Every Living Thing (6 page)

“Oh, ’ell!” He looked at me wide-eyed. “What do we do, then? Caesarean? That’s a big job!”

“Maybe not,” I said. “I’ve got another trick up my sleeve.”

I was out to the car and back again in a few moments with a syringe and local anaesthetic. “Grab the tail, Ted,” I said, “and move it up and down like a pump handle. That’s the way.” I felt for the epidural space between the vertebrae and injected 10 c.c.’s, then I stood back and watched.

I hadn’t long to wait. In less than a minute Clover began to relax as though her troubles were over. Ted pointed at her. “Look at that, she’s stopped strainin’!”

“She can’t strain, now,” I said. “She’s had a spinal anaesthetic and she can’t feel a thing back there. In fact she really doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“So if she can’t push against us we can maybe get the head back inside?”

“That’s the idea.” Another soaping of my arm and I pressed my palm against the broad muzzle, and oh, it was lovely to feel the head and neck and the whole calf moving away from me with no sign of resistance. There was room then to pass a noose inside and snare a foot and then another till I had two cloven hooves showing at the vulva. I grasped one in each hand and as I leaned back, the calf’s muzzle reappeared and to my great relief I saw a twitching of the nostrils.

I laughed. “This calf’s alive, Ted.”

“Oh, thank God for that,” Ted said, blowing out his cheeks. “We can get on wi’ the job now, can’t we?”

“Yes, but there’s just one snag. Because she’s unable to strain she can’t help us. We’ll have to do everything ourselves.”

It was still a very tight squeeze and we had half an hour of careful pulling on the legs and head and frequent application of lubricating jelly. We soon began to sweat but Clover was totally unconcerned and paid no attention as she picked away happily at the hay in the rack. My big fear was that the calf might stick at the hips but with a final heave from us the little creature slid out into the world and I caught the slippery body as it fell.

Ted lifted a hind leg. “It’s a bull. Reckon it had to be when it was as big as that.” He smiled happily. “Most times I want heifers, but this ’un will sell well for breedin’. He’s got a fine pedigree on both sides.”

He began to rub ribs and head with straw and the calf responded by raising his head and snuffling. Clover looked round quickly at the sound and gave a soft moo of delight and, it seemed to me, surprise, because she had known nothing of the operation and clearly was a little mystified as to how this enchanting newcomer had arrived. We pulled him up to her head and she commenced an enthusiastic end-to-end licking of the little body.

I smiled. I never got tired of this—the most rewarding thing in my veterinary life. “Nice to see, isn’t it, Ted. I wish all calvings finished up like this.”

“By gaw, you’re right, Mr. Herriot, and I can’t thank ye enough. I really thought I had a dead ’un on me hands this time.” When I bent over the bucket he gave me a friendly thump on the back.

As I dried my arms I looked round the byre with its row of well-kept cows. Over some months Ted had gutted the place completely, hacking out the ancient wooden partitions and replacing them with tubular metal, plastering the walls, digging up the cobbled floor and laying down concrete. He had done all the work himself.

He followed my gaze. “What d’you think of me little place now?”

“It’s great, you’ve done wonders, Ted. And you’ve built a nice little dairy, too.”

“Aye, ah’ve got to get that T.T. licence somehow.” He rubbed his chin. “But there’s a few things that don’t come up to standard. Like not enough space between the channel and the back wall. There’s nowt I can do about that and one or two other points. But if the Ministry’ll grant me a licence I’ll get another fourpence on every gallon of milk and it’ll make all the difference in the world to me.”

He laughed, as though reading my thoughts. “Maybe you don’t think fourpence is much, but you know, we don’t need a lot o’ money. We never go out at night—we’re quite happy playin’ cards and Ludo and dominoes with the kids, and with these cows to milk and feed and muck out twice a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, I’m tied to the spot.” He laughed again. “Ah can’t remember when I even went into Darrowby. No, we don’t want much money, but right now I’m just hanging on—only keepin’ my head above water. Any road, I’ll know after next Thursday. They’re having a meeting to decide.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell him that I was the one who had to make a confidential report to the Milk Committee on that day about him and his farm and it all rested on whether I could convince them. Ted’s fourpence a gallon was in my hands and it frightened me a bit, because if the T.T. licence didn’t go through I dared not think how much longer he could carry on his struggle to make a go of this wind-blown farm with its sparse pastures.

I packed up my gear and we went outside. Breathing in the cold, clean air I looked at the cloud shadows chasing across the tumbled miles of green hills, and at the few acres that were Ted’s world. They made a little wall-girt island lapped around by the tufted grass of the moorland, which was always trying to flow over and swamp it. Those fields had to be fed and fertilised to keep them from returning to their wild state, and the walls, twisted and bent by the centuries, kept shedding their stones—another job to be done by that one man. I recalled a time when Ted told me that one of his luxuries was to wake up in the middle of the night so that he could turn over and go to sleep again.

As I started the engine he waved, raising a huge, work-callused hand. Bumping down the hillside I looked back at the thin, slightly stooping figure standing by the house with its fringe of stunted trees, and an awareness of his situation welled in me as it had done so often before. Compared to his, my life was a picnic.

T
HE FOLLOWING
T
HURSDAY
I awoke with the words of my appeal for Ted spinning around in my head and I kept mouthing a few phrases in the car as I did a couple of early calls. I was due in the Ministry Office at 11:00
A.M.
and by ten o’clock I was back home ready to change.

I was about to go upstairs when Helen came in.

“You’ll never believe this,” she said breathlessly. “But Mr. Bendelow saw me as I passed his window and gave me the suit.”

“Mr. Pumphrey’s suit?”

“Yes, it’s all altered and ready for you to wear.” She stared at me, wide-eyed.

I looked at the parcel in amazement. “Well, that’s never happened before. We asked for a miracle and got one.”

“That’s right,” Helen said. “And another thing, I feel sure it’s a happy omen.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can wear it when you speak to the Milk Committee. You’ll really impress them in a suit like that.”

Her words struck home. As an orator I was no Winston Churchill and I needed any help that was going. In the bedroom I tore off my clothes and climbed into the refurbished trousers. They were now exactly the right length but there was something else, something I hadn’t noticed when I had tried them on before. The waistband came right up over my chest until it was almost tucked under my arms. Those were the days of high waistbands that rested comfortably well above the hips, but Mr. Pumphrey’s stature had vastly accentuated this. I was beaten again. I turned and faced Helen and her mouth began to twitch. Then she lowered her head and her body shook with repressed giggles.

“Don’t start that again!” I cried. “They’re nearly as funny as last time. You don’t have to tell me. Anyway, I can’t wear these damned things, that’s all there is to it. I’m just a walking pair of trousers with a head and shoulders poking out at the top.” I was about to pull off the maddening garments when Helen held up a hand.

“Wait…wait…” she said. “Put on the jacket.”

“What good will that do?”

“The lapels are very high, just put it on.”

With a feeling of hopelessness I shrugged myself into the jacket and turned towards her.

Helen was looking at me with something like awe. “It’s wonderful,” she whispered. “Incredible.”

“What is?”

“Look at yourself.”

I looked into the mirror and Lord Herriot of Darrowby looked out at me. The waistband was quite hidden and the suit was there in all its glory of rich material and superb tailoring, draped on me elegantly as if it had been made for me.

“My God,” I breathed. “I never knew clothes could make all that difference. I’m like another person.”

“Yes, you are,” agreed Helen eagerly. “You’re like an important, prestigious person. You must wear it for the committee—you’ll knock them cold!”

While I washed and combed my hair I had the warm sense of everything slotting into place when all had seemed lost, and as I left after a final admiring glance at myself in the mirror I was filled with an airy confidence.

Outside, a bitter wind swept over the fields but I couldn’t feel it. Nothing could penetrate my apparel; in fact I felt sure that, dressed like this, I could walk in comfort to the North Pole without changing.

In the car my body heat rose rapidly and I had to open the windows. I was glad when I reached my destination and was able to take a few breaths of the cold air. My relief, however, was short-lived because as soon as the swing doors of the Ministry Office closed behind me a stifling heat hit me. On all my previous visits I had wondered how people could work in this atmosphere with the central heating going full blast, and as I walked along the corridor looking through the glass at the typists and technicians and Ministry officials apparently going about their business, quite happily I marvelled anew. Only this time it was worse. Much, much worse. This time I was cocooned almost up to my chin in two layers of carpet-like material.

It was the waistband, of course, that was the trouble, clamped round my entire rib-cage like a great constricting hand; and I had the silly feeling that the suit itself was carrying me along to the double doors of the conference room at the end of the corridor. In the big room it was hotter than ever and I had a moment of panic when I thought I wouldn’t be able to breathe, but I settled down as the committee members welcomed me in their usual friendly way and the chairman ushered me to my seat at the long table.

There were about twenty people in the Milk Committee: big farmers, technical officers of the Ministry, two of the great landowners of the district in Lord Darbrough and Sir Henry Brookly, a physician and one practising veterinary surgeon, me. I had felt honoured when I was invited to join and had tried to fulfil my duties to the best of my ability, but this morning was something special.

Sir Henry was chairman and as he started the proceedings I prayed that it would be a short session. I knew I couldn’t stand it for long, tightly muffled in this heat, but as the minutes ticked away with agonising slowness I realised that there was a tremendous amount of business to get through. Long discussions about sterilisation, farm buildings and husbandry, cattle diseases, points of law—it went on and on as I sat there getting hotter and hotter. Quite often I was asked for my opinion and I answered in a breathless way that I hoped went unnoticed, but it seemed that my most important contribution was being kept until the end.

My condition deteriorated steadily until after an hour I was sure I was suffocating and it was only a matter of time before I fainted away and was carried from the room. I was breathing only with difficulty, I could feel the sweat running down my neck onto my collar and had to fight the impulse to tear open my jacket and let out some of the pent-up heat, but the thought of this decorous group of men dissolving into laughter at the sight of my chin-high trousers stayed my hand.

It was after almost two hours that Sir Henry looked around the table and introduced my subject. “Well, gentlemen,” he said, “to conclude our business this morning we have to decide on the borderline case of hill-farmer Edward Newcombe’s application for a Tuberculin Tested licence and I understand that our young friend, Mr. Herriot, has been looking into the matter for us. Mr. Herriot…?” He smiled across the table at me.

Somebody began to talk about Ted Newcombe and for a few moments I didn’t realise it was myself. The words were familiar but they seemed to be coming from somewhere outside me, panting and hoarse. Through the blur of sweat trickling into my eyes I could see them all looking at me kindly. They had always been kind, these men, maybe because I was the youngest member, but as my utterances tumbled out—“outstanding stocksman”…“cattle in immaculate condition”…“hard worker”…“meticulous attention to hygiene”…“man of the highest integrity”— they kept smiling and nodding encouragingly and as the last phrase emerged, “Edward Newcombe’s buildings may not be perfect but he really is a trier and if he is granted his licence he will never let anybody down,” I seemed to be surrounded by cheerful, friendly faces.

Sir Henry beamed at me. “Ah, thank you so much, Mr. Herriot, that is most helpful and we are grateful to you. I think we can take it, gentlemen, that there will be no difficulty in granting the licence?” Hands went up in agreement all round the table.

I have very little recollection of how I left the room, only of rushing downstairs into the men’s lavatory, locking myself into one of the cubicles, throwing off my jacket and collapsing, open-mouthed, onto the toilet seat. As I opened the front of the vast trousers, unbuttoned my shirt and lay back, gasping, waves of heat mingled with relief and triumph rolled from me. I had got it over. Ted had his licence and I was still alive.

As I slowly recovered I heard two men come in. From my semi-prone position I could see their feet under the door and I recognised the voices of Sir Henry and Lord Darbrough. The feet disappeared as the men retreated to the opposite wall.

There was a silence, then, “Tell you what, Henry,” boomed his Lordship. “It did me good to see that young fella fighting his corner for the hill-farmer.”

“Couldn’t agree more, George. Damn good show, I thought.”

“Threw everything into it, by gaw. Didn’t spare himself. Never seen anything like it—sweat was rolling down his face.”