Джеймс Хэрриот - All Things Wise and Wonderful

“That’s right, ah do.” He looked up at her and she smiled kindly down at him before going for my beer.

He took a sip at his glass. “Ah really come for company, Mr. Herriot.”

“Yes, of course,” I said. I knew what he meant. He probably sat on his own most of the time, but around him was warmth and comfort and friendliness. A great log sent flames crackling up to the wide chimney, there was electric light and shining mirrors with whisky slogans painted on their surface. It wasn’t anything like Scar Farm.

The little man said very little. He spun out his drink for another hour, looking around him as the dominoes clicked and I lowered another contemplative pint. The Misses Bradley knitted and brewed tea in a big black kettle over the fire and when they had to get up to serve their customers they occasionally patted Ned playfully on the cheek as they passed.

By the time he tipped down the last drop and rose to go it was a quarter to ten and he still had to cycle across to the other side of the Dale. Another late night for Ned.

It was a Tuesday lunchtime in early spring. Helen always cooked steak and kidney pie on Tuesdays and I used to think about it all morning on my rounds. My thoughts that morning had been particularly evocative because lambing had started and I had spent most of the time in my shirt sleeves in the biting wind as my hunger grew and grew.

Helen cut into her blissful creation and began to scoop the fragrant contents on to my plate.

“I met Miss Tremayne in the market place this morning, Jim.’“

“Oh yes?” I was almost drooling as my wife stopped shovelling out the pie, sliced open some jacket potatoes and dropped pats of farm butter on to the steaming surfaces.

“Yes, she wants you to go out there this afternoon and put some canker drops in Wilberforce’s ears if you have time.”

“Oh I have time for that,” I said. Wilberforce was Miss Tremayne’s ancient tabby cat and it was just the kind of job I wanted after my arm-aching morning.

I was raising a luscious forkful when Helen spoke again. “Oh, and she had an interesting item of news.”

“Really?” But I had begun to chew and my thoughts were distant.

“It’s about the little woman who works for her—Elsie. You know her?”

I nodded and took another mouthful. “Of course, of course.”

“Well it’s quite unexpected, I suppose, but Elsie’s getting married.”

I choked on my pie. “What!”

“It’s true. And maybe you know the bridegroom.”

“Tell me.”

“He works on one of the neighbouring farms. His name is Ned Finch.”

This time my breath was cut off completely and Helen had to beat me on the back as I spluttered and retched. It wasn’t until an occluding morsel of potato skin had shot down my nose that I was able to utter a weak croak. “Ned Finch?”

“That’s what she said.”

I finished my lunch in a dream, but by the end of it I had accepted the extraordinary fact Helen and Miss Tremayne were two sensible people—there couldn’t be any mistake. And yet … even as I drew up outside the old Manor House a feeling of unreality persisted.

Elsie opened the door as usual. I looked at her for a moment.

“What’s this I hear, Elsie?”

She started a giggle which rapidly spread over her spherical frame.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Is it true?”

The giggle developed into a mighty gale of laughter, and if she hadn’t been holding the handle I am sure she would have fallen over.

“Aye, it’s right enough,” she gasped. “Ah’ve found a man at last and ah’m goin’ to get wed!” She leaned helplessly on the door.

“Well, I’m pleased to hear it, Elsie. I hope you’ll be very happy.”

She hadn’t the strength to speak but merely nodded as she lay against the door. Then she led me to the drawing room.

“In ye go,” she chuckled. “Ah’ll bring ye some tea.”

Miss Tremayne rose to greet me with parted lips and shining eyes. “Oh, Mr. Herriot, have you heard?”

“Yes, but how …?”

“It all started when I asked Mr. Daggett for some fresh eggs. He sent Ned on his bicycle with the eggs and it was like fate.”

“Well, how wonderful.”

“Yes, and I actually saw it happen. Ned walked in that door with his basket, Elsie was clearing the table here, and, Mr. Herriot.” She clasped her hands under her chin, smiled ecstatically and her eyes rolled upwards. “Oh, Mr. Herriot, it was love at first sight!”

“Yes … yes, indeed. Marvellous!”

“And ever since that day Ned has been calling round and now he comes every evening and sits with Elsie in the kitchen. Isn’t it romantic!”

“It certainly is. And when did they decide to get married?”

“Oh, he popped the question within a month, and I’m so happy for Elsie because Ned is such a dear little man, don’t you think so?”

“Yes he is,” I said. “He’s a very nice chap.”

Elsie simpered and tittered her way in with the tea then put her hand over her face and fled in confusion, and as Miss Tremayne began to pour I sank into one of the armchairs and lifted Wilberforce on to my lap.

The big cat purred as I instilled a few drops of lotion into his ear. He had a chronic canker condition—not very bad but now and then it became painful and needed treatment. It was because Miss Tremayne didn’t like putting the lotion in that I was pressed into service.

As I turned the ear over and gently massaged the oily liquid into the depths, Wilberforce groaned softly with pleasure and rubbed his cheek against my hand. He loved this anointing of the tender area beyond his reach and when I had finished he curled up on my knee.

I leaned back and sipped my tea. At that moment, with my back and shoulders weary and my hands red and chapped with countless washings on the open hillsides this seemed to be veterinary practice at its best.

Miss Tremayne continued. “We shall have a little reception after the wedding and then the happy couple will take up residence here.”

“You mean, in this house?”

“Yes, of course. There’s heaps of room in this big old place, and I have furnished two rooms for them on the east side. I’m sure they’ll be very comfortable. Oh, I’m so excited about it all!”

She refilled my cup. “Before you go you must let Elsie show you where they are going to live.”

On my way out the little woman took me through to the far end of the house.

‘This, hee-hee-hee,” she said, “is where we’ll sit of a night, and this, ha-ha-ho-ho, oh dear me, is our bedroom.” She staggered around for a bit, wiped her eyes and turned to me for my opinion.

“It’s really lovely, Elsie,” I said.

There were bright carpets, chairs with flowered covers and a fine mahogany-ended bed. It was nothing like the loft.

And as I looked at Elsie I realised the things Ned would see in his bride. Laughter, warmth, vivacity, and—I had no doubt at all—beauty and glamour.

I seemed to get round to most farms that lambing time and in due course I landed at Mr. Daggett’s. I delivered a fine pair of twins for him but it didn’t seem to cheer him at all. Lifting the towel from the grass he handed it to me.

“Well, what did ah tell ye about Ned, eh? Got mixed up wi’ a woman just like ah said.” He sniffed disapprovingly. “All that rakin’ and chasin’ about—ah knew he’d get into mischief at t’finish.”

I walked back over the sunlit fields to the farm and as I passed the byre door Ned came out pushing a wheelbarrow.

“Good morning, Ned,” I said.

He glanced up at me in his vague way. “How do, Mr. Herriot.”

There was something different about him and it took me a few moments to discern what it was; his eyes had lost the expectant look which had been there for so long, and, after all, that was perfectly natural. Because it had happened at last for Ned.