It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet Read online

me. This was different. When I had come here before it had been as a

  veterinary surgeon the man who knew, who was wanted, who came to render

  assistance in time of need. It had never occurred to me how much this

  affected my outlook every time I walked on to a farm. This wasn't the

  same thing at all. I had come to take this man's daughter out. He might

  not like it, might positively resent it.

  Standing outside the farmhouse door I took a deep breath. The night was

  very dark and still. No sound came from the great trees near by and only

  the distant roar of the Darrow disturbed the silence. The recent heavy

  rains had transformed the leisurely, wandering river into a rushing

  torrent which in places overflowed its banks and flooded the surrounding

  pastures.

  I was shown into the large kitchen by Helen's young brother. The boy had

  a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide a wide grin. He seemed to

  find the situation funny. His little sister sitting at a table doing her

  homework was pretending to concentrate on her writing but she, too, wore

  a fixed smirk as she looked down at her book.

  Mr. Alderson was reading the Farmer and Stockbreeder, his breeches

  unlaced, his stockinged feet stretched out towards a blazing pile of

  logs.-He looked up over his spectacles.

  "Come in, young man, and sit by the fire," he said absently. I had the

  uncomfortable impression that it was a frequent and boring experience

  for him to have young men calling for his eldest daughter.

  I sat down at the other side of the fire and Mr. Alderson resumed his

  study of the Farmer and Stockbreeder. The ponderous tick-tock of a large

  wall clock boomed out into the silence. I stared into the red depths of

  the fire till my eyes began to ache, then I looked up at a big oil

  painting in a gilt frame hanging above the mantelpiece. It depicted

  shaggy cattle standing knee-deep in a lake of 41_

  an extraordinary bright blue; behind them loomed a backcloth of

  fearsome, improbable mountains, their jagged summits wreathed in a

  sulphurous mist.

  Averting my eyes from this, I examined, one by one, the sides of bacon

  and the hams hanging from the rows of hooks in the ceiling. Mr. Alderson

  turned over a page. The clock ticked on. Over by the table, spluttering

  noises came from the children After about a year I heard footsteps on

  the stairs, then Helen came into the room. She was wearing a blue dress

  - the kind, without shoulder straps, that seems to stay up by magic. Her

  dark hair shone under the single pressure lamp which lit the kitchen,

  shadowing the soft curves of her neck and shoulders. Over one white arm

  she held a camel-hair coat.

  I felt stunned. She was like a rare jewel in the rough setting of stone

  flags and whitewashed walls. She gave me her quiet, friendly smile and

  walked towards me. "Hello, I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

  I muttered something in reply and helped her on with her coat. She went

  over and kissed her father who didn't look up but waved his hand

  vaguely. There was another outburst of giggling from the table. We went

  out.

  In the car I felt unusually tense and for the first mile or two had to

  depend on some inane remarks about the weather to keep a conversation

  going. I was beginning to relax when I drove over a little hump-backed

  bridge into a dip in the road. Then the car suddenly stopped. The engine

  coughed gently and then we were sitting silent and motionless in the

  darkness. And there was something else; my feet and ankles were freezing

  cold.

  "My God!" I shouted. "We've run into a bit of flooded road. The water's

  right into the car." I looked round at Helen. "I'm terribly sorry about

  this - your feet must be soaked."

  But Helen was laughing. She had her feet tucked up on the seat, her

  knees under her chin. "Yes, I am a bit wet, but it's no good sitting

  about like this. Hadn't we better start pushing."

  Wading out into the black icy waters was a nightmare but there was no

  escape. Mercifully it was a little car and between us we managed to push

  it beyond the flooded patch. Then by torchlight I dried the plugs and

  got the engine going again.

  Helen shivered as we squelched back into the car. "I'm afraid I'll have

  to go back and change my shoes and stockings. And so will you. There's

  another road back through Fensley. You take the first turn on the left."

  Back at the farm, Mr. Alderson was still reading the Farmer and

  Stockbreeder and kept his finger on the list of pig prices while he gave

  me a baleful glance over his spectacles. When he learned that I had come

  to borrow a pair of his shoes and socks he threw the paper down in

  exasperation and rose, groaning, from his chair. He shuffled out of the

  room and I could hear him muttering to himself as he mounted the stairs.

  Helen followed him and I was left alone with the two young children.

  They studied my sodden trousers with undisguised delight. I had wrung

  most of the surplus water out of them but the final result was

  remarkable. Mrs. Hall's knife-edge crease reached to just below the

  knee, but then there was chaos. The trousers flared out at that point in

  a crumpled, shapeless mass and as I stood by the fire to dry them a

  gentle steam rose about me. The children stared at me, wide-eyed and

  happy. This was a big night for them.

  KIR Alderson reappeared at length and dropped some shoes and rough socks

  at my feet. I pulled on the socks quickly but shrank back when I saw the

  shoes. They were a pair of dancing slippers from the early days of the

  century and their cracked patent leather was topped by wide, black silk

  bows.

  I opened my mouth to protest but Mr. Alderson had dug himself deep into

  his : j chair and had found his place again among the pig prices. I had

  the feeling that if I asked for another pair of shoes Mr. Alderson would

  attack me with the poker. I put the slippers on.

  We had to take a roundabout road to avoid the floods but I kept my foot

  down and within half-an-hour we had left the steep sides of the Dale

  behind us and were heading out on to the rolling plain. I began to feel

  better. We were making good time and the little car, shuddering and

  creaking, was going well. I was just thinking that we wouldn't be all

  that late when the steering-wheel began to drag to one side.

  I had a puncture most days and recognised the symptoms immediately. I

  had become an expert at changing wheels and with a word of apology to

  Helen was out of the car like a flash. With my rapid manipulation of the

  rusty jack and brace the wheel was off within three minutes. The surface

  of the crumpled tyre was quite smooth except for the lighter, frayed

  parts where the canvas showed through. Working like a demon, I screwed

  on the spare, cringing inwardly as I saw that this tyre was in exactly

  the same condition as the other. I steadfastly refused to think of what

  I would do if its frail fibres should give up the struggle.

  By day, the Reniston dominated Brawton like a vast mediaeval fortress,

  bright flags fluttering arrogantly from its four