she was like dyin' that pump in' job hadn't done no good at all. He
told me to give her a bloody good gallop round t'field."
"What!"
"Aye, that's what he said. He'd seen 'em like that afore and a good
gallop put 'em right. So we got Rose out here and did as he said and
by gaw it did the trick.
She looked better right away."
I drew myself up.
"And who," I asked frigidly, 'is Jim Oakley?"
"He's "'postman, of course."
"The postman!"
"Aye, but he used to keep a few beasts years ago. He's a very clever
man wi' stock, is Jim."
"No doubt, but I assure you, Mr Bailes. . ."
The farmer raised a hand.
"Say no more, lad. Jim put 'er right and there's no den yin' it. I
wish you'd seen 'im chasin' 'er round. He's as awd as me but by gaw 'e
did go. He can run like 'elf, can Jim." He chuckled reminiscently.
I had had about enough. During the farmer's eulogy I had been
distractedly: scratching the cow's tail and had soiled my hand in the
process. Mustering the remains of my dignity I nodded to Mr Bailes.
"Well, I must be on my way. Do you mind if I go into the house to wash
my hands ?"
"You go right in," he replied.
"T'missus will get you some hot water."
Walking back down the field the cruel injustice of the thing bore down
on me increasingly. I wandered as in a dream through the gate and
across the road.
Before entering the alley between the walls I glanced into the garden.
It was empty. Shuffling beside the rough stones I sank deeper into my
misery. There was no doubt I had emerged from that episode as a
complete Charlie. No matter where I looked I couldn't see a gleam of
light.
It seemed to take a long time to reach the end of the wall and I was
about to turn right towards the door of the farm kitchen when from my
left I heard the sudden rattle of a chain then a roaring creature
launched itself at me, bayed once, mightily, into my face and was
gone.
This time I thought my heart would stop. With my de fences at their
lowest I was in no state to withstand Shep. I had quite forgotten that
Mrs Bailes occasionally tethered him in the kennel at the entrance to
discourage unwelcome visitors, and he half lay against the wall, the
blood thundering in my ears,
I
looked dd'`"long coil of chain on the cobbles.
I people who lose their temper with animals but something then. All my
frustration burst from me in a torrent of grabbed the chain and began
to pull on it frenziedly.
~tured me was there in that kennel. For once I knew this time I was
going to have the matter out with him.
ten feet away and at first I saw nothing. There was end of the
chain. Then as I hauled inexorably all of the big animal hanging
limply by his get up and greet me but I was merciless and he cobbles
till he was lying at my feet.
~cried, shook my fist under his nose and yelled me again I'll knock
your bloody head off!
gy head clean off!"
~ ~ 0 "Sh~ ~ e4 Mr Ba~t-, turned and air.": ~ My Bible in those
great man stated there'^ foreign body in her reticu.. :(, . . . it
had to be something else-?
~ G~.~ ,5;~ ~
Shep rolled frightened eyes at me and his tail flickered apologetically
between his legs. When I continued to scream at him he bared his upper
teeth in an ingratiating grin and finally rolled on his back where he
lay inert with half closed eyes.
So now I knew. He was a softie. All his ferocious attacks were just a
game. I began to calm down but for all that I wanted him to get the
message.
wright, mate," I said in a menacing whisper.
"Remember what I've said!" I let go the chain and gave a final
shout.
"Now get back in there!"
Shep, almost on his knees, tail tucked well in, shot back into his
kennel and I turned toward the farmhouse to wash my hands.
The memory of my discomfiture fermented in the back of my mind for some
time. I had no doubt then that I had been unfairly judged, but I am
older and wiser now and in retrospect I think I was wrong.
The symptoms displayed by Mr Bailes' cow were typical of displacement
of the abomasum (when the fourth stomach slips round from the right to
the left side) and it was a condition that was just not recognized in
those early days.
At the present time we correct the condition by surgery pushing the
displaced organ back to the right side and tacking it there with
sutures. But sometimes a similar result can be obtained by casting the
cow and rolling her over, so why not by making her run . . .?1 freely
admit that I have many times adopted Jim Oakley's precept of a 'bloody
good gallop," often with spectacular results. To this day I frequently
learn things from farmers, but that was one time when I learned from a
postman.
I was surprised when, about a month later, I received another call to
one of Mr Bailes' cows. I felt that after my performance with Rose he
would have called on the services of Jim Oakley for any further
trouble. But no, his voice on the 'phone was as polite and friendly as
ever, with not a hint that he had lost faith. It was strange....
Leaving my car outside the farm I looked warily into the front garden
before venturing between the walls. A faint tinkle of metal told me
that Shep was lurking there in his kennel and I slowed my steps; I
wasn't going to be caught again.
At the end of the alley I paused, waiting, but all I saw was the end of
a nose which quietly withdrew as I stood there. So my outburst had got
through to the big dog he knew I wasn't going to stand any more
nonsense from him.
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 High burn 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, th
e momentary pause at the summit then the tremendous 'wooF!"
into the unsuspecting ear.
aozz Vets Mzght [ly It had its usual effect. I had a brief view of
flailing arms and flying pa lug followed by a prolonged metallic
clatter, then the little man reappeared like projectile, turned right
and sped away from me up the street. Considering h 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.
Shep was still having his fun.
Chapter Fourteen 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
hookee again. There had been absolutely no trouble about dodging out
of the Grand the streets of Scar borough had been empty of SPs and
nobody had given me second look as I strolled casually into the bus
station. il It was Saturday, 13 February. Helen was expecting our
baby this week-end. 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 tod;`y 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 we. 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 d 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 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 Alder son
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.
Green side Nursing Home sounded impressive, but it was in fact Nurse
grown'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 Alder son 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, loo king
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-loo king 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.
"Weller - is there any thing 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 appealingly 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 com pare 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 Dew burn 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 pitying 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 Dew burn 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 Dew burn. I'm on er - leave at the moment."
I looked in the cot. Sidne
y 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 Dew burn. 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 the bed and
the two women were clearly laughing at me. And of course, loo king
back, I must have appeared silly. Sidney Dew burn and my son are now