It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet Read online

second in the stones and loose soil of the verge, then we were off

  again.

  This was a longer stretch and even steeper and it was like being on the

  big dipper with the same feeling of lack of control over one's fate.

  Hurtling into the bend, the idea of turning at this speed was

  preposterous but it was that or straight over the edge. Terror-stricken,

  I closed my eyes and dragged the wheel to the left. This time, one side

  of the car lifted and I was sure we were over, then it rocked back on to

  the other side and for a horrible second or two kept this up till it

  finally decided to stay upright and I was once more on my way.

  Again a yawning gradient. But as the car sped downwards, engine howling,

  I was aware of a curious numbness. I seemed to have reached the ultimate

  limits of fear and hardly noticed as we shot round the third bend. One

  more to go and at last the road was levelling out; my speed dropped

  rapidly and at the last bend I couldn't have been doing more than

  twenty. I had made it.

  It wasn't till I was right on to the final straight that I saw the

  sheep. Hundreds of them, filling the road. A river of woolly backs

  lapping from wall to wall. They were only yards from me and I was still

  going downhill. Without hesitation I turned and drove straight into the

  wall.

  There didn't seem to be much damage. A few stones slithered down as the

  engine stalled and fell silent.

  Slowly I sank back in my seat, relaxing my clenched jaws, releasing,

  finger by finger, the fierce grip on the wheel. The sheep continued to

  flow past and I took a sideways glance at the man who was shepherding

  them. He was a stranger to me and I prayed he didn't recognise me either

  because at that moment the role of unknown madman seemed to be the ideal

  one. Best not to say anything; appearing round a corner and driving

  deliberately into a wall is no basis for a rewarding conversation.

  The sheep were still passing by and I could hear the man calling to his

  dogs. "Get by, Jess. Come by, Nell." But I kept up a steady stare at the

  layered stones in front of me, even though he passed within a few feet.

  I suppose some people would have asked me what the hell I was playing

  at, but not a Dales shepherd. He went quietly by without invading my

  privacy, but when I looked in the mirror after a few moments I could see

  him in the middle of the road staring back at me, his sheep temporarily

  forgotten.

  My brakeless period has always been easy to recall. There is a piercing

  clarity about the memory which has kept it fresh over the years. I

  suppose it lasted only a few weeks but it could have gone on

  indefinitely if Siegfried himself hadn't become involved.

  It was when we were going to a case together. For some reason he decided

  to take my car and settled in the driver's seat. I huddled

  apprehensively next to him as he set off at his usual brisk pace.

  Hinchcliffe's farm lies about a mile on the main road outside Darrowby.

  It is a massive place with a wide straight drive leading down to the

  house. We weren't going there, but as Siegfried spurted to full speed I

  could see Mr. Hinchclit~e in his big Buick ahead of us proceeding in a

  leisurely way along the middle of the road, As Siegfried pulled out to

  overtake, the farmer suddenly stuck out his hand and began to turn right

  towards his farm - directly across our path. Siegfried's foot went hard

  down on the brake pedal and his eyebrows shot right up as nothing

  happened. We were going straight ~

  Buick and there was no room to go round on the left.

  Siegfried didn't panic. At the last moment he turned right with the

  Buick and the two cars roared side by side down the drive, Mr.

  Hinchcliffe staring at me with bulging eyes from close range. The farmer

  stopped in the yard, but we continued round the back of the house

  because we had to.

  Fortunately, it was one of those places where you could drive right

  round and we rattled through the stockyard and back to the front of the

  house behind Mr. Hinchcliffe who had got out and was looking round the

  corner to see where we had gone. The farmer whipped round in

  astonishment and, open-mouthed watched us as we passed, but Siegfried,

  retaining his aplomb to the end, inclined his head and gave a little

  wave before we shot back up the drive.

  Before we returned to the main road I had a look back at Mr.

  Hinchcliffe. He was still watching us and there was a certain rigidity

  in his pose which reminded me of the shepherd.

  Once on the road, Siegfried steered carefully into a layby and stopped.

  For a few moments he stared straight ahead without speaking and I

  realised he was having a little difficulty in getting his patient look

  properly adjusted; but when he finally turned to me his face was

  transfigured, almost saintly.

  I dug my nails into my palms as he smiled at me with kindly eyes.

  "Really, James," he said, "I can't understand why you keep things to

  yourself. Heaven knows how long your car has been in this condition, yet

  never a word from you." He raised a forefinger and his patient look was

  replaced by one of sorrowing gravity. "Don't you realise we might have

  been killed back there? You really ought to have told me."

  for the side of the Chapter Nineteen.

  There didn't seem much point in a millionaire filling up football pools

  coupons but it was one of the motive forces in old Harold Denham's life.

  It made a tremendous bond between us because, despite his devotion to

  the pools, Harold knew nothing about football' had never seen a match

  and was unable to name a single player in league football; and when he

  found that I could discourse knowledgeably not only about Everton and

  Preston North End but even about Arbroath and Cowdenbeath the respect

  with which he had always treated me deepened into a wide-eyed deference.

  Of course we had first met over his animals. He had an assortment of

  dogs, cats, rabbits, budgies and goldfish which made me a frequent

  visitor to the dusty mansion whose Victorian turrets peeping above their

  sheltering woods could be seen for miles around Darrowby. When I first

  knew him, the circumstances of my visits were entirely normal - his fox

  terrier had cut its pad or the old grey tabby was having trouble with

  its sinusitis, but later on I began to wonder. He called me out so often

  on a Wednesday and the excuse was at times so trivial that I began

  seriously to suspect that there was nothing wrong with the animal but

  that Harold was in difficulties with his Nine Results or the Easy Six.

  I could never be quite sure, but it was funny how he always received me

  with the same words. "Ah, Mr. Herriot, how are your pools?" He used to

  say the word in a long-drawn, loving way - poools. This enquiry had been

  unvarying ever since I had won sixteen shillings one week on the Three

  Draws. I can never forget the awe with which he fingered the little slip

  from Littlewoods, looking unbelievingly from it to the postal order.

  That was the only time I was a winner but it made no difference - I was

  still the oracle, unc