My first glance last night had decided me that this was a no-charging
job and I hadn't even written it in the book, but I nodded solemnly.
"Very well, Mr Dimmock, I'll do that.'
And throughout our long association, though no money ever changed hands,
he always said the same thing -"You'll send me a bill, won't you.'
This was the beginning of my close relationship with the Dimmocks.
Obviously they had taken a fancy to me and wanted to see as much as
possible of me. Over the succeeding weeks and months they brought in a
varied selection of dogs, cats, budgies, rabbits at frequent intervals,
and when they found that my services were free they stepped up the
number of visits; and when one came they all came. I was anxiously
trying to expand the small animal side of the practice and increasingly
my hopes were raised momentarily then dashed when I opened the door and
saw a packed waiting room.
And it increased the congestion when they started bringing their auntie,
Mrs Pounder, from down the road with them to see what a nice chap I was.
Mrs Pounder, a fat lady who always wore a greasy velour hat perched on
an untidy mound of hair, evidently shared the family tendency to
fertility and usually brought a few of her own ample brood with her.
That is how it was this particular morning. I swept the assembled
company with my eye but could discern only beaming Dimmocks and
Pounders; and this time I couldn't even pick out my patient. Then the
assembly parted and spread out as though by a prearranged signal and I
saw little Nellie Dimmock with a tiny puppy on her knee.
Nellie was my favourite. Mind you, I liked all the family; in fact they
were such nice people that I always enjoyed their visits after that
first disappointment. Mum and Dad were always courteous and cheerful and
the children, though boisterous, were never ill-mannered; they were
happy and friendly and if they saw me in the street they would wave
madly and go on waving till I was out of sight. And I saw them often
because they were continually scurrying around the town doing odd jobs -
delivering milk or papers. Best of all, they loved their animals and
were kind to them.
But as I say, Nellie was my favourite. She was about nine and had
suffered an attack of "infantile paralysis', as it used to be called,
when very young. It had left her with a pronounced limp and a frailty
which set her apart from her robust brothers and sisters. Her painfully
thin legs seemed almost too fragile to carry her around but above the
pinched face her hair, the colour of ripe corn, flowed to her shoulders
and her eyes, though slightly crossed, gazed out calm and limpid blue
through steel-rimmed spectacles.
"What's that you've got, Nellie?' I asked.
"It's a little dog,' she almost whispered. ' 'e's mine.'
"You mean he's your very own?'
She nodded proudly. "Aye, 'e's mine.'
"He doesn't belong to your brothers and sisters, too?'
"New, 'e's mine.'
Rows of Dimmock and Pounder heads nodded in eager acquiescence as Nellie
lifted the puppy to her cheek and looked up at me with a smile of a
strange sweetness. It was a smile that always tugged at my heart; full
of a child's artless happiness and trust but with something else which
was poignant and maybe had to do with the way Nellie was.
"Well, he looks a fine dog to me,' I said. "He's a Spaniel, isn't he?'
She ran a hand over the little head. "Aye, a Cocker. Mr Brown said 'e
was a Cocker.'
There was a slight disturbance at the back and Mr Dimmock appeared from
the crush. He gave a respectful cough.
"He's a proper pure bred, Mr Herriot,' he said. "Mr Brown from the
bank's bitch had a litter and 'e gave this 'un to Nellie.' He tucked his
stick under his arm and pulled a long envelope from an inside pocket. He
handed it to me with a flourish. "That's 'is pedigree.'
I read it through and whistled softly. "He's a real blue-blooded hound,
all right, and I see he's got a big long name. Darrowby Tobias the
third. My word, that sounds great.'
I looked down at the little girl again. "And what do you call him
Nellie?'
"Toby,' she said softly. "I calls 'im Toby.'
I laughed. "All right, then. What's the matter with Toby anyway. Why
have you brought him? ' He's been sick, Mr Herriot.' Mrs Dimmock spoke
from somewhere among the heads. "He can't keep nothin' down.'
"Well I know what that'll be. Has he been wormed?'
"No, don't think so.'
"I should think he just needs a pill,' I said. "But bring him through
and I'll have a look at him.'
Other clients were usually content to send one representative through
with their animals but the Dimmocks all had to come. I marched along
with the crowd behind me filling the passage from wall to wall. Our
consulting-cum operating room was quite small and I watched with some
apprehension as the procession filed in after me. But they all got in,
Mrs Pounder, her velour hat slightly askew, squeezing herself in with
some difficulty at the rear.
My examination of the puppy took longer than usual as I had to fight my
way to the thermometer on the trolley then struggle in the other
direction to get the stethoscope from its hook on the wall. But I
finished at last.
"Well I can't find anything wrong with him,' I said. "So I'm pretty sure
he just has a tummy full of worms. I'll give you a pill now and you must
give it to him first thing tomorrow morning.'
Like a football match turning out, the mass of people surged along the
passage and into the street and another Dimmock visit had come to an
end.
I forgot the incident immediately because there was nothing unusual
about it. The pot-bellied appearance of the puppy made my diagnosis a
formality; I didn't expect to see him again.
But I was wrong. A week later my surgery was once more overflowing and I
had another squashed-in session with Toby in the little back room. My
pill had evacuated a few worms but he was still vomiting, still
distended.
"Are you giving him five very small meals a day as I told you?' I asked.
I received emphatic affirmative and I believed them. The Dimmocks really
took care of their animals. There was something else here, yet I
couldn't find it. Temperature normal, lungs clear, abdomen negative on
palpation, I couldn't make it out. I dispensed a bottle of our antacid
mixture with a feeling of defeat. A young puppy like this shouldn't need
such a thing.
This was the beginning of a frustrating period, There would be a span of
two or three weeks when I would think the trouble had righted itself
then without warning the place would be full of Dimmocks and Pounders
and I'd be back where I started And all the time Toby was growing
thinner.
I tried everything; gastric sedatives, variations of diet, quack
remedies. I interrogated the Dimmocks repeatedly about the character of
the vomiting how long after eating, what were the intervals between, and
I received varying replies. Sometimes h
e brought his food straight back,
at others he retained it for several hours. I got nowhere.
It must have been over eight weeks later - Toby would be about four
months old - when I again viewed the assembled Dimmocks with a sinking
heart. Their visits had become depressing affairs and I could not
foresee anything better today as I opened the waiting-room door and
allowed myself to be almost carried along the passage. This time it was
Dad who was the last to wedge himself into the consulting room then
Nellie placed the little dog on the table.
I felt an inward lurch of sheer misery. Toby had grown despite his
disability and was now a grim caricature of a Cocker Spaniel, the long
silky ears drooping from an almost fleshless skull, the spindly legs
pathetically feathered. I had thought Nellie was thin but her pet had
outdone her. And he wasn't just thin, he was trembling slightly as he
stood arch-backed on the smooth surface, and his face had the dull
inward look of an animal which has lost interest.
The little girl ran her hand along the jutting ribs and the pale,
squinting eyes looked up at me through the steel spectacles with that
smile which pulled at me more painfully than ever before. She didn't
seem worried. Probably she had no idea how things were, but whether she
had or not I knew I'd never be able to tell her that her dog was slowly
dying.
I rubbed my eyes wearily. "What has he had to eat today?'
Nellie answered herself. "He's 'ad some bread and milk.'
"How long ago was that?' I asked, but before anybody could reply the
little dog vomited, sending the half digested stomach contents soaring
in a graceful arc to land two feet away on the table.
I swung round on Mrs Dimmock. "Does he always do it like that?'
"Aye he mostly does - sends it flying out, like.'
"But why didn't you tell me?'
The poor lady looked flustered. "Well .. . I don't know .. . I .. .'
I held up a hand. "That's all right, Mrs Dimmock, never mind.' It
occurred to me that all the way through my totally ineffectual treatment
criticism so why should I start to complain now?
But I knew what Toby's trouble was now. At last, at long last, I knew.
And in case my present day colleagues reading this may think I had been
more than usually thick-headed in my handling of the case I would like
to offer in my defence that such limited text books as there were in
those days made only a cursory reference to pyloric stenosis (narrowing
of the exit of the stomach where it joins the small intestine) and if
they did they said nothing about treatment.
But surely, I thought, somebody in England was ahead of the books. There
must be people who were actually doing this operation .. . and if there
were I had a feeling one might not be too far away .. .
I worked my way through the crush and trotted along the passage to the
phone.
"Is that you Granville?'
"Jim!' A bellow of pure unalloyed joy. "How are you laddie?'
"Very well, how are you?'
"Ab-so-lutely tip top, old son! Never better!'
"Granville, I've got a four-month-old spaniel pup I'd like to bring
through to you. It's got pyloric stenosis.'
"Oh lovely!'
"I'm afraid the little thing's just about on its last legs - a bag of
bones.'
"Splendid, splendid!'
"This is because I've been mucking about for four weeks in ignorance.'
"Fine, just fine!'
"And the owners are a very poor family. They can't pay anything I'm
afraid.'
"Wonderful!'
I hesitated a moment. "Granville, you do .. . er .. you have .. .
operated on these cases before?'
"Did five yesterday.'
"What!'
A deep rumble of laughter. "I do but jest, old son, but you needn't
worry, I've done a few. And it isn't such a bad job.'
"Well that's great.' I looked at my watch. "It's half past nine now,
I'll get Siegfried to take over my morning round and I'll see you before
eleven.'
Chapter Twenty-eight.
Granville had been called out when I arrived and I hung around his
surgery till I heard the expensive sound of the Bentley purring into the
yard. Through the window I saw yet another magnificent pipe glinting
behind the wheel then my colleague, in an impeccable pin-striped suit
which made him look like the Director of the Bank of England, paced
majestically towards the side door.
"Good to see you, Jim!' he exclaimed, wringing my hand warmly. Then
before removing his jacket he took his pipe from his mouth and regarded
it with a trace of anxiety for a second before giving it a polish with
his yellow cloth and placing it tenderly in a drawer.
It wasn't long before I was under the lamp in the operating room bending
over Toby's small outstretched form while Granville - the other
Granville Bennett - worked with fierce concentration inside the abdomen
of the little animal.
"You see the gross gastric dilatation,' he murmured. "Classical lesion.'
He gripped the pylorus and poised his scalpel. "Now I'm going through
the serous coat.' A quick deft incision. "A bit of blunt dissection here
for the muscle fibres ... down ... down ... a little more ... ah, there
it is, you can see it - the mucosa bulging into the cleft. Yes .. . yes
.. . just right. That's what you've got to arrive at.'
I peered down at the tiny tube which had been the site of all Toby's
troubles. "Is that all, then?'
"That's all, laddie.' He stepped back with a grin. "The obstruction is
relieved now and you can take bets that this little chap will start to
put weight on now.'
"That's wonderful, Granville. I'm really grateful.'
"Nonsense, Jim, it was a pleasure. You can do the next one yourself now,
eh?' He laughed, seized needle and sutures and sewed up the abdominal
muscles and skin at an impossible pace.
A few minutes later he was in his office pulling on his jacket, then as
he filled his pipe he turned to me.
"I've got a little plan for the rest of the morning, laddie.'
I shrank away from him and threw up a protective hand. "Well now, er .
.. it's kind of you, Granville, but I really .. . I honestly must get
.. . work'll be piling up .. .' I stopped because I felt I was beginning
to gibber.
My colleague looked wounded. "All I meant, old son, was that we want you
to come to lunch. Zoe is expecting you.'
"Oh .. . oh, I see. Well that's very kind. We're not going .. .
anywhere else, then?'
"Anywhere else?' He blew out his cheeks and spread his arms wide. "Of
course not. I just have to call in at my branch surgery on the way.'
"Branch surgery? I didn't know you had one.'
"Oh yes, just a stone's throw from my house.' He put an arm round my
shoulders. "Well let's go, shall we?'
As I lay back, cradled in the Bentley's luxury, I dwelt happily on the
thought that at last I was going to me
et Zoe Bennett when I was my
normal self. She Would learn this time that I wasn't a perpetually
drunken oaf. In fact the next hour or two seemed full of rosy promise;
an excellent lunch illumined by my witty conversation and polished
manners, then back with Toby, magically resuscitated, to Darrowby I
smiled to myself when I thought of Nellie's face when I told her her pet
was going to be able to eat and grow strong and playful like any other
pup. I was still smiling when the car pulled up on the outskirts of
Granville's home village. I glanced idly through the window at a low
stone building with leaded panes and a wooden sign dangling over the
entrance. It read "Old Oak Tree Inn'. I turned quickly to my companion.
"I thought we were going to your branch surgery?'
Granville gave me a smile of childish innocence. "Oh that's what I call
this place. It's so near home and I transact quite a lot of business
here.' He patted my knee. "We'll just pop in for an appetiser, eh?'
"Now wait a minute,' I stammered, gripping the sides of my seat tightly.
"I just can't be late today. I'd much rather .. .'
Granville raised a hand. "Jim, laddie, we won't be in for long.' He
looked at his watch. "It's exactly twelve thirty and I promised Zoe we'd
be home by one o'clock. She's cooking roast beef and Yorkshire pudding
and it would take a braver man than me to let her pudding go flat. I
guarantee we'll be in that house at one o'clock on the dot O.K.?'
I hesitated. I couldn't come to much harm in half an hour. I climbed out
of the car.
As we went into the pub a large man, who had been leaning on the
counter, turned and exchanged enthusiastic "Albert!' cried Granville.
"Meet Albert Wainright, the landlord of ~ .
greetings with my colleague.
Jim Herriot from Darrowby. Jim, this is the Wagon and Horses over in
Matherley. In fact he's president of the Licensed Victuallers'
Association this year, aren't you Albert?'
The big man grinned and nodded and for a moment I felt overwhelmed by
the two figures on either side of me. It was difficult to describe the
hard, bulky tissue of Granville's construction but Mr Wainright was
unequivocally fat. A elrecked jacket hung open to display an enormous
expanse of striped shirted abdomen overflowing the waistband of his
trousers. Above a gay bow tie cheerful eyes twinkled at me from a red
face and when he spoke his tone was rich and fruity He embodied the rich
ambience of the term "I~icensed Victualler'.
I began to sip at the half pint of beer I had ordered but when another
appeared in two minutes I saw I was going to fall hopelessly behind and
switched to the whiskies and sodas which the others were drinking. And
my undoing was that both my companions appeared to have a standing
account here; they downed their drinks, tapped softly on the counter and
said, "Yes please, Jack,' whereupon three more glasses appeared with
magical speed. I never had a chance to buy a round. In fact no money
ever changed hands.
It was a quiet, friendly little session with Albert and Granville
carrying on a conversation of the utmost good humour punctuated by the
almost soundless taps on the bar. And as I fought to keep up with the
two virtuosos the taps came more and more frequently till I seemed to
hear them every few seconds.
Granville was as good as his word. When it was nearly one o'clock he
looked at his watch.
"Got to be ofl now, Albert. Zoe's expecting us right now.'
And as the car rolled to a stop outside the house dead on time I
realised with a dull despair that it had happened to me again. Within me
a witch's brew was ~u ve' zn rlarness beginning to bubble, sending