a tractor. I called over to him.
"Hey, the lady in there says her name isn't Cook.'
"She's right an' all. She's the cook over at the Hall. You've gotten a
bit mixed up.' He laughed heartily.
It all became suddenly clear; the entry in the day book, everything.
"What's her right name, then?'
"Booby,' he shouted just as the tractor roared into life.
Funny name, I thought, as I produced my harmless vitamin tablets from
the boot and returned to the cottage. Once inside I did my best to put
things right ~ ~` ~rl l lu/II~3
with plenty of "Yes, Mrs Booby' and "No, Mrs Booby' but the lady didn't
thaw. I told her not to worry and that I was sure nothing would happen
for several days but I could tell I wasn't impressing her.
I waved cheerfully as I went down the path.
"Goodbye, Mrs Booby,' I cried. "Don't hesitate to ring me if you're in
doubt about anything.'
She didn't appear to have heard.
"Oh I wish you'd do as I say,' she wailed. "It was just a little prick.'
The good lady certainly didn't hesitate to ring. She was at me again the
next day and I had to rush out to her cottage. Her message was the same
as before; she wanted the wonderful injection which would make those
pups pop out and she wanted it right away. Mr Broomfield hadn't messed
about and wasted time like I had. And on the third and fourth and fifth
mornings she had me out at Marston examining the little bitch and
reciting the same explanations. Things came to a head on the sixth day.
In the room at Lilac Cottage the dark eyes held a desperate light as
they stared into mine. "I'm about at the end of my tether, young man. I
tell you I'll die if anything happens to this dog. I'll die. Don't you
understand?'
"Of course I know how you feel about her, Mrs Booby. Believe me, I fully
understand.'
"Then why don't you do something?' she snapped.
I dug my nails into my palms. "Look, I've told you. A pituitrin
injection works by contracting the muscular walls of the uterus so it
can only bc given when labour has started and the cervix is open. If I
find it is indicated I will do it, but if I give this injection now it
could cause rupture of the uterus. It could cause death.' l stopped
because I fancied little bubbles were beginning to collect at the
corners of my mouth.
But I don't think she had listened to a word. She sunk her head in her
hands. "All this time, I can't stand it.'
I was wondering if I could stand much more of it myself. Bulging
Yorkshire Terriers had begun to prance through my dreams at night and I
greeted each new day with a silent prayer that the pups had arrived. I
held out my hand to Cindy and she crept reluctantly towards me. She was
heartily sick of this strange man who came every day and squeezed her
and~stuck fingers into her and she submitted again with trembling limbs
and frightened eyes to the indignity.
"Mrs Booby,' I said, 'are you absolutely sure that dog didn't have
access to Cindy after the service date you gave me?'
She sniffed. "You keep asking' me that and ah've been thinking about it.
Maybe he did come a week after, now I think on.'
"Well, that's it, then!' I spread my hands. "She's held to the second
mating, so she should be due tomorrow.'
"Ah would still far rather you would get it over with today like Mr
Broomfield did .. . it was just a little prick.'
"But Mrs Booby .. .!'
"And let me tell you another thing, me name's not Booby!'
I clutched at the back of the chair. "It's not?'
"Naw!'
"Well .. . what is it, then?'
"It's Dooley .. . Dooley!' She looked very cross.
"Right .. . right .. .'1 stumbled down the garden path and drove away.
It was not a happy departure.
Maybe all was well at last. But I turned cold when an urgent call to go
to Lilac Cottage was passed on to one of the farms on my round. I was
right at the far end of the practice area and was in the middle of a
tough calving and it was well over three hours before I got out at the
now familiar garden gate. The cottage door was open and as I ventured up
the path a little brown missile hurtled out at me. It was Cindy, but a
transformed Cindy, a snarling, barking little bundle of ferocity; and
though I recoiled she fastened her teeth in my trouser cuff and hung on
grimly.
I was hopping around on one leg trying to shake off the growling little
creature when a peal of almost girlish laughter made me look round.
Mrs Dooley, vastly amused, was watching me from the doorway. "My word,
she's different since she had them pups. Just shows what a good little
mother she is, guarding them like that.' She gazed fondly at the tiny
animal dangling from my ankle.
"Had the pups ... ?'
"Aye, when they said you'd be a long time I rang Mr Farnon. He came
right away and d'you know he gave Cindy that injection I've wanted all
along. And I tell you 'e wasn't right out of "'garden gate before the
pups started. She's had seven - beauties they are.'
"Ah well that's fine, Mrs Dooley ... splendid.' Siegfried had obviously
felt a pup in the passage. I finally managed to rid myself of Cindy and
when her mistress lifted her up I went into the kitchen to inspect the
family.
They certainly were grand pups and I lifted the squawking little morsels
one by one from their basket while their mother snarled from Mrs
Dooley's arms like a starving wolphound.
"They're lovely, Mrs Dooley,' I murmured.
She looked at me pityingly. "I told you what to do, didn't 1, but you
wouldn't 'ave it. It only needed a little prick. Ooo, that Mr Farnon's a
lovely man - just like Mr Broomfield.'
This was a bit much. "But you must realise, Mrs Dooley, he just happened
to arrive at the right time. If I had come .. .'
"Now, now, young man, be fair. Ah'm not blamin' you, but some people
have had more experience. We all 'ave to learn.' She sighed
reminiscently. "It was just a little prick - Mr Farnon'll have to show
you how to do it. I tell you he wasn't right out of "'garden gate.. .'
Enough is enough. I drew myself up to my full height. "Mrs Dooley,
madam,' I said frigidly, 'let me repeat once and for all .. .'
"Oh, hoity toity, hoity toity, don't get on your high horse wi' me!' she
exclaimed. "We've managed very nicely without you so don't complain.'
Her expression became very severe. "And one more thing - me name's not
Mrs Dooley.'
My brain reeled for a moment. The world seemed to be crumbling about me.
"What did you say?'
"I said me name's not Mrs Dooley.'
"It isn't?'
"Naw!' She lifted her left hand and as I gazed at it dully I realised it
must have been all the mental stress which have prevented me from
noticing the total absence of rings.
"New!' she said. "It's Miss!'
Next morning I could hardly believe it when there was no call from
Marston.
Chapter Twenty-three.
I had never been married before so there was nothing in my past
ex
perience to go by but it was beginning to dawn on me that I was very
nicely fixed.
I am talking, of course, of material things. It would have been enough
for me or anybody else to be paired with a beautiful girl whom I loved
and who loved me. I hadn't reckoned on the other aspects.
This business of studying my comfort, for instance. I thought such
things had gone out of fashion, but not so with Helen. It was brought
home to me again as I walked in to breakfast this morning. We had at
last acquired a table - I had bought it at a farm sale and brought it
home in triumph tied to the roof of my car - and now Helen had vacated
the chair on which she used to sit at the bench and had taken over the
high stool. She was perched away up there now, transporting her food
from far below, while I was expected to sit comfortably in the chair. I
don't think I am a selfish swine by nature but there was nothing I could
do about it.
And there were other little things. The neat pile of clothing laid out
for me each morning; the clean, folded shirt and handkerchief and socks
so different from the jumble of my bachelor days. And when I was late
for meals, which was often, she served me with my food but instead of
going off and doing something else she would down tools and sit watching
me while I ate. It made me feel like a sultan.
It was this last trait which gave me a clue to her behaviour. I suddenly
remembered that I had seen her sitting by Mr Alderson while he had a
late meal; sitting in the same pose, one arm on the table, quietly
watching him. And I realised I was reaping the benefit of her lifetime
gladly to his every wish in the happy acceptance that the man of the
house was number one; and the whole pattern was rubbing off on me now.
In fact it set me thinking about the big question of how girls might be
expected to behave after marriage. One old farmer giving me advice about
choosing a wife once said; "Have a bloody good look at the mother first,
lad', and I am sure he had a point. But if I may throw in my own little
word of counsel it would be to have a passing glance at how she acts
towards her father.
Watching her now as she got down and started to serve my breakfast the
warm knowledge flowed through me as it did so often that my wife was the
sort who just liked looking after a man and that I was so very lucky.
And I was certainly blooming under the treatment. A bit too much, in
fact, and I was aware I shouldn't be attacking this plateful of porridge
and cream; especially with all that material sizzling in the frying pan.
Helen had brought with her to Skeldale House a delicious dowry in the
shape of half a pig and there hung from the beams of the topmost attic a
side of bacon and a majestic ham; a constant temptation. Some samples
were in the pan now and though I had never been one for large breakfasts
I did not demur when she threw in a couple of big brown eggs to keep
them company. And I put up only feeble resistance when she added some
particularly tasty smoked sausage which she used to buy in a shop in the
market place.
When I had got through it all I rose rather deliberately from the table
and as I put on my coat I noticed it wasn't so easy to button as it used
to be.
"Here are your sandwiches, Jim,' Helen said, putting a parcel in my
hand. I was spending a day in the Scarburn district, tuberculin testing
for Ewan Ross and my wife was always concerned lest I grow faint from
lack of nourishment on the long journey.
I kissed her, made a somewhat ponderous descent of the long flights of
stairs and went out the side door. Half way up the garden I stopped as
always and looked up at the window under the tiles. An arm appeared and
brandished a dishcloth vigorously. I waved back and continued my walk to
the yard. I found I was puffing a little as I got the car out and I laid
my parcel almost guiltily on the back seat. I knew what it would
contain; not just sandwiches but meat and onion pie, buttered scones,
ginger cake to lead me into further indiscretions.
There is no doubt that in those early days I would have grown
exceedingly gross under Helen's treatment. But my job saved me; the
endless walking between the stone barns scattered along the hillsides,
the climbing in and out of calf pens, pushing cows around, and regular
outbursts of hard physical effort in calving and foaling. So I escaped
with only a slight tightening of my collar and the occasional farmer's
remark, "By yaw, you've been on a good pasture, young man!'
Driving away, I marvelled at the way she indulged my little whims, too.
I have always had a pathological loathing of fat, so Helen carefully
trimmed every morsel from my meat. This feeling about fat, which almost
amounted to terror, had been intensified since coming to Yorkshire,
because back in the thirties the farmers seemed to live on the stuff.
One old man, noticing my pop-eyed expression as I viewed him relishing
his lunch of roast fat bacon, told me he had never touched lean meat in
his life.
"Ah like to feel "'grease runnin' down ma chin!' he chuckled. He
pronounced it 'grayus' which made it sound even worse. But he was a
ruddy-faced octogenarian, so it hadn't done him any harm; and this held
good for hundreds of others just like him. I used to think that the day
in day out hard labour of farming burned it up in their systems but if I
had to eat the stuff it would kill me very rapidly.
The latter was, of course, a fanciful notion as was proved to me one
day.
It was when I was torn from my bed one morning at 6 a.m. to attend a
calving heifer at old Mr Homer's small farm and when I got there I found
there was no malpresentation of the calf but that it was simply too big.
I don't like a lot of pulling but the heifer, lying on her bed of straw,
was obviously in need of assistance. Every few seconds she strained to
the utmost and a pair of feet came into view momentarily then
disappeared as she relaxed.
"Is she getting those feet out any further?' I asked.
"Nay, there's been no change for over an hour,' the old man replied.
"And when did the water bag burst?'
"Two hours since.'
all the time, and if the labouring mother had been able to speak I think
she would have said: "For Pete's sake get this thing away from me!'
I could have done with a big strong man to help me but Mr Homer, apart
from his advanced age, was a rather shaky lightweight. And since the
farm was perched on a lonely eminence miles from the nearest village
there was no chance of calling in a neighbour. I would have to do the
job myself.
It took me nearly an hour. With a thin rope behind the calf's ears and
through his mouth to stop the neck from telescoping I eased the little
creature inch by inch into the world. Not so much pulling but rather
leaning back and helping the heifer as she strained. She was a
rather
undersized little animal and she lay patiently on her side, accepting
the situation with the resignation of her kind. She could never have
calved without help and all the time I had the warm conviction that I
was doing what she wanted and needed. I felt I should be as patient as
she wasso I didn't hurry but let things come in their normal sequence;
the little nose with the nostrils twitching reassuringly, then the eyes
wearing a preoccupied light curing the tight squeeze, then the ears and
with a final rush the rest of the calf.
The young mother was obviously none the worse because she rolled on to
her chest almost immediately and began to sniff with the utmost interest
at the new arrival. She was in better shape than myself because I
discovered with some surprise that I was sweating and breathless and my
arms and shoulders were aching.
The farmer, highly pleased, rubbed my back briskly with the towel as I
bent over the bucket, then he helped me on with my shirt.
"Well that's champion, lad. You'll come in and have a cup of tea now,
won't you?'
In the kitchen mrs Homer placed a steaming mug on the table and smiled
across at me.
"Will you sit down along o' my husband and have a bit o' breakfast?' she
asked.
There is nothing like an early calving to whet the appetite and I nodded
readily. "That's very kind of you, I'd love to.'
It is always a good feeling after a successful delivery and I sighed
contentedly as I sank into a chair and watched the old lady set out
bread, butter and jam in front of me. I sipped my tea and as I exchanged
a word with the farmer I didn't see what she was doing next. Then my
toes curled into a tight ball as I found two huge slices of pure white
fat lying on my plate.
Shrinking back in my seat I saw Mrs Homer sawing at a great hunk of cold
boiled bacon. But it wasn't ordinary bacon, it was one hundred per cent
fat without a strip of lean anywhere. Even in my shocked state I could
see it was a work of art; cooked to a turn, beautifully encrusted with
golden crumbs and resting on a spotless serving dish . .. but fat.
She dropped two similar slices on her husband's plate and looked at me
expectantly.
My position was desperate. I could not possibly offend this sweet old
person but on the other hand I knew beyond all doubt that there was no
way I could eat what lay in front of me. Maybe I could have managed a
tiny piece if it had been hot and crisp, but cold, boiled and clammy ..
. never. And there was an enormous quantity; two slices about six inches
by four and at least half an inch thick with ~he golden border of crumbs
down one side. The thing was impossible.
Mrs Homer sat down opposite me. She was wearing a flowered mob cap over
her white hair and for a moment she reached out, bent her head to one
side and turned the dish with the slab of bacon a little to the left to
show it off better. Then she turned to me and smiled. It was a kind,
proud smile.
There have been times in my life when, confronted by black and hopeless
circumstances, I have discovered in myself undreamed-of resources of
courage and resolution. I took a deep breath, seized knife and fork and
made a bold incision in one of the slices, but as I began to transport
the greasy white segment to my mouth I began to shudder and my hand
stayed frozen in space. It was at that momment I spotted the jar of
piccalilli. Feverishly I scooped a mound of it on to my plate. It seemed
to contain just about everything; onions, apples, cucumber and other
assorted vegetables jostling each other in a powerful mustard-vinegar
sauce. It was the work of a moment to smother my loaded fork with the