The Lord God Made Them All Read online

  Very soon a large number of officials came aboard, and I was relieved to find that they were cheerful and smiling. There was much shaking of hands and loud laughter and everybody addressed me as Doktor in a guttural tone with the accent on the second syllable. Most of them were from the customs and immigration authorities, and among them were several young women, one of whom spoke very good English. In fact, nearly all of them seemed to be able to get along in English; the other language in which they conversed with the captain was German.

  The exception in this merry company was a tall, lugubrious sanitary inspector, wearing breeches and a cowboy hat. I had to go down into the hold with him, where he looked around him sadly but said nothing.

  Immediately afterwards, a little fat woman beckoned to me to accompany her to where the animals’ food was kept. There were several tons of this surplus, and it was all to be left for the Russians, free of charge. But it seemed that they suspected some catch in this because, to my astonishment, the little woman began to slash open the bags of super-quality sheep nuts and the bales of sweet hay. She pushed her hand into the centre of each bag and bale and dropped some of the contents into a series of polythene bags. Apparently these samples had to go to a laboratory to be examined before they would accept the food.

  I went back up to the captain’s room, where the officials were still signing forms and smoking and drinking. They had been joined by the chief of “Saufratt,” which deals with all the incoming and outgoing cargoes, and like the others, he was polite, friendly and ready to roar with laughter at the slightest excuse.

  I was interested in the dress of these men who are obviously important people. They all wore smartly cut dark suits, and some had greenish gabardine macintoshes, but the materials of their clothes looked cheap and shoddy. Still, they were trim and neatly turned out, but the whole effect was spoiled by the fact that every man sported an abominable off-white tweedy cloth cap pulled right down to his ears. This was clearly the fashion in these parts, but to me the result was truly ghastly.

  However they were very pleasant, and I found their conversation fascinating. I was struck forcefully by their tremendous willingness to work and their desire to learn. They told me that most of them had begun as factory workers but had studied at night and in every available moment to rise to their present positions.

  Of course all the time I was anxiously awaiting the veterinary examination of the sheep. The veterinary surgeon turned out to be a little fat woman very like the one who had inspected the food. Unlike the officials she could not speak a word of English, but she marched up to me, tapped her chest and said, “Doktor.” As we shook hands as colleagues she burst into an infectious, bubbling laugh.

  She had a helper with her, a big, tough-looking chap in blue dungarees and we all went down to the hold together. I was intrigued by her method of examining the sheep. The man penned five animals in a corner while she opened a little bag and took out a whole bunch of thermometers. These were strange-looking flat things with centigrade markings and attached to each was a piece of string with a clip on the end.

  She methodically dipped each nozzle in a jar of vaseline before inserting it in the rectum and clipping the string to the wool. Then she stood looking at her watch for what seemed an age. Finally, she removed the thermometers and took the readings.

  After that she had another five caught up, and again we had the lengthy wait and the reading before moving to another pen.

  The realisation burst on me with a sense of shock that these were two-minute thermometers, unlike our half-minute ones, and also that she was going to examine ten sheep in every pen. This was going to take an awfully long time.

  Gallantly holding her jar of vaseline, I tried to alleviate the boredom by making conversation. It was difficult since neither of us spoke a word of the other’s language, but I managed to get over to her that most of the sheep were of the Romney Marsh breed. This appeared to delight her because thereafter, when she pushed the thermometer up a sheep’s rectum, she would cry, “Rromnee Marrsh!” and laugh happily, then on to the next one and again the thrust of the thermometer and the joyous, “Rromnee Marrsh!”

  It lightened the proceedings to a certain extent, but after an hour and a half we had covered only one side of the ’tween decks hold—about a quarter of the sheep—and I quailed at the thought of another four and a half hours of this.

  But there was no doubt she was a pleasant little woman. She was dressed in a cheap-looking, navy-blue raincoat and the kind of velour hat you see in jumble sales in England, and her chubby face never stopped smiling.

  The only time she looked serious was when she heard a cough from one of the Lincolns. It was the moment I had been dreading, and she turned to me questioningly.

  “Ah-ah, ah-ha, ah-ha,” she said in a fair imitation of the parasitic bark and raised her eyebrows.

  I shrugged my shoulders. What could I do? How could I explain?

  The animal’s temperature was normal and she appeared reassured, but some time later another sheep coughed.

  “Ah-ah, ah-ha, ah-ha?” she asked, and again I shrugged and gave a noncommittal smile.

  About halfway through, we were joined by another vet, obviously the little woman’s superior. He was very well dressed in dark overcoat and black trilby hat, and his handsome, high-cheekboned, Asiatic face radiated charm as he shook my hand and thumped me on the back.

  “Salaam aleikum, “ he said, somewhat to my surprise.

  He, too, spoke no English, and when he heard the cough he swung round on me.

  “Ah-ah, ah-ha, ah-ha?” he enquired.

  I spread my hands and shook my head, and he laughed suddenly. He seemed a happy-go-lucky fellow and was clearly in a hurry to be off. He waved goodbye to his colleague, shook my hand warmly and smiled, then he strode from the hold.

  I was still baffled by the oriental greeting and turned to the little woman. “Salaam aleikum?”

  “Irkutsk, Tartar,” she replied.

  I realised that he came from the other end of this vast country, and, to let her know I understood, I pulled the corners of my eyes outwards.

  She burst into a high-pitched giggle. She did love to laugh.

  But the strain of hanging around with the pot of vaseline was beginning to tell. I tried to get rid of the tension by saying things like, “Look, this is driving me right up the bloody wall,” at which she would give me a nod and a sweet, uncomprehending smile, but at last I could stand it no longer. I gave her back the vaseline and fled to the sanctuary of my cabin, I heard later that it took her five hours to get round the sheep.

  The unloading berth is occupied by another ship, the Ubbergen, which is discharging a cargo of cattle and taking on a lot of little cob-like horses, so we cannot start our unloading until she moves. My immediate ambition was to get ashore, but the customs and immigration people had taken our passports, and until they came back nobody could leave the ship.

  When the passports were returned I looked around for a companion, because John Crooks had warned me not to go ashore alone. The mate and engineer would not budge as they were worried about relations between Denmark and Russia, following a verbal attack on the Scandinavian countries by Khrushchev which they had heard on the radio in the Danish news. In fact, as I went around, it soon became obvious that none of the ship’s company had any intention of going ashore.

  It was the captain, gentlemanly as always, who stepped in. He could see that I was disappointed and said that, if I gave him a few minutes to wash and change, he would come with me.

  As I waited on the deck the daylight faded rapidly to dusk, and lights began to appear in the tenements beyond the port. They all seemed like forty-watt bulbs, and the general effect was dreary in the extreme.

  By the time the captain was ready, it was quite dark. I had been strongly advised by the man from Saufratt to visit the seamans’ club called Interklub and I decided to do this and leave the exploration of the town until tomorrow.

  We we