All Things Bright and Beautiful Read online

  I looked again at the scarecrow figure with the hat brim drooping over the calm eyes. “You did a wonderful job there, Mr. Buckle. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. It was amazing how that bull followed the cow in like that.”

  The old man smiled and I had a sudden surging impression of the wisdom in that quiet mind.

  “There’s nowt amazin’ about it, lad, it’s most nat’ral thing in t’world. That’s ’is mother.”

  44

  I SLOWED DOWN AND gazed along the farm lane. That was Tristan’s car parked against the byre and inside, behind that green door, he was calving a cow. Because Tristan’s student days were over. He was a fully fledged veterinary surgeon now and the great world of animal doctoring with all its realities stretched ahead

  Not for long, though, because like many others he was bound for the army and would leave soon after myself. But it wouldn’t be so bad for Tristan because at least he would be doing his own job. When Siegfried and I had volunteered for service there had been no need for our profession in the army so we had gone into R.A.F. aircrew which was the only branch open to our “reserved occupation.” But when it came to Tristan’s turn the fighting had escalated in the far east and they were crying out for vets to doctor the horses, mules, cattle, camels.

  The timing suggested that the Gods were looking after him as usual. In fact I think the Gods love people like Tristan who sway effortlessly before the winds of fate and spring back with a smile, looking on life always with blithe optimism. Siegfried and I as second class aircraftmen pounded the parade ground for weary hours, Captain Tristan Farnon sailed off to the war in style.

  But in the meantime I was glad of his help. After my departure he would run things with the aid of an assistant then when he left the practice would be in the hands of two strangers till we returned. It seemed strange but everything was impermanent at that time.

  I drew up and looked thoughtfully at the car. This was Mark Dowson’s place and when I had rung the surgery from out in the country Helen told me about this calving. I didn’t want to butt in and fuss but I couldn’t help wondering how Tristan was getting on, because Mr. Dowson was a dour, taciturn character who wouldn’t hesitate to come down on the young man if things went wrong.

  Still, I hadn’t anything to worry about because since he qualified Tristan was doing fine. The farmers had always liked him during his sporadic visits as a student but now that he was on the job regularly the good reports were coming in thick and fast.

  “I’ll tell tha, that young feller does work! Doesn’t spare ’imself,” or “Ah’ve never seen a lad put his ’eart and soul into his job like this ’un.” And one man drew me to one side and muttered “He meks some queer noises but he does try. I think he’d kill ’isself afore he’d give up.”

  That last remark made me think Tristan’s forte was certainly not brute effort and I had been a bit bewildered at some of the comments till I began to remember some of my experiences with him in his student days. He had always applied his acute intelligence to any situation in his own particular way and the way he reacted to the little accidents of country practice led me to believe he was operating a system.

  The first time I saw this in action was when he was standing by the side of a cow watching me pulling milk from a teat Without warning the animal swung round and brought an unyielding cloven hoof down on his foot. This is a common and fairly agonising experience and before the days of steel-tipped Wellingtons I have frequently had the skin removed from my toes in neat parchment-like rolls. When it happened to me I was inclined to hop around and swear a bit and my performance was usually greeted with appreciative laughter from the farmers. Tristan, however, handled it differently.

  He gasped, leaned with bowed head against the cow’s pelvic bone for a moment then opened his mouth wide and emitted a long groan. Then, as the cowman and I stared at him he reeled over the cobbles dragging the damaged limb uselessly behind him. Arrived at the far wall he collapsed against it, face on the stone, still moaning pitifully.

  Thoroughly alarmed, I rushed to his aid. This must be a fracture and already my mind was busy with plans to get him to hospital with all possible speed. But he revived rapidly and when we left the byre ten minutes later he was tripping along with no trace of a limp. And I did notice one thing; nobody had laughed at him, he had received only sympathy and commiseration.

  This sort of thing happened on other places. He sustained a few mild kicks, he was crushed between cows, he met with many of the discomforts which are part of our life and he reacted in the same histrionic way. And how it paid off! To a man, the farmers exhibited the deepest concern when he went into his act and there was something more; it actually improved his image. I was pleased about that because impressing Yorkshire farmers isn’t the easiest task and if Tristan’s method worked it was all right with me.

  But I smiled to myself as I sat outside the farm. I couldn’t see Mr. Dowson being affected by any sign of suffering. I had had my knocks there in the past and he obviously hadn’t cared a damn.

  On an impulse I drove down the lane and walked into the byre. Tristan, stripped off and soaped, was just inserting an arm into a large red cow while the fanner, pipe in hand, was holding the tail. My colleague greeted me with a pleasant smile but Mr. Dowson just nodded curtly.

  “What have you got, Triss?” I asked.

  “Both legs back,” he replied. “And they’re a long way in. Look at the length of her pelvis.”

  I knew what he meant. It wasn’t a difficult presentation but it could be uncomfortable in these long cows. I leaned back against the wall; I might as well see how he fared.

  He braced himself and reached as far forward as he could, and just then the cow’s flanks bulged as she strained hard against him. This is never very nice; the powerful contractions of the uterus squeeze the arm relentlessly between calf and pelvis and you have to grit your teeth till it passes off.

  Tristan, however, went a little further.

  “Ooh! Aah! Ouch!” he cried. Then as the animal still kept up the pressure he went into a gasping groan. When she finally relaxed he stood there quite motionless for a few seconds, his head hanging down as though the experience had drained him of all his strength.

  The farmer drew on his pipe and regarded him impassively. Throughout the years I had known Mr. Dowson I had never seen any particular emotion portrayed in those hard eyes and craggy features. In fact it had always seemed to me that I could have dropped down dead in front of him and he wouldn’t even blink.

  My colleague continued his struggle and the cow, entering into the spirit of the game, fought back with a will. Some animals will stand quietly and submit to all kinds of internal interference but this was a strainer; every movement of the arm within her was answered by a violent expulsive effort. I had been through it a hundred times and I could almost feel the grinding pressure on the wrist, the helpless numbing of the fingers.

  Tristan showed what he thought about it all by a series of heartrending sounds. His repertoire was truly astounding and he ranged from long harrowing moans through shrill squeals to an almost tearful whimpering.

  At first Mr. Dowson appeared oblivious to the whole business, puffing smoke, glancing occasionally through the byre door, scratching at the bristle on his chin. But as the minutes passed his eyes were dragged more and more to the suffering creature before him until his whole attention was riveted on the young man.

  And in truth he was worth watching because Tristan added to his vocal performance an extraordinary display of facial contortions. He sucked in his cheeks, rolled his eyes, twisted his lips, did everything in fact but wiggle his ears. And there was no doubt he was getting through to Mr. Dowson. As the noises and grimaces became more extravagant the farmer showed signs of growing uneasiness; he darted anxious glances at my colleague and occasionally his pipe trembled violently. Like me, he clearly thought some dreadful climax was at hand.

  As if trying to bring matters to a head the c