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  I would try just once more. Lying flat, my naked chest against the cold concrete I fought with the thing till my eyes popped and my breath gave out, but it had not the slightest effect and it made my mind up; I had to tell him.

  Rolling over on my back I looked up at him, panting, waiting till I had the wind to speak. I would say, “Lord Hulton, we are really wasting our time here. This is an impossible case. I am going back home now and I’ll ring the slaughterhouse first thing in the morning.” The prospect of escape was beguiling; I might even be able to crawl in beside Helen for an hour. But as my mouth framed the words the little man looked down at me appealingly as though he knew what I was going to say. He tried to smile but darted anxious glances at me, at the pig and back again. From the other end of the animal a soft uncomplaining grunt reminded me that I wasn’t the only one involved.

  I didn’t say anything. I turned back on to my chest, braced my feet against the wall of the pen and began again. I don’t know how long I lay there, pushing, relaxing, pushing again as I gasped and groaned and the sweat ran steadily down my back. The peer was silent but I knew he was following my progress intently because every now and then I had to brush matches from the surface of the uterus.

  Then for no particular reason the heap of flesh in my arms felt suddenly smaller. I glared desperately at the thing. There was no doubt about it, it was only half the size. I had to take a breather and a hoarse croak escaped me.

  “God! I think it’s going back!”

  I must have startled Lord Hulton in mid fill because I heard a stifled “What … what … oh I say, how absolutely splendid!” and a fragrant shower of tobacco cascaded from above.

  This was it, then. Summoning the last of my energy for one big effort I blew half an ounce or so of Redbreast Flake from the uterine mucosa and heaved forward. And, miraculously, there was little resistance and I stared in disbelief as the great organ disappeared gloriously and wonderfully from sight. I was right behind it with my arm, probing frantically away up to the shoulder as I rotated my wrist again and again till both uterine cornua were fully involuted. When I was certain beyond doubt that everything was back in place I lay there for a few moments, my arm still deep inside the sow, my forehead resting on the floor. Dimly, through the mist of exhaustion I heard Lord Hulton’s cries.

  “Stout fella! Dash it, how marvellous! Oh stout fella!” He was almost dancing with joy.

  One last terror assailed me. What if it came out again? Quickly I seized needle and thread and began to insert a few sutures in the vulva.

  “Here, hold this!” I barked, giving him the scissors.

  Stitching with the help of Lord Hulton wasn’t easy. I kept pushing needle or scissors into his hands then demanding them back peremptorily, and it caused a certain amount of panic. Twice he passed me his pipe to cut the ends of my suture and on one occasion I found myself trying in the dim light to thread the silk through his reaming tool. His lordship suffered too, in his turn, because I heard the occasional stifled oath as he impaled a finger on the needle.

  But at last it was done. I rose wearily to my feet and leaned against the wall, my mouth hanging open, sweat trickling into my eyes. The little man’s eyes were full of concern as they roved over my limply hanging arms and the caked blood and filth on my chest.

  “Herriot, my dear old chap, you’re all in! And you’ll catch pneumonia or something if you stand around half naked. You need a hot drink. Tell you what—get yourself cleaned up and dressed and I’ll run down to the house for something.” He scurried swiftly away.

  My aching muscles were slow to obey as I soaped and towelled myself and pulled on my shirt. Fastening my watch round my wrist I saw that it was after seven and I could hear the farm men clattering in the yard outside as they began their morning tasks.

  I was buttoning my jacket when the little peer returned. He bore a tray with a pint mug of steaming coffee and two thick slices of bread and honey. He placed it on a bale of straw and pulled up an upturned bucket as a chair before hopping on to a meal bin where he sat like a pixie on a toadstool with his arms around his knees, regarding me with keen anticipation.

  “The servants are still abed, old chap,” he said. “So I made this little bite for you myself.”

  I sank on to the bucket and took a long pull at the coffee. It was black and scalding with a kick like a Galloway bullock and it spread like fire through my tired frame. Then I bit into the first slice of bread; home made, plastered thickly with farm butter and topped by a lavish layer of heather honey from the long row of hives I had often seen on the edge of the moor above. I closed my eyes in reverence as I chewed, then as I reached for the pint pot again I looked up at the small figure on the bin.

  “May I say, sir, that this isn’t a bite, it’s a feast. It is all absolutely delicious.”

  His face lit up with impish glee. “Well, dash it … do you really think so? I’m so pleased. And you’ve done nobly, dear boy. Can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  As I continued to eat ecstatically, feeling the strength ebbing back, he glanced uneasily into the pen.

  “Herriot … those stitches. Don’t like the look of them much …”

  “Oh yes,” I said. “They’re just a precaution. You can nick them out in a couple of days.”

  “Splendid! But won’t they leave a wound? We’d better put something on there.”

  I paused in mid chew. Here it was again. He only needed his Propamidine to complete his happiness.

  “Yes, old chap, we must apply some of that Prip … Prom … oh hell and blast, it’s no good!” He threw back his head and bellowed, “Charlie!”

  The foreman appeared in the entrance, touching his cap. “Morning, m’lord.”

  “Morning, Charlie. See that this sow gets some of that wonderful cream on her. What the blazes d’you call it again?”

  Charlie swallowed and squared his shoulders. “Propopamide, m’lord.”

  The little man threw his arms high in delight. “Of course, of course! Propopamide! I wonder if I’ll ever be able to get that word out?” He looked admiringly at his foreman. “Charlie, you never fail—I don’t know how you do it.”

  Charlie bowed gravely in acknowledgement.

  Lord Hulton turned to me. “You’ll let us have some more Propopamide, won’t you, Herriot?”

  “Certainly,” I replied. “I think I have some in the car.”

  Sitting there on the bucket amid the mixed aromas of pig and barley meal and coffee I could almost feel the waves of pleasure beating on me. His lordship was clearly enchanted by the whole business, Charlie was wearing the superior smile which always accompanied his demonstrations of lingual dexterity, and as for myself I was experiencing a mounting euphoria.

  I could see into the pen and the sight was rewarding. The little pigs who had been sheltered in a large box during the operation were back with their mother, side by side in a long pink row as their tiny mouths enclosed the teats. The sow seemed to be letting her milk down, too, because there was no frantic scramble for position, just a rapt concentration.

  She was a fine pedigree pig and instead of lying on the butcher’s slab today she would be starting to bring up her family. As though reading my thoughts she gave a series of contented grunts and the old feeling began to bubble in me, the deep sense of fulfillment and satisfaction that comes from even the smallest triumph and makes our lives worthwhile.

  And there was something else. A new thought stealing into my consciousness with a delicious fresh tingle about it. At this moment, who else in the length and breadth of Britain was eating a breakfast personally prepared and served by a marquis?

  CHAPTER 3

  I AM AFRAID OF DENTISTS.

  I am particularly afraid of strange dentists, so before I went into the RAF I made sure my teeth were in order. Everybody told me they were very strict about the aircrews’ teeth and I didn’t want some unknown prodding around in my mouth. There had to be no holes anywhere or they would start to ache away u