The Lord God Made Them All Read online

  “Yes, and so will you.”

  “You really mean I can go?”

  “Yes, Jim, of course you can.” John smiled. “There’s another load of Jerseys to go over there in August, and I’ll book you in.”

  I rubbed my hands. “That’s marvellous, but how about you? Don’t you want another trip?”

  “Oh, it would be very nice, but I can’t leave the practice too often. It would have to be you or another of my friends.”

  It was the beginning of another little adventure. For the next few weeks as I drove on my rounds, the green hills and bracken-clad slopes that sped past my windows were intermingled with the heady scenes of my imaginings. New places have always intrigued me, and as I have said before, I have seafaring blood. I could smell the salty freshness of the wide ocean that had thrilled me on the voyage to Klaipeda; only this time it would be sunshine and a calm sea and one of the most exciting cities in the world at the end of it.

  As John promised, I had a telephone call at the beginning of August from Mr. Costain, the representative of the Export Company.

  “I’d like you to be here at two o’clock on Thursday, the eighth, at our offices,” he said. “And then I’ll take you out to Gatwick.”

  “Gatwick?”

  “Yes, that’s right. The plane takes off at around eight o’clock in the evening.”

  “Plane! I thought we were going by sea.”

  Mr. Costain laughed for quite a long time at this. “No, no, no —whatever gave you that idea?”

  “John Crooks did.”

  “Ah, well, as it happened John did go by sea, and I suppose it was natural he would think the next trip would be the same. But you’ll thoroughly enjoy the flight, and it means you get the whole thing over quickly. Less than four days.”

  “I see.” I didn’t want to get the whole thing over quickly. I had been looking forward to that leisurely seventeen days. But never mind, this could be fun, too.

  “Right,” I said. “I’ll see you on the day.”

  The night before I left, I packed the same attaché case I had taken to Russia. Antibiotics, calcium, steroids, bandages and suture materials. I hoped I would not have to use anything in that case, particularly the humane killer lying in the corner.

  August 8, 1963

  On the train to London my enthusiasm grew steadily. It was a pity about the sea voyage, and I was sorry that it would not be worth keeping a daily diary on such a short trip. I would have to write it up later. But on the other hand, I liked flying, and it would be interesting to see the reaction of the animals. On the Klaipeda voyage I had learned a lot about the behaviour of animals aboard ship, and now I had the chance to observe the reaction of cows to being whisked into the air. I felt a faint twinge of alarm when I remembered a story of how a veterinary surgeon had been in charge of some racehorses flying to America, and one of the animals had gone berserk and kicked a hole in the side of the aircraft. But I put away the disturbing image. Jersey cows would never do that.

  Another happy thought was that I was able to take my camera and bring back a record of my adventure. That had been forbidden on the Russian trip.

  Mr. Costain was pleasant and friendly. We took the train to Gatwick, and I had my first view of our aircraft standing a few hundred yards away out on the airfield. It looked very smart, its red, white and silver-grey paint glittering in the sunshine.

  “Gosh, it’s big!” I said.

  Mr. Costain nodded. “Yes, it’s a Globemaster, and to the best of my knowledge it is the biggest aircraft in the world at the present time.”

  I don’t know whether he was right about this but it was easy to believe, because as we approached the Globemaster it seemed to get larger all the time. It also became less smart because on closer inspection the paint wasn’t nearly as glossy and there was a faint air of delapidation about the whole mighty machine. The rubber was worn smooth and frayed in parts and, in fact, if you took a motor car out with tyres like that you would be fined and have your licence endorsed.

  There were four propellor engines, and along one side the name Heracles sprawled in large red letters.

  I climbed up the steps into the flight cabin, and here the impression of age and a long, hard life was stronger still. The black paintwork had been almost rubbed away from the bank of dials and levers in the cockpit, leaving the bare metal gleaming through, and the seats showed the outline of their contents bulging dangerously against their leather coverings. A curtain, when drawn aside, revealed a toilet of the most primitive type. This was, indeed, an elderly aeroplane.

  I looked back wonderingly at the enormous empty belly stretching away to the tail and at that moment Mr. Costain poked his head in from the steps.

  ‘Tremendous, isn’t it?” he said. “It was used as a troop carrier and general transport during the war.”

  I nodded silently. That was quite a long time ago.

  We walked back together to the airport terminal and had a cup of tea and a sandwich while keeping an eye open for the arrival of the cattle. I learned that we were taking forty pedigree cows and heifers, and as the time stretched round to half-past six, I wondered just how they were going to be loaded in time for an eight o’clock take-off.

  At length two cattle wagons rumbled onto the airfield, and we hurried to meet them. I was pleased and relieved to find that two Jersey farmers were joining us on the flight, and I was introduced to them before the loading started. They were both dark-haired and spoke with a slow drawl, very different from my Yorkshire clients. Noel would be in his early thirties, smiling and with an ingenious air about him; Joe, probably ten years older, similarly amiable but, it seemed to me, a hard man at bottom. He was easy to like, but I couldn’t imagine him suffering fools gladly.

  It didn’t take me long to realise that the two of them knew what they were doing. One of the Clobemaster’s crew, a little Dane called Karl, operated an electric hoist with tubular metal sides that descended from the underside of the aircraft, while Joe and Noel led the cattle up a ramp and jockeyed them into position until the hoist was full and they could be lifted up.

  Above, in the cavernous interior, they arranged the animals in rows of six facing the front, with a metal tube clamped behind each row.

  Those farmers were good stocksmen. There was no shouting, no brandishing of sticks, just a continual gentle nudging and pushing and soft words of encouragement. And, of course, they had the ideal subjects to handle. I have often said that I wished all cows were Jerseys, and I felt it again that day.

  I do not think I have ever seen a more beautiful group of cattle —mostly heifers with a few young cows, and all of them fine-boned and graceful, with their lambent, kind eyes regarding us with mild interest as they took their places.

  It was a steamy, hot London evening and as Joe and Noel toiled, the sweat streamed down their faces. But, like my Yorkshire farmers, hard work seemed to be something they took for granted. Sleeves rolled high on their sunburned arms, they kept at it without pausing.

  More than half the animals had been loaded when the main members of the crew arrived. Captain Birch looked down at me from a gaunt six feet four as he shook hands, and the sombre face above the black, grey-flecked beard emanated authority. This was a man of formidable presence.

  The co-pilot and navigator, Ed, and the engineer, Dave, were in their twenties and grinned cheerfully as they hoisted their bags into the flight cabin. The captain was English and dressed in a formal dark uniform, but these young men were American, and their clothing intrigued me. They wore white, loose-fitting jackets and trousers of a light-weight material which, with their peaked caps cocked at an angle, gave them a carefree appearance.

  As I thought, there was no possibility of an eight o’clock takeoff, and it was nearly eleven when the last heifer was loaded and clamped in safely. The forty cattle were quite a sight as they stood patiently in their rows, their feet deep in straw and an armful of hay in front of each of them. The long stretch of backs made a ripple