Vets Might Fly Read online

  been swishing bad-temperedly as we came in, and I am always a bit wary

  of black cows anyway. She didn't seem to like our sudden entry and

  lashed out with her right hind foot with the speed of light, catching

  him with her flinty hoof full in the crutch as his legs were splayed.

  He was wearing only frayed, much-washed overall trousers and the

  protection was nil.

  I winced as the foot went home with an appalling thud, but Mr Gilby

  showed no emotion at all. He dropped as though on the receiving end of

  a firing squad and lay motionless on the hard stones, his hands

  clutched between his legs. It was only after several seconds that he

  began to moan softly.

  As I hurried to his aid I felt it was wrong that I should be witnessing

  this disintegration of his modest facade. The little farmer, I was

  sure, would rather have died than be caught in this inelegant position,

  grovelling on the floor gripping frantically at an unmentionable area.

  I kneeled on the cobbles and patted his shoulder while he fought his

  inner battle with his agony.

  After a while he felt well enough to sit up and I put my arm around him

  and supported him while perspiration bedewed the greenish pallor of his

  face. That was when the embarrassment began to creep in, because

  though he had removed his hands from their compromising position he was

  clearly deeply ashamed at being caught in a coarse attitude.

  I felt strangely helpless. The little man couldn't relieve his

  feelings in the usual way by cursing the animal and fate in general,

  nor could I help him to laugh the thing off with a few earthly remarks.

  This sort of thing happens now and then in the present day and usually

  gives rise to a certain amount of ripe comment, often embracing the

  possible effect on the victim's future sex life.

  It all helps.

  But here in Mr Gilby's byre there was only an uncomfortable silence.

  After a time the colour began to return to his cheeks and the little

  man struggled slowly to his feet. He took a couple of deep breaths

  then looked at me unhappily.

  Obviously he thought he owed me some explanation, even apology, for his

  tasteless behaviour.

  As the minutes passed the tension rose. Mr Gilby's mouth twitched once

  or twice as though he were about to speak but he seemed unable to find

  the words.

  At length he appeared to come to a decision. He cleared his throat,

  looked around him carefully then put his lips close to my ear. He

  clarified the whole situation by one hoarsely whispered, deeply

  confidential sentence.

  "Right in the privates, Mr Herriot."

  I referred earlier to the prevailing shyness about the natural

  functions and this did indeed give rise to problems.

  One slight difficulty which all country vets encounter is that there

  comes a time on a long round when they have to urinate. When I first

  came to Yorkshire it seemed the most natural thing in the world for me

  to retire to a corner of a cow byre to relieve myself and it was

  utterly incomprehensible that anybody of my own sex should find this

  embarrassing. But it soon became obvious that the farmers were

  shuffling their feet, loo king pointedly in the opposite direction or

  showing other signs of unease.

  My attempts to laugh the incident off met with no success. Jocular

  remarks thrown over my shoulder like

  "Just wringing out a kidney' or

  "This method gives instant relief', were greeted with serious nods and

  mutterings of

  "Aye .

  . .

  aye . . . aye . . . that's right." I often had to resort to sneaking

  into some deserted Outhouse as soon as I arrived, but very often the

  farmer would burst in and catch me in the act and retreat bashfully.

  The farmers themselves added to my difficulties by their hospitable

  custom of pushing large mugs of tea into my hand at every opportunity.

  At times I shrank from causing offence in the buildings and when under

  stress took refuge in the open countryside. But even this was fraught

  with peril, because though I always selected a deserted road with the

  moors stretching empty to the far horizon the landscape within seconds

  invariably became black with cars, all driven by women and all bearing

  down on me at high speed.

  I recall with quaking shame one occasion when a carload of middle-aged

  Spinsters stopped and questioned me at length about the quickest way to

  Darrow by while a dark pool spread accusingly around my feet.

  But I suppose there are exceptions to every rule, and there was one

  time when the reaction. to my predicament was different. I had

  consumed my usual quota of tea and on top of this one kind chap had

  opened a couple of pint bottles of brown ale after a sweating session

  castrating calves in a tin-roofed shed. E the time I arrived at old Mr

  Ainsley's I was in dire straits.

  But there was nobody around. I tiptoed into the byre, slunk into a

  corner and blessedly opened the flood gates. I was in mid flow when I

  heard the clatter heavy boots on the cobbles behind me. The old man,

  shoulders hunched, hands

  in pockets, was standing there watching me.

  Oh dear, it had happened again, but I wasn't going to stop now. With a

  sick smile I looked over my shoulder at him.

  "Sorry to make free with your cow house like this, Mr Ainsley," I said

  in wh, I hoped was a light, bantering tone.

  "But I had no option. When I have to I just have to go. Maybe I have

  a weak bladder or something."

  The old man regarded me impassively for a few moments then he nodded h

  head several times.

  "Aye, ah knew, ah knaw,"he said gloomily.

  "You're like me, Mr Herriot. Ah's all us pis sin'.

  Chapter Twenty-one Little pictures kept floating up into my mind.

  Memories from the very early days at Skeldale House. Before the RAF,

  before Helen.... Siegfried and I were at breakfast in the big

  dining-room. My colleague looked up from a letter he was reading. '.

  "James, do you remember Stewie Brannan?" . .

  I smiled.

  "I could hardly forget. That was quite a day at Braw ton races." I

  would always carry a vivid recollection of Siegfried's amiable college

  chum with me "Yes . . . yes, it was." Siegfried nodded briefly.

  "Well I've got a letter from him here. He's got six kids now, and

  though he doesn't complain, I don't think life is exactly a picnic

  working in a dump like Hens field. Especially when he knoc~ a bare

  living out of it." He pulled thoughtfully at the lobe of his ear.

  "You know, James, it would be rather nice if he could have a break.

  Would you be willing to go through there and run his practice for a

  couple of weeks so that he could take his family on holiday?"

  "Certainly. Glad to. But you'll be a bit pushed here on your own,

  won't you?"] Siegfried waved a hand.

  "It'll do me good. Anyway it's the quiet time for us: I'll write back

  today."

  Stewie grasped the opportunity eagerly and within a few days I was on

  the road to Hens field. Yorkshire is the biggest county in England a