Let Sleeping Vets Lie Read online

  previous assessment of him; it had been so easy to put him down as

  lumpish and unemotional but as I looked at him now his face was alight

  with friendship, hospitality, understanding. He had cast off his

  inhibitions and as he sat down surrounded by the latest batch he began

  to talk rapidly and fluently about wines and wine making.

  Wide-eyed and impassioned he ranged at length over the niceties of

  fermentation and sedimentation, of flavour and bouquet. He dealt

  learnedly with the relative merits of Chambertin and Nuits St. George,

  Montrachet and Chablis. Enthusiasts are appealing but a fanatic is

  irresistible and I sat spellbound while Mr. Crump pushed endless samples

  of his craft in front of me, mixing and adjusting expertly.

  "How did you find that 'un?"

  "Very nice ... '

  "But sweet, maybe?"

  "Well, perhaps ... ;

  1

  aa'right, try some of this with it." The meticulous addition of a few

  drops of nameless liquid from the packed rows of bottles. "How's that?"

  "Marvelous!"

  "Now this 'un. Perhaps a bit sharpish, eh?"

  "Possibly ... yes ... '

  Again the tender trickling of a few mysterious droplets into my drink

  and again the anxious enquiry.

  "Is that better?"

  "Just right."

  The big man drank with me, glass by glass. We tried parsnip and

  dandelion, cowslip and parsley, clover, gooseberry, beetroot and crab

  apple. Incredibly we had some stuff made from turnips which was so

  exquisite that I insisted on a refill.

  Everything gradually slowed down as we sat there. Time slowed down till

  it was finally meaningless. Mr. Crump and I slowed down and our speech

  and actions became more and more deliberate. The farmer's visits to the

  pantry developed into laboured, unsteady affairs; sometimes he took a

  roundabout route to reach the door and on one occasion there was a

  tremendous crash from within and I feared he had fallen among his

  bottles. But I couldn't be bothered to get up to see and in due course

  he reappeared, apparently unharmed.

  It was around nine o'clock that I heard the soft knocking on the outer

  door. I ignored it as I didn't want to interrupt Mr. Crump who was in

  the middle of a deep exposition.

  "Thigh," he was saying, leaning close to me and tapping a bulbous flagon

  with his forefinger. "Thish is, in my 'pinion, comp'rable to a fine

  Moselle. Made it lash year and would 'preciate it if you'd tell me what

  you think." He went low over the glass, blinking, heavy-eyed as he

  poured.

  "Now then, wha" d'you say? Ish it or ishn't it?"

  I took a gulp and paused for a moment. It all tasted the same now and I

  had never drunk Moselle anyway, but I nodded and hiccuped solemnly in

  reply.

  The farmer rested a friendly hand on my shoulder and was about to make a

  further speech when he, too, heard the knocking. He made his way across

  the floor with some difficulty and opened the door. A young lad was

  standing there and I heard a few muttered words.

  "We 'ave a cow on calving and we 'phoned surgery and they said vitnery

  might still be here."

  Mr. Crump turned to face me. "It's the Bamfords of Holly Bush. They wan"

  you to go there - jush a mile along "'road."

  "Right," I heaved myself to my feet then gripped the table tightly as

  the familiar objects of the room began to whirl rapidly around me. When

  they came to rest Mr. Crump appeared to be standing at the head of a

  fairly steep slope. The kitchen floor had seemed perfectly level when I

  had come in but now it was all I could do to fight my way up the

  gradient.

  When I reached the door Mr. Crump was staring owlishly into the

  darkness.

  ' "Seining," he said. ' "Seining like 'ell."

  I peered out at the steady beat of the dark water on the cobbles of the

  yard, but my car was just a few yards away and I was about to set out

  when the farmer caught my arm.

  "Jus" minute, can't go out like that." He held up a finger then went

  over and -.i groped about in a drawer. At length he produced a tweed cap

  which he offered ~ me with great dignity. ~'

  I never wore anything on my head whatever the weather but I was deeply

  touched and wrung my companion's hand in silence. It was understandable

  that ~ I a man like Mr. Crump who wore his cap at all times, indoors and

  out, would recoil in horror from the idea of anybody venturing uncovered

  into the rain.

  The tweed cap which I now put on was the biggest I had ever seen; a

  great round flat pancake of a thing which even at that moment I felt

  would keep not only my head but my shoulders and entire body dry in the

  heaviest downpour.

  I took my leave of Mr. Crump with reluctance and as I settled in the

  seat of the car trying to remember where first gear was situated I could

  see his bulky form silhouetted against the light from the kitchen; he

  was waving his hand with gentle benevolence and it struck me as I at

  length drove away what a deep and wonderful friendship had been forged

  that night.

  Driving at walking pace along the dark narrow road, my nose almost

  touching the windscreen, I was conscious of some unusual sensations. My

  mouth and lips felt abnormally sticky as though I had been drinking

  liquid glue instead of wine my breath seemed to be whistling in my

  nostrils like a strong wind blowing under a door, and I was having

  difficulty focusing my eyes. Fortunately I met only one car and as it

  approached and flashed past in the other direction I was muzzily

  surprised by the fact that it had two complete sets of headlights which

  kept merging into each other and drawing apart again.

  In the yard at Holly Bush I got out of the car, nodded to the shadowy

  group of figures standing there, fumbled my bottle of antiseptic and

  calving ropes from the boot and marched determinedly into the byre. One

  of the men held an oil lamp over a cow lying on a deep bed of straw in

  one of the standings; from the vulva a calf's foot protruding a few

  inches and as the cow strained a little muzzle showed momentarily then

  disappeared as she relaxed.

  Far away inside me a stone cold sober veterinary surgeon murmured: "Only

  a leg back and a big roomy cow. Shouldn't be much trouble." I turned and

  looked at the Bamfords for the first time. I hadn't met them before but

  it was easy to classify them; simple, kindly anxious-to-please people

  two middle-aged men, probably brothers, and two young men who would be

  the sons of one or the other. They were all staring at me in the dim

  light, their eyes expectant, their mouths slightly open as though ready

  to smile or laugh if given half a chance.

  I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath and said in a loud voice:

  "Would you please bring me a bucket of hot water, some soap and a

  tower." Or at least that's what I meant to say, because what actually

  issued from my lips was a torrent of something that sounded like

  Swahili. The Bamfords, poised, ready to spring into action to do my

  bidding, looked at me blankly. I c