‘Evening, John. Your costume is all here, do you want assistance dressing this evening?’
‘Thank you, Mary, I’ll be fine.’
‘No problem,’ she said, disappearing back to her table.
‘When I first started doing this, I used to be dressed every night like some earl,’ he whispered to me. ‘It was all very odd, but now I know how to put it all on, I prefer to do it myself.’ He busied himself getting Pollyanne settled with her hay net and unpacking her bag of brushes. Meanwhile I returned to the elevator to grab the other crate of chickens. ‘There’s a little drinker and a bottle of water you can fill up for each of the chicken crates,’ John instructed me.
As we settled our charges into their temporary accommodation, the stage workforce were increasingly distracted by our arrival, coming over to greet Pollyanne enthusiastically. It was evident that she was a very popular addition to the performance. One old chap suddenly appeared with two carrier bags, full to bursting, one with sweets and the second with apples, carrots and other such donkey delights. ‘Here you go, John, your evening supplies.’
‘Thank you kindly, sir,’ John responded as he took them, then turned to me and whispered, ‘That’s Richard, he’s the same every time. Brings all these sweets for us. I can never eat them, but he insists we take them home for all the volunteers at the sanctuary, and of course Pollyanne gets her own bag.’ Then in a slightly serious tone, he added, ‘As you can see, everyone is so eager to spoil her, I actually have to monitor what she gets, to make sure she doesn’t get overfed.’
Among the small crowd of well-wishers, a lady now appeared who, from her appearance, did not seem to be part of the stage crew.
‘Evening, John, all OK?’ she said, before turning to greet Pollyanne.
John looked up and, as he recognized her, a warm smile spread across his face. ‘Hi, Kay, I’m fine, just fine, let me introduce you to Jon, he’s our vet at the sanctuary, I thought I’d bring him to show him our star at work!’ He turned to me. ‘Kay is Pollyanne’s agent, the one that got us into all this nearly twenty years ago, can you believe it?’
‘Pleasure to meet you,’ I said, shaking her hand.
‘How lovely you could come this evening. You must go and meet Louis, the gentle giant, he’s the other star of the show.’
‘Yes, Louis is beautiful,’ John agreed. ‘In fact, Kay, would you mind staying with Pollyanne for a minute so I can show Jon around?’
‘Of course, no problem,’ Kay said, and immediately turned her attention to fussing over Pollyanne who was now more interested in her hay net.
‘Come on, Jon, it’s only six thirty, so there’s plenty of time to show you around before I need to get ready.’
First he led me towards the front of the immaculately prepared stage, where a small team of stagehands were attending to last-minute jobs. The vast crimson red stage curtain was down and there was as yet little noise coming from the other side of it. Any punters who had already arrived were clearly occupying the bars and restaurants rather than their seats. I noticed the yellow tape on the floor that Emily had mentioned. Despite it being set about a metre back from the stage entrance, the vantage point still afforded a view of over half of the stage. Six chairs were lined up in two rows of three, in the corner, behind the line.
‘You’re more than welcome to watch the performance from here,’ John told me. ‘These are for special guests of the performers.’
Then he led me back past Pollyanne’s pen to the back right of the stage, which opened out into a much larger area. A large, majestic, jet-black shire stallion stood in the middle of his roped-off area as his owner brushed and groomed him.
‘Good evening, Samantha, are you well?’ John said, greeting her and introducing us.
‘This is Pollyanne’s mate, Louis,’ she told me. ‘The two of them have been in every performance of Carmen since it started, haven’t they, John?’
‘Indeed, they both love it.’
‘What a beautiful animal,’ I said, stroking him.
‘Thank you, he’s such a star, even if I do say so. Never put a foot wrong in nine years.’
‘Louis plays a horse belonging to Carmen’s lover, the bull-fighter Escamillo,’ John explained. ‘He has to carry Escamillo around the stage while he sings “Toreador”. It’s pretty impressive to watch.’
I wondered how many opera singers imagine their career will involve performing on horseback. We left Louis, and John led me further back. It was only now that I began to fully appreciate just how large the stage was, but just when I thought we had reached the back of it, we came to a huge doorway. Walking through it, I realized we were on another enormous stage, and beyond that a third stage piled high with an array of sets: a throne room, a balcony, vast paintings, spectacular painted vistas.
‘It’s incredible, John,’ I said in disbelief. ‘I would have never known the back stage area was so vast.’
‘Yes, this area is even bigger than the front of stage, apparently, and these stages are on a huge turntable system so parts of the floor or whole stages can be interchanged between scenes or performances. They can store multiple different sets at the same time, which means they can have several different performances running together. It had a huge overhaul in the late nineties, and that’s when they added a lot of this. Well, I guess I’d best be getting ready, and Pollyanne will be eager for a brush,’ he added, bringing me back to the whole purpose of why we were there. We retraced our steps, and found Kay sitting on a chair outside the pen, busy on her phone, while Pollyanne was still happily tucking into her hay.
‘Thanks, Kay,’ John said, gathering together his outfit from the rail. ‘I’d better go and get changed now.’
‘Do you want me to give Pollyanne a brush while you’re getting changed?’ I enquired.
‘If you want to, that would be a great help, thanks.’ He disappeared off to find a changing room among the rabbit warren of corridors, rooms and offices underneath the stage.
I climbed into Pollyanne’s pen and took to brushing her. She responded immediately, leaving her hay net and turning to face the stage, ears pricked.
Kay laughed, ‘She knows exactly what’s going on, don’t you think?’
‘She certainly does – quite the performer, isn’t she?’ I replied.
‘I have to say I deal with all sorts of animals in my line of work and Pollyanne is one of my favourites, she’s such a character. I’m sure John told you about the night when Radio Three were here recording Pagliacci with Plácido Domingo, and Pollyanne let out an almighty bray during a duet. John was mortified, but everyone else thought it was hilarious.’
‘He did tell me, but I didn’t realize it was when the BBC were recording the performance.’
‘Oh yeah. After that people started queuing up outside the stage doors to get hoof prints of Pollyanne in their programmes, it was unbelievable. John took it all in his stride, as you’d expect.’
‘How funny,’ I mused. ‘Quite the celebrity.’
‘Who is?’ John said, suddenly reappearing, now dressed as a simple Spanish peasant farmer in old boots, chaps, flannel trousers, white shirt and grey jacket.
‘Pollyanne,’ Kay responded. ‘I was just telling Jon about how people used to queue up for her autograph.’
‘Oh yes,’ John chortled. ‘Took me quite by surprise the first time, but we soon got pretty good at it. Her hoof oil worked brilliantly as ink.’
‘You couldn’t make it up,’ I chuckled.
‘Well, what do you think?’ John asked. ‘Do I pass as a Spanish peasant?’
‘You certainly look quite the part. So, what is your role?’ I said, realizing for the first time that I didn’t actually know the story.
‘Well in Act One it’s a street scene and we appear on stage, with Pollyanne wearing a pair of pannier baskets filled with old-fashioned wine flagons, and I saunter around the stage offering them to villagers. Then in Act Three we walk onto the remnant of a battlefield. This time the p
annier baskets are full of ammunition, and I sell them, along with Pollyanne, to some gypsies who walk off with her.’
‘I can’t wait to see it,’ I said.
‘Come on then, Pollyanne, time to put your outfit on.’
The wings were all starting to fill with the performers, many of whom were keen to greet Pollyanne, while the bustle of the audience taking their seats was now clearly audible on the other side of the curtain. The stage caller wandered around, announcing, ‘Ten minutes.’
I felt an eager anticipation, but the routine of just another day in the office was evident among the cast, who were nonchalantly playing on their phones or chatting away. Pollyanne was now wearing her panniers over a very cleverly designed harness that had a subtle sack at the back to catch any droppings, should an accident happen on stage – although in nine years it never had. John donned his simple wide-brimmed hat and put his pipe in his mouth.
‘Five minutes to curtain up, take your positions and all quiet back stage, thank you.’
Quietly and efficiently, phones were put away and various cast members took to the stage while others got into position in the wings ready for their cue, as relaxed as ever. I marvelled at how slick and professional it was, but then this was the Royal Opera House, so I guess it had to be.
The orchestra started, the curtain went up and as the opera began I snuck forward to watch from the wings at the front of the stage. The auditorium was packed, with every single one of the 2,256 seats taken. I felt nervous just standing there watching the performance, and I wasn’t even on stage. I was just feet away from the limelight, it would be so easy to just walk out onto the stage, wave or take a bow. It was the same dizzy sort of feeling you get when you’re standing at the top of a tall building and imagine jumping off. After a few minutes I started getting used to my hidden vantage point, enjoying the unique privilege of the opportunity. Before long Pollyanne and John came on for Act One and then in no time they were back off stage, having delivered, as far as I could tell, another faultless performance. I wandered back over to join them. John took no time in removing Pollyanne’s costume to give her a brief rest, as they wouldn’t be needed for the rest of the first half. Pollyanne, so familiar with the routine, settled back into her hay net.
At the end of Act Two the screen came down to signal the interval. The hive of activity from the audience drowned out any noise that we made and so we were able to start talking normally again.
‘Time for a coffee, I reckon. Would you like one?’ John asked. ‘If you stay with Pollyanne, I’ll pop and get one.’
‘Sure, thanks.’
John disappeared with most of the cast as they headed to the dressing rooms. A few people stayed to engage with Pollyanne, who turned to greet her admirers. She never seemed to tire of the attention. The stagehands busied themselves on stage and in the wings as they altered the set for the second half.
John soon returned with coffees.
‘Enjoying it so far?’ he asked as he handed me one.
‘The whole experience is amazing. I still can’t quite believe I’m backstage at the Royal Opera House,’ I confessed. ‘It’s all a bit surreal.’
‘You have to go on stage after the performance, when everyone has gone. It’s incredible to look out at all the seats. It’s only then that you realize quite how special this place is.’
‘I’ll be sure to do that.’
Coffees finished, John set about getting Pollyanne ready again, and the cast started filtering back, several in new costumes.
‘Five minutes to curtain up for the second half, positions please.’
Once again the cast swiftly took their places and minutes later the orchestra erupted in its full glory. Up went the curtain, and the second half was under way.
Again I watched parts of it from the wings, although I found myself tiring of the limited view. If there were any tickets left for any of the performances, I vowed to come back and see it properly. As the opera reached it climax, I wandered down the wing to the back of the stage where Samantha was holding Louis with Gábor Bretz, who played Escamillo, already mounted up to ride on stage for the grand finale.
As the final notes died away, the audience erupted in delight at the evening’s entertainment. The cast took their repeated bows and then the curtain descended and all was over. Immediately a fever of activity broke out behind the curtain as the stagehands started striking the set. Carmen was not on again till Saturday, and in the meantime The Royal Ballet would be performing Romeo and Juliet, so things had to be dismantled for the stages to be switched around. I watched in amazement at the efficiency of the operation. After about twenty minutes of organized chaos the stage was completely empty, revealing quite how vast the space actually was. The curtain then rose to reveal the now empty auditorium, I tentatively left my seat by Pollyanne’s pen and headed to the front of the stage, looking out across the stalls, the grand tier, balcony and amphitheatre. John was right: it truly was breathtaking. I thought of the catalogue of world-famous ballerinas and opera singers who had performed on this very stage. And then I wondered how many vets had stood where I was standing.
Donkeys: fast facts
Equus africanus asinus: The donkey
Distribution: There are 185 different breeds of donkey across the world, but the greatest populations are found in Africa, Asia and Latin America. They all originate from the now endangered African wild ass, which is found in Egypt, Sudan, Ethiopia and Somalia.
Names: An adult male is called a ‘jack’, a female a ‘jenny’, and the young a ‘foal’. A male donkey can be crossed with a female horse to produce a mule, and a male horse can be crossed with a female donkey to produce a hinny. A group of donkeys is called a ‘drove’.
Life span: About 30–50 years.
Habitat: Their natural aptitude is for arid or semi-arid climates, but their resilience and usefulness as a working animal means they have adapted to survive in most environments.
Diet: They are grazers, naturally feeding on grass and scrub and although, like the horse their food is broken down by microbial action in the hind gut, their digestive system is more efficient, allowing them to survive on a much poorer-quality diet.
Gestation: 11–14 months.
Weight: Foals weigh 8–16 kg, growing to 80–480 kg as adults, depending on the breed.
Growth: Although a jenny can come into heat as soon as 9 days after a foal is born, she won’t naturally mate until the foal is weaned at about 6 months. Jacks reach puberty at about 10 months, and jennys at about 2 years, but neither are fully grown until about 3 years.
Body temperature: 36.2–37.8 °C.
Interesting fact: The donkey has been used as a working animal for over 5,000 years and, after human labour, they are the cheapest form of agricultural power.
Conservation: There are an estimated 40 million donkeys worldwide, about 96 per cent of them in undeveloped countries. In 2006, 27 per cent of the global population of donkeys lived in China but this has now reduced to 7.5 per cent, following growing demand for donkey meat and donkey-hide gelatin, ‘ejiao’, which can sell for about £300 per kg. This has led to donkeys being traded from Africa where they are often kept in appalling conditions. Brooke is an incredible equine charity that seeks to relieve the suffering of donkeys and mules all across the third world: www.thebrooke.org. The Island Farm Donkey Sanctuary also does a wonderful job in caring for neglected donkeys within the UK: www.donkeyrescue.co.uk.
12
FERRET
‘Ferrets, they are the most lovely noble darlings in the world.’
D. H. Lawrence
‘I’ve just booked you an emergency,’ Hazel said, popping her head round the door of my consulting room. ‘It’s a ferret. Apparently he’s behaving very strangely, and the owners are worried and are bringing him straight down.’
‘OK, thanks,’ I replied, wiping down the table between patients. It was not an unusual scenario to have an emergency in the middle of a consulting list; it w
as all part of the job. If you were fully booked then you prioritized it. There was no A&E facility, so sometimes it meant other clients had to wait, but most understood, taking the view that if it was their animal they would want the vet to see it first. With this particular emergency it looked like I would be lucky. I had half an hour’s gap after my next patient so hopefully I wouldn’t get too behind, and with that thought I cast the emergency out of my mind and walked out into the waiting room.
‘Sam White?’ I enquired. The only animal in the room was a boisterous and excited, slightly rotund chocolate Labrador accompanied by a man in his thirties dressed in jeans, shirt and puffer jacket and a boy of about six who was dressed as a mini version of his dad.
‘Come on, Jack, we’ve got to take Sam for his injections to stop him getting ill.’
‘Can I take him, Daddy?’ Jack asked, pestering his father to let him hold Sam’s lead.
‘I’ll take Sam, and you can take me,’ suggested his dad.
‘So Sam is here for his booster and general check-up, is that right?’ I asked when we were all in the consulting room.
‘Yeah, that’s it,’ replied Mr White.
‘Great, so how is he doing? Do you have any particular worries or concerns?’
‘Not really, he’s generally great. We want to get some weight off him, but a certain person enjoys sharing his dinner with him!’
I sympathized. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard something similar and looking at Jack, his arms draped around Sam’s neck, loudly whispering, ‘It’s OK, Sammy, the doctor is going to make you not get sick,’ I could see they had a very close bond.
I picked up my stethoscope and bent down to introduce myself to Sam and start my examination. He responded in excited exuberance, leaping forward, tail wagging furiously, and licked my face. Seeing this, Jack immediately started giggling uncontrollably. It was amusing, sure, but not that funny, I thought, but Jack was laughing hysterically until he finally burst out: ‘Sam just licked your face after he licked his willy!’
The Travelling Vet Page 18