Vet in a Spin

by James Herriot

legs jammed under the broken timbers - ws with their leaded panes, at

  the smooth, freshly-pointed stones. of the partition.

  opened the door to me. She was Miss Tremayne's cook-housekeeper, "I

  think she's sulking, Mr Daggett," I said.

  "She's had a few goes at rising and of my favourite people. Aged about

  fifty, no more than five feet high now she's decided not to try any

  more. Some cows are like that."

  ~und as a ball with short bandy legs sticking out from beneath a tight

  "Maybe you're right," the farmer replied.

  "She's all us been a stupid bitch."

  sAnd she's a big one, too. She'll take a bit of moving." I lifted a

  rope from the ~orning, Elsie," I said, and she burst into a peal of

  laughter. Thi ~byre wall and tied it round the hocks.

  "I'll push the feet from the other side - ~'>er remarkable physical

  appearance, was what delighted me. Sb ~while you and Ned pull the legs

  round."

  t:1 l : : v . ~ "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 al ways, expectant.

  I went behind the partition and thrust steadily at the feet while the

  men pulled. At least Mr Daggett pulled, mouth open, gasping with

  effort, while Ned leaned languidly on the rope.

  Inch by inch the big animal came round till she was Iying 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 fall down because he hand's been trying, and his employer,

  stretched flat, glared up at him with frustrated rage.

  "Ye little bugger, ye let me do that all by myself! 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 feet, and the

  farmer gesticulated at the little man.

  "Well, go on, clang ye, get some straw and rub her legs! 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 welling tons which offered no

  protection.

  "Ow! Ow! Ow!" yelled Mr Daggett, 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 'elf.

  Just then I happened to glance towards Ned and was amazed to see the

  apathetic little face crinkle suddenly into a wid& 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 ttonly time 'e ever hurries. Can't wait to get out 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 to a bad end ' -' ~bout the way 'e

  does."

  ~he odd ~lass of beer . . ."

  / tIl~ v~ ~ ~ here's more than that to it." He glanced around him.

  "Thercs I incredulously.

  "Oh come now, Mr Daggett, what women?"

  t'pub," he muttered.

  "Them Bradley lasses."

  dlord's daughters? Oh really, I can't believe . . ."

  ~.

  "All right, ye can say what ye like. He's got 'is eye on 'em. Ah knew

  ah've only been in that pub once but ah've seen for me self."

  I didn't know what to say, but ih any case I had no opportunity because

  he turned and strode into the house.

  Alone in the cold darkness I looked at the gaunt silhouette of the old

  farmhouse above me. In the dying 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 every thing, a black featureless bulk, oppressive

  and menacing.

  Through the kitchen window I could see the oil 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 intoNed loft and

  I could imagine the little figure clambering up to get changed and

  escape to Bris ton.

  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 Finch's bright lights and I could understand

  how he felt. After Scar Farm Bris ton 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 Bris ton. 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 like 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 pleasant-faced 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."

  "Now then, Mr Herriot," he murmured absently, glancing at me with his

  st range 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, the knows."

  Miss Bradley laughed.

  "Yes, he nob but 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 "'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, loo king 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 was a

  quarter to ten and he still had to cycle across to the other side of

  the Dale. Another late night for Ned.

  ol4 ver zn a OpTTI It was a Tuesday lunchtime in early spring. Helen

  al ways 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 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 get ting

  married."

  I choked on my pie.

  "What!"

  "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 f~ _ Elsie op "What's She star I put m

  The gig holding the' , cling ot~ unreality perslstea.

  ened the door as usual. I looked at her for a moment.

  this I hear, Elsie?" ~ ted a giggle which rapidly spread over her

  spherical frame.

  ~ / hand on her shoulder.

  "Is it true?"

  I ~le developed into a mighty gale of laughter, and if she hadn't been

  handle I am sure she would have fallen over.

  A ~A, "A ^; n to get wed "Well, I She had~ e,~ r~~ door. Then she led

  me to the drawing room.

  "In ye go," she chuckled.

  "Ahtll 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, sie was clearing the table here and, Mr Herriot." She

  clasped her hands right enough, sne gaspcu. ~ll 8vC She leaned

  helplessly on the door.

  "I', m pleased to hear it, Elsie. I hope you'll be very happy."

  n't the strength to sue ak but merely nodded as she lay against the o'~

  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 ear.

  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 put ting the lotion in that I was pressed into service.

  As I turned the ear over and genlty massaged the oily liquid into the

  depths.

  Wilberforce groaned softly with pleasure and rubbed his cheek 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.

  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, hee-hee-hee," she said, 'is where we'll sit of a night, and this

  ha-hahoho, 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 th
ings 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 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 Twenty-two Despite the crowds of men milling around East church

  I felt cut off and apart.

  It made me think of old Mr Potts from my veterinary days. He must have

  felt like that.

  "How are you, Mr Herriot?"

  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. That was when we met Mr Potts and

  Nip, his elderly sheepdog - they seemed to have the same habits as us.

  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 he 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?"

  "Nob but middlin', lad. Ah soon get short o' wind." He coughed a

  couple of times then asked the inevitable question.

  "And what have you been coin' this morning'?" 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 al ways 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 gaw!" he exclaimed.

  "It's a beggar, that milk fever. When I were a lad, good cows used to

  die like flies with it. All us 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.

  "Then we started blow in' up their udders wi' a bicycle pump, and d'you

  know they jumped up and walked away. Like magic it were." His eyes