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 Highburn 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.
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 wouldn’t 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 was 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!”
CHAPTER 13
I 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 given me a second look as I strolled casually into the bus station.
It was Saturday, 13 February. Helen was expecting our baby this weekend. It could happen any time and I just didn’t see how I could sit here these few miles 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 …?”
“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.”
“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 properly 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 he 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?”
“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 p
itying 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. 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 me 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—I 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.
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 Herriot! 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 our heads on the square every morning.
“Herriot! 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.”
The 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.
“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 missus, 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, lad,” 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.”
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 this 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 starte
d 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 ton.
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 other 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.
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 corner 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.
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