It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet Read online

that the hand of retribution was hovering over that happy band. This

  was, in fact, a fateful night, because ten minutes after I had left, Mr.

  Worley's pub was raided. Perhaps that is a rather dramatic word, but it

  happened that it was the constable's annual holiday and the relief man,

  a young policeman who did not share Mr. Dalloway's liberal views, had

  come up on his bicycle and pinched everybody in the place.

  The account of the court proceedings in the Darrowby and Houlton Times

  made good reading. Gobber Newhouse and company were all fined f2 each

  and warned as to their future conduct. The magistrates, obviously a

  heartless lot, had remained unmoved by Gobber's passionate protestations

  that the beer in the glasses had all been purchased before closing time

  and that he and his friends had been lingering over it in light

  conversation for the subsequent four hours.

  Mr. Worley was fined 15 but I don't think he really minded; Marigold and

  her litter were doing well.

  Chapter Eight.

  This was the last gate. I got out to open it since Tristan was driving,

  and looked back at the farm, a long way below us now, and at the marks

  our tyres had made on the steep, grassy slopes. Strange places, some of

  these Dales farms; this one had no road to it - not even a track. From

  down there you just drove across the fields from gate to gate till you

  got to the main road above the valley. And this was the last one; ten

  minuses' driving and we'd be home.

  Tristan was acting as my chauffeur, as my left hand had been infected

  after . a bad calving and I had my arm in a sling. He didn't drive up

  through the gate : but got out of the car, leaned his back against the

  gate post and lit a Woodbine. - /1

  Obviously he wasn't in any rush to leave. And with the sun warm on the

  back ~ of his neck and the two bottles of Whitbread's nestling

  comfortably in his r l l 1

  .~ ll l : i stomach I could divine that he felt pretty good. Come to

  think of it, it had been all right back there. He had taken some warts

  off a heifer's teats and the farmer had said he shaped well for a young

  'un, ("Aye, you really framed at t'job, lad') and asked us in for a

  bottle of beer since it was so hot. Impressed by the ecstatic speed with

  which Tristan had consumed his, he had given him another.

  Yes, it had been all right, and I could see Tristan thought so too. With

  a smile of utter content he took a long, deep gulp of moorland air and

  Woodbine smoke and closed his eyes.

  He opened them quickly as a grinding noise came from the car. "Christ!

  She's off, Jim!" he shouted.

  The little Austin was moving gently backwards down the slope - it must

  have slipped out of gear and it had no brakes to speak of. We both

  leaped after it. Tristan was nearest and he just managed to touch the

  bonnet with one finger;

  the speed was too much for him. We gave it up and watched.

  The hillside was steep and the little car rapidly gathered momentum,

  bouncing crazily over the uneven ground. I glanced at Tristan; his mind

  invariably worked quickly and clearly in a crisis and I had a good idea

  what he was thinking. It was only a fortnight since he had turned the

  Hillman over, taking a girl home from a dance. It had been a complete

  write-off and the insurance people had been rather nasty about it; and

  of course Siegfried had gone nearly berserk and had finished by sacking

  him finally, once and for all - never wanted to see his face in the

  place again.

  But he had been sacked so often; he knew he had only to keep out of his

  way for a bit and his brother would forget. And he had been lucky this

  time because Siegfried had talked his bank manager into letting him buy

  a beautiful new Rover and this had blotted everything else from his

  mind.

  It was distinctly unfortunate that this should happen when he, as

  driver, was technically in charge of the Austin. The car appeared now to

  be doing about 70 m.p.h. hurtling terrifyingly down the long, green

  hill. One by one the doors burst open till all four flapped wildly and

  the car swooped downwards looking like a huge, ungainly bird.

  From the open doors, bottles, instruments, bandages, cotton wool

  cascaded out onto the turf, leaving a long, broken trail. Now and again

  a packet of nux vomica and bicarb stomach powder would fly out and burst

  like a bomb, splashing vivid white against the green.

  Tristan threw up his arms. "Look! The bloody thing's going straight for

  that hut." He drew harder on his Woodbine.

  There was indeed only one obstruction on the bare hillside - a small

  building near the foot where the land levelled out and the Austin, as if

  drawn by a magnet, was thundering straight towards it.

  I couldn't bear to watch. Just before the impact I turned away and

  focused my attention on the end of Tristan's cigarette which was glowing

  bright red when the crash came. When I looked back down the hill the

  building was no longer there. It had been completely flattened and

  everything I had ever heard about houses of cards surged into my mind.

  On top of the shattered timbers the little car lay peacefully on its

  side, its wheels still turning lazily.

  As we galloped down the hill it was easy to guess Tristan's thoughts. He

  wouldn't be looking forward to telling Siegfried he had wrecked the

  Austin; in fact it was something the mind almost refused to contemplate.

  But as we neared the scene of devastation, passing on our way syringes,

  scalpels, bottles of vaccine, it was difficult to see any other outcome.

  Arriving at the car, we made an anxious inspection. The body had been so

  bashed and dented before that it wasn't easy to identify any new marks.

  Certainly the rear end was pretty well caved in but it didn't show up

  very much. The only obvious damage was a smashed rear light. Our hopes

  rising, we set off for the farm for help.

  The farmer greeted us amiably. "Now then, you lads, haste come back for

  more beer."

  "It wouldn't come amiss," Tristan replied. "We've had a bit of an

  accident."

  We went into the house and the hospitable man opened some more bottles.

  He didn't seem disturbed when he heard of the demolition of the hut.

  "Nay, that's not mine. Belongs to t'golf club - it's t'club house."

  Tristan's eyebrows shot up. "Oh no! Don't say we've flattened the

  headquarters of the Darrowby Golf Club."

  "Aye, lad, you must have. It's t'only wooden building in them fields. I

  rent that part of my land to the club and they've made a little nine

  hole course. Don't worry, hardly anybody plays on it - mainly t'bank

  manager and ah don't like that feller."

  Mr. Prescott got a horse out of the stable and we went back to the car

  and pulled it upright again. Trembling a little, Tristan climbed in and

  pressed the starter. The sturdy little engine burst into a confident

  roar immediately and he drove carefully over the prostrate wooden walls

  on to the grass.

  "Well thanks a lot, Mr. Prescott," he shouted. "We seem to have got away

  with it."

  "Champion, l