Vet in Harness Read online


into the beck whence it was retrieved with a certain amount of profanity

  by the invisible Maurice.

  An old farm man once said to me when describing a moment of

  embarrassment. "Ah could've got down a mouse 'ole.' And as I returned to

  my place in the field I knew just what he meant. In fact the bowler at

  the other end got through his over almost without my noticing it and I

  was still shrunk in my cocoon of shame when I saw Tom Willis signalling

  to me.

  I couldn't believe it. He was throwing me the ball again. It was a

  typ~cally magnanimous gesture, a generous attempt to assure me that I

  had done well enough to have another go.

  Again I shambled forward and the blue-shined lad awaited me, almost

  licking his lips. He had never come across anyone like me before and it

  seemed too good to be true that I should be given another over; but

  there I was, and he climbed gratefully into each ball I sent down and

  laid into it in a kind of ecstasy with the full meat of the bat.

  I would rather not go into details. Sufficient to say that I have a

  vivid memory of his red face and blue shirt and of the ball whistling

  back over my head after each delivery and of the almost berserk yells of

  the spectators. But he didn't hit every ball for six. In fact there were

  two moments of light relief in my torment; one when the ball smashed

  into the oak tree, ricocheted and almost decapitated old Len at the

  other end; the other when a ball snicked off the edge of the bat and

  ploughed through a very large cow pat, sending up a noisome spray along

  its course. It finished at the feet of Mr Blenkinsopp and the pour man

  was clearly in a dilemma. For the last hour he had been swooping on

  everything that came near him with the grace of the born cricketer.

  But now he hovered over the unclean object, gingerly extending a hand

  then withdrawing it as his earthier colleagues in the team watched in

  wonder. The batsmen were galloping up and down, the crowd was roaring

  but the curate made no move. Finally he picked the thing up with the

  utmost daintiness in two fingers, regarded it distastefully for a few

  moments and carried it to the wicketkeeper who was ready with a handful

  of grass in his big gloves.

  At the end of the over Tom came up to me. "Thank ye, Mr Herriot, but I'm

  afraid I'll have to take you off now. This wicket's not suited to your

  type of bowling - not takin' spin at all.' He shook his he,ad in his

  solemn way.

  I nodded thankfully and Tom went on. "Tell ye what, go down and relieve

  that man in the outfield. We could do wi' a safe pair of hands down

  there.'

  Chapter Twenty-Five.

  I obeyed my skipper's orders and descended to the ravine and when

  Maurice had clambered up the small grassy cliff which separated me from

  the rest of the field I felt strangely alone. It was a dank,

  garlic-smelling region, perceptively colder than the land above and

  silent except for the gurgle of the beck behind me. There was a little

  hen house down here with several hens pecking around and some sheep who

  obviously felt it was safer than the higher ground.

  I could see nothing of the pitch, only occasional glimpses of the heads

  of ve' zn rlarness 3U~

  players so I had no idea of what was going on. In fact it was difficult

  to believe I was still taking part in a cricket match but for the

  spectators. From their position along the wall they had a grandstand

  view of everything and in fact were looking down at me from short range

  They appeared to find me quite interesting, too, because a lot of them

  kept their eyes on me, puffing their pipes and making remarks which I

  couldn't hear but which caused considerable hilarity.

  It was a pity about the spectators because it was rather peaceful in the

  ravine. It took a very big hit to get down there and I was more or less

  left to ruminate. Occasionally the warning cries would ring out from

  above and a ball would come bounding over the top. Once a skied drive

  landed with a thud in a patch of deep grass and with an enraged

  squawking a Rhode Island cockerel emerged at top speed and legged it

  irascibly to a safer haven.

  Now and then I clawed my way up the bank and had a look at the progress

  of the game. Len had gone but the lad in blue was still there. After

  another dismissal I was surprised to see one of the umpires give his

  coat to the outgoing batsman, seize the bat and start laying about him.

  Both umpires were in fact members of the team.

  It was after a long spell of inaction and when I was admiring the long

  splash of gold which the declining sun was throwing down the side of the

  fell when I heard the frantic yells. "Jim! James! Mr Herriot!' The whole

  team was giving tongue and, as I learned later, the lad in the blue

  shirt had made a catchable shot.

  But I knew anyway. Nobody but he could have struck the blow which sent

  that little speck climbing higher and higher into the pale evening sky

  above me; and as it began with terrifying slowness to fall in my

  direction time came to a halt. I was aware of several of my team mates

  breasting the cliff and watching me breathlessly, of the long row of

  heads above the wall, and suddenly I was gripped by a cold resolve. I

  was going to catch this fellow out. He had humiliated me up there but it

  was my turn now.

  The speck was coming down faster now as I stumbled about in the tangled

  vegetation trying to get into position. I nearly fell over a ewe with

  two big fat lambs sucking at her then I was right under the ball, hands

  cupped, waiting.

  It fell, at the end, like a cannon ball, heavy and unyielding, on the

  end of my right thumb, bounded over my shoulder and thumped mournfully

  on the turf.

  A storm of derision broke from the heads, peals of delighted laughter,

  volleys of candid comment.

  "Get a basket!' advised one worthy.

  "Fetch 'im a bucket!' suggested another.

  As I scrabbled for the ball among the herbage I didn't know which was

  worse - the physical pain which was excruciating, or the mental anguish.

  After I had finally hurled the thing up the cliff I cradled the

  throbbing thumb in my other hand and rocked back and forth on my heels,

  moaning softly.

  My team mates returned sadly to their tasks but Tom Willis, I noticed,

  hngered on, looking down at me.

  "Hard luck, Mr Herriot. Very easy to lose t'ball against them trees.' He

  nodded encouragingly then was gone.

  I was not troubled further in the innings. We never did get blueshirt

  out and he had an unbeaten sixty-two at the close. The Hedwick score was

  a hundred and fifty-four, a very useful total in village cricket.

  There was a ten minute interval while two of our players donned the

  umpires' Coats and our openers strapped on their pads. Tom Willis showed

  me the batting list he had drawn up and I saw without surprise that I

  was last man in.

  jute ver In marnes;Y "Our team's packed with batting, Mr Herriot,' he

  said seriously. "I couldn't find a place for you higher up the order.'

  Mr Blenkins