Page 12 of Vet in a Spin

forward.

  "Do you know `~hat he did when those people were driving the car

  away?"

  "No, tell me."

  "He barked, Mr Herriot! Joshua barked!"

  Chapter Ten '~ '~.1, :";; The food was so good at the Wink field flying

  school that it was said that those airmen whose homes were within

  visiting distance wouldn't take a day's leave because they might miss

  some culinary speciality. Difficult to believe, maybe, but I often

  think that few people in wartime Britain fared as well as the handful

  of young men in the scatter of wooden huts on that flat green stretch

  outside Windsor.

  It wasn't as though we had a French chef, either. The cooking was done

  by two grizzled old men civilians who wore cloth caps and smoked pipes

  and went about their business with unsmiling taciturnity.

  It was rumoured that they were two ex-army cooks from the First World

  War, but whatever their origins they were artists. In their hands,

  simple stews and pies assumed a new significance and it was possible to

  rhapsodise even over the perfect flouriness of their potatoes.

  So it was surprising when at lunch time my neighbour on the left drew

  down his spoon pushed away his plate and groaned. We ate on trestle

  tables, sit ting in rows on long forms, and I was right up against the

  young man.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "This apple dumpling is terrific."

  "Ah, it's not the grub." He buried his face in his hands for a few

  seconds then looked at me with tortured eyes.

  "I've been doing circuits and bumps this morning with Rout ledge and

  he's torn the knackers off me all the time, it never stopped."

  Suddenly my own meal lost some of its flavour. I knew just what he

  meant.

  FO Wood ham did the same to me.

  He gave me another despairing glance then stared straight ahead.

  "I know one thing, Jim. I'll never make a bloody pilot."

  His words sent a chill through me. He was voicing the conviction which

  had been gradually growing in me. I never seemed to make any progress

  whatever I did was wrong, and I was losing heart. Like all the others

  I was hoping to be graded pilot, but after every session with FO Wood

  ham the idea of ever flying an aeroplane all on my own seemed more and

  more ludicrous. And I had another date with him at 2 pm.

  He was as quiet and charming as ever when I met him till we got up into

  the sky and the shouting started again.

  "Relax! For heavens sake, relax!" or 'watch your height! Where the

  hell d'you think you're going?" or

  "Didn't I tell you to centralise the stick? Are you bloody deaf or

  something?" And finally, after the first circuit when we juddered to a

  halt on the grass.

  "That was an absolutely bloody ropy landing! Take off again!"

  On the second circuit he fell strangely silent. And though I should

  have felt relieved I found something ominous in the unaccustomed peace.

  It could mean only one thing he had finally given me up as a bad job.

  When we landed he told me to switch off the engine and climbed out of

  the rear cockpit. I was about 752 Vet in a Sp~n to unbuckle my straps

  and follow him when he signalled me to remain in ny seat.

  "Stay where you are," he said.

  "You can take her up now."

  I stared down at him through my goggles.

  "What . . .?"

  "I said take her up."

  "You mean, on my own . . .? Go solo . . .?"

  "Yes, of course. Come and see me in the flight hut after you've landed

  an3 taxied in." He turned and walked away over the green. He didn't

  look back After a few minutes a fitter came over to where I sat

  trembling in my sea' He spat on the turf then looked at me with deep

  distaste.

  "Look, mate," he said.

  "That's a good aircraft you've got there."

  I nodded agreement.

  "Well I don't want it well smashed up, okay?"

  "Okay."

  He gave me a final disgusted glance then went round to the propeller.

  Panic-stricken though I was, I did not forget the cockpit drill which

  had dinned in to me so often. I never thought I'd have to use it in

  earnest but I automatically tested the controls rudder, ailerons and

  elevator. Fuel switch o~q." throttle closed, then switch on, throttle

  slightly open.

  i: ~1 ~ Vet in a Spin "Contact!" I cried. ' The fitter swung the

  propeller and the engine roared. I pushed the throttld full open and

  the Tiger Moth began to bump its way over the grass. As w gathered

  speed I eased the stick forward to lift the tail, then as I pulled it b

  again the bumping stopped and we climbed smoothly into the air with the

  1' dining hut at the end of the airfield fiashing away beneath.

  I was gripped by exhilaration and triumph. The impossible had hap pc I

  was up here on my own, flying, really flying at last. I had been so

  cert ai' failure that the feeling of relief was over-powering. In fact

  it intoxicated mt that for a long time I just sailed along, grinning

  foolishly to myself.

  When I finally came to rny senses I looked down happily over the

  side.

  must be time to turn now, but as I stared downwards cold reality began

  to raU over me in a gather ing flood. I couldn't recognise a thing in

  the great hazy tapestry beneath me. And every thing seemed smaller

  than usual. Dry-mouthq4 I looked at the altimeter. I was well over

  2,000 feet. ii And suddenly it came to me that FO ~loodham's shouts

  had not bee, meaningless; he had been talking sense, giving me good

  advice, and as soon 611 I got up in the air by myself I had ignored it

  all. I hadn't lined myself up on a cloud, I hadn't watched my

  artificial horizon, I hadn't kept an eye on the} altimeter. And I was

  lost.

  It was a terrible feeling, this sense of utter isolation as I

  desperately sc anne.

  the great cheque red landscape for a familiar object. What did you do

  in a cal.

  like this? Soar around southern England till I found some farmer's

  field b.

  enough to land in, then make my own abject way back to Wink field? But

  this way I was going to look the complete fool, and also I'd stand an

  excellent chaa.

  of smashing up that fitter's beloved aeroplane and maybe myself. i;~

  It seemed to me that one way or another I was going to make a name St

  myself. Funny things had happened to some of the other lads many had

  W~ air-sick and vomited in the cockpit, one had gone through a hedge,

  another his first solo had circled the airfield again and again seven

  times he had gd~ round trying to find the courage to land while his

  instructor sweated blood ;~ cursed on the ground. But nobody had

  really got lost like me. Nobody had flo~ q into the blue and returned

  on foot without his aeroplane. ~ ' v visions of my immediate fate were

  reaching horrific proportions and~ ~as hammering uncontrollably when

  far away on my left I spotted;!

  .:] dear familiar bulk of the big stand on Ascot racecourse. Almost

  weeping with joy, I turned towards it and within minutes I was banking
r />
  above its roof as I had done so often.

  And there, far below and approaching with uncomfortable speed was the

  belt of trees which fringed the airfield and beyond, the windsock blow

  ing over the wide green. But I was still far too high I could never

  drop down there in time to hit that landing strip, I would have to go

  round again.

  The ignominy of it went deep. They would all be watching on the ground

  and some would have a good laugh at the sight of Herriot over-shooting

  the field by several hundred feet and cruising o~q. again into the

  clouds. But what was I thinking about? There was a way of losing

  height rapidly and, bless you FO Wood ham, I knew how to do it.

  Opposite rudder and stick. He had told me a hundred times how to side

  slip and I did it now as hard as I could, sending the little machine

  slewing like an airborne crab down, down towards those trees.

  And by golly it worked! The green copse rushed up at me and before I

  knew I was almost skimming the branches. I straightened up and headed

  for the long stretch of grass. At fifty feet I rounded out then

  checked the stick gradually back till just above the ground when I

  slammed it into my abdomen. The undercarriage made contact with the

  earth with hardly a tremor and I worked the rudder bar to keep straight

  until I came to a halt. Then I taxied in, climbed from the cockpit and

  walked over to the flight hut.

  FO Wood ham was sit ting at a table, cup in hand, and he looked up as I

  entered. He had got out of his flying suit and was wearing a battle

  dress jacket with the wings we all dreamed about and the ribbon of

  the

  DFC.

  "Ah, Herriot, I'm just having some con-tee. Will you join me?"

  "Thank you, sir."

  I sat down and he pushed a cup towards me.

  "I saw your landing," he said.

  "Delightful, quite delightful."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "And that side-slip." One corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

  "Very good indeed, really masterly."

  He reached for the coffee pot and went on.

  "You've done awfully well, Herriot Solo after nine hours' instruction,

  eh ? Splendid. But then I never had the slightest doubt about you at

  any time."

  He poised the pot over my cup.

  "How do you like your coffee black or ? ~ Chapter Eleverz I was only

  the third man in our Flight of fifty to go solo and it was a matter of

  particular pride to me because so many of my comrades were eighteen and

  nineteen year olds. They didn't say so but I often had the impression

  that they felt that an elderly gentleman like me in my twenties with a

  wife and baby had no right to be there, training for air crew. In the

  nicest possible way they thought I was past it.

  Of course, in many ways they had a point. The pull I had from home

  was

  probably stronger than theirs. When our sergeant handed out the

  letters on the daily parade I used to secrete mine away till I had a

  few minutes of solitude to read about how fast little Jimmy was

  growing, how much he weighed, the unmistakable signs of outstan ding

  intelligence, even genius, which Helen could ~ already discern in

  him.

  I was mis sing his babyhood and it saddened me. It is still something

  I deeply: .

  regret because it comes only once and is gone so quickly. But I still

  have the.

  bundles of letters which his proud mother wrote to keep me in touch

  with every: fascinating stage, and when I read them now it is almost as

  though I had been .

  there to see it all.

  At the time, those letters pulled me back almost painfully to the

  comforts of home but on the other hand there were occasions when life

  in Darrow by hadn~t been all that comfortable. . .

  I think it was the early morning calls in the winter which were the

  worst It .

  was a fairly common experience to be walking sleepy-eyed into a cow

  byre at 6 am for a calving but at Mr Black burn's farm there was a

  difference. In fact several differences.

  Firstly, there was usually an anxious-faced farmer to greet me with the

  news of how the calf was coming, when labour had started, but today I

  was like an ~ unwelcome st ranger. Secondly, I had grown accustomed to

  the sight of a few ~ l cows tied up in a cobbled byre with wooden

  partitions and an oil lamp, and now I was gazing down a long avenue of

  concrete under blazing electric light with ~: a seemingly endless

  succession of bovine backsides protruding from tubular metal stan

  dings. Thirdly, instead of the early morning peace there was a .

  clattering of buckets, the rhythmic pulsing of a milking machine and

  the blaring of a radio loudspeaker. There was also a frantic scurrying

  of white-coated,~, white-capped men, but none of them paid the

  slightest attention to me. f tc This was one of the new big dairy

  farms. In place of a solitary figure on a~ milk stool, head buried in

  the cow's side, pulling forth the milk with a gentle : 'hiss-hiss'

  there was this impersonal hustle and bustle. .

  I stood just inside the doorway while out in the yard a particularly

  cold snow .

  drifted from the blackness above. I had left a comfortable bed and a

  warm wife to come here and it seemed somebody ought at least to say

  'hello'. Then I noticed~: :: the owner hurrying past with a bucket. He

  was moving as fast as any of his .

  men.

  "Hey, Mr Black burn!" I cried.

  "You rang me you've got a cow calving?" :"~!"Z He stopped and looked

  at me uncomprehendingly for a moment.

  "Oh aye .-:R:: . . . aye . . . she's down there on ttright." He

  pointed to a light roan animal half ,~: way along the byre. She was

  easy to pick out the only one Iying down. ~Y~: "How 1~- as she been

  on?"I asked, but when I turned round Mr Black burn ~.i~.

  had gr`- "d after him, cornered him in the milk house and repeated my :

  qtl

  _A, ~ 0 ~.

  ,~e calved last night. Must be sum mat amiss." He began to)~: ~k over

  the cooler into the churn.

  .~ ~, inside her?"

  .r~ ~A~ ~on, He turned harassed eyes towards me.

  "We're a bit ~ ~ ~ 49A ~ ~ ~ruin'. We can't be late for t'milk man."

  .s, al~ ~ ~ 9 ~ the drivers who collected the churns for the big da'

  his firs~O~ 5; ~c~ ~of men. Probably kind husbands and fathers round

  truculant outbursts of rage if they were kept waitig cursed on the

  grilL. ~9, '~^ Nine them, because they had a lot of territot~ into the

  blue and~ '. ^ t I had seen them when provoked and tint.

  ~v visions of my imme~. t~ ~as hammerina uncontru~oot water. soaD

  and a towel. nlease?"-~~4 vez zn a opzn 1~) ~from Black burn jerked

  his head at the corner of the milk house.

  "You'll 'ave to help yourself. There's every thin' there. Ah must get

  on." He went off again at a brisk walk. Clearly he was more in fear

  of the milk man than he was of me.

  I filled a bucket, found a piece of soap and threw a towel over my

  shoulder.

  VVhen I reached my patient I lo
oked in vain for some sign of a name. So

  many of the cows of those days had their names printed above their

  stalls but there were no Marigolds, Al ices or Snowdrops here, just

  numbers.

  Before taking off my jacket I looked casually in the ear where the

  tattoo marks stood out plainly against the creamy white surface. She

  was number eighty seven.

  I was in more trouble when I stripped off my shirt. In a modern byre

  like this there were no nails jutting from the walls to serve as

  hangers. I had to roll my clothes into a ball and carry them through

  to the milk house. There I found a sack which I tied round my middle

  with a length of binder twine.

  Still ignored by everybody, I returned, soaped my arm and inserted it

  into the cow. I had to go a long way in to reach the calf, which was

  st range considering the birth should have taken place last night. It

  was the top of the little creature's head I touched first; the nose was

  tucked downwards instead of thrusting its way along the vagina towards

  the outside world, and the legs were similarly coiled under the body.

  And I noticed something else. The entry of my arm did not provoke any

  answering strain from the cow, nor did she try to rise to her feet.

  There was something else troubling Number Eighty Seven.

  Lying flat on the concrete, still buried to the shoulder in the cow, I

  raised my head and looked along the shaggy back with its speckle of

  light red and white hairs, and when I reached the neck I knew I need

  seek no further. The lateral kink was very obvious. Number Eighty

  Seven, slumped on her chest, was gazing wearily and without interest at

  the wall in front of her but there was that funny little bend in her

  neck that told me every thing.

  I got up, washed and dried my arm and looked for Mr Black burn. I

  found him bending by the side of a fat brown animal, pulling the cups

  from her teats.

  I tapped him on the shoulder.

  "She's got milk fever." I said.

  "Oh aye," he replied, then he hoisted the bucket, brushed past me and

  made off down the byre.

  I kept pace with him.

  "That's why she can't strain. Her uterus has lost its tone. She'll

  never calve till she gets some calcium."

  "Right." He still didn't look at me.

  "Ye'll give 'er some, then?"

  "Yes," I said to his retreating back.

  The snow still swirled in the outer darkness and I toyed with the idea

  of get ting dressed. But I'd only have to strip again so I decided to

  make a dash for it. With the car boot open it seemed to take a long

  time to fish out the bottles and Rutter valve with the flakes settling

  thickly on my naked flesh.

  Back in the byre I looked around for a spare man to help me but there

  was no lessening of the feverish activity. I would have to roll this

  cow onto her side and inject into her milk vein without assistance. It

  all depended on how comatose she was.

  And she must have been pretty far gone because when I braced my feet

  against the tubular steel and pushed both hands against her shoulder

  she flopped over without resistance. To keep her there I lay on top of

  her as I pushed in the needle and ran the calcium into the vein.

  One snag was that my sprawling position took me right underneath the

  neighbouring cow on the right, a skittish sort of animal who didn't

  welcome the rubber-booted legs tangling with her hind feet. She

  expressed her disapproval by treading painfully on my ankles and giving

  me a few smart kicks on the thigh, but I dared not move because the

  calcium was flowing in beautifully When the bottle was empty I kneed my

  patient back onto her chest and ran another bottle of calcium magnesium