton. There's no problem at all."
 370ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "Well, please yourself," I said. "But I think you're asking for trouble.
  Anyway, shouldn't you be doing a bit of bacteriology? The exams are
  getting close."
  He smiled seraphically through the smoke. "Oh, I'll have a quick read
  through it all in good time."
  I couldn't argue with him there. I always had to go over a thing about
  six times before it finally sunk in, but with his brain the quick read
  would no doubt suffice. I went out on my call.
  I got back about eight o'clock and as I opened the front door my mind was
  far from Tristan. Ted Binns' cow wasn't responding to my treatment and
  I was beginning to wonder if I was on the right track. When in doubt I
  liked to look the subject up and the books were on the shelves in the
  sitting room. I hurried along the passage and threw open the door.
  For a moment I stood there bewildered, trying to roorientate my thoughts.
  The sofa was drawn close to the bright fire, the atmosphere was heavy
  with cigarette smoke and the scent of perfume, but there was nobody to
  be seen.
  .The most striking feature was the long curtain over the french window.
  It was wafting slowly downwards as though some object had just hurtled
  through it at great speed. I trotted over the carpet and peered out into
  the dark garden. From somewhere in the gloom I heard a scuffling noise,
  a thud and a muffled cry, then there was a pitter-patter followed by a
  shrill yelping. I stood for some time listening, then as my eyes grew
  accustomed to the darkness I walked down the long path under the high
  brick wall to the yard at the foot. The yard door was open as were the
  big double doors into the back lane, but there was no sign of life.
  Slowly I retraced my steps to the warm oblong of light at the foot of the
  tall old house. I was about to close the french window when I heard a
  stealthy moyoment and an urgent whisper.
 "Is that you, Jim?"
 "Triss! Where the hell have you sprung from?"
  The young man tiptoed past me into the room and looked around him
  anxiously. "It was you, then, not SiegfriedT'
 "Yes, I've just come in."
      ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL371

  He flopped on the sofa and sunk his head in his hands. "Oh damn! I was
  just lying here a few minutes ago with Lydia in my arms. At peace with
  the world. Everything was wonderful. Then I heard the front door open."
 "But you knew I was coming back."
  "Yes, and I'd have given you a shout, but for some reason I thought, 'God
  help us, it's Siegfried!' It sounded like his step in the passage."
 "T'hen what happened?"
  He churned his hair around with his fingers. "Oh, I panicked. I was
  whispering lovely things into Lydia's ear, then the next second I grabbed
  her, threw her off the couch and out of the french window."
 "I heard a thud . . ."
 "Yes, that was Lydia falling into the rockery."
 "And then some sort of high-pitched cries . . ."
  He sighed and closed his eyes. "That- was Lydia in the rose bushes. She
  doesn't know the geography of the place, poor lass."
  "Gosh, Triss," I said. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have burst in on
  you like that. I was thinking of something else."
  He rose wearily and put a hand on my shoulder. "Not your fault, Jim, not
  your fault. You did warn me." He reached for his cigarettes. "I don't
  know how I'm going to face that girl again. I just chucked her out into
  the lane and told her to beat it home with all speed. She must think I'm
  stone balmy." He gave a hollow groan.
  I tried to be cheerful. "Oh, you'll get round her again. You'll have a
  laugh about it later."
  But he wasn't listening. His eyes, wide with horror, were staring past
  me. Slowly he raised a trembling finger and pointed towards the
  fireplace. His mouth worked for a few seconds before he spoke.
 "Christ, Jim, it's gone!" he gasped.
  For a moment I thought the shock had deranged him. "Gone. . . ? What's
  gone?"
  "The bloody dog! He was there when I dashed outside. Right there!"
  I looked down at the empty basket and a cold hand clutched at me. "Oh no!
  He must have got out through the open window. We're in trouble."
 We rushed into the garden and searched in vain. We
 ~72ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 came back for torches and searched once more, prowling around the yard and
 back lane, shouting the little dog's name with diminishing hope.
  After ten minutes we trailed back to the brightly lit room and stared at
  each other.
  Tristan was the first to voice our thoughts. "What do we tell Miss
  Westerman when she calls?"
  I shook my head. My mind fled from the thought of informing that lady
  that we had lost her dog.
  Just at that moment the front door bell pealed in the passage and Tristan
  almost leaped in the air.
  "Oh Godl" he quavered. "That'll be her now. Go and see her, Jim. Tell her
  it was my fault-anything you likebut I daren't face her."
  I squared my shoulders, marched over the long stretch of tiles and opened
  the door. It, wasn't Miss Westerman, it was a well-built platinum blonde
  and she glared at me angrily.
  "Where's Tristan?" she rasped in a voice which told me we had more than
  one tough female to deal with tonight.
 "Well, he's--er-"
  "Oh, I know he's in therel" As she brushed past me I noticed she had a
  smear of soil on her cheek and her hair was sadly disarranged. I followed
  her into the room where she stalked up to my friend.
  "Look at my bloody stockings!" she burst out. "They're ruinedl"
  Tristan peered nervously at the shapely legs. "I'm sorry, Lydia. I'll get
  you another pair. Honestly, love, I will."
  "You'd better, you buggerl" she replied. "And don't 'love' me-I've never
  been so insulted in my life. What did you think you were playing at?"
 "It was all a misunderstanding. Let me explain
 Tristan advanced on her with a brave attempt at a winning smile, but she
 backed away.
  "Keep your distance," she said frigidly. "I've had enough of you for one
  night."
  She swept out and Tristan leaned his head against the mantelpiece. "The
  end of a lovely friendship, Jim." Then he shook himself. "But we've got
  to find that dog. Come on.,,
  I set off in one direction and he went in the other. It was a moonless
  night of impenetrable darkness and we were
      ALL TYUNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL373

 looking for a jet black dog. I think we both knew it was hopeless but we had
 to try.
  In a little town like Darrowby you are soon out on the country roads where
  there are no lights and as I stumbled around peering vainly over invisible
  fields the utter pointlessness of the activity became more and more
  obvious.
  Occasionally I came within Tristan's orbit and heard his despairing cries
  echoing over the empty landscape. "Haamiish! Haamiish! Haamiish ... !"
  After half an hour we met at Skeldale House. Tristan faced me and as I
  shook my head he seemed to shrink within himself. His chest heaved as he
  fought for breath. Obviously he had been running while I had been walking
  and I suppose that was natural enough. We were both in an awkward situation
  but the final devastating blow would inevitably fall on him.
  "Well, we'd better get out on the road again," he gasped, and as he spoke
  the front door bell rang again.
  The colour drained rapidly from his face and he clutched my arm. "That must
  be Miss Westerman this time. God almighty, she's coming in!"
  Rapid footsteps sounded in the passage and the sitting room door opened.
  But it wasn't Miss Westerman, it was Lydia again. She strode over to the
  sofa, reached underneath and extracted her handbag. She didn't say anything
  but merely shrivelled Tristan with a sidelong glance before leaving.
  "What a night!" he moaned, putting a hand to his forehead. "I can't stand
  much more of this."
  Over the next hour we made innumerable sorties but we couldn't find Hamish
  and nobody else seemed to have seen him. I came in to find Tristan
  collapsed in an armchair. His mouth hung_ open and he showed every sign of
  advanced exhaustion. I shook my head and he shook his, then I heard the
  telephone.
  I lifted the receiver, listened for a minute and turned to the young man.
  "I've got to go out, Triss. Mr. Drew's old pony has colic again."
  He reached out a hand from the depths of his chair. "You're not going to
  leave me, Jim?"
  "Sorry, I must. But I won't be long. It's only a mile away.,,
 "But what if Miss Westerman comes?"
 374ALL THI114GS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  I shrugged. "You'll just have to apologise. Hamish is bound to turn
  up-maybe in the morning."
  "You make it sound easy . . ." He ran a hand inside his collar. "And
  another thing-how about Siegfried? What if he arrives and asks about the
  dog? What do I tell him?"
  "Oh, I shouldn't worry about that," I replied airily. "Just say you were
  too busy on the sofa with the Drovers' barmaid to bother about such things.
  He'll understand."
  But my attempt at jocularity fell flat. The young man fixed me with a cold
  eye and ignited a quivering Woodbine. "I believe I've told you this before,
  Jim, but there's a nasty cruel streak in you."
  Mr. Drew's pony had almost recovered when I got there but I gave it a mild
  sedative injection before turning for home. On the way back a thought
  struck me and I took a road round the edge of the town to the row of modern
  bungalows where Miss Westerman lived. I parked the car and walked up the
  path of number ten.
  And there was Hamish in the porch, coiled up comfortably on the mat,
  looking up at me with mild surprise as I hovered over him.
  "Come on, lad," I said. "You've got more sense than we had. Why didn't we
  think of this before?"
  I deposited him on the passenger seat and as I drove away he hoisted his
  paws on to the dash and gazed out interestedly at the road unfolding in the
  headlights. Truly a phlegmatic little hound.
  Outside Skeldale House I tucked him under my arm and was about to turn the
  handle of the front door when I paused. Tristan had notched up a long
  succession of successful pranks against me-fake telephone calls, the ghost
  in my bedroom and many others-and in fact, good friends,as we were, he
  never neglected a chance to take the mickey out of me. In this situation,
  with the positions reversed, he would be merciless. Instead of walking
  straight in as I always did, I put my finger on the bell and leaned on it
  for several long seconds.
  For some time there was neither sound nor movement from within and I
  pictured the cowering figure mustering his courage before marching to his
  doom. Then the light came on in the passage and as I peered expectantly
  Crough the glass a nose appeared round the far corper
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL375

 followed very gingerly by a wary eye. By degrees the full face inched into
 view and when Tristan recognised my grinning countenance he unleashed a
 cry of rage and bounded along the passage with upraised fist.
  I really think that in his distraught state he would have attacked me,
  but the sight of Hamish banished all else. He grabbed the hairy creature
  and began to fondle him.
  "Good little dog, nice little dog," he crooned as he trotted through to
  the sitting room. "What a beautiful thing you are." He laid him lovingly
  in the basket, and Hamish, after a "heigh-ho, here we are again" glance
  around him, put his head along his side and promptly went to sleep.
  Tristan fell limply into the armchair and gazed at me with glazed eyes.
  "Well, we're saved, Jim," he whispered. "But I'll never be the same after
  tonight. I've run bloody miles and I've nearly lost my voice with
  shouting. I tell you I'm about knackered."
  I too was vastly relieved, and the nearness of catastrophe was brought
  home to us when Miss Westerman arrived within ten minutes.
  "Oh, my darling!" she cried as Hamish leaped at her, mouth open, short
  tail wagging furiously. "I've been so worried about you all day."
  She looked tentatively at the ear with its rows of buttons. "Oh, it does
  took a lot better without that horrid swelling-and what a nice neat job
  you have made. Thank you, Mr. Herriot, and thank you, too, young man."
  Tristan, who had staggered to his feet, bowed slightly as I showed the
  lady out.
  "Bring him back in six weeks to have the stitches out," I called to her
  as she left, then I rushed back into the room.
  "Siegfried's just pulled up outside! You'd better look as if you've been
  working."
  He rushed to the book shelves, pulled down Gaiger and Davis's
  Bacteriology and a notebook and dived into a chair. When his brother came
  in he was utterly engrossed.
  Siegfried moved over to the fire and warmed his hands. He looked pink and
  mellow.
  "I've just been speaking to Miss Westerman," he said. "She's really
  pleased. Well done, both of you."
 376ALL TONGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "Thank you," I said, but Tristan was too busy to reply, scanning the pages
  anxiously and scribbling repeatedly in the notebook.
  Siegfried walked behind the young man's chair and looked down at the open
  volume.
  "Ah yes, Clostridium septique," he murmured, smiling indulgently.- "'Mat's
  a good one to study. Keeps coming up in exams." He rested a hand briefly on
  his brother's shoulder. "I'm glad to see you at work. You've been raking
  about too much lately and it's getting you down. A night at your books will
  have been good for you."
  "Am I not right, James?" he said to me across the room. "Tell him. Few more
  nights like this will put him right."
 StRight.09
 "Put him just where he ought to be."
 "Right. 99
 "Quite." And Siegfried went off to bed.
           CHAPTER
             42

 When I was discharged from hospital I expected to be posted straight
 overseas and I wondered if I would be able to catch up with my old flight
 and my friends.
  However, I learned with surprise that I had to go to a convalescent home
  for a fortnight before any further action could be taken. This was in '
  Puddlestone, near Leominster-a lovely mansion house in acres of beautiful
  gardens. It was presided over by a delightful old matron with whom we
  fortunate airmen played sedate games of croquet or walked in the cool
  woods; it was easy to imagine there was no such thing as a war. Two weeks
  of this treatment left me feeling revitalised. It wouldn't be long, I
  felt, before I was back on the job.
  From Puddlestone it was back to Manchester and Heaton Park again and this
  time it was strange to think that in all the great sprawl of huts and the
  crowding thousands of men in blue there wasn't a soul who knew me.
  Except, of course, the Wing Commander who had sent me to hospital in the
  first place. I had an interview with him on my arrival and he came
  straight to the point.
 "Herriot," he said. "I'm afraid you can't fly any more."
 "But ... I've had the operation ... I'm a lot better."
  "I know that, but you can no longer be classed as 100% fit. You have been
  officially downgraded and I'm sure you realise that pilots have to be
  grade one."
 "Yes ... of course."
  He glanced at the file in his hand. "I see you are a veterinary surgeon.
  Mmm-this poses a problem. Normally when an aircrew man is grounded he
  remusters on the ground staff, but yours is a reserved occupation. You
  really can't serve in any capacity but aircrew. Yes . . . yes ... we'll
  have to sec."
               377
 378ALL TUNGS WISE AND WONDEMIL

  It was all very impersonal and businesslike. Ilose few words coming from a
  man like him left no room for argument and they obliterated at a stroke
  every picture I had ever had of my future in the RAF.
  I was fairly certain that if my flying days were over I would be discharged
  from the service and as I left the Wing Commander'& office and walked
  slowly back to my hut at the other end of the park I pondered on my con-
  tribution to the war effort.
  I hWWt fired a shot in anger. I had peeled mountains of potatoes, washed
  countless dishes, shovelled coke, mucked out pigs, marched for miles,
  drilled interminably, finally and magically learned to fly and now it was
  all for nothing. I passed the big dining hall and the RAF march blared out
  at me from the loudspeakers.
  The familiar sound reminded me of so many experiences, so many friends, and
  suddenly I felt intensely lonely and cut off. It was a new sensation for
  me, and there, in those unlikely surroundings, I began to think of old Mr.
  Potts from my veterinary days. He must have felt like that.
 "How are you, Mr. HerriotT'
  Ordinary words, but the eagerness, almost desperation in the old man's
  voice made them urgent and meaningful.
  I saw him nearly every day. In my unpredictable life it was difficult to do
  anything regularly but I did like a stroll by the river before lunch and so
  did my beagle, Sam. 71at was when we met Mr. Potts and Nip, his elderly
  sheepdog-they seemed to have the same habits as we did. His house backed on
  to the riverside fields and he spent a lot of time just walking around with
  his dog.
  Many retired farmers'kept a bit of land and a few stock to occupy their
  minds and ease the transition from their arduous existence to day-long
  leisure, but Mr. Potts had bought a little bungalow with a scrap of garden
  and it was obvious that time dragged.
  Probably his health had dictated this. As be faced me he leaned on his
  stick and his bluish cheeks rose and fell with his breathing. He was a
  heart case if ever I saw one.
  "I'm fine, Mr. Potts," I replied. "And how are things with You?"
      ALL TIMGS WISE AND WONDERFUL379

  "Nobbut middlin', lad. Ali soon get short & wind." He coughed a couple
  of times then asked the inevitable question.
  "And what have you been doin' this morninT' That was when his eyes grew
  intent and wide. He really wanted to know.
  I thought for a moment. "Well now, let's see." I always tried to give him
  a detailed answer because I knew it meant a lot to him and brought back
  the life he missed so much. "I've done a couple of cleansings, seen a
  lame bullock, treated two cows with mastitis and another with milk
  fever."
 He nodded eagerly at every word.
  "By gawl" he exclaimed. "It's a beggar, that milk fever. When I were a
  lad, good cows used to die like flies with it. Allus good milkers after
  their third or fourth calf. Couldn't get to their feet and we used to
  dose 'em with all sorts, but they died, every one of 'em."
  "Yes," I said. "It must have been heartbreaking in those days."
  "But then." He smiled delightedly, digging a forefinger into my chest.
  "Men we started blowin' up their udders wi' a bicycle pump, and d'you
  know-they jumped up and walked away. Like magic it were." His eyes
  sparkled at the memory.
  "I know, Mr. Potts, I've blown up a few myself, only I didn't use a
  bicycle pump-I had a special little inflation apparatus."
  That black box with its shining cylinders and filter is now in my
  personal museum, and it is the best place for it. It had got me out of
  some difficult situations but in the background there had always been the
  gnawing dread of transmitting tuberculosis. I had heard of it happening
  and was glad that calcium borogluconate had arrived.
  As we spoke, Sam and Nip played on the grass beside us. I watched as the
  beagle frisked round the old animal while Nip pawed at him
  stiff-jointedly, his tail waving with pleasure. You could see that he
  enjoyed these meetings as much as his master and for a brief time the
  years fell away from him as he rolled on his back with Sam astride him,
  nibbling gently at his chest.
  I walked with the old farmer as far as the little wooden bridge, then I
  had to turn for home. I watched the two
 380ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 of them pottering slowly over the narrow strip of timber to the other side
 of the river. Sam and I had our work pressing, but they had nothing else to
 do.
  I used to see Mr. Potts at other times, too. Wandering aimlessly among the
  stalls on market days or standing on the fringe of the.group of farmers who
  always gathered in front of the Drovers' Arms to meet cattle dealers, cow
  feed merchants, or just to talk business among themselves.
  Or I saw him at the auction mart, leaning on his stick, listening to the
  rapid-fire chanting of the auctioneer, watching listlessly as the beasts
  were bought and sold. And all the time I knew there was an emptiness in
  him, because there were none of his cattle in the stalls, none of his sheep
  in the long rows of pens. He was out of it all, old and done.
  I saw him the day before he died. It was in the usual place and I was
  standing at the river's edge watching a heron rising from a rush-lined
  island and flapping lazily away over the fields.
  The old man stopped as he came abreast of me and the two dogs began their
  friendly wrestling.
  "Well now, Mr. Herriot." He paused and bowed his head over the stick which
  he had dug into the grass of his farm for half a century. "What have you
  been doin' todayT,
  Perhaps his cheeks were a deeper shade of blue and the breath whistled
  through his pursed lips as he exhaled, but I can't recall that he looked
  any worse than usual.
  "I'll tell you, Mr. Potts," I said. "I'm feeling a bit weary. I ran into a
  real snorter of a foaling this morning -took me over two hours and I ache
  all over."
 "Foaling, eh? Foal would be laid wrong, I reckon?"
 "Yes, cross-ways on, and I had a struggle to turn it."
  "By gaw, yes, it's hard work is that." He smiled reminiscently. "Doesta
  remember that Clydesdale mare you foaled at ma place? Must 'ave been one of
  your first jobs when you came to Darrowby."
  "Of course I do," I replied. And I remembered, too, how kind the old man
  had been. Seeing I was young and green and unsure of myself he had taken
  pains, in his quiet way, to put me at my ease and give me confidence.
  "Yes," I went on. "It was late on a Sunday night and we had a right tussle
  with it. There was just the two of us but we managed, didn't we?"
      ALL TmNos wisE AND woNDERFm381

  He squared his shoulders and for a moment his eyes looked past me at
  something I couldn't see. "Aye, that's right. We made a job of 'er, you
  and me. Ah could push and pull a bit then."
 "You certainly could. There's no doubt about that."
  He sucked the air in with difficulty and blew it out again with that
  peculiar pursing of the lips. Then he turned to me with a strange
  dignity.
 'They were good days, Mr. Herriot, weren't theyT'
 "They were, Mr. Potts, they were indeed."
  "Aye, aye." He nodded slowly. "Alive had a lot o' them days. Hard but
  good." He looked down at his dog. "And awd Nip shared 'em with me, didn't
  ye, lad?"
  His words took me back to the very first time I had seen Mr. Potts. He
  was perched on a stool, milking one of his few cows, his cloth-capped
  head thrusting into the hairy flank, and as he pulled at the teats old
  Nip dropped a stone on the toe of his boot. The farmer reached down,
  lifted the stone between two fingers and flicked it out through the open
  door into the yard. Nip scurried delightedly after it and was back within
  seconds, dropping the stone on the boot and panting hopefully.
  He wasn't disappointed. His master repeated the throw automatically as
  if it was something he did all the time, and as I watched it happening
  again and again I realised that this was a daily ritual between the two.
  I had a piercing impression of infinite patience and devotion.
  "Right, then, Mr. Herriot, we'll be off," Mr. Potts said, jerking me back
  to the present. "Come on, Nip." He waved his stick and I watched him till
  a low-hanging willow branch hid man and dog from my sight.
  That was the last time I saw him. Next day the man at the petrol pumps
  mumbled casually, "See old Mr. Potts got his time in, eh?"
  And that was it. There was no excitement, and only a handful of his old
  friends turned up at the funeral.
  For me it was a stab of sorrow. Another familiar face gone, and I should
  miss him as my busy life went on. I knew our daffy conversations had
  cheered him but I felt with a sad finality that there was nothing else
  I could do for Mr. Potts.
  It was about a fortnight later and as I opened the gate to let Sam into
  the riverside fields I glanced at my watch. Twelve thirty-plenty of time
  for our pro-lunch walk and
 382ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL
 the long stretch of green was empty. Then I noticed a single dog away on the
 left. It was Nip, and as I watched he got up, took a few indeterminate steps
 over the grass then turned and sat down again at the gate of his back
 garden.
  Instead of taking my usual route I cut along behind the houses till I
  reached the old dog. He had been looking around him aimlessly but when we
  came up to him he seemed to come to life, snifling Sam over and wagging his
  tail at me.
  On the other side of the gate Mrs. Potts was doing a bit of weeding,
  bending painfully as she plied her trowel.
 "How are you, Mrs. Potts?" I said.
  With an effort she straightened up. "Oh, not too bad, thank you, Mr.
  Herriot." She came over and leaned on the gate. "I see you're lookin' at
  the awd dog. My word, he's missin! his master."
  I didn't- say anything and she went on. "He's eating all right and .1 can
  give him plenty of good food, but what I can't do is take 'im. for walks."
  She rubbed her back. "I'm plagued with rheurnatics, Mr. Herriot, and it
  takes me all my time to get around the house and garden."
  "I can understand that," I said. "And I don't suppose he'll walk by
  himself."
  "Nay, he won't. There's the path he went along every day." She pointed to
  the winding strip of beaten earth among the grass. "But he won't go more'n
  a few yards."
  "Ah well, dogs like a bit of company just the same as we do." I bent and
  ran my hand over the old animal's head and ears. "How would you like to
  come with us, NiPT'
  I set off along the path and he followed unhesitatingly, trotting alongside
  Sam with swinging tail.
  "Eee, lookl" the old lady cried. "Isn't that grand to seel"
  I followed his usual route down to the river where the water ran dark and
  silent under the branches of the gnarled willows. Then we went over the
  bridge and in front of us the river widened into pebbly shallows and
  murmured and chattered among the stones.
  It was peaceful down there with only the endless water sound and the piping
  of birds in my ears and the long curtain of leaves parting here and there
  to give glimpses of the green flanks of the fells.
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL383

  1 watched the two dogs frisking ahead of me and the decision came to me
  quite naturally; I would do this regularly. From that day I altered my
  route and went along behind the houses first. Nip was happy again, Sam
  loved the whole idea, and for me there was a strange comfort in the
  knowledge that there was still something I could do for Mr. Potts.
            CHAPTER
            .43

 1 looked around me at the heap of boots, the piled mounds of shirts, the
 rows of empty shelves and pigeon holes. I was employed in the stores at
 Heaton Park, living proof that the RAF was finding me something of a
 problem.
  The big war machine was rumbling along pretty smoothly by this time,
  turning out pilots, navigators, airgunners in a steady stream and slotting
  them into different jobs if they failed to make the grade. It ticked over
  like a welfmoiled engine as long as nothing disturbed the rhythm.
  I was like a speck of sand in the works, and I could tell from various
  interviews that I had caused the administrators a certain amount of
  puzzlement. I don't suppose Mr. Churchill was losing any sleep over me but
  since I wasn't allowed to fly and was ineligible for the ground staff I was
  obviously a bit of a nuisance. Nobody seemed to have come across a grounded
  vet before.
  Of course it was inevitable that I would be sent back to my practice, but
  I could see that it was going to take some time for the RAF to regurgitate
  me into civil life. Apparently I had to go through the motions even though
  some of them were meaningless.
  One of the interviews was with three officers. They were very nice and they
  sat behind a table, beaming, friendly, reassuring. Their task, apparently,
  was to find out what ground staff job might suit me. I think they were
  probably psychologists and they asked me all kinds of questions, nodding
  and smiling kindly all the time.
  "Well now, Herriot," the middle officer said. "We are going to put you
  through a series of aptitude tests. It will last two days, starting
  tomorrow, and by the end of it I think we'll know all about you." He
  laughed. "It's nothing to worry about. You might rather enjoy it."
               384
      ALL THMGS WISE AND WONDERFUL395

  I did enjoy it, in fact. I filled up great long sheets with my answers,
  I drew diagrams, fitted odd-shaped pieces of wood into holes, It was fun.
  I had to wait another two days before I was called before the tribunal
  again. The three were if anything more charming than before and I seemed
  to sense an air of subdued excitement about them this time. They were all
  smiling broadly as the middle one spoke.
  "Herriot, we have really found out something about you," he said.
 "You have?"
  "Yes, indeed. We have found that you have an outstanding mechanical
  aptitude."
  I stared at him. This was a facer, because if ever there was a mechanical
  idiot that man is J. Herriot. I have a loathing for engines, wheels,
  pistons, cylinders, cogs. I can't mend anything and if a garage mechanic
  tries to explain something to me I just can't take it in.
  I told the officers this and the three smiles became rather fixed.
  "But surely," said the one on the left, "you drive a car in the course
  of your professional work?"
  "Yes, Sir, I do. I've driven one for years, but I still don't know how
  it works and if I break down I have to scream for help."
  "I see, I see." The smiles were very thin now and the three heads came
  together for a whispered consultation.
 Finally the middle one leaned across the table.
  "Tell you what, Herriot. How would you like to be a meteorologist?"
 "Fine," I replied.
  I sympathised with them, because they were obviously kind men, but I've
  never had any faith in aptitude tests since then.

 Of course there was never the slightest chance of my becoming a
 meteorologist and I suppose that's how I landed in the stores. It was one
 of the bizarre periods of my life, mercifully brief but vivid. They had
 told me to report to corporal Weekes at the stores hut and I made my way
 through the maze of roads of a Heaton Park populated by strangers.
  Corporal Weekes was fat and he gave me a quick look over with crafty
  eyes.
 386ALL THINGS -WISE AND WONDERFUL

  "Herriot, eh? Well youcan make yourself useful around ,ere. Not much to
  do, really. This ain't a main stores-we deal mainly wiv laundry and boot
  repairs."
 As he spoke a fair-haired young man came in.
  "AC2 Morgan, corporal," he said. "Come for my boots. They've been
  re-soled."
  Weekes jerked his head and I had my first sight of the boot mountain.
  "They're in there. They'll be labelled."
  The young man looked surprised but he came round behind the counter and
  began to delve among the hundreds of identical black objects. It took him
  nearly an hour to find his own pair during which the corporal puffed at
  cigarettes with a total lack of interest. When the boots were finally
  unearthed he wordlessly ticked off the name on a long list.
  "This is the sort of thing you'll be doin'," he said to me. "Nothin' to
  it."
  He wasn't exaggerating. There was nothing to life in those stores. It
  took me only a day or two to realise the sweet existence Weekes had
  carved out for himself. Storebashing is an honourable trade but not the
  way he did it. The innumerable compartments, niches and alcoves around
  the big hut were all marked with letters or numbers and there is no doubt
  the incoming boots and shirts should have been tucked away in order for
  easy recovery. But that would have involved work and the corporal was
  clearly averse to that.
  When the boots came in they were tipped out in the middle of the floor
  and the string-tied packages of laundry were stacked, shirts-uppermost
  where they formed a blue tumulus reaching almost to the roof.
 After three days I could stand it no longer.
  "Look," I said. "It would pass the time if I had something to do. Do you
  mind if I start putting all this stuff on the shelves? It would be a lot
  easier to band out."
  Weekes continued to study his magazine-he was a big reader-and at first
  I thought he hadn't heard me. Then he tongued his cigarette to the corner
  of his mouth and glanced at me through the smoke.
  "Now just get this through your 'ead, mate," he drawled. "If I want any
  - thing doin' I'll - well tell you. I'm the boss in 'ere and I give the
  - orders, awright?" He resumed his perusal of the magazine.
      ALL TIENGS WISE AND WONDERFUL387

  1 subsided in my chair. Clearly I had offended my overseer and I would have
  to leave things as they were.
  But overseer is a misnomer for Weekes because on the following day, after
  a final brain-washing that the procedure must remain unchanged, he
  disappeared and except for a few minutes each morning he left me on my own.
  I had nothing to do but sit there behind the wooden counter, ticking off
  the comings and goings Of the boots and shirts and I had the feeling that
  I was only one of many displaced persons who had fallen under his thrall.
  I found it acutely embarrassing to watch the lads scrabbling for their
  belongings and the strongest impression left with me was of the infinite
  tolerance of the British race. Since I was in charge they thought I was
  responsible for the whole system but despite the fact that I was of lowly
  rank nobody attacked me physically. Most of them muttered and grumbled as
  they searched and one large chap came over to the counter and said, "You
  should be filing away these boots in their proper order instead of sitting
  there on your arse, you lazy sodl" But he didn't punch me on the nose and
  I marvelled at it.
  But still, the knowledge that great numbers of decent young men shared his
  opinion was uncomfortable and I found I was developing a permanently
  ingratiating smile.
  The only time I came very near to being lynched was when a mob suddenly
  appeared one afternoon. An unexpected leave pass had been granted and there
  were hundreds Of men milin around on the tarmac and grass outside the
  stores. They wanted their laundry-and quick, because they had trains to
  catch.
  For a moment panic seized me. I couldn't let them all inside to fight for
  their shirts. Then inspiration came. I grabbed an armful of the flat
  packets from the table and shouted the name on the label.
  "Walters!" And from somewhere among the surging heads an eager voice
  replied, "Here!"
 I located the source, held the packet between thumb
 and finger and with a back-handed flick sent it ski9
 over the crowd.
  "Reillyll,
  "Here!"
  "McDonaldl"
  "Herell,
 388ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "Gibsonl"
 "Herel"
  I was getting quite skilful at it, propelling the blue oblongs unerringly
  towards their owners, but it was a slow method of distribution. Also,
  there were occasional disasters when the strings broke in mid-air,
  sending a shower of collars on the upturned faces. Sometimes the shirts
  themselves burst free from their wrappings and plunged to earth.
  It wasn't long before, the voices had turned from eager to angry. As my
  projectiles planed and glided, volleys-of abuse came back at me.
 "You've made me miss my train, you useless buggerl"
 "Bloody skiver, you want locking upl"
  Much of it was in stronger language which I would rather not record here,
  but I have a particularly vivid memory of one young man scraping up his
  laundry from the dusty ground and approaching me with rapid strides. He
  pushed his face to within inches of mine. Despite the rage which
  disfigured it I could see it was a gentle, goodnatured face. He looked
  a well-bred lad, the type who didn't even swear, but as he stared into
  my eyes his lips trembled and his cheeks twitched.
  "T'his is a . . ." he stammered. "This is a . . . a BASTARD systemi"
 He spat the words out and strode away.
  I agreed entirely with him, of course, but continued to hurl the packets
  doggedly while somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice kept
  enquiring how James Herriot, Member of the Royal College of Veterinary
  Surgeons and trainee pilot, had ever got into this.
  After half an hour there was no appreciable diminution in the size of the
  multitude and I began to be aware of an increasing restlessness among the
  medley of waiting faces.
  Suddenly there was a concerted movement and the packed mass of men surged
  at me in a great wave. I shrank back, clutching an armful of shirts,
  quite certain that this was when they rushed me and beat me up, but my
  fears were groundless. All they wanted was a speedier delivery and about
  a dozen of them swept past me behind the counter and began to follow my
  example.
  Whereas there had been only a single missile winging over the heads the
  sky was now dark with the flying ob-
        ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL389

 jects. Mid-air collisions were frequent. Collars sprayed, handkerchiefs
 fluttered, underpants parachuted gracefully, but after an unbearably long
 period of chaos the last airman -had picked up his scattered laundry,
 given me a disgusted glance and departed.
  I was left alone in the hut with the sad knowledge that my prestige was
  very low and the equally sad conviction that the RAF still did not know
  what to do with me.
           CHAPTER
             44

 Occasionally my period in limbo was relieved when I was allowed out of
 camp into the city of Manchester. And I suppose it was the fact that I was
 a new-fangled parent that made me look at the various prams in the
 streets. Mostly the prams were pushed by women but now and then I saw a
 man doing the job.
  I suppose it isn't unusual to see a man pushing a prain in a town, but
  on a lonely moorland road the sight merits a second glance. Especially
  when the pram contains a large dog.
  That was what I saw in the hills above Darrowby one morning and I slowed
  down as I drove past. I had noticed the strange combination before-on
  several occasions over the last few weeks-and it was clear that man and
  dog had recently moved into the district.
  As the car drew abreast of him the man turned, smiled and raised his
  hand. It was a smile of rare sweetness in a very brown face. A forty year
  old face, I thought, above a brown neck which bore neither collar nor
  tie, and a faded striped shirt lying open over a bare chest despite the
  coldness of the day.
  I couldn't help wondering who or what he was. The outfit of scuffed suede
  golf jacket, corduroy trousers and sturdy boots didn't give much clue.
  Some people might have put him down as an ordinary tramp, but there was
  a businesslike energetic look about him which didn't fit the term.
  I wound the window down and the thin wind of a Yorkshire March bit at my
  cheeks.
 "Nippy this morning," I said.
  The man seemed surprised. "Aye," he replied after a moment. "Aye, reckon
  it is."
 1 looked at the pram, ancient and rusty, and at the big
               390
       ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL391

 animal sitting upright inside it. He was a lurcher, a crossbred greyhound,
 and he gazed back at me with unruffled dignity.
 "Nice dog," I said.
  "Aye, that's Jake." The man smiled again, showing good regular teeth.
  "He's a grand 'un."
  I waved and drove on. In the mirror I could see the compact figure
  stepping out briskly, head up, shoulders squared, and, rising like a
  statue from the middle of the pram, the huge brindled form of Jake.

 I didn't have to wait long to meet the unlikely pair again. I was
 examining a carthorse's teeth in a farmyard when on the hillside beyond
 the stable I saw a figure kneeling by a dry stone wall. And by his side,
 a pram. and a big dog sitting patiently on the grass.
  "Hey, just a minute." I pointed at the hill. "Who is that?"
  The farmer laughed. "That's Roddy Travers. D'you ken lim?"
  "No, no -1 don't. I had a word with him on the road the other day, that's
  all."
  "Aye, on the road." He nodded knowingly. "That's where you'd see Roddy,
  right enough."
 "But what is he? Where does he come from?"
  "He comes from somewhere in Yorkshire, but A don't rightly know where and
  ah don't think anybody else does. But I'll tell you this-he can turn 'is
  band to anything."
  "Yes," I said, watching the man expertly laying the flat slabs of stone
  as he repaired a gap in the wall. "There's not many can do what he's
  doing now."
  "That's true. Wallin' is a skilled job and it's dying out, but Roddy's
  a dab hand at it. But he can do owt-hedgin, ditchin', lookin' after
  stock, it's all the same to him."
  I lifted the tooth rasp and began to rub a few sharp comers off the
  horse's molars. "And how long will he stay here?"
  "Oh, when he's finished that wall he'll be off. Ah could do with 'im
  stoppin' around for a bit but he never stays in one place for long."
 "But hasn't he got a home anywhere?"
  "Nay, nay." The farmer laughed again. "Roddy's got nowt. All 'e has in
  the world is in that there pram."
 Over the next weeks as the harsh spring began to soften
 392ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 and the sunshine brought a bright speckle of primroses on to the grassy
 banks I saw Roddy quite often, sometimes on the road, occasionally wielding
 a spade busily on the ditches around the fields. Jake was always there,
 either loping by his side or watching him at work. But we didn't actually
 meet again tiff I was inoculating Mr. Pawson's sheep for pulpy kidney.
  There were three hundred to do and they drove them in batches into a small
  pen where Roddy caught and held them for me. And I could see he was an
  expert at this, too. The wild hill sheep whipped past him like buffets but
  he seized their fleece effortlessly, sometimes in mid-air, and held the
  fore leg up to expose that bare clean area of skin behind the elbow that
  nature seemed to provide for the veterinary surgeon's needle.
  Outside, on the windy slopes the big lurcher sat upright in typical pose,
  looking with mild interest at the farm dogs prowling intently around the
  pens, but not interfering in any way.
 "You've got him well trained," I said.
  Roddy smiled. "Yes, ye'll never find Jake dashin' about, annoyin' people.
  He knows 'e has to sit there till I'm finished and there he'll sit."
  "And quite happy to do so, by the look of him." I glanced again at the dog,
  a picture of contentment. "He must live a wonderful life, travelling
  everywhere with YOU.
  "You're right there," Mr. Pawson broke in as he ushered another bunch of
  sheep into the pen. "He hasn't a care in t'world, just like his master."
  Roddy didn't say anything, but as the sheep ran in he straightened up and
  took a long steady breath. He had been working hard and a little trickle of
  sweat ran down the side of his forehead but as he gazed over the wide sweep
  of moor and fell I could read utter serenity in his face. After a few
  moments he spoke.
  "I reckon that's true. We haven't much to worry us, Jake and me."
  Mr. Pawson grinned mischievously. "By gaw, Roddy, you never spoke a truer
  word. No wife, no kids, no life insurance, no overdraft at t'bank-you must
  have a right peaceful existence."
  "Ah suppose so," Roddy said. "But then ah've no money either."
      ALL THWOS WISE AND WONDERFUL393

  The farmer gave him a quizzical look. "Aye, how about that, then? Wouldn't
  you feel a bit more secure, like, if you had a bit o' brass put by?"
  "Nay, nay. Ye can't take it with you and any road, as long as a man can pay
  'is way, he's got enough."
  There was nothing original about the words, but they have stayed with me
  all my life because they came from his lips and were spoken with such
  profound assurance.
  When I had finished the inoculations and the ewes were turned out to trot
  back happily over the open fields I turned to Roddy. "Well, thanks very
  much. It makes my job a lot quicker when I have a good catcher like you."
  I pulled out a packet of Gold Flake. "Will you have a cigarette?"
 "No, thank ye, Mr. Herriot. I don't smoke."
 "You don't?"
  "No-don't drink either." He gave me his gentle smile and again I had the
  impression of physical and mental purity. No drinking, no smoking, a life
  of constant movement in the open air without material possessions or am-
  bitions-it all showed in the unclouded eyes, the fresh skin and the bard
  muscular frame. He wasn't very big but he looked indestructible.
  "C'mon, Jake, it's dinner time," he said and the big lurcher bounded around
  him in delight. I went over and spoke to the dog and he responded with
  tremendous bodyswaying wags, his handsome face looking up at me, full of
  friendliness.
  I stroked the long pointed head and tickled the cars. "He's a beauty,
  Roddy-a grand 'un, as you said."
  I walked to the house to wash my hands and before I went inside I glanced
  back at the two of them. They were sitting in the shelter of a wall and
  Roddy was laying out a thermos flask and a parcel of food while Jake
  watched eagerly. The hard bright sunshine beat on them as the wind whistled
  over the top of the wall. They looked supremely comfortable and at peace.
  "He's independent, you see," the farmer's wife said as I stood at the
  kitchen sink. "Hes welcome to come in for a,bit o' dinner but he'd rather
  stay outside with his dog."
  I nodded. "Where does he sleep when he's going round the farms like this."
  "Oh, anywhere," she replied. "In hay barns or granaries or sometimes out in
  the open, but when he's with us he
 394ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 sleeps upstairs in one of our rooms. Ah know for a fact any of the farmers
 would be willin' to have him in the house because he allus keeps himself
 spotless clean."
  "I see." I pulled the towel from behind the door. "He's quite a
  character, isn't be?"
  She smiled ruminatively. "Aye, he certainly is. Just him and his dogl"
  She lifted a fragrant dishful of hot roast ham from the oven and set it
  on the table. "But I'll tell you this. The feller's all right. Everybody
  likes Roddy Travers-he's a very nice man."

 Roddy stayed around the Darrowby district throughout the summer and I grew
 used to the sight of him on the farms or pushing his pram. along the
 roads. When it was raining he wore a tattered over-long gaberdine coat,
 but at other times it was always the golf jacket and corduroys. I don't
 know where he bad accumulated his wardrobe. It was a safe bet he had never
 bee n on a golf course in his life and it was just another of the little
 mysteries about him.
  I saw him early one morning on a hill path in early October. It had been
  a night of iron frost and the tussocky pastures beyond the walls were
  held in a pitiless white grip with every blade of grass stiffly
  ensheathed in rime.
  I was muffled to the eyes and had been beating my gloved fingers against
  my knees to thaw them out, but when I pulled up and wound down the window
  the first thing I saw was the bare chest under the collarless unbuttoned
  shirt.
  "Mornin', Mr. Herriot," he said. "Ah'rn glad I've seen ye." He paused and
  gave me his tranquil smile. "There's a job along Vroad for a couple of
  weeks, then I'm movin' on."
  "I see.".1 knew enough about him now not to ask where he was going.
  Instead I looked down at Jake who was sniffing the herbage. "I see he's
  walking this morning."
  Roddy'laughed. "Yes, sometimes 'e likes to walk, sometimes 'e likes to
  ride. He pleases 'imself."
  "Right, Roddy," I said. "No doubt we'll meet again. All the best to you."
  He waved and set off jauntily over the icebound road and I felt that a
  little vein of richness had gone from my fife.
 But I was wrong. That same evening about eight o'clock
      ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL395

 the front door bell rang. I answered it and found Roddy on the front door
 steps. Behind him, just visible in the frosty darkness, stood the
 ubiquitous pram.
 "I want you to look at me dog, Mr. Herriot," he said.
 "Why, what's the trouble?"
  "Ah don't rightly know. He's havin' sort of ... faintin' fits."
  "Fainting fits? That doesn't sound like Jake. Where is he, anyway?"
 He pointed behind him. "In t'pram, under t'cover."
 "All right." I threw the door wide. "Bring him in."
  Roddy adroitly manhandled the rusty old vehicle up the steps and pushed
  it, squeaking and rattling, along the passage to the consulting room.
  There, under the bright lights he snapped back the fasteners and threw
  off the cover to reveal Jake stretched beneath.
  His head was pillowed on the familiar gaberdine coat and around him lay
  his master's worldly goods; a stringtied bundle of spare shirt and socks,
  a packet of tea, a thermos, knife and spoon and an ex-army haversack,
  The big dog looked up at me with terrified eyes and as I patted him I
  could feel his whole frame quivering.
  "Let him lie there a minute,, Roddy," I said. "And tell me exactly what
  you've seen."
  He rubbed his palms together and his fingers trembled. "Well it only
  started this afternoon. He was right as rain, larkin' about on the grass,
  then he went into a sort o' fit."
 "How do you mean?"
  "Just kind of seized up and toppled over on 'is side. He lay there for
  a bit, gaspin' and slaverin'. Ah'll tell ye, I thought he was a goner."
  His eyes widened and a comer of his mouth twitched at the memory.
 "How long did that last?"
  "Nobbut a few seconds. 'Men he got up and you'd say there was nowt wrong
  with 'im."
 "But he did it again?"
  "Aye, time and time again. Drove me near daft. But in between 'e was
  normal. Normal, Mr. Herriot!"
  It sounded ominously like the onset of epilepsy. "How old is he?" I
  asked.
 "Five gone last February."
  Ah well, it was a bit old for that. I reached for a stethoscope and
  auscultated the heart. I listened intently but heard only the racing beat
  of a frightened animal.
 396ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 There was no abnormality. My thermometer showed no rise in temperature.
  "Let's have him on the table, Roddy. You take the back end."
  The big animal was limp in our arms as we hoisted him on to the smooth
  surface, but after lying there for a moment he looked timidly around him
  then sat up with a slow and careful movement. As we watched he reached
  out and licked his master's face while his tail flickered between his
  legs.
  "Look at that!" the man exclaimed. "He's all right again. You'd think he
  didn't ail a thing."
  And indeed Jake was recovering his confidence rapidly. He peered
  tentatively at the floor a few times then suddenly jumped down, trotted
  to his master and put his paws against his chest.
  I looked at the dog standing there, tail wagging furiously. "Well, that's
  a relief, anyway. I didn't like the look of him just then, but whatever's
  been troubling him seems to have righted itself. I'll . . ."
  My happy flow was cut off. I stared at the lurcher. His fore legs were
  on the floor again and his mouth was gaping as he fought for breath.
  Frantically he gasped and retched then he blundered across the floor,
  collided with the pram wheels and fell on his side.
  "What the hell . . . ! Quick, get him up again!" I grabbed the animal
  round the middle and we lifted him back on to the table.
  I watched in disbelief as the huge form lay there. There was no light for
  breath now-he wasn't breathing at all, he was unconscious. I pushed my
  fingers inside his thigh and felt the pulse. It was still going, rapid
  and feeble, but yet he didn't breathe.
  He could die any moment and I stood there helpless, all my scientific
  training useless. Finally my frustration burst from me and I struck the
  dog on the ribs with the flat of my hand.
 "Jake!" I yelled. "Jake, what's the matter with you?"
  As though in reply, the lurcher immediately started to take great
  wheezing breaths, his eyelids twitched back to consciousness and he began
  to look about him. But he was still mortally afraid and he lay prone as
  I gently stroked his head.
      ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL397

  There was a long silence while the animal's terror slowly subsided, then
  he sat up on the table and regarded us placidly.
  "There you are," Roddy said softly. "Same thing again. Ah can't reckon
  it up and ah thought ah knew summat about dogs."
  I didn't say anything. I couldn't reckon it up either, and I was supposed
  to be a veterinary surgeon.
  I spoke at last. "Roddy, that'wasn't a fit. He was choking. Something was
  interfering with his air flow." I took my hand torch from my breast
  pocket. "I'm going to have a took at his throat."
  I pushed Jakes jaws apart, depressed his tongue with a forefinger and
  shone the light into the depths. He was the kind of good-natured dog who,
  offered no resistance as I prodded around, but despite my floodlit view
  of the pharynx I could find nothing wrong. I had been hoping desperately
  to come across a bit of bone stuck there somewhere but I ranged
  feverishly over pink tongue, healthy tonsils and gleaming molars without
  success. Everything looked perfect.
  I was tilting his head a little further when I felt him stiffen and heard
  Roddy's cry.
 "He's goin'agaihl"
  And he was, too. I stared in horror as the brindled body slid away from
  me and lay prostrate once more on the table. And again the mouth strained
  wide and froth bubbled round the lips. As before, the breathing had
  stopped and the rib cage was motionless. As the seconds ticked away I
  beat on the chest with my hand but it didn't work this time. I pulled the
  lower eyelid down from the staring orb-the conjunctiva was blue, Jake
  hadn't long to live. The tragedy of the thing bore down on me. This
  wasn't just a dog, he was this man's family and I was watching him die.
  It was at that moment that I heard the faint sound. It was a strangled
  cough which barely stirred the dog's lips.
  "Damn itl" I shouted. "He IS choking. There must be something down
  there."
  Again I seized the head and pushed my torch into the mouth and I shall
  always be thankful that at that very instant the dog coughed again,
  opening the cartilages of the larynx and giving me a glimpse of the cause
  of all the
 398ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 trouble. There, beyond the drooping epiglottis I saw for a fleeting moment
 a smooth round object no bigger than a pea.
  "I think it's a pebble," I gasped. "Right inside his larynx.,,
 "You mean, in 'is Adam's apple?"
  "That's right, and it's acting like a ball valve, blocking his windpipe
  every now and then." I shook the _dog's head. "You see, look, I've
  dislodged it for the moment. He's coming round again."
 Once more Jake was reviving and breathing steadily.
  Roddy ran his hand over the head, along the back and down the great
  muscles of the hind limbs. "But ... but.
 it'll happen again, won't it?"
 I nodded. "I'm afraid so."
  "And one of these times it isn't goin' to shift and that'll be the end
  of 'im?" He had gone very pale.
  "That's about it, Roddy, I'll have to get that pebble out."
 ~'But how. .. T'
 "Cut into the larynx. And right now-it's the only way."
  "All right." He swallowed. "Let's get on. I don't think ah could stand
  it if he went down again."
  I knew what he meant. My knees had begun to shake, and I had a strong
  conviction that ff Jake collapsed once more then so would 1.
  I seized a pair of scissors and clipped away the hair from the ventral
  surface of the larynx. I dared not use a general anaesthetic and
  infiltrated the area with local before swabbing with antiseptic.
  Mercifully there was a freshly boiled set of instruments lying in the
  steriliser and I lifted out the tray and set it on the trolley by the
  side of the table.
  "Hold his head steady," I Said hoarsely, and gripped a scalpel.
  I cut down through skin, fascia and the thin layers of the sterno-hyoid
  and omo-hyoid muscles till the ventral surface of the larynx was
  revealed. This was something I had never done to a live dog before, but
  desperation abolished any hesitancy and it took me only another few
  seconds to incise the thin membrane and peer into the interior.
  And there it was. A pebble right enough-grey and glistening and tiny, but
  big enough to kill.
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL399

  1 had to fish it out quickly and cleanly without pushing it into the
  trachea. I leaned back and rummaged in the tray till I found some
  broad-bladed forceps then I poised them over the wound. Great surgeons'
  hands, I felt sure, didn't shake like this, nor did such men pant as I
  was doing. But I clenched my teeth, introduced the forceps and my hand
  magically steadied as I clamped ther% over the pebble.
  I stopped panting, too. In fact I didn't breathe at all as I bore the
  shining little object slowly and tenderly through the opening and dropped
  it with a gentle rat-tat on the table.
 "Is that it?" asked Roddy, almost in a whisper.
  "That's it." I reached for needle and suture silk. "All is well now."
  The stitching took only a few minutes and by the end of it Jake was
  bright-eyed and alert, paws shifting impatiently, ready for anything. He
  seemed to know his troubles were over.

 Roddy brought him back in ten days to have the stitches removed. It was,
 in fact, the very morning he was leaving the Darrowby district, and after
 I had picked the few loops of silk from the nicely healed wound I walked
 with him to the front door while Jake capered round our feet.
  On the pavement outside Skeldale House the ancient pram stood in all its
  high, rusted dignity. Roddy pulled back the cover.
  "Up, boy," he murmured, and the big dog leaped effortlessly into his
  accustomed place.
  Roddy took hold of the handle with both hands and as the autumn sunshine
  broke suddenly through the clouds it lit up a picture which had grown
  familiar and part of the daily scene. The golf jacket, the open shirt and
  brown chest, the handsome animal sitting up, looking around him with
  natural grace.
  "Well, so long, Roddy," I said. "I suppose you'll be round these parts
  again."
  He turned and I saw that smile again. "Aye, reckon ah'll be back."
  He gave a push and they were off, the strange vehicle creaking, Jake
  swaying gently as they went down the street. The memory came back to me
  of what I had seen under the cover that night in the surgery. The
  haversack,
 400ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 which would contain his razor, towel, soap and a few other things. The
 packet of tea and the thermos. And something els a creased old photograph of
 a young woman which slipped from an envelope in the scuflle. It added a
 little more mystery to the man ... and explained other things, too.
  That farmer was right. All Roddy possessed was in that pram. And it seemed
  it was all he desired, too, because as he turned the comer and disappeared
  from my view I could hear him whistling.
           CHAPTER
             45

 I have never been much good at small talk but as I sat in the stores day
 after day without seeing a friendly face I , realised how much I used to
 enjoy chatting with the farmers during my veterinary calls.
  It is one of the nicest things about country practice, but you have to
  keep your mind on the job at the same time or you could be in trouble.
  And at Mr. Duggleby's I nearly landed in the biggest trouble of all. He
  was a smallholder who kept a few sows and reared the litters to pork
  weight in some ramshackle sheds behind the railway line outside Darrowby.
  He was also a cricket fanatic, steeped in the lore and history of the
  game, and he would talk about it for hours on end. He never tired of it.
  I was a willing listener because cricket has always fascinated me, even
  though I grew up in Scotland where it is little played. As I moved among
  the young pigs only part of my attention was focused on the little
  animalsmost of me was out on the great green oval at Headingly with the
  Yorkshire heroes,
  "By gaw, you should've seen Len Hutton on Saturday," he breathed
  reverently. "A hundred and eighty and never gave a chance. It was lovely
  to watch 'im." He gave a fair imitation of the great man's cover drive.
  "Yes, I can imagine it." I nodded and smiled. "You said these pigs were
  lame, Mr. Duggleby?"
  "Aye, noticed a few of 'em hoppin' about with a leg up this mornin. And
  you know, Maurice Leyland was nearly as good. Not as classy as Len, tha
  knows, but by heck 'e can clump 'em."
  "Yes, he's a lion-hearted little player is Maurice," I said. I reached
  down, grabbed a pig by the tail and thrust 401
 402ALL TFUNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 my thermometer into its rectum. "Remember him and Eddie Paynter in the
 test match against Australia?"
  He gave a dreamy smile. "Remember it? By gaw, that's summat I'll never
  forget. What a day that was I"
  I withdrew the thermometer. "This little chap's got a temperature of a
  hundred and five. Must be some infection somewhere-maybe a touch of joint
  ill." I felt my way along the small pink limbs. "And yet it's funny, the
  joints aren't swollen."
  "Ah reckon Bill Bowes'll skittle Somerset out when they start their
  innings today. This wicket's just to 'is liking."
  "Yes, he's a great bowler, isn't he?" I said. "I love watching a good
  fast bowler. I suppose youT have seen them all-LarwoGd, Voce, G. 0. Allen
  and the rest?"
  "Aye, that I have. I could go on all day about those men."
  I caught another of the lame pigs and examined it. "This is rather
  strange, Mr. Duggleby. About half the pigs in this pen seem to be lame
  but there's nothing to see."
  "Aye well, happen it's like you said-joint ill. You can give 'em a jab
  for that, can't you? And while you're doin' it I'll tell you of the time
  I saw Wilfred Rhodes take eight wickets in an afternoon."
  I filled a syringe. "Right, we'd better give them all a ,shot. Have you
  got a marking pencil thereT'
  The farmer nodded and lifted one of the little animals which promptly
  unleashed a protesting scream. "Tbere was never anybody like awd
  Wilfred," he shouted above the noise. "It was about half past two and the
  wicket had had a shower of rain on it when Vskipper threw 'im the ball."
  I sniffed and raised my syringe. It passed the time so pleasantly
  listening to these remini cences. Well content, I was about to plunge the
  needle into the pink thigh when one of the pigs began to nibble at the
  heel of my wellington. I looked down at a ring of the little creatures
  all looking up at me, alarmed by the shrill screeches of their friend.
  MY mind was stiff with Wilfred Rhodes when I noticed what looked Eke a
  small white knob on one of the uptilted snouts. And there was another on
  that one-and that one ... I had been unable to see their faces until now
  because they had been trying to run away from me, but a warning bell
  clanged suddenly in my head.
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL403

  1 reached down and seized a pig, and as I squeezed the swelling on the
  snout a cold wind blew through me, scattering the gentle vision of cricket
  and sunshine and green grass. It wasn't a knob, it was a vesicle, a
  delicate blister which ruptured easily on pressure.
  I could feel my arms shaking as I turned the piglet up and began to examine
  the tiny cloven feet. There were more vesicles there, flatter and more
  diffuse, but telling the same dread story.
  Dry mouthed, I lifted two other pigs. They were just the same. As I turned
  to the farmer I felt bowed down by a crushing weight of pity, almost of
  guilt. He was still smiling eagerly, anxious to get on with his tale, and
  I was about to give him the worst news a veterinary surgeon can give a
  stockman.
  "Mr. Duggleby," I said. "I'm afraid I'll have to telephone the Ministry of
  Agriculture."
 "The Ministry ... ? What for?"
  "To tell them I have a case of suspected Foot and Mouth Disease."
 "Foot and Mouth? Neverl"
 "Yes, I'm terribly sorry."
 "Are you sure?"
  "It's not up to me to be definite about it, Mr. Duggleby. One of the
  Ministry officers will have to do that-I must ,phone them right away."
  It was an unlikely place to find a telephone but Mr. Duggleby ran a little
  coal delivery round on the side. I was quickly through to the Ministry and
  I spoke to Neville Craggs, one of the full time officers.
  He groaned. "Sounds awful like it, Jim. Anyway, stay put till I see you."
  In the farm kitchen Mr. Duggleby looked at me enquiringly. "What now?"
  "You'll just have to put up with me for a bit," I said. "I can't leave till
  I get the verdict."
  He was silent for a moment. "What happens if it's what you think?" .
 "I'm afraid your pigs will have to be slaughtered."
 "Every one of 'em?"
  "That is the law-I'm sorry. But you'll get compensation."
  He scratched his head. "But they can get better. Why do you have to kill
  'em all?"
 404ALL THINGS WISH AND WONDERFUL

  "You're quite right." I shrugged. "Many animals do recover, but Foot and
  Mouth is fiercely infectious. While you were treating them it would have
  spread to neighbouring farms, then all over the country."
  "Aye, but look at the expense. Slaughtering must cost thousands o' pounds."
  "I agree, but it would cost a lot more the other way. Apart from the
  animals that die, just think of the loss of milk, loss of flesh in cows,
  pigs and sheep. It would come to millions every year. It's lucky Britain is
  an island."
  "Reckon you'll be right." He felt for his pipe. "And you're pretty sure
  I've got it?"
 "Yes.,,
 "Aye well," he murmured. "These things 'appen."
  The old Yorkshire words. I had heard them so often ~mder circumstances that
  would make most city folk, including myself, beat their heads against a
  wall. Mr. Duggleby's smallholding would soon be a silent place of death,
  but he just chewed his pipe and said, "These things'appen."
  It didn't take the Ministry long to make up their minds. The source of the
  infection was almost certainly some imported meat that Mr. Duggleby hadn't
  boiled properly with his swill. The disease was confirmed and a fifteen
  mile radius standstill order was imposed. I disinfected myself and my car
  and went home. I undressed, my clothes were taken away for fumigation and
  I climbed into a hot antiseptic bath.
  Lying there in the steam, I pondered on what might have been. If I had
  failed to spot the disease I would have gone merrily on my way, spreading
  destruction and havoc. I always washed my boots before leaving a farm, but
  how about those little pigs nibbling round the hem of my long coat, how
  about my syringe, even my thermometer? My next call was to have been to
  Terence Bailey's pedigree herd of dairy shorthorns-two hundred peerless
  cows, a strain built up over generations. Foreigners came from all over the
  world to buy them and I could have been the cause of their annihilation.
  And then there was Mr. Duggleby himself. I could picture him rattling
  around the farms in his coal wagon. He would have done his bit of
  spreading, too. And like as not he would have taken a few store pigs to the
  auction mart this week, sending the deadly contagion all over
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL405

 Yorkshire and beyond. It was easy to see how a major outbreak could have
 started-a disaster of national importance costing millions.
  If I hadn't been sweating already I would have started now at the very
  thought of it. I would have joined the unhappy band of practitioners who
  had missed Foot and Mouth.
  I knew of some of these people and my heart bled for them. It could
  happen so easily. Busy men trying to examine kicking, struggling animals
  in dark buildings with perhaps part of their mind on the list of calls
  ahead. And the other hazards-the total unexpectedness, the atypical case,
  various distractions. My distraction had been cricket and it had nearly
  caused my downfall. But I had escaped and, huddling lower in the hot
  water, I said a silent prayer of thanks.
  Later, with a complete change of clothes and instruments, I continued on
  my rounds and as I stood in Terence Bailey's long byre I realised my luck
  again. The long rows of beautiful animals meticulously groomed, firm high
  udders pushing between their hocks, delicate heads, fine legs deep in
  straw; they were a picture of bovine perfection and quite irreplaceable.

 Once Foot and Mouth is confirmed in a district there is a tense period of
 waiting. Farmers, veterinary surgeons and most of all, Ministry officials
 are on the rack, wondering if there has been any dissemination before
 diagnosis, -bracing themselves against the telephone message that could
 herald the raging spread they dreaded and which would tear their lives
 apart.
  To the city dwellers a big Foot and Mouth outbreak is something remote
  they read about in the newspapers. To the country folk it means the
  transformation of the quiet farms and fields into charnel houses and
  funeral pyres. It means heartbreak and ruin.
  We waited in Darrowby. And as the days passed and no frightening news of
  lame or salivating animals came over the wires it seemed that the
  Duggleby episode was what we hoped-an isolated case caused by a few
  shreds of imported meat.
  I almost bathed in disinfectant on every farm, sloshing a-Istrong
  solution of Lysol over my boots and protective clothing so that my car
  reeked of the stuff and I caused
 4o6ALL THTKGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 wrinkled noses when I entered a shop, the post office, the bank.
  After nearly two weeks I had begun to feel reasonably safe but when I had
  a call from the famous Bailey farm I felt a twinge of apprehension.
  It was Terence Bailey himself. "Will-you come and see one of my cows, Mr.
  Herriot. She's got blisters on one of her teats."
  "Blistersl" My heart went bump. "Is she slavering, is she lame?"
  "Nay, nay, she just has these nasty blisters. Seem to have fluid in them."
  I was breathless as I put down the receiver. One nasty blister would be
  enough. It sometimes started like that in cows. I almost ran out to my car
  and on the journey my mind beat about like a trapped bird.
  Bailey's was the farm I had visited straight from Duggleby's. Could I
  possibly have carried it there? But the chpnge of clothes, the bath, the
  fresh thermometer and instruments. What more could I do? How about my car
  wheels? Well, I had disinfected them, too-I couldn't possibly be blamed,
  but ... but ....
 It was Mr. Bailey's wife who met me.
  "I noticed this cow when I was milking this morning, Mr. Herriot." The herd
  was still hand-milked and in the hard-working family tradition Mrs. Bailey
  did her stint night and morning with her husband and the farm men.
  "As soon as I got hold of the teats I could see the cow was uneasy," she
  continued. "Then I saw there was a lot of little blisters and one big one.
  I managed to milk her and most of the little blisters burst, but the big
  one's still there."
  I bent and peered anxiously at the udder. It was as she said-lots of small
  ruptured vesicles and one large one, intact and fluctuating. It was all
  horribly evocative and without speaking I moved along, grasped the cow's
  nose and pulled her head round. I prised the mouth open and stared
  desperately at lips, cheek and dental pad. I think I would have fainted if
  I had found anything in there but it was all clean and normal.
  I lifted each forefoot in turn and scrubbed out the clefts with soap and
  water-nothing. I tied a rope round the hind leg, threw it over a beam and
  with the help of one of the men pulled the foot up. More scrubbing and
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL407

 searching without success then the same with the other hind foot. When I
 finished I was perspiring but no further forward.
  I took the temperature and found it slightly elevated, then I walked up and
  down the byre.
  "Is there any trouble among these other cows?" I asked.
  Mrs. Bailey shook her head. "No, there's just this one." She was a
  good-looking woman in her thirties with the red, roughened complexion of
  the outdoor worker. "What do you think it is?"
  I didn't dare tell her. I had a cow with vesicles on the teats right in the
  middle of a district under Foot and Mouth restrictions. I just couldet take
  a chance. I had to bring the Ministry in.
  Even then I was unable to speak the dread words. All I could say was, "Can
  I use your 'phone, please?"
  She looked surprised, but smiled quickly. "Yes, of course. Come into the
  house."
  As I walked down the byre I looked again at the beautiful cows and then
  beyond, at the fold yard where I could see the young heifers and the tiny
  calves in their pens. All of them carrying the Bailey blood which had been
  produced and perfected by generations of careful breeding and selection.
  But a humane killer is no respecter of such things and if my fears were
  realised a quick series of bang-bangs would wipe out an this in an hour or
  two.
  We went into the farm kitchen and Mrs. Bailey pointed to the door at the
  far end.
  "The 'phone's through there in the front room," she said.
  I kicked off my wellingtons and was padding across the floor in my
  stockinged feet when I almost fell over Giles, the lusty one year old baby
  of the family, as he waddled across my path. I bent to ease him out of the
  way and he looked up at me with an enormous cheesy grin.
  His mother laughed. "Just look at him. Full of the devil, and he's had such
  a painful arm since his smallpox vaccination."
  "Poor lad," I said absently, patting his head as I opened the door, my mind
  already busy with the uncomfortable conversation ahead. I had taken a few
  strides over the carpet beyond, when I halted abruptly.
 4o8ALL TONGS WISE AND WONDERFM

  I turned and looked back into the kitchen. "Did you say smallpox
  vaccination?"
  "Yes, all our other children have been done when they were this age but
  they've never reacted like this. I've had to change his dressing every
  day."
  "You changed his dressing . . . and you milked that cow?"
 "Yes, that's right."
  A great light beamed suddenly, spilling sunshine into my dark troubled
  world. I returned to the kitchen and closed the door behind me.
  Mrs. Bailey looked at me for a moment in silence, then she spoke
  hesitantly. "Aren't you going to use the 'phone?"
 "No. . . no.. ." I replied. "I've changed my mind."
  "I see." She raised her eyebrows and seemed at a loss for words. Then she
  smiled and lifted the kettle. "Well maybe you'll have a cup of tea, then?"
  "Thank you, that would be lovely." I sank happily on to one of the hard
  wooden chairs.
  Mrs. Bailey put the kettle on and turned to me. "By the way, you've never
  told me what's wrong with that cow."
  "Oh yes, of course, I'm sorry," I said airily as though I'd just forgotten
  to mention it. "She's got cow pox. In fact you gave it to her."
 "I gave it ... ? What do you mean?"
  "Well, the vaccine they use for babies is made from the cow po:~ virus. You
  carried it on your hands from the baby to the cow." I smiled, enjoying my
  big moment.
  Her mouth fell open slightly, then she began to giggle. "Oh dear, I don't
  know what my husband's going to say. I've never heard of anything like
  that." She wiggled her fingers in front of her eyes. "And I'm always so
  careful, too. But I've been a bit harassed with the poor little chap's
  arm.,,
  "Oh well, it isn't serious," I said. "I've got some ointment in the car
  which will cure it quite quickly."
  I sipped my tea and watched Giles's activities. In a short time he had
  spread chaos throughout the kitchen and at the moment was busily engaged in
  removing all the contents of a cupboard in the corner. Bent double, small
  bottom outthrust, he hurled pans, lids, brushes behind him with intense
  dedication till the cupboard was empty. Then, as he looked around for
  further emplop.
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL409

 ment, he spotted me and tacked towards me on straddled legs.
  My stocking-clad toes seemed to fascinate him and as I wiggled them at
  him he grasped at them with fat little hands. When he had finally trapped
  my big toe he looked up at me with his huge gin in which four tiny teeth
  glittered.
  I smiled back at him with sincere affection as the relief flowed through
  me. It wasn't just that I was grateful to him-I really liked him. I still
  like Giles today. He is one of my clients, a burly farmer with a family
  of his own, a deep love and knowledge of pedigree cows and the same big
  grin, except that there are a few more teeth in it.
  But he'll never know how near his smallpox vaccination came to giving me
  heart failure.
           CHAPTER
             46

 They had sent me to Eastchurch on the Isle of Sheppy and I knew it was the
 last stop.
  As I looked along the disorderly line of men I realised I wouldn't be
  taking part in many more parades. And it came to me with a pang that at
  the Scarborough ITW this would not have been classed as a parade at all.
  I could remember the ranks of blue outside the Grand Hotel, straight as
  the Grenadier Guards and every man standing stiffly, looking neither to
  left nor right. Our boots gleaming, buttons shining like gold and not a
  movement anywhere as the flight sergeant led the officer round on morning
  inspection.
  I had moaned as loudly as anybody at the rigid discipline, the "bull,"
  the scrubbing and polishing, marching and drilling, but now that it had
  all gone it seemed good and meaningful and I missed it.
  Here the files of airmen lounged, chatted among themselves and
  occasionally took a surreptitious drag at a cigarette as a sergeant out
  in front called the names from, a list and gave us our leisurely
  instructions for the day.
  This particular morning he was taking a long time over it, consulting
  sheaves of papers and making laboured notes with a pencil. A big Irishman
  on my right was becoming increasingly restive and finally he shouted
  testily:
  "For-sake, sergeant, get us off this-square. Me -feet's killin'mel"
  The sergeant didn't even look up. "Shut your mouth, Brady," he replied.
  "You'll get off the square when I say so and not before."
  It was like that at Eastchurch, the great filter tank of the RAF where
  what I had heard described as the "odds and sods" were finally sorted
  out. It was a big sprawling camp filled with a widely varied mixture of
  airmen who

               410
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL411

 had one thing in common; they were all waiting-some of them for remuster,
 but most for discharge from the service.
  There was a resigned air about the whole place, an acceptance of the fact
  that we were all just putting in time. There was a token discipline but
  it was of the most benign kind. And as I said, every man there was just
  waiting. . . waiting....

 Little Ned Finch in his remote corner of the high Yorkshire Dales always
 seemed to me to be waiting, too. I could -remember his boss yelling at
 him.
  "For God's sake, shape up to t'job! You're not framin' at. aill" Mr.
  Daggett grabbed hold of a leaping calf and glared in exasperation.
  Ned gazed back at him impassively. His face registered no particular
  emotion, but in the pale blue eyes I read the expression that was always
  there-as though he was waiting for something to happen, but without much
  hope. He made a tentative attempt to catch a calf but was brushed aside,
  then he put his arms round the neck of another one, a chunky little
  animal of three months, and was borne along a few yards before being
  deposited on his back in the straw.
  "Oh, dang it, do this one, Mr. Herriot!" Mr. Daggett barked, turning the
  hairy neck towards me. "It looks as though I'll have to catch 'em all
  myself."
  I injected the animal. I was inoculating a batch of twenty with
  preventive pneumonia vaccine and Ned was suffering. With his diminutive
  stature and skinny, smallboned limbs he had always seemed to me to be in
  the wrong job; but he had been a farm worker all his life and he was over
  sixty now, grizzled, balding and slightly bent, but still battling on.
  Mr. Daggett reached out and as one of the shaggy creatures sped past he
  scooped the head into one of his great hands and seized the ear with the
  other. The little animal seemed to realise it was useless to struggle and
  stood unresisting as I inserted the needle. At the other end Ned put his
  knee against the calf's rear and listlessly pushed it against the wall.
  He wasn't doing much good and his boss gave him a withering glance.
  We finished the bunch with hardly any help from the little man, and as
  we left the pen and came out into the
 412 _                      ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 yard Mr. Daggett wiped his brow. It was a raw November day but he was
 sweating profusely and for a moment he leaned his gaunt six foot frame
 against the wall as the wind from the bare moorland blew over him.
 I "By gaw, he's a useless little beggar is that," he grunted. "Ah don't know
 how ah put up with 'im." He muttered to himself for a few moments then gave
 tongue again. "Hey, Nedl"
  The little man who had been trailing aimlessly over the cobbles turned his
  pinched face and looked at him with his submissive but strangely expectant
  eyes.
  "Get them bags o' corn up into the granary!" his boss ordered.
  Wordlessly Ned went over to a cart and with an effort shouldered a sack of
  corn. As he painfully mounted the stone steps to the granary his frail
  little legs trembled and bent under the weight.
  Mr. Daggett shook his head and turned to me. His long cadaverous face was
  set in its usual cast of melancholy.
  "You know what's wrong wi' Ned?" he murmured confidentially.
 "What do you mean?"
 "Well, you know why 'e can't catch them calves?"
  My own view was that Ned wasn't big enough or strong enough and anyway he
  was naturally ineffectual, but I shook my head.
 "No," I said. "Why is it?"
  "Well I'll tell ye." Mr. Daggett glanced furtively across the yard then
  spoke from behind his hand. "He's ower fond of t'bright lights."
 "Eh?"
 "Ah'm telfin'ye, he's crazed over t'bright lights."
 "Bright ... what . . . where . . . T'
  Mr. Daggett leaned closer. "He gets over to Briston every night."
  "Briston ... T' I looked across from the isolated farm to the village three
  miles away on the other side of the Dale. It was the only settlement in
  that bleak vista-a straggle of ancient houses dark and silent against the
  green fellside. I could recall that at night the oil lamps made yellow
  flickers of light in the windows but they weren't very bright. "I don't
  understand."
 "Well . . . 'e gets into t'pub."
       ALL THMGS WISE AND WONDERPUL413

 "Ah, the pub."
  Mr. Daggett nodded slowly and portentously but I was still puzzled. The
  Hulton Arms was a square kitchen where you could get a glass of beer and
  where a few old men played dominoes of an evening. It wasn't my idea of a
  den of vice.
 "Does he get drunk there?" I asked.
  "Nay, nay," The farmer shook his head. "It's not that. It's the hours 'e
  keeps."
 "Comes back late, eh?"
  "Aye, that 'e does!" The eyes widened in their cavernous sockets.
  "Sometimes 'e doesn't get back till 'alf past nine or ten o'clockl"
 "Gosh, is that so?"
  "Sure as ah'm standin' here. And there's another thing. He can't get out of
  'is bed next day. Ah've done half a day's work before 'e starts." He paused
  and glanced again across the yard. "You can believe me or believe me not,
  but sometimes 'e isn't on the job till seven o'clock in t'morning!"
 "Good heavensl"
  He shrugged wearily. "Aye well, you see how it is. Come into t'house,
  you'll want to wash your hands."
  In the huge flagged kitchen I bent low over the brown earthenware sink.
  Sear Farm was four hundred years old and the various tenants hadn't altered
  it much since the days of Henry the Eighth. Gnarled beams, rough white-
  washed walls and hard wooden chairs. But comfort had never been important
  to Mr. Daggett or his wife who was ladling hot water from the primitive
  boiler by the side of the fire and pouring it into her scrubbing bucket.
  She clopped around over the flags in her clogs, hair pulled back tightly
  from her weathered face into a bun, a coarse sacking apron tied round her
  waist. She had no children but her life was one of constant activity; in-
  doors or outside, she worked all the time.
  At one end of the room wooden steps led up through a hole in the ceiling to
  a loft where Ned slept. That had been the little man's room for nearly
  fifty years ever since he had come to work for Mr. Daggett's father as a
  boy from school. And in all that time he had never travelled further than
  Darrowby, never done anything outside his daily routine. Wifeless,
  friendless, he plodded through his
 4r4ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 life , endlessly milking, feeding and mucking out, and waiting, I
 suspected with diminishing hope for something to happen.
  With my handle on the car door I looked back at Scar Farm, at the sagging
  roof tiles, the great stone lintel over the door. It typified the
  harshness of the lives of the people within. Little Ned was no bargain
  as a stockman, and his boss's exasperation was understandable. Mr. Dag-
  gett was not a cruel or an unjust man. He and his wife had been hardened
  and squeezed dry by the pitiless austerity of their existence in this
  lonely comer of the high Pennines.
  There was no softness up here, no frills. The stone walls, sparse grass
  and stunted trees; the narrow road with its smears of cow muck.
  Everything was down to fundamentals, and it was a miracle to me that most
  of the Dalesmen were not like the Daggetts but cheerful and humourous.
  But as I drove away, the sombre beauty of the place overwhelmed me. The
  lowering hillsides burst magically into life as a shaft of sunshine
  stabbed through the clouds, flooding the bare flanks with warm gold.
  Suddenly I was aware of the delicate shadings of green, the rich glowing
  bronze of the dead bracken spilling from the high tops, the whole
  peaceful majesty of my work-a-day world.
  I hadn't far to drive to my next call-just about a mile and it was in a
  vastly different atmosphere. Miss Tremayne, a rich lady from the south,
  had bought a tumbIedown manor house and spent many thousands of pounds
  in converting it into a luxury home. As my feet crunched on the gravel
  I looked up at the large windows with their leaded panes, at the smooth,
  freshly-painted stones.
  Elsie opened the door to me. She was Miss Tremayne's cook-housekeeper,
  and one of my favourite people. Aged about fifty, no more than five feet
  high and as round as a ball with short bandy legs sticking out from
  beneath a tight black dress.
  "Good morning, Elsie," I said, and she burst into a peat of laughter.
  This, more than her remarkable physical appearance, was what delighted
  me. She laughed uproariously at every statement and occurrence; in fact
  she laughed at the things she said herself.
 "Come in, Mr. Herriot, ha-ha-ha," she said. "It's been a
      ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL415

 bit nippy today, he-he, but I think it'll get out this afternoon, ho-ho-ho."
  All the mirth may have seemed somewhat unnecessary, and indeed, it made her
  rather difficult to understand, but the general effect was cheering. She
  led me into the drawing room and her mistress rose with some difficulty
  from her chair.
  Miss Tremayne was elderly and half crippled with' arthritis but bore her
  affliction without fuss.
  "Ah, Mr. Herriott," she said. "How good of you to come." She put her head
  on one side and beamed at me as though I was the most delightful thing she
  had seen for a long time.
  She, too, had a bubbling, happy personality, and since she owned three
  dogs, two cats and an elderly donkey I had come to know her very well in
  her six months' residence in the Dale.
  My visit was to dress the donkey's overgrown hooves, and a pair of clippers
  and a blacksmith's knife dangled from my right hand.
  "Oh, put those grisly instruments down over there," she said. "Elsie's
  bringing some tea-I'm sure you've time for a CUP- 11
  I sank willingly into one of the brightly covered armchairs and was looking
  round the comfortable room when Elsie reappeared, gliding over the carpet
  as though on wheels. She put the tray on the table by my side.
  "There's yer tea," she said, and went into a paroxysm so hearty that she
  had to lean on the back of my chair. She had no visible neck and the
  laughter caused the fat little body to shake all over.
  When she had recovered she rolled back into the kitchen and I heard her
  clattering about with pans. Despite her idiosyncrasies she was a wonderful
  cook and very efficient in all she did.
  I spent a pleasant ten minutes with Miss Tremayne and the tea, then I went
  outside and attended to the donkey. When I had finished I made my way round
  the back of the house and as I was passing the kitchen I saw Elsie at the
  open window.
 "Many thanks for the tea, Elsie," I said.
  'fhe little woman gripped the sides of the sink to steady, herself.
  "Ha-ha-ha, that's all right. That's, he-he, quite all right,
  ha-ha-ho-ho-ho."
 416ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  Wonderingly I got into the car and as I drove away, the disturbing thought
  came to me that one day I might say something really witty to Elsie and
  cause her to do herself an injury.

 I was called back to Mr. Daggett's quite soon afterwards to see a cow which
 wouldn't get up. The farmer thought she was paralysed.
  I drove there in a thin drizzle and the light was fading at about four
  o'clock in the afternoon when I arrived at Scar Farm.
  When I examined the cow I was convinced she had just got herself into an
  awkward position in the stall with her legs jammed under the broken timbers
  of the partition.
  "I think she's sulking, Mr. Daggett," I said. "She's had a few goes at
  rising and now she's decided not to try any more. Some cows are like that."
  "Maybe you're right," the farmer replied. "She's allus been a stupid
  bitch."
  "And she's a big one, too. She'll take a bit of moving." I lifted a rope
  from the byre wall and tied it round the hocks. "I'll push the feet from
  the other side while you and Ned pull the legs round."
  "Pull?" Mr. Daggett gave the little man a sour look. "He couldn't pull the
  skin off a rice puddin'."
  Ned said nothing, just gazed dully to his front, arms hanging limp. He
  looked as though he didn't care, wasn't even there with us. His mind was
  certainly elsewhere if his thoughts were mirrored in his eyes-vacant,
  unheeding, but as always, expectant.
  I went behind the partition and thrust steadily at the feet while the men
  pulled. At least ~&7Daggett pulled, mouth open, gasping with effort, while
  Ned leaned languidly on the rope.
  Inch by inch the big animal came round till she was lying almost in the
  middle of the stall, but as I was about to call a halt the rope broke and
  Mr. Daggett flew backwards on to the hard cobbles. Ned of course did not
  faU down because he hadn't been trying, and his employer, stretched flat,
  glared up at him with frustrated rage.
  "Ye little bugger, ye let me do that all by meself I Ah don't know why ah
  bother with you, you're bloody useless."
 At that moment the cow, as I had expected, rose to her
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL417

 feet, and the farmer gesticulated at the little man. "Well, go on, dang
 ye, get some straw and rub her legst They'll be numb."
  Meekly Ned twisted some straw into a wisp and began to do a bit of
  massage. Mr. Daggett got up stiffly, felt gingerly along his back then
  walked up beside the cow to make sure the chain hadn't tightened round
  her neck. He was on his way back when the big animal swung round suddenly
  and brought her cloven hoof down solidly on the farmer's toe.
  If he had been wearing heavy boots it wouldn't have been so bad, but his
  feet were encased in ancient cracked wellingtons which offered no
  protection.
  "Owl Owl Owl" yelled Mr. Dagott, beating on the hairy back with his
  fists. "Gerroff, ye awd bitch!" He heaved, pushed and writhed but the ten
  hundredweight of beef ground down inexorably.
  The farmer was only released when the cow slid off his foot, and I know
  from experience that that sliding is the worst part. -
  Mr. Daggett hopped around on one leg, nursing the bruised extremity in
  his hands. "Bloody 'ell," he moaned. "Oh, bloody 'ell."
  Just then I happened to glance towards Ned and was amazed to see the
  apathetic little face crinkle suddenly into a wide grin of unholy glee.
  I couldn't recall him even smiling before, and my astonishment must have
  shown in my face because his boss whipped round suddenly and stared at
  him. As if by magic the sad mask slipped back into place and he went on
  with his rubbing.
  Mr. - Daggett hobbled out to the car with me and as I was about to leave
  he nudged me.
 "Look at 'im," he whispered.
  Ned, milk pail in hand, was bustling along the byre with unwonted energy.
  His employer gave a bitter smile. "It's Vonly time 'e ever hurries. Can't
  wait to get out to t'pub."
  "Oh well, you say he doesn't get drunk. There can't be any harm in it."
  The deep sunk eyes held me. "Don't you believe it. He'll come tiv a bad
  end gaddin' about the way 'e does."
 "But surely the odd glass of beer. . ."
  "Ah but there's more than that to it." He glanced around him. "There's
  womenl"
 418ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  I laughed incredulously. "Oh come now, Mr. Daggett, what womenT'
 "Over at t'pub," he muttered. "Them Bradley lasses."
 "The landlord's daughters? Oh really, I can't believe. .
  "All right, ye can say what ye like. He's got 'is eye on lem. Ali
  knaw-ah've only been in that pub once but ahve seen for meself."
  I didn't know what to say, but in any case I had no opportunity because
  he turned and strode into the house.
  Alone in the cold darkness I looked at the gaunt sil
 houette of the old farmhouse above me. In the dyi ' ng
 light of the November day the rain streamed down the
 rough stones and the wind caught at the thin tendril of
 smoke from the chimney, hurling it in ragged streamers
 across the slate blue pallor of the western sky. The fell
 hung over everything, a black featureless bulk, oppressive
 and menacing.
  Through the kitchen window I could see the old lamp casting its dim light
  over the bare table, the cheerless hearth with its tiny flicker of fire.
  In the shadows at the far end the steps rose into Ned's loft and I could
  imagine the little figure clambering up to get changed and escape to
  Briston.
  Across the valley the single street of the village was a broken grey
  thread in the gloom but in the cottage windows the lamps winked faintly.
  These were Ned FincWs bright lights and I could understand how he felt.
  After Scar Farm, Briston would be like Monte Carlo.
  The image stayed in my mind so vividly that after two more calls that
  evening I decided to go a few miles out of my way as I returned homeward.
  I cut across the Dale and it was about half past eight when I drove into
  Briston. It was difficult to find the Hulton Arms because there was no
  lighted entrance, no attempt to advertise its presence, but I persevered
  because I had to find out what was behind Mr. Daggett's tale of
  debauchery.
  I located it at last. Just Re the door of an ordinary house with a faded
  wooden sign hanging above it. Inside, the usual domino game was in
  progress, a few farmers sat chatting quietly. The Misses Bradley, plain
  but pleasantfaced women in their forties, sat on either side of the fire,
  and sure enough there was Ned with a half pint glass in front of him.
 I sat down by his side. "Hello, Ned."
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL419

  "Now then, Mr. Herriot," he murmured absently, glancing at me with his
  strange expectant eyes.
  One of the Bradley ladies put down her knitting and came over.
  "Pint of bitter, please," I said. "What will you have, Ned?"
  "Nay, thank ye, Mr. Herriot. This'll do for me. It's me second and ah'm not
  a big drinker, tha knows."
  Miss Bradley laughed. "Yes, he nobbut has 'is two glasses a night, but he
  enjoys them, don't you, Ned?"
  "That's right, ah do." He looked up at. her and she smiled kindly down at
  him before going for my beer.
  He took a sip at his glass. "Ah really come for t'company, Mr. Herriot."
  "Yes, of course," I said. I knew what he meant. He probably sat on his own
  most of the time, but around him was warmth and comfort and friendliness.
  A great log sent flames crackling up to the wide chimney, there was
  electric light and shining mirrors with whisky slogans painted on their
  surface. It wasn't anything like Scar Farm.
  The little man said very little. He spun out his drink for another hour,
  looking around him as the dominoes clicked and I lowered another
  contemplative pint. The Misses Bradley knitted and brewed tea in a big
  black kettle over the fire and when they had to get up to serve their
  customers they occasionally patted Ned playfully on the cheek as they
  passed.
  By the time he tipped down the last drop and rose to go it wa's a quarter
  to ten and he still had to cycle across to the other side of the Dale.
  Another late night for Ned.

 It was a Tuesday lunchtime ' in early spring. Helen always
 cooked steak and kidney pie on Tuesdays and I used to
 think about it all morning on my rounds. My thoughts
 that morning had been particularly evocative because
 lambing had started and I had spent most of the time in
 my shirt sleeves in the biting wind as my hunger grew
 and grew.
  Helen cut into her blissful creation and began to scoop the fragrant
  contents on to my plate.
  "I met Miss Tremayne in the market place this morning, Jim."
  "Oh yes?" I was almost drooling as my wife stopped shovelling out the pie,
  sliced open some jacket potatoes
 420ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 and dropped pats of farm butter on to the steaming surfaces.
  "Yes, she wants you to go out there this afternoon and put some canker
  drops in Wilberforce's ears if you have time."
  "Oh I have time for that," I said. Wilberforce was Miss Tremayne's
  ancient tabby cat and it was just the kind of job I wanted after my
  arm-aching morning.
  I was raising a luscious forkful when Helen spoke again. "Oh, and she had
  an interesting item of news."
  "Really?" But I had begun to chew and my thoughts were distant.
  "It's about the little woman who works for her-Elsie. You know her?"
  I nodded and took another mouthful. "Of course, of course."
  "Well it's quite unexpected, I suppose, but Elsie's getting married."
 I choked on my pie. "Whatl"
 "It's true. And maybe you know the bridegroom."
 "Tell me."
  "He works on one of the neighbouring farms. His name is Ned Finch."
  This time my breath was cut off completely and Helen had to beat me on
  the back as I spluttered and retched. It wasn't until an occluding morsel
  of potato skin had shot down my nose that I was able to utter a weak
  croak. "Ned Finch?"
 "That's what she said."
  I finished my lunch in a dream, but by the end of it I had accepted the
  extraordinary fact. Helen and Miss Tremayne were two sensible
  people-there couldn't be any mistake. And yet ... even as I drew up
  outside the old Manor House a feeling of unreality persisted.
  Elsie opened the door as usual. I looked at her for a moment.
 "What's this I hear, Elsie?"
  She started a giggle which rapidly spread over her spherical frame.
 I put my hand on her shoulder. "Is it true?"
  The giggle developed into a mighty gale of laughter, and if she hadn't
  been holding the handle I am sure she would have fallen over.
 "Aye, it's right enough," she gasped. "Ahve found a
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL421

 man at last and ah'm goin' to get wed!" She leaned helplessly on the door.
  "Well, I'm pleased to hear it, Elsie. I hope you'll be very happy."
  She hadn't the strength to speak but merely nodded as she lay against the
  door. Then she led me to the drawing room.
 "In ye go," she chuckled. "Ah'11 bring ye some tea."
  Miss Tremayne rose to greet me with parted lips and shining eyes. "Oh,
  Mr. Herriot, have you heard?"
 "Yes, but how ... ?"
  "It all started when I asked Mr. Daggett for some fresh eggs. He sent Ned
  on his bicycle with the eggs and it was like fate."
 "Well, how wonderful."
  "Yes, and I actually saw it happen. Ned walked in that door with his
  basket, Elsie was clearing the table here, and, Mr. Herriot." She clasped
  her hands under her chin, smiled ecstatically and her eyes rolled
  upwards. "Oh, Mr. Herriot, it was love at first sight!"
 "Yes ... yes, indeed. Marvellous!"
  "And ever since that day Ned has been calling round and now he comes
  every evening and sits with Elsie in the kitchen. Isn't it romantic!"
  "It certainly is. And when did they decide to get married?"
  "Oh, he popped the question within a month, and I'm so happy for Elsie
  because Ned is such a dear little man, don't you think so?"
 "Yes he is," I said. "He's a very nice chap."
  Elsie simpered and tittered her way in with the tea then put her hand
  over her face and -fled in confusion, and as Miss Tremayne began to pour
  I sank into one of the armchairs and lifted Wilberforce on to my lap.
  The big cat purred as I instilled a few drops of lotion into his car. He
  had a chronic canker condition-not very bad but now and then it became
  painful and needed treatment. It was because Miss Tremayne didn't like
  putting the lotion in that I was pressed into service.
  As I turned the ear over and gently massaged the oily liquid into the
  depths, Wilberforce groaned softly with pleasure and rubbed his check
  against my hand. He loved this anointing of the tender area beyond his
  reach and when I had finished he curled up on my knee.
 422ALL TMVGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  I leaned back and sipped my tea. At that moment, with my back and
  shoulders weary and my hands red and chapped with countless washings on
  the open hillsides this seemed to be veterinary practice at its best.
  Miss Tremayne continued. "We shall have a little reception after the
  wedding and'then the happy couple will take up residence here."
 "You mean, in this house?"
  "Yes, of course. There's heaps of room in this big old place, and I have
  furnished two rooms for them on the east side. I'm sure they'll be very
  comfortable. Oh, I'm so excited about it all!"
  She refilled my cup. "Before you go you must let Elsie show you where
  they are going to live."
  On my way out the little woman took me through to the far end of the
  house.
  "This, bee-hee-hee," she said, "is where we'll sit of a night, and this,
  ha-ha-ho-ho, oh dear me, is our bedroom." She staggered around for a bit,
  wiped her eyes and turned to me for my opinion.
 "It's really lovely, Elsie," I said.
  There were bright carpets, chairs with flowered covers and a fine
  mahogany-ended bed. It was nothing like the loft.
  And as I looked at Elsie I realised the things Ned would see in his
  bride. Laughter, warmth, vivacity, and-I had no doubt at all-beauty and
  glamour.

 I seemed to get round to most farms that lambing time and in due course
 I landed at Mr. Daggett's. I delivered a fine pair of twins for him but
 it didn't seem to cheer him at all. Lifting the towel from the grass he
 handed it to me.
  "Well, what did ah tell ye about Ned, eh? Got mixed up wi' a woman just
  like ah said." He sniffed disapprovingly. "All that rakin' and chasin'
  about-ah knew he'd get into mischief at t'finish."
  I walked back over the sunlit fields to the farm and as I passed the byre
  door Ned came out pushing a wheelbarrow.
 "Good morning, Ned," I said.
  He glanced up at me in his vague way. "How do, Mr. Herriot."
 There was something different about him and it took
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL423

 me a few moments to discern what it was; his eyes had lost the expectant
 look which had been there for so long, and, after all, that was perfectly
 natural.
 Because it had happened at last for Ned.
           CHAPTER
             47

 I had plenty of time on my hands at Eastchurch, plenty of time to think,
 and like most servicemen I thought of home. Only my home wasn't there any
 more.
  When I left Darrowby Helen had gone back to live with her father and the
  little rooms under the tiles of Skeldale House would be empty and dusty
  now. But they lived on in my mind, clear in every detail.
  I could see the ivy-fringed window looking over the tumble of roofs to
  the green hills, our few pieces of furniture, the bed and side table and
  the old wardrobe which only stayed shut with the aid of one of my socks
  jammed in the door. Strangely, it was that 'dangling woollen toe which
  gave me the sharpest stab as I remembered.
  And even though it was all gone I could hear the bedside radio playing,
  my wife's voice from the other side of the fire and on that winter
  evening Tristan shouting up the stairs from the passage far below.
 "Jiml Jiml"
  I went out and stuck my head over the bannisters. "What is it, Triss?"
  "Sorry to bother you, Jim, but could you come down for a minute?" The
  upturned face had an anxious look.
  I went down the long flights of steps two at a time and when I arrived
  slightly breathless on the ground floor Tristan beckoned me through to
  the consulting room at the back of the house. A teenage girl was standing
  by the table, her hand resting on a stained roll of blanket.
  "It's a cat," Tristan said. He pulled back a fold of the blanket and I
  lo'oked down at a large, deeply striped tabby. At least he would have
  been large if he had had any flesh on his bones, but ribs and pelvis
  stood out pain-
               424
      ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL425

 fully through the fur and as I passed my hand over the motionless body I
 could feel only a thin covering of skin.
  Tristan cleared his throat. "There's something else, Jim."
  I looked at him curiously. For once he didn't seem to have a joke in him.
  I watched as he gently lifted one of the cat's hind legs and rolled the
  abdomen into view. There was a gash on the ventral surface through which
  a coiled cluster of intestines spilled grotesquely on to the cloth. I was
  still shocked and staring when the girl spoke.
  'T saw this cat sittin' in the dark, down Brown's yard. I thought 'e
  looked skinny, like, and a bit quiet and I bent down to give 'im. a pat.
  Then I saw 'e was badly hurt and I went home for a blanket and brought
  'im round to you."
  "That was kind of you," I said. "Have you any idea who he belongs to?"
  The girl shook her head. "No, he looks like a stray to me.,,
  "He does indeed." I dragged my eyes away from the terrible wound. "You're
  Marjorie Simpson, aren't you?"
 'Yes.
 "I know your Dad well. He's our postman."
  "That's right." She gave a half smile then her lips trembled.
  "Well, I reckon I'd better leave 'im with you. You'll be goin' to put him
  out of his misery. There's nothing anybody can do about ... about that?"
  I shrugged and shook my head. The girl's eyes filled with tears, she
  stretched out a hand and touched the emaciated arjimal then turned and
  walked quickly to the door.
  "Thanks again, Marjorie," I called after the retreating back. "And don't
  worry-we'll look after him."
  In the silence that followed, Tristan and I looked down at the shattered
  animal. Under the surgery lamp it was all too easy to see. He had almost
  been disembowelled and the pile of intestines was covered in dirt and
  mud.
  "What d'you think did this?" Tristan said at length. "Has he been run
  over?"
  "Maybe," I replied. "Could be anything. An attack by a big dog or
  somebody could have kicked him or struck
 426ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 him." All things were possible with cats because some people seemed to
 regard them as fair game for any cruelty.
  Tristan nodded. "Anyway, whatever happened, he must have been on the
  verge of starvation. He's a skeleton. I bet he's wandered miles from
  home."
  "Ah well," I sighed. "There's only one thing to do. Those guts are
  perforated in several places. It's hopeless."
  Tristan didn't say anything but he whistled under his breath and drew the
  tip of his forefinger again and again across the furry cheek. And,
  unbelievably, from somewhere in the scraggy chest a gentle purring arose.
  The young man looked at me, round eyed. "My God, do you hear that?"
  "Yes . . . amazing in that condition. He's a good natured cat."
  Tristan, head bowed, continued his stroking. I knew how he felt because,
  although he preserved a cheerfully hard-boiled attitude to our patients
  he couldn't kid me about one thing; he had a soft spot for cats. Even
  now, when we are both around the sixty mark, he often talks to me over
  a beer about the cat he has had for many years. It is a typical
  relationship-they tease each other unmercifully-but it is based on real
  affection.
  "It's no good, Triss," I said gently. "It's got to be done." I reached
  for the syringe but something in me rebelled against plunging a needle
  into that mutilated body. Instead I pulled a fold of the blanket over the
  cat's head.
  "Pour a little ether on to the cloth," I said. "He'll just sleep away."
  Wordlessly Tristan unscrewed the cap of the ether bottle and poised it
  above the head. Then from under the shapeless heap of blanket we heard
  it again; the deep purring which increased in volume till it boomed in
  our ears like a distant motorcycle.
  Tristan was like a man turned to stone, hand gripping the bottle rigidly,
  eyes staring down at the mound of cloth from which the purring rose in
  waves of warm friendly sound.
  At last he looked up at me and gulped. "I don't fancy this much, Jim.
  Can't we do something?"
 "You mean, put that lot back?"
       ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL 427
 "Yes.9v -
  "But the bowels are damaged-they're like a sieve in parts."
 "We could stitch them, couldn't we?"
  I lifted the blanket and looked again. "Honestly, Triss, I wouldn't know
  where to start. And the whole thing is filthy."
  He didn't say anything, but continued to look at me steadily. And I
  didn't need much persuading. I had no more desire to pour ether on to
  that comradely purring than he had.
 "Come on, then," I said. "We'll have a go."
  With the oxygen bubbling and the cat's head in the anaesthetic mask we
  washed the whole prolapse with warm saline. We did it again and again but
  it was impossible to remove every fragment of caked dirt. Then we started
  the painfully slow business of stitching the many holes in the tiny
  intestines, and here I was glad of Tristan's nimble fingers which seemed
  better able to manipulate the small round-bodied needles than mine.
  Two hours and yards of catgut later, we dusted the patched up peritoneal
  surface with sulphanilamide and pushed the entire mass back into the
  abdomen. When I had sutured muscle layers and skin everything looked tidy
  but I had a nasty feeling of sweeping undesirable things under the
  carpet. The extensive damage, all that contamination-peritonitis was
  inevitable.
  "He's alive, anyway, Triss," I said as we began to wash the instruments.
  "We'll put him on to sulphapyridine and keep our fingers crossed." There
  were still no antibiotics at that time but the new drug was a big
  advance.
  The door opened and Helen came in. "You've been a long time, Jim." She
  walked over to the table and looked down at the sleeping cat. "What a
  poor skinny little thing. He's all bones."
  "You should have seen him when he came in." Tristan switched off the
  steriliser and screwed shut the valve on the anaesthetic machine. "He
  looks a lot better now."
  She stroked the little animal for a moment. "Is he badly injured?"
  "I'm afraid so, Helen," I said. "We've done our best for him but I
  honestly don't think he has much chance."
  "What a shame. And he's pretty, too. Four white feet and all those
  unusual colours." With her finger she traced
 428ALL THWGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 the faint bands of auburn and copper-gold among the grey and black.
  Tristan laughed. "Yes, I think that chap has a ginger Tom somewhere in
  his ancestry."
  Helen smiled, too, but absently, and I noticed a broody look about her.
  She hurried out to the stock room and returned with an empty box.
  "Yes ... yes . . ." she said thoughtfully. "I can make a bed in this box
  for him and he'll sleep in our room, Jim."
 "He will?"
 "Yes, he must be warm, mustn't he?"
 "Of course."
  Later, in the darkness of our bed-sitter, I looked from my pillow at a
  cosy scene. Sam in his basket on one side of the flickering fire and the
  cat cushioned and blanketed in his box on the other.
  As I floated off into sleep it was good to know that my patient was so
  comfortable, but I wondered if he would be alive in the morning....
  I knew he was alive at 7:30 a.m. because my wife was already up and
  talking to him. I trailed across the room in my pyjamas and the cat and
  I looked at each other. I rubbed him under the chin and he opened his
  mouth in a rusty miaow. But he didn't try to move.
  "Helen," I said. "This little thing is tied together inside with catgut.
  He'll have to live on fluids for a week and even then he probably won't
  make it. If he stays up here you'll be spooning milk into him umpteen
  times a day.,'
 "Okay, okay." She had that broody look again.
  It wasn't only milk she spooned into him over the next few days. Beef
  essence, strained broth and a succession of sophisticated baby foods
  found their way down his throat at regular intervals. One lunchtime I
  found Helen kneeling by the box.
 "We shall call him Oscar," she said.
 "You mean we're keeping him?"
 "Yes.
  I am fond of cats but we already had a dog in our cramped quarters and
  I could see difficulties. Still I decided to let it go.
 "Why Oscar?"
 "I don't know." Helen tipped a few drops of chop
      ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERML429

 gravy on to the little red tongue and watched intently as he swallowed.
  One of the things I like about women is their mystery, the unfathomable
  part of them, and I didn't press the matter further. But I was pleased
  at the way things were going. I had been giving the sulphapyridine every
  six hours and taking the temperature night and morning, expecting all the
  time to encounter the roaring fever, the vomiting and the tense abdomen
  of peritonitis. But it never happened.
  It was as though Oscar's animal instinct told him he had to move as
  little as possible because he lay absolutely still day after day and
  looked up at us-and purred.
  His purr became part of our lives and when he eventually left his bed,
  sauntered through to our kitchen and began to sample Sam's dinner of meat
  and biscuit it was a moment of triumph. And I didn't spoil it by wonder-
  ing if he was ready for solid food; I felt he knew.
  From then on it was sheer joy to watch the furry scarecrow fill out and
  grow strong, and as he ate and ate and the flesh spread over his bones
  the true beauty of his coat showed in the glossy medley of auburn, black
  and gold. We had a handsome cat on our hands.
  Once Oscar had fully recovered, Tristan was a regular visitor.
  He probably felt, and rightly, that he, more than 1, had saved Oscar's
  life in the first place and he used to play with him for long periods.
  His favourite ploy was to push his leg round the comer of the table and
  withdraw it repeatedly just as the cat pawed at it.
  Oscar was justifiably irritated by this teasing but showed his character
  by lying in wait for Tristan one night and biting him smartly in the
  ankle before he could start his tricks.
  From my own point of view Oscar added many things to our menage. Sam was
  delighted with him and the two soon became firm friends, Helen adored him
  and each evening I thought afresh that a nice cat washing his face by the
  hearth gave extra comfort to a room.
  Oscar had been established as one of the family for several weeks when
  I came in from a late call to find Helen waiting for me with a stricken
  face.
 "What's happened?" I asked.
 "It's Oscar-he's gonel"
 430ALL TMNOs WISE AND WONDERFUL

 "Gone? What do you mean?"
 "Oh, Jim, I think he's run away."
  I stared at her. "He wouldn't do that. He often goes down to the garden at
  night. Are you sure he isn't there?"
  "Absolutely. I've searched right into the yard. I've even had a walk round
  the town. And remember." Her chin quivered. "He ... he ran away from
  somewhere before."
  I looked at my watch. "Ten o'clock. Yes, that is strange. He shouldn't be
  out at this time."
  As I spoke the front door bell jangled. I galloped down the stairs and as
  I rounded the corner in the passage I could see Mrs. HesUgton, the vicar's
  wife, 1hrough the glass. I threw open the door. She was holding Oscar in
  her arms.
 "I believe this is your cat, Mr. Herriot," she said.
  "It is indeed, Mrs. Heslington. Where did you find him?"
  She smiled. "Well it was rather odd. We were having a meeting of the
  Mothers' Union at the church house and we noticed the cat sitting there in
  the room."
 "Just sitting ... ?"
  "Yes, as though he were listening to what we were saying and enjoying it
  all. It was unusual. When the meeting ended I thought I'd better bring him
  along to you."
  "I'm most grateful, Mrs. Heslington." I snatched Oscar and tucked him under
  my arm. "My wife is distraughtshe thought he was lost."
  It was a little mystery. Why should he suddenly take off like that? But
  since he showed no change in his manner over the ensuing week we put it out
  of our minds.
  Then one evening a man brought in a dog for a distemper inoculation and
  left the front door open. When I went up to our flat I found that Oscar had
  disappeared again. This time Helen and I scoured the market place and side
  alleys in vain and when we returned at half past nine we were both
  despondent. It was nearly eleven and we were thinking of bed when the door
  bell rang.
  It was Oscar again, this time resting on the ample stomach of Jack
  Newbould. Jack was leaning against a doorpost and the fresh country air
  drifting in from the dark street was richly intermingled with beer fumes.
  Jack was a gardener at one of the big houses. He hiccuped gently and gave
  me a huge benevolent smile. "Brought your cat, Mr. Herriot."
      ALL TMNOS WISE AND WONDERFUL431

  "Gosh, thanks, Jack!" I said, scooping up Oscar gratefully. "Where the
  devil did you find him?"
 "Well, s'matter o' fact, 'e sort of found me."
 "What do you mean?"
  Jack closed his eyes for a few moments before articulating carefully.
  "'Thish is a big night, tha knows, Mr. Herriot. Darts championship. Lots
  of Vlads round at t'Dog and Gun-lotsh and lotsh of 'em. Big gatherin'."
 "And our cat was there?"
  "Aye, he were there, all right. Sittin' among Vlads. Shpent t'whole
  evenin' with us."
 "Just sat there, eh?"
  "That 'e did." Jack giggled reminiscently. "By gaw 'e enjoyed 'isself.
  Ah gave 'im a drop o' best bitter out of me own glass and once or twice
  ah thought 'e was goin! to have a go at chuckin' a dart. He's some cat."
  He laughed again.
  As I bore Oscar upstairs I was deep in thought. What was going on here?
  These sudden desertions were upsetting Helen and I felt they could get
  on my nerves in time.
  I didn't have long to wait till the next one. Three nights later he was
  missing again. This time Helen and I didn't bother to search-we just
  waited.
  He was back earlier than usual. I heard the door bell at nine o'clock.
  It was the elderly Miss Simpson peering through the glass. And she wasn't
  holding Oscar-he was prowling on the mat waiting to come in.
  Miss Simpson watched with interest as the cat stalked inside and made for
  the stairs. "Ah, good, I'm so glad he's come home safely. I knew he was
  your cat and I've been intrigued by his behaviour all evening."
 "Where ... may I ask?"
  "Oh, at the Women's Institute. He came in shortly after We started and
  stayed there till the end."
  "Really? What exactly was your programme, Miss Simpson?"
  "Well, there was a bit of committee stuff, then a short talk with lantern
  slides by Mr. Walters from the water company and we finished with a
  cake-making competition."
 "Yes ... yes ... and what did Oscar do?"
  She laughed. "Mixed with the company, apparently enjoyed the slides and
  showed great interest in the cakes."
 "I see. And you didn't bring him home?"
 432ALL THrNGS WrSE AND WONDERFUL

  "No, he made his own way here. As you know, I have to pass your house and
  I merely rang your bell to make sure you knew he had arrived."
  "I'm obliged to you, Miss Simpson. We were a little worried."
  I mounted the stairs in record time. Helen was sitting with the cat on her
  knee and she looked up as I burst in.
 "I know about Oscar now," I said.
 "Know what?"
  "Why he goes on these nightly outings. He's not running away-he's
  visiting."
 "Visiting?"
  "Yes," I said. "Don't you see? He likes getting around, he loves people,
  especially in groups, and he's interested in what they do. He's a natural
  mixer."
  Helen looked down at the attractive mound of fur curled on her lap. "Of
  course . . . that's it . . . he's a socialitel"
 "Exactly, a high stepperl"
 "A cat-about-town!"
  It all afforded us some innocent laughter and Oscar sat up and looked at us
  with evident pleasure, adding his own throbbing purr to the merriment. But
  for Helen and me there was a lot of - relief behind it; ever since our cat
  had started his excursions there had been the gnawing fear that we would
  losehim, and now we felt secure.
  Trom that night our delight in him increased. There was endless joy in
  watching this facet of his character unfolding. He did the social round
  meticulously, taking in most of the activities of the town. He became a
  familiar figure at whist drives, jumble sales, school concerts and scout
  bazaars. Most of the time he was made welcome, but was twice ejected from
  meetings of the Rural District Council who did not seem to relish the idea
  of a cat sitting in on their deliberations.
  At first I was apprehensive about his making his way through the streets
  but I watched him once or twice and saw that he looked both ways before
  tripping daintily across. Clearly he had excellent traffic sense and this
  made me feel that his original injury had not been caused by a car.
  Taking it all in all, Helen and I felt that it was a kind stroke of fortune
  which had brought Oscar to us. He
      ALL ToNrs wisE AND woNDERFm433

 was a warm and cherished part of our home life. He added to our happiness.
 .
 When the blow fell it was totally unexpected.
  I was finishing the evening surgery. I looked round the door and saw only
  a man and two little boys.
 "Next, please," I said.
  The man stood up. He had no animal with him. He was middle-aged, with the
  rough weathered face of a farm worker. He twirled a cloth cap nervously
  in his hands.
 "Mr. Herriot?" he said.
 "Yes, what can I do for you?"
  He swallowed and looked me straight in the eyes. "Ah think you've got ma
  cat."
 "WhatTl
  "Ah lost ma cat a bit since." He cleared his throat. "We used to live at
  Missdon but ah got a job as ploughman to Mr. Home of Wederly. It was
  after we moved to Wederly that t'cat went missin'. Ah reckon he was
  tryin' to find 'is way back to his old home."
  "Wederly? That's on the other side of Brawton--over thirty miles away."
 "Aye, ah knaw, but cats is funny things."
 "But what makes you think I've got him?"
  He twisted the cap around a bit more. "There's a cousin o' mine lives in
  Darrowby and ah heard tell from 'im about this cat that goes around to
  meetin's. I 'ad to come. We've been huntiW everywhere."
  "Tell me," I said. "This cat you lost. What did he look like?"
  "Grey and black and sort o' gingery. Right bonny 'e was. And 'e was allus
  goin' out to gatherin's."
  A cold hand clutched at my heart. "You'd better come upstairs. Bring the
  boys with you."
  Helen was putting some coal on the fire of the bedsitter.
  "Helen," I said. "This is Mr.-er-I'm sorry, I don't know your name."
  "Gibbons, Sep Gibbons. They called me Septimus because ah was the seventh
  in family and it looks like alfm goin' t'same way 'cause we've got six
  already. These are our two youngest." The two boys, obvious twins of
  about eight, looked up at us solemnly.
 434ALL THWGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  I wished my heart would stop hammering. "Mr. Gibbons thinks Oscar is his.
  He lost his cat some time ago."
  My wife put down her little shovel. "Oh . . . oh . . . I see." She stood
  very still for a moment then smiled faintly. "Do sit down. Oscar's in the
  kitchen, I'll bring him through."
  She went out and reappeared with the cat in her arms. She hadn't got
  through the door before- the little boys gavetongue.
 "Tigerl" they cried. "Oh, Tiger, Tiger!"
  The man's face seemed lit from within. He walked quickly across the floor
  and ran his big work-roughened hand along the fur.
  "Hullo, awd lad," he said, and turned to me with a radiant smile. "It's
  'im, Mr. Herriot. It's 'im awright, and don't 'e look well!"
 "You call him Tiger, eh?" I said.
  "Aye," he replied happily. "It's them gingery stripes. The kids called 'im
  that. They were broken hearted when we lost 'im."
  As the two little boys rolled on the floor our Oscar rolled with them,
  pawing playfully, purring with delight.
  Sep Gibbons sat down again. "That's the way 'e allus went on wi' the
  family. They used to play with 'im for hours. By gaw we did miss 'im. He
  were a right favourite."
  I looked at the broken nails on the edge of the cap, at the decent, honest,
  uncomplicated Yorkshire face so like the many I had grown to like and
  respect. Farm men like him got thirty shillings a week in those days and it
  was reflected in the threadbare jacket, the cracked, shiny boots and the
  obvious hand-me-downs of the boys.
  But all three were scrubbed and tidy, the man's face like a red beacon, the
  children's knees gleaming and their hair carefully slicked across their
  foreheads. They looked like nice people to me. I didn't know what to say.
  Helen said it for me. "Well, Mr. Gibbons." Her tone had an unnatural
  brightness. "You'd better take him."
  The man hesitated. "Now then, are ye sure, Missis Herriot?"
 "Yes ... yes, I'm sure. He was your cat first."
  "Aye, but some folks 'ud say finders keepers or summat like that. Ali
  didn't come 'ere to demand 'im back or owt of t'sort."
       ALL THNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL435

  "I know you didn't, Mr. Gibbons, but you've had him all those years and
  you've searched for him so hard, We couldn't possibly keep him from you."
  He nodded quickly. "Well, that's right good of ye." He paused for a
  moment, his face serious, then he stooped and picked Oscar up. "We'll
  have to be off if we're goin! to catch the eight o'clock bus."
  Helen reached forward, cupped the cat's head in her hands and looked at
  him steadily for a few seconds. Then she patted the boys' heads. "You'll
  take good care of him, won't youT'
  "Aye, missis, thank ye, we will that." The two small faces looked up at
  her and smiled.
 "I'll see you down the stairs, Mr. Gibbons," I said.
  On the descent I tickled the furry cheek resting on the man's shoulder
  and heard for the last time the rich purring. On the front door step we
  shook hands and they set off down the street. As they rounded the comer
  of Trengate they stopped and waved, and I waved back at the. man, the two
  children and the cat's head looking back at me over the shoulder.
  It was my habit at that time in my life to mount the stairs two or three
  at a time but on this occasion I trailed upwards Re an old man, slightly
  breathless, throat tight, eyes prickling.
  I cursed myself for a sentimental fool but as I reached our door I found
  a flash of consolation. Helen had taken it remarkably well. She had
  nursed that cat and grown deeply attached to him, and I'd have thought
  an unforeseen calamity like this would have upset her terribly. But no,
  she had behaved calmly and rationally. You never knew with women, but I
  was thankful.
  It was up to me to do as well. I adjusted my features into the semblance
  of a cheerful smile and marched into the room.
  Helen had pulled a chair close to the table and was slumped face down
  against the wood. One arm cradled her head while the other was stretched
  in front of her as her body shook with an utterly abandoned weeping.
  I had never seen her like this and I was appalled. I tried to say
  something comforting but nothing stemmed the flow of racking sobs.
 Feeling helpless and inadequate I could only sit close
 436ALL THTNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

 to her and stroke the back of her head. Maybe I could have said something if
 I hadn't felt just about as bad myself.

 You get over these things in time. After all, we told ourselves, it wasn't
 as though Oscar had died or got lost again-he had gone to a good family who
 would look after him. In fact he had really gone home.
  And of course, we still had our much-loved Sam, although he didn't help in
  the early stages by snifling disconsolately where Oscar's bed used to lie
  then collapsing on the rug with a long lugubrious sigh.
  There was one other thing, too. I had a little notion forming in my mind,
  an idea which I would spring on Helen when the time was right. It was about
  a month after that shattering night and we were coming out of the cinema at
  Brawton at the end of our half day. I looked at my watch.
  "Only eight o'clock," I said. "How about going to see Oscar?"
  Helen looked at me in surprise. "You mean-drive on to Wederly?"
 "Yes, it's only about five miles."
  A smile crept slowly across her face. "That would be lovely. But do you
  think they would mind?"
  "The Gibbons? No, I'm sure they wouldn't. Let's go.,,
  Wederly was a big village and the ploughman's cottage was at the far end a
  few yards beyond the methodist chapel. I pushed open the garden gate and we
  walked down the path.
  A busy-looking little woman answered my knock. She was drying her hands on
  a striped towel.
 "Mrs. Gibbons?" I said.
 "Aye, that's me."
 "I'm James Herriot-and this is my wife."
  Her eyes widened uncomprehendingly. Clearly the name meant nothing to her.
 "We had your cat for a while," I added.
  Suddenly she grinned and waved her towel at us. "Oh aye, ah remember now.
  Sep told me about you. Come in, come inl"
  The big kitchen-living room was a tableau of life with six children and
  thirty shillings a week. Battered furniture,
      ALL THrNGS WISE AND WONDERFUL437

 rows of much-mended washing on a pulley, black cooking range and a general
 air of chaos.
  Sep got up from his place by the fire, put down his newspaper, took off a
  pair of steel-rimmed spectacles and shook hands.
  He waved Helen to a sagging armchair. "Well, it's right nice to see you.
  Ah've often spoke of ye to t'missis."
  His wife hung up her towel. "Yes, and I'm glad to meet
 ye both. I'll get some tea in a minnit." I
  She laughed and dragged a bucket of muddy water into a comer. "I've been
  washin' football jerseys. Them lads just handed them to me tonight-as if I
  haven't enough to do."
  As she ran the water into the kettle I peeped surreptitiously around me and
  I noticed Helen doing the same. But we searched in vain. There was no sign
  of a cat. Surely he couldn't have run away again? With a growing feeling of
  dismay I realised that my little scheme could backfire devastatingly.
  It wasn't until the tea had been made and poured that I dared to raise the
  subject.
 "How-" I asked diffidently. "How is-er-Tiger?"
  "Oh, he's grand," the little woman replied briskly. She glanced up at the
  clock on the mantelpiece. "He should be back any time now, then you'll be
  able to see 'im."
  As she spoke, Sep raised a finger. "Ah think ah can hear'im. now."
  He walked over and opened the door and our Oscar strode in with all his old
  grace and majesty. He took one look at Helen and leaped on to her lap. With
  a cry of delight she put down her cup and stroked the beautiful fur as the
  cat arched himself against her hand and the familiar purr echoed round the
  room.
 "He knows me," she murmured. "He knows me."
  Sep nodded and smiled. "He does that. You were good to 'im. He'll never
  forget ye, and we won't either, will we, mother?"
  "No, we won't, Mrs. Herriot," his wife said as she applied butter to a
  slice of gingerbread. "That was a kind thing ye did for us and I 'ope
  you'll come and see us all whenever you're near."
  "Well, thank you," I said. "We'd love to-we're often in Brawton."
 438ALL THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL

  I went over and tickled Oscar's chin, then I turned again to Mrs.
  Gibbons. "By the way, it's after nine o'clock. Where has he been till
  now?"
 She poised her butter knife and looked into space.
  "Let's see, now," she said. "It's Thursday, isn't it? Ah yes, it's 'is
  night for the Yoga class."
           CHAPTER
              48

 I knew it was the end of the chapter when I slammed the carriage door behind
 me and squeezed into a seat between a fat WAAF and a sleeping corporal.
  I suppose I was an entirely typical discharged serviceman. They had taken
  away my blue uniform and fitted me with a "demob suit," a ghastly garment
  of stiff brown serge with purple stripes which made me look like an
  old-time gangster, but they had allowed me to retain my RAF shirt and tie
  and the shiny boots which were like old friends.
  My few belongings, including Black's Veterinary Dictionary, lay in the rack
  above in a small cardboard suitcase of a type very popular among the lower
  ranks of the services. They were all I possessed and I could have done with
  a coat because it was cold in the train and a long journey stretched
  between Eastchurch and Darrowby.
  It took an age to chug and jolt as far as London then there was a lengthy
  wait before I boarded the train for the north. It was about midnight when
  we set off, and for seven hours I sat there in the freezing darkness, feet
  numb, teeth chattering.
  The last lap was by bus and it was the same rattling little vehicle that
  had carried me to my first job those years ago. The driver was the same
  too, and the time between seemed to melt away as the fells began to rise
  again from the blue distance in the early light and I saw the familiar
  farmhouses, the walls creeping up the grassy slopes, the fringe of trees by
  the river's edge.
  It was mid morning             when we rumbled into the
 market place and I read "Darrowby Co-operative Society"
 above the shop on the far side. The sun was high, warm
 ing the tiles of the fretted line of roofs with their swell
               439
 440ALL TMNGS WISE AND WONDERPUL

 ing green background of hills. I got out and the bus went on its way,
 leaving me standing by my case.
  And it was just the same as before. The sweet air, the silence and the
  cobbled square deserted except for the old men sitting around the clock
  tower. One of them looked up at me.
  "Now then, Mr. Herriot," he said quietly as though he had seen me only
  yesterday.
  Before me Trengate curved away till it disappeared round the grocer's
  shop on the comer. Most of the quiet street with the church at its foot
  was beyond my view and it was a long time since I had been down there,
  but with my eyes closed I could see Skeldale House with the ivy climbing
  over the old brick walls to the little rooms under the eaves.
  That was where I would have to make another start; where I would find Out
  how much I had forgotten, whether I was fit to be an animal doctor again.
  But I wouldn't go along there yet, not just yet....
  A lot had happened since that first day when I arrived in Darrowby in
  search of a job but it came to me suddenly that my circumstances hadn't
  changed much. All I had possessed then was an old case and the suit I
  stood in and it was about the same now. Except for one great and
  wonderful thing. I had Helen and Jimmy.
  That made all the difference. I had no money, not even a house to call
  my own, but any roof that covered my wife and son was personal and
  special. Sam would be with them, too, waiting for me. They were outside
  the town and it was a fair walk from here, but I looked down at the blunt
  toes of my boots sticking from the purple striped trousers. The RAF
  hadn't only taught me to fly, they had taught me to march, and a few
  miles didn't bother me.
  I took a fresh grip on my cardboard case, turned towards the exit from
  the square and set off, left-right, left-right, left-right on the road
  for home.
     ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 JAmEs HERRiOT is still a practicing veterinary surgeon. He grew up in
 Scotland and went to Glasgow Veterinary College. After qualifying, he went
 to work in the Yorkshire Dales of northern England. Except for wartime
 service in the R.A.F. he has never left Yorkshire, and still works with
 Siegfried and Tristan Farnon, the colorful characters in his books.
 Outside his work, his interests are music, football and dog-walking.
THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF,
JAMES HERRIOT

 Few authors have captivated readers throughout the world as James Herriot
 has. The quiet Yorkshire vet burst on the scene in 1972 with what became
 America's number one bestseller, ALL CREATURES GREAT AND SMALL. His two
 succeeding books, ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL and ALL THINGS WISE AND
 WONDERFUL, have also become number one bestsellers.
  In all three books-with a simple, direct and engaging manner-Herriot
  tells tales of the people, the animals and his life on the rolling
  farmlands of northern England. Each book reflects his daily life, filled
  with challenges and yet met with blood, sweat and engaging humor. His
  storytelling skill may only be excelled by his appealing barnyard manner
  with animals of all kinds and sizes-an ark-full of delights ranging from
  thoroughbred race horses to mongrel kittens.
  ALL CREATURES GREAT AND SMALL is the warm account of Herriot's first two
  years as a young veterinary surgeon in the Yorkshire hills in the late
  1930s. ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL covers the period from Herriot's
  marriage until his entrance into the service during World War 11. ALL
  THINGS WISE AND WONDERFUL deals with life in the service and past
  remembrances.
  Each book offers a magic change of pace and a mastery of both the comic
  and the tragic. Whether sad or glad, each story shows his deep affection
  for animals and people. The reader comes away from a Herriot book
  happier, more sensitized to everyday drama, more sympathetic to fellow
  creatures than he or she was before. Each book is a celebration of life.
  All three Herriot books are Bantam Books, available wherever paperbacks
  are sold.