Джеймс Хэрриот - Every Living Thing

“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.

Chapter 6

THE FOLLOWING THURSDAY 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.