"Nothing very exciting at the next place," I kept the triumph out of my
voice as we drove away. "Just a bullock with a tumour on its jaw. But
it's an interesting herd - all Galloways, and this group we're going to
see have been wintered outside. They're the toughest animals in the
district." Carmody nodded. Nothing I said seemed to rouse much
enthusiasm in him. For myself this herd of untamed black cattle always
held a certain fascination; contacts with them were always coloured by a
degree of uncertainty - sometimes you could catch them to examine them,
sometimes you couldn't.
As we approached the farm I could see a bunch of about thirty bullocks
streaming down the scrubby hillside on our right. The farm men were
driving them down through the scattered gorse bushes and the sparse
groups of trees to where the stone walls met in a rough V at the front.
One of them waved to me. "We're going to try to get a rope on 'im down
in the corner while he's among his mates. He's a wick bugger - you'd
never get near him in t field."
After a lot of shouting and waving and running about the bullocks were
finally cornered and they stood in a tight, uneasy pack, their shaggy
black polls bobbing among the steam rising from their bodies.
"There he is! You can see the thing on his face." A man pointed to a big
beast about the middle of the bunch and began to push his way towards
him. My admiration for the Yorkshire farm worker rose another notch as I
watched him squeezing between the plunging, kicking animals. "When I get
the rope on his head you'll all have to get on t'other end - one man'll
never hold 'im." He gasped as he fought his way forward.
He was obviously an expert because as soon as he got within reach he
dropped the halter on to the bullock's head with practised skill.
"Right!" he shouted. "Give me a hand with him. We have 'im now."
But as he spoke the beast gave a great bellow and began to charge from
the pack. The man cried out despairingly and disappeared among the hairy
bodies. The rope whipped free out of reach of everybody. Except Carmody.
As the bullock shot past him he grabbed the trailing rope with a reflex
action and hung on.
I watched, fascinated, as man and beast careered across the field. They
were travelling away from me towards the far slope, the animal head
down, legs pistoning, going like a racehorse, the student also at full
speed but very upright, both hands on the rope in front of him, a
picture of resolution.
The men and I were helpless spectators and we stood in a silent group as
the beast turned left suddenly and disappeared behind a clump of low
trees. It was gone for only a few moments but it seemed a long time and
when it reappeared it was going faster than ever, hurtling over the turf
like a black thunderbolt. Carmody" incredibly, was still there on the
end of the rope and still very upright but his strides had increased to
an impossible length till he seemed to be touching the ground only every
twenty feet or so.
I marvelled at his tenacity but obviously the end was near. He took a
last few soaring, swooping steps then he was down on his face. But he
didn't let go. The bullock, going better than ever, had turned towards
us now, dragging the inert form apparently without effort, and I winced
as I saw it was headed straight for a long row of cow pats.
It was when Carmody was skidding face down through the third heap of
muck that I suddenly began to~like him. And when he finally did have to
release his hold and lay for a moment motionless on the grass I hurried
over to help him up. He thanked me briefly then looked calmly across the
field at a sight which is familiar to every veterinary surgeon - his
patient thundering out of sight across the far horizon.
The student was almost unrecognisable. His clothes and face were
plastered with filth except where the saffron streaks of the Istin
showed up like war paint, he smelt abominably, he had been bitten in the
backside, nothing had really gone right for him all day yet he was
curiously undefeated. I smiled to myself. It was no good judging this
bloke by ordinary standards; I could recognise the seeds of greatness
when I saw them.
Carmody stayed with us for two weeks and after that first day I got on
with him not so badly. Of course it wasn't the same relationship as with
other students; there was always a barrier of reserve. He spent a lot of
time squinting down the practice microscope at blood films, skin
scrapings, milk smears, and by the end of each day he had collected a
fresh supply of samples from the cases he had seen. He would come and
drink a polite beer with me after an evening call but there was none of
the giggling over the day's events as with the other young lads. I had
the feeling always that he would rather have been writing up his case
book and working out his findings.
But I didn't mind. I found an interest in being in contact with a truly
scientific mind. He was as far removed as he could be from the
traditional studious swot - his was a cold, superior intellect and there
was something rewarding in watching him at work.
I didn't see Carmody again for over twenty years. I picked out his name
in the Record when he qualified with top marks then he disappeared into
the great world of research for a while to emerge with a Ph.D. and over
the years he added a string of further degrees and qualifications. Every
now and then an unintelligible article would appear in the professional
journals under his name and it became commonplace when reading
scientific papers to see references to what Dr. Carmody had said on the
subject.
When I finally did see him he was the guest of honour at a professional
banquet, an international celebrity heavy with honours. From where I was
Sitting at the far end of one of the side tables I listened to his
masterly speech with a feeling of inevitability, the wide grasp of his
subject, the brilliant exposition - I had seen it all coming those many
years ago.
Afterwards when we had left the tables he moved among us and I gazed
with Something like awe at the majestic figure approaching. Carmody had
always been big, but with the tail coat tight across the massive
shoulders and the vast L~
expanse of gleaming shirt front stretched over the curving abdomen he
was almost overpowering. As he passed he stopped and looked at me.
"It's Herriot, isn't it?"the handsome, high-coloured face still had that
look of calm power.
"Yes, it is. It's good to see you again."
We shook hands. "And how is the practice at Darrowby?"
"Oh, as usual," I replied. "Bit too busy at times. We could do with some
help if ever you felt like it."
Carmody nodded gravely. "I'd like that very much. It would be good for
me."
He was about to move on when he paused. "Perhaps you'd let me know any
time you want a pig bled." For a moment we looked into each other's eyes
and I saw a small flame flicker briefly in the frosty blue. Then he was
gone.
As I looked at the retreating back a hand gripped my arm. It was Brian
Miller, a happily obscure practitioner like myself.
"Come on, Jim, I'll buy you a drink," he said.
We went into the bar and ordered two beers.
"That Carmody!" Brian said. "The man's got a tremendous brain, but by
God he's a cold fish."
I sipped at the beer and looked thoughtfully into my glass for a few
seconds.
"Oh I don't know," I said. "He certainly gives that impression, but
Carmody's all right."
Chapter Twenty-one.
The big room at Skeldale House was full. It seemed to me that this room
with its graceful alcoves, high, carved ceiling and french windows lay
at the centre of our life in Darrowby. It was where Siegfried, Tristan
and I gathered when the day's work was done, toasting our feet by the
white wood fireplace with the glass-fronted cupboard on top, talking
over the day's events. It was the heart of our bachelor existence,
sitting there in a happy stupor, reading, listening to the radio,
Tristan usually flipping effortlessly through the Daily Telegraph
crossword.
It was where Siegfried entertained his friends and there was a constant
stream of them - old and young, male and female. But tonight it was
Tristan's turn and the pack of young people with drinks in their hands
were there at his invitation And they wouldn't need much persuasion.
Though just about the opposite of his brother in many ways he had the
same attractiveness which brought the friends running at the crook of a
finger.
The occasion was the Daffodil Ball at the Drovers" Arms and we were
dressed in our best. This was a different kind of function from the
usual village institute hop with the farm lads in their big boots and
music from a scraping fiddle and piano. It was a proper dance with a
popular local band - Lenny Butterfield and his Hot Shots - and was an
annual affair to herald the arrival of spring.
I watched Tristan dispensing the drinks. The bottles of whisky, gin and
sherry which Siegfried kept in the fireplace cupboard had taken some
severe punishment but Tristan himself had been abstemious. An occasional
sip from a glass of light ale perhaps, but nothing more. Drinking, to
him, meant the bulk intake of ;:
l l draught bitter; all else was mere vanity and folly. Dainty little
glasses were anathema and even now when I see him at a party where
everybody is holding small drinks Tristan somehow contrives to have a
pint in his hand.
"Nice little gathering, Jim," he said, appearing at my elbow. "A few
more blokes than girls but that won't matter much."
I eyed him coldly. I knew why there were extra men. It was so that
Tristan wouldn't have to take the floor too often. It fitted in with his
general dislike of squandering energy that he was an unenthusiastic
dancer; he didn't mind walking a girl round the floor now and again
during the evening but he preferred to spend most of the time in the
bar.
So, in fact, did a lot of the Darrowby folk. When we arrived at the
Drovers the bar was congested while only a dedicated few circled round
the ballroom. But as time went on more and more couples ventured out and
by ten o'clock the dance floor was truly packed. ~
And I soon found I was enjoying myself. Tristan's friends were an
effervescent bunch; likable young men and attractive girls; I just
couldn't help having a good time.
Butterfield's famed band in their short red jackets added greatly to the
general merriment. Lenny himself looked about fifty-five and indeed all
four of the Hot Shots ensemble were rather elderly, but they made up for
their grey hairs by sheer vivacity. Not that Lenny's hair was grey; it
was dyed a determined black and he thumped the piano with dynamic
energy, beaming out at the company through his horn-rimmed glasses,
occasionally bawling a chorus into the microphone by his side,
announcing the dances, making throaty wisecracks. He gave value for
money.
There was no pairing off in our party and I danced with all the girls in
turn. At the peak of the evening I was jockeying my way around the floor
with Daphne and the way she was constructed made it a rewarding
experience. I never have been one for skinny women but I suppose you
could say that Daphne's development had strayed a little too far in the
other direction. She wasn't fat, just lavishly endowed.
Battling through the crush, colliding with exuberant neighbours,
bouncing deliciously off Daphne, with everybody singing as they danced
and the Hot Shots pouring out an insistent boom-boom beat, I felt I
hadn't a care in the world. And then I saw Helen.
She was dancing with the inevitable Richard Edmundson, his shining gold
head floating above the company like an emblem of doom. And it was
uncanny how in an instant my cosy little world disintegrated leaving a
chill gnawing emptiness.
When the music stopped I returned Daphne to her friends and went to find
Tristan. The comfortable little bar in the Drovers was overflowing and
the temperature like an oven. Through an almost impenetrable fog of
cigarette smoke I discerned my colleague on a high stool holding court
with a group of perspiring revellers. Tristan himself looked cool and,
as always, profoundly content He drained his glass, smacked his lips
gently as though it had been the best pint of beer he'd ever tasted,
then, as he reached across the counter and Courteously requested a
refill he spotted me struggling towards him.
When I reached his stool he laid an affable hand on my shoulder, "Ah,
Jim, nice to see you. Splendid dance, this, don't you think."
I didn't bring up the fact that I hadn't seen him on the floor yet, but
making my voice casual I mentioned that Helen was there.
Tristan nodded benignly. "Yes, saw her come in. Why don't you go and
dance "I can't do that. She's with a partner - young Edmundson."
"Not at all." Tristan surveyed his fresh pint with a critical eye and
took an exploratory sip. "She's with a party, like us. No partner."
"How do you know that?"
"I watched all the fellows hang their coats out there while the girls
went upstairs. No reason at all why you shouldn't have a dance with
her."
"I see." I hesitated for a few moments then made my way back to the
ballroom But it wasn't as easy as that. I had to keep doing my duty with
the girls in our group and whenever I headed for Helen she was whisked
away by one of her men friends before I got near her. At times I fancied
she was looking over at me but I couldn't be sure; the only thing I knew
for certain was that I wasn't enjoying myself any more; the magic and
gaiety had gone and I felt a rising misery at the thought that this was
going to be another of my frustrating contacts with Helen when all I
could do was look at her hopelessly. Only this time was worse - I hadn't
even spoken to her.
I was almost relieved when the manager came up and told me there was a
call for me. I went to the phone a
nd spoke to Mrs. Hall. There was a
bitch in trouble whelping and I had to go. I looked at my watch - after
midnight, so that was the end of the dance for me.
I stood for a moment listening to the muffled thudding from the dance
floor then slowly pulled on my coat before going in to say goodbye to
Tristan's friends. I exchanged a few words with them, waved, then turned
back and pushed the swing door open.
Helen was standing there, about a foot away from me. Her hand was on the
door, too. I didn't wonder whether she was going in or out but stared
dumbly into her smiling blue eyes.
"Leaving already, Jim?" she said.
"Yes, I've got a call, I'm afraid."
"Oh what a shame. I hope it's nothing very serious."
I opened my mouth to speak, but her dark beauty and the very nearness of
her suddenly filled my world and a wave of hopeless longing swept over
and submerged me. I slid my hand a few inches down the door and gripped
hers as a drowning man might, and wonderingly I felt her fingers come
round and entwine themselves tightly in mine.
And in an instant there was no band, no noise, no people, just the two
of us standing very close in the doorway.
"Come with me," I said.
Helen's eyes were very large as she smiled that smile I knew so well.
"I'll get my coat," she murmured.
This wasn't really me, I thought, standing on the hall carpet watching
Helen ,
reappeared on the landing pulling on her coat. Outside, on the cobbles