Summer at Hope Meadows: the perfect feel-good summer read (Animal Ark Revisited Book 1)

by Lucy Daniels

  Mandy frowned. Even without the lameness, it wasn’t good for sheep to keep their heavy wool coats in the hot weather. As well as heat stroke, it put them at risk for fly strike. ‘Where did Jennifer think they came from?’ she asked.

  Emily looked down at her drink, then back up. ‘She wasn’t certain,’ she said, ‘but she and Dr McKay were worried they might belong to Robbie Grimshaw. Do you remember him? He and his ferrets helped you and James to move Lydia Fawcett’s rabbits.’

  ‘Of course I remember!’ Mr Grimshaw had been old even back then. It seemed a miracle to Mandy that he could still be alive, let alone keeping animals. She and James had been sure that the old man had been halfway in love with Lydia, who had farmed goats up at High Cross Farm. He had talked of the times they had danced together, years before James and Mandy had been born.

  ‘I think they were a bit worried about Mr Grimshaw himself,’ Emily went on. ‘Apparently no one in the village has seen him in months. Not that they saw him often, but he used to be down regularly to collect his pension from the post office. Lately, he hasn’t been at all. I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to pop up and see if everything was okay. Hopefully he’ll let us look round and if there are any animals that need treatment, we can discuss it with him.’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea.’ Mandy pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘Do I have time to check on Arthur before we go?’

  Her mum nodded. ‘Quickly, yes.’

  Mandy was delighted to find that Arthur had eaten the dandelion leaves she had left with him the night before. Helen had also been in and given him more of the liquid food and she had seen him chewing some hay.

  ‘I’ll take him off the drip later this morning,’ she promised. Mandy gave Arthur a cuddle and thanked Helen before grabbing her new wellingtons and jumping into the passenger seat of the Discovery.

  It was only a couple of minutes in the car to Robbie Grimshaw’s smallholding, deep in Lamb’s Wood. Mandy felt the years roll back as the present merged with memories from the past. The ancient oak trees that formed a tunnel over the roadway still shut out the sky, and at the lower end of the lane, the ancient tarmac was mazed with cracks. Further up, they had to slow to a crawl as the deep ruts of the unmade track became overrun with grass and weeds. Mandy found it hard to believe anyone still lived here. As a child, she had thought it was wild and fairy tale-like, but now it just seemed desperately impractical.

  When they arrived at the tiny farmyard, there was no sign of life. The gate, which all those years ago had swung on rusty hinges, had collapsed. The Lamb’s Wood Cottage sign nailed to the fence was illegible.

  ‘Take care,’ Emily warned as Mandy slid out of the car to try and move what remained of the gate. The wood was rotten, but she managed to drag the structure far enough to the side that her mum could drive through and she watched as Emily stopped, pulled on the handbrake and jumped out to join her.

  As she walked into the yard, Mandy couldn’t help wondering what they were going to find. There was no sign of human habitation. The weatherboarded cottage, once green with moss, was half submerged in a tangle of weeds and bushes. A corner of the roof had several tiles missing and one of the windows at the front was boarded up with plywood. Mandy found herself hoping that Mr Grimshaw had moved away.

  ‘What do you think?’ Emily said, stopping to look at the jungle that had once been a garden. ‘It doesn’t look like anyone’s here.’

  Mandy peered down the narrow pathway that led to the front door. ‘That door doesn’t look as if it’s been opened for months.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘Maybe the sheep are neglected because there’s no one left to look after them?’

  A flicker in the grass caught her attention. Crouching down, Mandy saw the huge tawny eyes of a tortoiseshell cat staring back at her. A moment later it melted away, then reappeared as it jumped up to the boarded window, nudged the plywood aside and plunged through the gap. Mandy thought she saw movement through the filthy glass in the window on the other side of the front door.

  ‘Did you see that?’ she asked her mum in a low voice.

  ‘I saw something,’ Emily admitted. ‘Do you think it was another cat?’

  ‘Whatever it was, we should probably have a look inside,’ Mandy decided. ‘Whether or not there’s anyone here, that cat looked half starved.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Emily zipped up her coat. ‘We should knock first. Just in case.’

  Mandy followed as her mum pushed her way up the path between the waist-high bushes and stood in front of the blistered front door. Raising her hand, she knocked twice on the cracked and faded wood. Inside, Mandy heard a scuffling movement, but as the moments passed and the door remained shut, she began to think it might only be animals living inside.

  Her mum knocked again, this time more firmly. To Mandy’s surprise, it swung open a crack and an eye peered out from the shadows.

  ‘What do you want?’ The voice was rusty, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. The door opened an inch more to reveal a tiny old man, stooped and shrinking away from the sunlight.

  Mandy winced as she noticed the raggedness of the man’s cotton shirt, the frayed corduroy trousers and filthy jerkin. A stale smell greeted her nostrils. She recognised the face, but the piercing blue eyes were clouded and unfocussed.

  ‘Hello, Mr Grimshaw.’ If Emily was as shocked as Mandy, she did a good job of covering it up. ‘We came to see if everything was all right. A neighbour thought one of your sheep might need treatment. Can we come in for a chat?’

  ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ A growl now, hostile and frightened like a wild animal.

  ‘I’m Emily Hope. I’m a vet, Mr Grimshaw, and this is my daughter Mandy. We have met before.’ The click of claws sounded in the hallway behind the old man. A dog’s face appeared: a pair of dark brown eyes and a long nose with the distinctive black and white markings of a border collie. Feeling movement behind his knee, Mr Grimshaw half turned.

  ‘Down, Shy,’ he grunted. The nose disappeared, but within a moment returned on the other side of the old man’s legs. ‘What do you want?’ Mr Grimshaw turned back to Emily and repeated the question for a third time.

  Suddenly his eyes brightened. He opened the door wider and said in a clear voice, ‘Everything is fine. I checked the sheep yesterday. There’s nothing wrong with them.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Emily said. ‘We can just …’

  ‘You can just nothing.’ Mr Grimshaw’s voice was final. ‘I don’t like busybodies. I’m fine. The animals are fine. Leave me alone.’ The door slammed shut. With a worried look in her eyes, Emily ushered Mandy back down the path towards the car.

  ‘Aren’t we going to do something?’ Mandy asked.

  Emily shook her head. ‘There’s not much we can do,’ she admitted. ‘Not if Mr Grimshaw hasn’t given us permission. The cat and dog looked slim, but there was no proof of neglect. I’ll get in touch with Seb Conway, see if he can call in.’

  Mandy stopped to take a last look at the grim house. Mr Grimshaw had sounded so angry. Back when she had first met him, he had seemed grumpy at first, but had proved to be a wonderful source of information. His love of animals had shone through. Now, despite the presence of Shy, he seemed very much alone. The weeds caught Mandy’s feet as she picked her way back to the car. This wasn’t turning out to be the fun, outdoorsy day she had hoped for. Sam Western’s farm was next. She wasn’t looking forward to that, either.

  Her mum was looking tired again, Mandy noticed as she climbed into the Discovery and put her seat belt on. Not that she was surprised. The visit to Lamb’s Wood Cottage had been depressing, to say the least. It was hard to say who had needed help more: the scrawny animals or the defiant, malnourished old man.

  Chapter Ten

  There was silence in the car as they drove back through the village and up the hill that led to Upper Welford Hall. It was a long time since Mandy had been to Sam Western’s. They passed the Hall, drove along the side of the yew hedge and ap
proached the main farm. Mandy was surprised to see that a section of one field had been fenced off and turned into a neatly gravelled car park. Emily drove into a parking space and turned off the engine.

  ‘Mum?’ Mandy turned to her mother. ‘Would it be okay for me to tackle the cases here? See if I can manage?’

  ‘Of course. It’ll be a good way to get started.’ Mandy was surprised Emily had agreed so easily. Was it because she didn’t feel up to it? Why did her mother look so exhausted?

  Climbing out of the car, Mandy went round to the boot. Emily watched as she collected stethoscope, thermometer, arm-length gloves and lubricant.

  ‘Should I take the things for foot trimming, too?’ Mandy asked.

  ‘Might be as well,’ Emily replied. ‘I can carry some stuff if you want.’ Adding both left- and right-handed hoof knives and the heavy trimmer that would allow her to reshape feet if they were overgrown, Mandy was glad to have her mother there, though she was careful to give her the lightest bits of equipment.

  Emily set off from the car park and headed through a gap that led into a yard surrounded by old stone buildings. Mandy had been in the farmyard before on visits with her parents. She recalled a grey stone hay-barn with a glorious archway and an old tractor invariably parked underneath. The byres along the sides of the yard had still been in use for young stock and the sick animals her parents had come to see. Best of all, there had been a row of calf pens, the small black and white heads of Friesian calves bawling when they heard movement in the yard.

  The calf pens were still there, but in place of the byres there was now a small row of shops. Green-painted signs announced what was on sale inside, from specialised cheeses to ice cream and local crafts. Thick woollen sweaters hung on a rack in one window above a cheerful-looking toy sheep.

  On the opposite side of the yard, beyond the old archway, stood a monstrosity of a building where the milking parlour had been. White, square and gleaming in the sun, Mandy couldn’t imagine what the architect had been thinking. Worse still, the archway itself had been filled in with glass. Behind it, where hay had been stacked, there were tables and chairs and beyond them another window. Mandy forced herself to follow Emily across the yard, although the temptation to stop and stare was overwhelming.

  A man in a blue boiler suit approached them. ‘Hello.’ He nodded at Emily and looked at Mandy. ‘You’ll be Mandy then,’ he said, holding out his hand. His grip was firm, his hand work-hardened. ‘I’m Graham.’

  ‘Graham is Mr Western’s dairyman,’ Emily explained. ‘He’s been here a while now.’

  Graham nodded. ‘Five years.’

  ‘Graham oversaw some of the changes,’ Emily said. ‘Mostly to do with the new milking parlour. Do you want to have a look?’

  Graham led them through a low doorway and Mandy found herself behind the glassed archway of the old barn. The tables and chairs she had seen from outside were lined up against a massive window. From here, Mandy could see straight into the enormous new building. To her surprise, it contained a modern rotary milking parlour. It was metallic with bright blue paint and spotlessly clean.

  ‘We can get through three hundred and sixty cows an hour,’ Graham told her. ‘People come for a cup of tea and a scone and to watch the cows being milked.’ He grinned. ‘It’s a lot different from the old days.’ They stood for a moment, looking through the window at the empty parlour. It was like being in a glossy brochure for twenty-first century dairies. ‘We should get on.’ Beckoning Mandy and Emily to follow, Graham led them through a back door to the far side of the courtyard.

  Several more well-preserved outbuildings stood opposite the parlour. As Graham led them past the first two, Mandy peered inside, hoping to find animals, but instead there were piles of netting and rope, wooden frames, crates of helmets, and a whole fleet of mountain bikes.

  ‘Jimmy Marsh’s equipment,’ Graham explained. ‘For the Outward Bound centre.’

  Mandy frowned. ‘There always used to be animals in there,’ she said.

  ‘The cows are outside right now,’ Graham explained. ‘But when they’re in, they’re housed in the cubicle shed over there.’ He pointed to a modern shed with well-ventilated side walls. ‘There isn’t room in these smaller buildings any more.’ He shot Mandy a rueful grin. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Progress isn’t pretty, is it? But it’s a necessary evil. The main thing is that the stock is well cared for.’

  He showed them into the third of the old stone buildings and, to Mandy’s delight, this one still had old-fashioned stalls with a flagstone passageway. Thick straw lined the pens where the cows stood, each one haltered and tied to an iron ring embedded in the wall. Sunlight filtered through a window, lighting motes of dust that were floating in the air.

  ‘This is the one that’s gone off her feed.’ Graham walked over and stood beside the larger of the two cows, laying his hand on her back. ‘She’s five weeks calved. No sign of mastitis. I think she has acetonaemia, but I wanted to get her checked out. Make sure there’s nothing underlying it.’

  Standing well back, Mandy took a good look at the cow. Acetonaemia happened when cows were low in energy; five weeks after calving was peak milking time and the time they were most likely to succumb to the condition. She was a tall animal, long-legged and rangy. Her abdomen, which should have been full, had an empty look and her eyes were less bright than they should have been.

  It appeared to be a straightforward case but Mandy felt a quiver of nerves. Graham seemed to know exactly what he was doing and, although in one way it made her job easier, she wanted to make a good impression. She went carefully through the routine examination. Temperature normal. No discharges. No infection in the milk. No sign of a twisted stomach. Finally, the sweet smell of ketones on the cow’s breath confirmed Graham’s diagnosis.

  Mandy turned to Emily. ‘I need to go and get her treatment,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ replied her mum, and together they set off back to the car park.

  ‘Seeing as Sam Western’s farm is organic, would it be appropriate to start just with glucose?’ Mandy asked as they reached the car. Although she knew the principles of organic farming, it was good to have her mum’s guidance.

  ‘You can use whichever drugs you feel are clinically necessary,’ Emily confirmed, ‘but minimal use of medicines is best. You can suggest some propylene glycol to follow up,’ she continued. ‘Graham knows the ropes. He can dose her.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ Mandy said.

  ‘You’re doing well,’ Emily told her with a smile. ‘Very professional.’ Together they made their way back to the shed.

  ‘I need to put this into the vein,’ Mandy told Graham, and he held the cow’s head while Emily pushed the hind end against the barrier. The glucose ran in easily, to Mandy’s relief. It could cause irritation if it was put under the skin accidentally. Once she had finished, Mandy straightened up.

  ‘Do you want to carry on?’ Emily asked. ‘Or should I tackle the lame cow?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Mandy said. Looking at the cow, it was easy to see which foot was causing the problem. As Graham approached, when the animal turned her head to look and snuffle his scent, she barely dotted the foot to the ground. She was almost hopping as her hind end swung over.

  With Graham’s help, Mandy tied a rope around the affected leg.

  ‘This is where these old buildings come into their own,’ he said and, coiling the rope, he threw it over one of the wooden beams, catching the end and passing it back around the animal’s hock before hauling the foot off the ground. ‘We’ll see if she stands still for us,’ he said. ‘She’s a quiet old thing and her foot’s painful. If she won’t, we can take her to the crush, but she’s finding it hard to walk, as you can see.’

  Mandy set to work. The cow’s foot was in good shape, though the outside cleat felt hot under her fingers. She didn’t need to trim it, so she concentrated on scraping away the top layer of dirt with her hoof knife, looking for any dark areas that mi
ght indicate an abscess.

  ‘I think it’s here,’ she said after a minute of careful searching. Emily gave no sign of whether she was right or wrong, and after a moment, Mandy applied the knife again, this time carving deeper, following the suspect black mark as it tracked up the side of the hoof. The cow seemed less at ease now and Mandy felt the strain on her back and arms as she struggled to hold the foot. The cow was pulling her leg away, trying to kick out backwards.

  Just as Mandy lost her grip, a dark shadow passed the window, but Mandy had no time to look up. Grabbing the foot and taking a better hold, she cradled the leg against her thigh and made another cut. To her relief, a spurt of black-coloured pus emerged, under pressure at first but quickly slowing.

  ‘Well done,’ said a deep voice.

  Mandy lifted her eyes and was alarmed to see that Sam Western had entered the byre and was watching. As Welford’s most ruthless farmer, his bad-tempered outbursts when they were children had always frightened James more than her, but his presence was still daunting. His hair, now white, still looked as though it had been drilled into place. The crease in the centre of his forehead was as deep as the ravine at How Stean Gorge. Unable to let go of the hoof, she paused for what felt like an age, but he nodded at her to carry on and turned to his dairyman. ‘How are things, Graham?’

  ‘Everything’s fine.’ The stockman began to give his boss what seemed to be a daily update on the herd. Breathing out, Mandy continued to work at the foot until she had removed enough of the side wall to ensure the hole wouldn’t seal over as soon as the cow put it down. To her relief, Mr Western finished talking to Graham and disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived.