Every Living Thing (27 page)

The coffee in my cup turned cold as I sat there. The more I watched him the more convinced I was that Basil had found his niche at last. The graceful way in which he glided among the tables, balancing plates along his arm as though he had been doing it all his life, his happy relaxation, his obvious delight in dealing with his guests, this was really him. I found myself hoping, quite fervently, that there would be no further convolutions in the career of Professor Baz.

“Are you going to speak to him?” Helen asked.

I hesitated. “No…no…better not.”

As we left we passed within a few feet of the table where he was again attending the white-haired couple. They were all laughing, and the old gentleman raised a hand.

“By the way,” he asked, “where was it that you were doing this?”

“Oh, ’ere and there,” Basil replied, “ ’ere and there.”

C
ALUM GAVE ME A
friendly dig in the ribs. “I wish you’d come with me to watch the deer one morning, Jim. I keep asking you, but I can never pin you down.”

We were sitting over a couple of pints in a cosy corner of the Drovers’, and it was comparatively peaceful now that the regulars had become accustomed to the badger. At first, going for a beer with Calum almost caused a riot, because he always insisted on slinging Marilyn over his shoulder first and the entire population of the bar would converge on us, but the situation had settled down to amused glances and cheerful greetings. The “vet wi’ t’badger,” as the farmers called him, was part of the local scenery now.

I took a pull at my glass. “Oh, I will, Calum, I will. I promise you.”

“That’s what you always say. Why not tomorrow?” He trained his dark-eyed stare on me and I felt trapped.

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s a lot doing tomorrow.”

“No, there isn’t really. Doug Heseltine cancelled his tuberculin test, and it’s left a big gap in the morning. It’s an ideal chance.”

I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted a glimpse of Calum’s world of nature—he spent all his spare time roaming the countryside, studying the plants and flowers, observing the habits of the wild creatures—but I felt woefully ignorant by comparison. I had grown up in the big city of Glasgow and though I had fallen in love with the Yorkshire countryside I knew that a deep knowledge of flora and fauna was something best acquired in childhood. Siegfried had it, both my children had it and were always trying to educate me, but I knew I’d never be an expert. Certainly not like Calum. He was steeped in the things of the wild. It was his consuming passion.

“Tomorrow, eh?” As the level of my glass went down, my doubts began to evaporate. “Well, maybe I could make it.”

“Great, great.” My colleague ordered two more pints. “We’ll go up to Steadforth woods. I’ve built a hide there.”

“Steadforth woods? Surely there aren’t any deer in there.”

Calum gave me a secret smile. “Oh yes, there are—lots of them.”

“Well, it’s a funny thing. I’ve passed them a thousand times. I’ve walked my dogs through them, but I’ve never seen a trace of a deer.”

“You’ll see some tomorrow. Just you wait.”

“Okay. When do we start?”

He rubbed his hands. “I’ll pick you up at three o’clock.”

“Three o’clock! As early as that?”

“Oh yes, we’ve got to be up there before daybreak.”

As I finished my second pint the whole thing seemed pleasantly attractive. Up and away before the dawn to plumb the secrets of the woods. I couldn’t understand my previous misgivings.

I felt different next morning when the alarm blasted in my ear at 2:45
A.M.
Years of being jerked from slumber in the small hours had bred in me a fierce love of my bed, and here I was deliberately quitting the warm nest to drive out into the cold darkness and sit in a wood just for fun. I must be mad.

When I met Calum it was clear he didn’t share my feelings. He was bubbling with enthusiasm and he laughed as he thumped me on the shoulder. “You’re going to love this, Jim. I’ve really been looking forward to doing this with you.”

I shivered as I got into his car. It was bitterly cold and the front street was like a pitch-black well. I huddled in the seat and Calum drove away, whistling.

He kept up a bright chatter on the way and it was easy to see that this was him in his natural element, roaming the countryside while the world was asleep, but after we had covered a few miles I knew something was wrong.

“Hey,” I said. “This isn’t the way to Steadforth woods; we should have taken a left turn back there.”

He turned to me with a smile. “We’re going another way. My hide is at the far end of the woods, a long way from the main road. We get to it from Fred Welburn’s farm.”

“Fred Welburn’s! My God, we’ll have to walk about two miles!”

“Don’t worry. I’ve arranged transport.”

“Transport…? What are you talking about?”

Calum giggled. “You’ll see.”

We left the car near the farm, which was perched on high ground from which the field stretched away down a steep slope to a stream before rising again towards the edge of the distant woods. It was still dark and I knew this only from memory. Bewildered, I wondered about the transport.

Calum reached into the back of the car and produced a bucket of corn.

I stared at him. “What’s that for?”

“It’s for the horses.”

“Horses?”

“Yes. I’m going to tempt those two horses over to us so that we can ride them down into the woods.”

“What! You never said anything about that!” I burst out.

He smiled reassuringly. “Oh, it’s all right. It’ll make everything much easier.” He rattled his bucket and my mouth fell open as two enormous Shires came trotting out of the gloom, their great hooves thudding on the grass.

“This is crazy!” I stared in disbelief at the animals. I was no equestrian, especially when it came to barebacked carthorses. “We can’t ride those bloody things! And what about Fred Welburn? What’s he going to say?”

“All taken care of. I’ve got permission from Fred to use them whenever I want them. Come on, now, I’ll give you a leg up.”

I was still protesting when he hoisted me onto the nearest animal and scrambled onto the other. He dug in his heels, gave a joyous whoop, and before I knew what was happening we were thundering down the grassy slope.

“Hang on,” cried Calum. “There’s a beck at the foot of the hill.”

He didn’t have to tell me. I was hanging on as never before, gripping the mane tightly, eyes popping, absolutely certain that, within seconds, I would be cast from the great smooth back into the outer darkness. But somehow I kept my seat as our mounts leaped the stream like steeplechasers, then we were off again, galloping up the hill on the other side.

We were going at a terrifying pace, but it didn’t seem to be fast enough for Calum, who kept yelling encouragement at his steed. Dimly ahead, I saw him hurtling through a narrow gateway and I suffered a moment’s panic at the certain thought that my fat animal would never get through that opening. I was partly right because the gatepost caught my knee such a fearful whack that I thought my leg had been torn off.

We made a hectic traverse of another long field, then my colleague pulled up and dismounted.

“My, that was great!” he breathed as I slithered, groaning, onto the grass. “But you’re lame—what’s wrong?”

“Cracked my knee on the gate back there,” I grunted as I hobbled around, rubbing the painful joint.

“Oh, sorry about that, but it saved us a long walk. We’re right up to the woods now.”

We climbed a fence and he led me among the dark trunks to his hide, which he had built near a clearing. In the first pale light I could see that it was a well-hidden place, carefully constructed of branches of larch and spruce and tufts of grass.

“Sit here,” whispered my colleague. He was clearly in a state of high excitement, his eyes wide, a half smile on his face.

We hadn’t long to wait. As the dawn light filtered through the branches, there was a rustling and a sound of movement among the trees, then, one by one, the deer began to appear in the clearing. Through all the years, I had never seen a deer in these woods but they were there in profusion; gentle does and majestic, antlered stags pacing around, cropping the grass. It was a scene of indescribable peace and beauty, and with the feeling that I was a privileged observer I sat there enthralled, all my discomforts forgotten. There was a badger sett nearby and Calum pointed in delight as his favourite animals came out to play with their young.

Afterwards we walked through the scented silence of the woods, the pine needles soft under our feet, and he talked, not only about the deer, but about the other wild creatures of the forest and about the plants and flowers that flourished in those secret places. He seemed to know it all and I began to understand the depths of the interest that coloured his entire life. He held the key to a magic world.

As we reached the field the sun came out and, looking back, I could see long drifts of bluebells among the dark boles of the trees, and in the glades, where the first rays struck through the branches, primroses and anemones shone like scattered jewels.

By the time we had ridden back up the hill—slowly and gently at my request—and had limped to the car, my knee had stiffened up and I groaned as I dragged my leg inside.

“Oh, bad luck about your knee.” Calum gave me a sympathetic smile, then his expression changed. “But never mind, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

I could feel my eyes narrowing to slits as I looked at him. “What kind of surprise?”

He grinned widely. “I want you to come to dinner with me.”

“Dinner? Where?”

“In my flat. You know Helen’s going to a meeting tonight and she was to leave you something to eat. Well, I’ve arranged it with her. I’m going to give you a meal. We’re having roast duck.”

“Duck! Who’s cooking it?”

“I am. It will be plucked and roasted by my own fair hand.”

My head began to swim a little. I knew he kept ducks at the bottom of the garden—an activity Siegfried regarded with a jaundiced eye as being part of a “menagerie”—but all this, coming from a man who had no interest in food and, in fact, seemed to eat only on rare occasions, was difficult to take in. But I was sure he was trying to be kind.

“Well, Calum…it’s very good of you…what time do you want me?”

“Eight o’clock on the dot.”

At the appointed time I climbed the stair to the flat and received an effusive welcome. Calum sat me down with a drink and as he went through to the kitchen I looked round the little sitting room. It was exactly as when he walked in that first day. Other occupants had added or altered things according to their taste but Calum had not the slightest interest in carpets, curtains or furniture. The table was bare except for two sets of knives and forks and salt and pepper.

He was soon back again, banging down a plate for each of us, then a delicious aroma drifted in from the kitchen as he opened the oven door.

“Here we are, Jim!” he cried triumphantly as he carried in a roasting tin containing two ducks. He speared one bird with a fork and clumped it on my plate, then took the other for himself.

I was waiting for the vegetables and other trimmings, but Calum dropped into his chair and waved a fork at me. “Wade in, Jim, I do hope you’ll enjoy it.”

I looked down at my plate. Well, this was dinner with Calum. A duck apiece with no adornment. He was eating busily and I started on my bird, but I was slowed down by the fact that my colleague had left quite a lot of feathers on and I had to pick my way gingerly among the quills and crisped-up plumage.

Nothing seemed to deter Calum, however, and he ate rapidly, then sat back with a sigh of deep contentment. I was surprised at his speed, then it occurred to me that he probably hadn’t bothered to take any nourishment for the last twenty-four hours or so.

We didn’t have dessert or coffee or anything of the sort and it wasn’t long before he was ushering me out.

Around ten o’clock Helen came back from her meeting. “Well, how was your day with Calum?” she asked as she took off her coat.

I rubbed my knee. Somehow it wasn’t an easy question to answer. “I enjoyed it. It was fun…exciting …quite fascinating…” I was casting around for the word…“It was different!”

She laughed. “You’ve just about described Calum.”

“That’s it,” I said, laughing too. “It was a Calum day.”

“T
HAT WAS OLD
W
ILLIAM
Hawley,” Siegfried said as he put down the phone. “Sounded a bit agitated. One of his calves is laid out unconscious, thinks it may be dying, and he hasn’t many of them, poor old lad. We’ll have to get there quick.”

I looked up from the day-book. “But we’ve got to take those tumours off Colonel Foulter’s horse at ten o’clock this morning.”

“Yes, I know, but we can drop in at Hawley’s place on the way. It’s in the same direction.”

It was a familiar situation as we drove off together. Siegfried eagerly anticipating one of his equine operations, myself, his anaesthetist, by his side and our enamel tray with all the freshly sterilised instruments rattling behind us in the back. It was a fine morning, which was good, because the open fields were our operating table.

After three miles we struck off down a narrow side road and soon we could see the Hawley farmhouse, not much bigger than the grey stone barns that dotted the wide green miles of the fell above. To me, those barns, squat and sturdy, and the pattern the endless stone walls traced on the high pastures were at the very heart of the Dales scene. As I looked from the car, I thought as I always did that there was nowhere else in the world quite like this.

The farmer, white hair straggling from under a tattered cap, watched anxiously as Siegfried bent over the prostrate calf in a pen in the corner of the cow house.

“What do ye make of it, Mr. Farnon?” he asked. “I’ve never seen owt like it.”

The appeal in his eyes was mingled with a deep faith. Siegfried was his hero, a wonder worker, the man who had brought off miracle cures for years, before I had even come to Darrowby. William Hawley was one of a breed of simple, unsophisticated farmers who still survived in the fifties but who have long since melted away under the glare of science and education.