Vet in a Spin

by James Herriot

in' Willie. She hid it on yon gutter ower there j - ~quite sure of Flt

  Lt Cramond's status at the flying school. He wasn't one of the every

  time t'calf tried to get out she pushed it back in again." ~regular

  instructors he was a much older man but he was obviously regarded "But

  . . . nay nay I can't 'ave that. I've never heard of such a thing.

  H. I with respect by his fellow officers and seemed to adopt a

  freelance role.

  you Mr Herriot?" ~He occasionally descended on an unsuspecting

  trainee pilot with his familiar I shook my head but the whole thing

  seemed to fit in with the air of fanti" request' "Would you care to

  dice with death?" and this was invariably followed which had begun to

  pervade the day's work. ~by a joy ride round the sky a dazzling

  display of aerobatics which looked Bob Sellars began to climb over the

  wall.

  "Aw right if ye won't believe me ~wonderful from the ground but could

  be shattering in the air.

  show ye." ~. I had seen pupils tottering green-faced from the Tiger

  Moth after these He led the way to the far end of the field where a dry

  ditch ran along the ~sessions and there seemed to be no particular

  reason why he did it at all. But of the wall.

  "There 'e is!" he said triumphantly. ~there was no doubt he was a

  brilliant flyer. It was rumoured that he had been And there indeed he

  was. A tiny red and white calf half concealed by the loi~ !

  a stunt pilot with Alan Cob ham's famous air circus but there were so

  many herbage. He was curled comfortably in his grassy bed his nose

  resting on I rum ours in the RAF - like the one about the bromide in

  the tea that I never fore legs. really knew ,f,t was true When the

  little creature sew his mother he staggered to his feet and clamberj'

  However I got ~nto the aircraft with a feeling of pleasant

  anticipation.

  shakily up the side of the ditch, but no sooner had he gained the level

  of the fi" ~Whatever happened I wouldn't feel ill being blessed with a

  stomach which never got queasy with motion. Over-mdul than the big cow

  released now from her halter lowered her head and geM.

  gence can have disastrous eflfects on nudged him back m agam. ~ ~ Bob

  waved his arm.

  "There yare she's hi din' it isn't she?" ~ ~boats in force nine gales

  when even the crew were groaning in their bunks but Mr Rogers said

  nothing and I merely shrugged my shoulders but twice and ~land-lubber

  Herr~ot was still enJoying h~s four meals a day. It was the same in

  the calf managed to scramble from the ditch and twice more his mother

  returru ~the a~r.

  him firmly with her head. ~ I soon had reason to be grateful for this

  blessing because Flt Lt Cramond "Well it teks a bit o' believin' the

  farmer murmured half to himself.

  "Shi threw the tattle a~rcraft around the sky in an alarming manner

  climbing high had five calves afore this and we've taken 'em straight

  away from eras we all; ~ I then fluttering earth wards l~ke a falhug

  autumn leaf doing repeated loops and ~ . ~ ,~. ~ ar~ T ~ T ~ ~ soms.

  Most of ~t I enJoyed because he was a likeable man and the eyes in the

  ao. mayue she wants to Keep this un for erse~t ~ 1 aunno . . . 1

  c~unno . . .

  mirror were humorous and friendly.

  voice trailed away.

  Later as we rattled down the stony track David turned to me.

  "Do you thig He kept up a running commentary as he went through his

  repertoire.

  that cow really hid her calf . . . so that she could keep ~t for

  herself?"

  ~a violent manoeuvre which involved a lot of flying upside down. To a

  novice like I stared helplessly through the glass of the windscreen.

  "Well anybody woul ~myself it was a st range sensation to be hanging in

  my straps, loo king up at tell you it's impossible but you saw what

  happened. I'm like Mr Rogers I p' farmhouses and down at the

  cloud-strewn sky.

  don't know." I paused as the car dipped into a deep rut and sent us

  bobbi.That was the only time I didn't feel too happy, because those

  canvas straps about.

  "But you see some funny things at our job." j ! were attached to the

  sides of the cockpit by frayed wires which twanged and The schoolboy

  nodded thoughtfully.

  "Yes it seems to me that yours is a full - [ ! groaned disturbingly as

  I hung there. It was a long way to the ground and I hfe altogether."

  ~kept a hand on the parachute release just in case.

  I was wondering how long we were going to stay in this position when he

  ~rolled over and went into a long dive. Down and down we roared

  heading nose : ~first for the peaceful farm land and just as I had

  concluded that we must ~: certainly plunge straight into the earth he

  levelled oflf and we skimmed through - ~;a long cornfield with the

  wheels of the undercarriage trailing among the golden .: ears.

  r~' 7 ~ r ~ ~"This is nice, isn't it?" Flt Lt Cramond murmured.

  ~napier `~Jteen ~ ~ . And it was nice too. There was no crop spraying

  in those days and the scent -~. of the wild flowers growing among the

  corn drifted into the open cockpit.

  The :: heady fra~rance took me back in a moment to that picnic with

  Helen.

  "Would you care to come and dice with death?" 'l There were many

  things leading up to the picnic. It all started when I caught Flight

  Lieutenant Cramond looked down at me his puckish features Helen in the

  pantry, stealing the porridge oats. She was stan ding with the pac~~'e

  into a mischievous smile. I was sit ting at a table in my flying suit

  waiting t ~in her hand, scooping the contents into her mouth with a

  spoon, and she water called for a grading test and I stood up

  hurriedly. ~guiltily when she saw me.

  "You mean . . . go up with you sir?" ~"You're at it again!" I

  exclaimed. I snatched the packet from `~d a little breeze "Yes that's

  right." ~ _`nearly empty! How many do you go through a week?" vlth

  it the sweet scent "Well I'm just waiting for . . ."~_ She looked at

  me with a stricken face and shook ~ l / ~ ver In a opln "But Helen raw

  porridge oats! You're not supposed to eat them that way ~ Not a packet

  at a time, anyway. You'll give yourself indigestion." ~] "I'm all

  right so far." Her spoon twitched and I could see she wanted more "But

  why don't you cook them and eat ordinary porridge do you good that

  way."

  She pouted.

  "Don't want ordinary porridge."

  I gave her an exasperated stare and left her to it. I'd had no

  experience with' pregnant women but I had heard of these cravings and

  no doubt they were to] be respected. With Helen it had started with

  oranges oranges morning noon ', and night and I was rather pleased

  because I thought they would be good for her with all those vitamins.

  But it wasn't long before she went off the oranges ~ and on to the

  porridge and I started to worry. .> However it was needless. Within a

  week or two the porridge had lost all it~ ~-~ attractions and Helen was

  on the custard. And it was cooked custard, good .~.; wholesome stuff

&n
bsp; made with plenty of milk, and though Helen drank it by the :.

  gallon instead of the pint I felt sure it must be beneficial.

  The custard phase lasted for some time. Whatever I was doing around

  our bed-sitter Helen would be crouched over her bowl of custard,

  imbibing it ~: effortlessly, spoonful by spoonful, watching me with

  inward-loo king eyes. When ~ 7-~ I was working in the garden I had

  only to glance up to the little window under the tiles to see that rapt

  face loo king out at me and the spoon rising and falling from the

  custard bowl.

  Such nourishing material, I thought, could no nothing but good both for

  my ~.

  wife and for our first born, but before I knew where I was the trouble

  with the smells began.

  It was totally unexpected. We both accepted the fact that our dining

  arrangements were somewhat primitive. Bare boards, a wooden bench

  against the wall and a gas ring was all we had. But it was all we

  wanted, so that it was something of a shock to me when Helen

  complained.

  It was one lunchtime and she looked around her, sniffing

  suspiciously.

  "There's a funny smell in here," she said.

  "A funny smell? What do you mean?" I was utterly at a loss because

  just about the only thing that annoyed me about my new wife was that

  she spent far too much time scrubbing and cleaning our premises. There

  just couldn't be any t smells.

  But it began to happen every day. Each lunchtime when we climbed the

  long flights of stairs to our kitchen Helen's nose began to wrinkle

  almost as soon as the door closed behind her. Matters came to a head

  at the end of a week.

  "Jim' she said mournfully.

  "I can't eat here any more. Not with this smdl about."

  It was a problem. Lunch was our main meal of the day and she had

  almost stopped ~ting breakfast. Also, the reassuring consumption of

  custard had d' this went on she would suffer from malnutrition. Then I

  had one nt ideas.

  o lunch," I said.

  ~" 30 They say it's very good."

  ~3 ~"` ~ainly.

  "All right, we'll try it. I just can't eat up herc,<, ~, ~, ~ }' 3:~

  into~ ~ ~I was sure the problem was solved. The food at the5;~.

  called fol ~ ~ . ~'t put any strain on our limited financial

  resoural~i "You mean>.~. ~tatoes and two veg." apple pie and cream,

  coffee. "Yes, that's right. >- ence. Helen enjoyed it all and I was

  triumpha~ "Well, I'm just waitini~; the Lilac was full, with the

  farmers and the Lt'

  //"J

  wiveS packing the place, and it was on a market day that the blow fell.

  I was Sipping my coffee and ma king conversation with two stout ladies

  at the next table when my wife nudged me.

  "Jim," she whispered, and I felt a premonition as I saw the familiar

  hunted look on her face.

  "There's a funny smell in here."

  I stared at her.

  "What kind of smell the same as the one at home?"

  I"No." She shook her head miserably.

  "But it's funny."

  "But Helen, this is pure imagination." I raised my head and gave a few

  ostentatious sniffs.

  "There's nothing here at all."

  IBut she was already on her way out and I realised with a sense of loss

  that j that was the end of the Lilac.

  For the next few days we tried the Dick on Street Cafe. It was much

  smaller and the food was definitely uninspiring but Helen seemed

  content, so I was thankful. After all, I told myself as I chewed at a

  toughish piece of rump steak she was the one who was having the baby

  and it was only right that I should humour her. And I was just

  thinking that matters could be a lot worse when she leaned across the

  table.

  "Can't you smell it?" she asked, wide-eyed.

  I felt a surge of despair.

  "Smell what?"

  "That funny smell. Surely you must be able to . . ." She gazed at me

  appealingly.

  "No, I can't," I said.

  "But never mind, we'll try somewhere else tomorrow."

  Darrow by didn't run to many cafes and there was only one left. It was

  known simply as Mrs Ackerley's and consisted of one tiny room in that

  lady's house down a side street. The cuisine there was frankly

  sub-standard and Mrs Ackerley herself didn't seem to have much faith in

  it because she invariably added "Preps not' to every suggestion.

  "Would you like some liver or preps not? Or some toad in the hole or

  preps not?" Then for dessert it would be the same.

  "How about prunes and rice - or preps not?"

  Everything was badly cooked and yet it fascinated me that she had her

  faithful clientele; an old man who worked at the shoe shop, a

  middle-aged spinster school teacher and a pale dyspeptic-loo king young

  man whom I recognised as a clerk from the bank. They came every day

  and I realised I was exploring a hitherto unknown stratum of Darrow by

  society.

  Helen seemed to find some humour in the situation.

  "Let's get round to Praps Not's," she would say each day and I hoped

  this was a good sign. But I could not stifle the lurking conviction

  within me that Mrs Ackerley wouldn't last.

  I was pushing some particularly tired-loo king cabbage round my plate

  when I heard a sharp intake of breath. My wife was sit ting bolt

  upright, snuffing the air like a hound on the scent.

  "Jim," she muttered urgently,

  "There's a . . ."

  I held up a hand.

  "Okay, okay, you don't have to tell me. Let's go."

  Our position was critical. We had run out of cafes and yet we couldn't

  live without eating. It was Helen who found the answer.

  "It's lovely weather," she said, slipping her arm through mine.

  "Let's have a picnic tomorrow."

  One thing about living in Darrow by is that you don't have to drive

  very far to leave the town behind. Next day we sat down on a grassy

  bank and as we opened our packet of sandwiches the September sun

  flooded down, warming the grey stones of the wall behind us, slanting

  dazzlingly against the tumbling water of the river far below.

  Beyond the wall lay the wide golden sweep of a corn field and a little

  breeze stirred the ripe ears into a long slow whisper, bringing with it

  the sweet scent of a thousand growing things.

  Helen sliced a tomato, shook some salt on to it and drew a long

  contented breath.

  "Nice smell here," she said.

  Chapter Sixteen 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 Heat on Park, Manchester, and I heard

  within two days that I had been graded pilot. Everything seemed at

  last to be going smoothly.

  "An operation . . . are you sure?"

  . ~ ~, i r~ _ ~ "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 the regular doctors.

  "This old surgical 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. ~ realised

  painfully that the fifty men with whom I had sweated my way through all

  those new experiences had become my friends. The first breaking-in at

  St John's Wood in London, the hard training at Scar borough ITW, the

  'toughening course' in Shropshire ant the final flying instruction at

  Wink field; 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 chums loo king almost

  bereaved, but they were all too busy to pay me much attention. They

  were being pushed around all over the place, get ting briefed and

  killed out for their posting, and it was a hectic time for the whole

  flight except me. I sat on my bed in thc Nissen hut while the

  excitement billowed around me. .

  I thought my departure would go unnoticed but when I got my summons and

  ~r~r prepared to leave I found, tucked in the webbing of my pack, an

  envelope fillot~ with the precious coupons with which we drew our

  ration of cigarettes in those days. It seemed that nearly everybody

  had chipped in and the final gestu~~ squeezed at my throat as I made my

  lonely way from the camp.

  The hospital was at Creden Hill, near Hereford, and I suppose it is one

  a the consolations of service life that you can't feel lonely for very

  long. The b~ ve' zn a opln /51 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 girl friend and insisted on reading it out to me, stanza

  by stanza. The lad on the right seemed a pensive type. Everybody

  addressed him as

  "Sam my' but he replied only in grunts.

  When he found out I was a vet he leaned from the sheets and beckoned to

  me.

  "I got fed up wit hem blokes call in' me Sam my," he muttered in a ripe

  Birmingham accent.

  "Because me name's not Sam my, 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?"

  He looked around him then spoke in a confidential whisper.

  "I gotta big ball."

  "A big ball. One of me balls is a right whopper."

  "Ah, I see, but I still don't understand . . ."

  "Well, it's like this," he said.

  "All the fellers in the ward keep say in' the doctor's goin' to cut it

  off- then I'd be like Sam my Hall."

  I nodded in comprehension. Memories from my college days filtered