sparkled at the memory.
"I know, Mr Potts, I've blown up a few myself, only I didn't use a
bicycle pump I had a special little inflation apparatus."
That black box with its shining cylinders and filter is now in my
personal museum, and it is the best place for it. It had got me out of
some diflicult situations but in the background there had al ways been
the gnawing dread of vet tn a ~n l ,~i transmitting tuberculosis. I
had heard of it happening and was glad that calcium boro gluconate had
arrived.
As we spoke, Sam and Nip played on the grass beside us, I watched as
the beagle frisked round the old animal while Nip pawed at him
stiffjointedly, his tail waving with pleasure. You could see that he
enjoyed these meet ings as much as his master and for a brief time the
years fell away from him as he rolled on his back with Sam astride him,
nibbling gently at his chest.
I walked with the old farmer as far as the little wooden bridge, then I
had to turn for home. I watched the two of them pottering slowly over
the narrow strip of timber to the other side of the river. Sam and I
had our work pressing but they had nothing else to do.
I used to see Mr Potts at other times, too. Wandering aimlessly among
the stalls on market days or stan ding on the fringe of the group of
farmers who al ways gathered in front of the Drovers' Arms to meet
cattle dealers, cow feed merchants, or just to talk business among
themselves.
Or I saw him at the auction mart, leaning on his stick, listening to
the rapid-fire chanting of the auctioneer, watching listlessly as the
beasts were bought and sold. And all the time I knew there was an
emptiness in him, because there were none of his cattle in the stalls,
none of his sheep in the long rows of pens. He was out of it all, old
and done.
I saw him the day before he died. It was in the usual place and I was
stan ding at the river's edge watching a heron rising from a rush-lined
island and flapping lazily away over the fields.
The old man stopped as he came abreast of me and the two dogs began
their friendly wrestling.
"Well now, Mr Herriot." He paused and bowed his head over the stick
which he had dug into the grass of his farm for half a century.
"What have you been coin' today?"
Perhaps his cheeks were a deeper shade of blue and the breath whistled
through his pursed lips as he exhaled, but I can't recall that he
looked any worse than usual.
"I'll tell you, Mr Potts," I said.
"I'm feeling a bit weary. I ran into a real snorter of a foaling this
morning took me over two hours and I ache all over."
"Foaling, eh? Foal would be laid wrong, I reckon?"
"Yes, crOss-ways on, and I had a struggle to turn it."
"By yaw, yes, it's hard work is that." He smiled reminiscently.
"Doesta remember that Clydesdale mare you foaled at ma place? Must
'ave been one of your first jobs when you came to Darrow by."
"Of course I do," I replied. And I remembered too, how kind the old
man had been. Seeing I was young and green and unsure of myself he had
taken pains, in his quiet way, to put me at my ease and give me
confidence.
"Yes," I went on, 'it was late on a Sunday night and we had a right
tussle with it. There was just the two of us but we managed, didn't
we?"
He squared his shoulders and for a moment his eyes looked past me at
something I couldn't see.
"Aye, that's right. We made a job of 'er, you and me.
Ah could push and pull a bit then."
"You certainly could. There's no doubt about that."
He sucked the air in with difficulty and blew it out again with that
peculiar pursing of the lips. Then he turned to me with a st range
dignity.
"They were good days, Mr Herriot, weren't they?"
"They were, Mr Potts, they were indeed."
"Aye, aye." He nodded slowly.
"Ah've had a lot o' them days. Hard but good."
He looked down at his dog.
"And awd Nip shared 'em with me, didn't ye, lad?"
His words took me back to the very first time I had seen Mr Potts. He
was ~ .. .~. ~ ~.
perched on a stool, milking one of his few cows, his cloth-capped head
thrusting into the hairy flank, and as he pulled at the teats old Nip
dropped a stone on the toe of his boot. The farmer reached down,
lifted the stone between two fingers and flicked it out through the
open door into the yard. Nip scurried delightedly after it and was
back within seconds, dropping the stone on the boot and panting
hopefully.
He wasn't disappointed. His master repeated the throw automatically as
if it was something he did all the time, and as I watched it happening
again and again I realised that this was a daily ritual between the
two. I had a piercing impression of infinite patience and devotion.
"Right, then, Mr Herriot, we'll be off," Mr Potts said, jerking me
back to the present.
"Come on, Nip." He waved his stick and I watched him till a low
hanging willow branch hid man and dog from my sight.
That was the last time I saw him. Next day the man at the petrol pumps
mumbled casually.
"See old Mr Potts got his time in, eh?"
And that was it. There was no excitement, and only a handful of his
old friends turned up at the funeral.
For me it was a stab of sorrow. Another familiar face gone, and I
should miss him as my busy life went on. I knew our daily
conversations had cheered him but I felt with a sad finality that there
was nothing else I could do for Mr Potts.
It was about a fortnight later and as I opened the gate to let Sam into
the riverside fields I glanced at my watch. Twelve thirty plenty of
time for our pre-lunch walk and the long stretch of green was empty.
Then I noticed a single dog away on the left. It was Nip, and as I
watched he got up, took a few indeterminate steps over the grass then
turned and sat down again at the gate of his back garden.
Instead of taking my usual route I cut along behind the houses till I
reached the old dog. He had been loo king around him aimlessly but
when we came up to him he seemed to come to life, sniffing Sam over and
wagging his tail at me.
On the other side of the gate Mrs Potts was doing a bit of weeding,
bending painfully as she plied her trowel.
"How are you, Mrs Potts?" I said.
With an effort she straightened up.
"Oh, not too bad, thank you, Mr Herriot."
She came over and leaned on the gate.
"I see you're loo kin' at the awd dog. My word he's mis sin' his
master."
I didn't say anything and she went on.
"He's ~eating all right and I can give him plenty of good food, but
what I can't do is take 'im for walks." She rubbed her back.
"I'm plagued with rheumatic ks, Mr Herriot, and it takes me all my
time to get around the house and garden."
"I can understand that," I said.
"And I don't suppose he'll walk by himself."
"Nay, he won't. There's the path
he went along every day." She
pointed to the winding strip of beaten earth among the grass.
"But he won't go more'n a few yards."
"Ah well, dogs like a bit of company just the same as we do." I bent
and ran my hand over the old animal's head and ears.
"How would you like to come with us, Nip?"
I set off along the path and he followed unhesitatingly, trotting
alongside Sam with swinging tail.
"Eee, look!" the old lady cried.
"Isn't that grand to see!"
I followed his usual route down to the river where the water ran dark
and 'silent under the branches of the gnarled willows. Then we went
over the bridge . front of us the river widened into pebbly shallows
and murmured and red among the stones.
was peaceful down there with only the endless water sound and the
piping of birds in my ears and the long curtain of leaves parting here
and there to give glimpses of the green flanks of the fells.
I watched the two dogs frisking ahead of me and the decision came to me
quite naturally; I would do this regularly. From that day I altered my
route and went along behind the houses first. Nip was happy again, Sam
loved the whole idea, and for me there was a st range comfort in the
knowledge that there was still something I could do for Mr Potts.
Chapter Twenty-three I had plenty of time on my hands at East church,
plenty of time to think, and like most servicemen I thought of home.
Only my home wasn't there any more.
When I left Darrow by Helen had gone back to live with her father and
the little rooms under the tiles of Skeldale House would be empty and
dusty now.
But they lived on in my mind, clear in every detail.
I could see the ivy-fringed window loo king over the tumble of roofs to
the green hills, our few pieces of furniture, the bed and side table
and the old wardrobe which only stayed shut with the aid of one of my
socks jammed in the door. Strangely, it was that dangling woollen toe
which gave me the sharpest stab as I remembered.
And even though it was all gone I could hear the bedside radio playing,
my wife's voice from the other side of the fire and on that winter
evening Tristan shouting up the stairs from the passage far below.
"Jim! Jim!"
I went out and stuck my head over the bannisters.
"Sorry to bother you, Jim, but could you come down for a minute?" The
upturned face had an anxious look.
I went down the long flights of steps two at a time and when I arrived
slightly breathless on the ground floor Tristan beckoned me through to
the consulting room at the back of the house. A teenage girl was stan
ding by the table, her hand resting on a stained roll of blanket.
"It's a cat," Tristan said. He pulled back a fold of the blanket and I
looked down at a large, deeply striped tabby. At least he would have
been large if he had had any flesh on his bones, but ribs and pelvis
stood out painfully through the fur and as I passed my hand over the
motionless body I could feel only a thin covering of skin.
Tristan cleared his throat.
"There's something else, Jim."
I looked at him curiously. For once he didn't seem to have a joke in
him. I watched as he gently lifted one of the cat's hind legs and
rolled the abdomen into view. There was a gash on the ventral surface
through which a coiled cluster of intestines spilled grotesquely on to
the cloth. I was still shocked and staring when the girl spoke.
"I saw this cat sit tin' in the dark, down Brown's yard. I thought 'e
looked skinny, like, and a bit quiet and I bent down to give 'im a pat.
Then I saw 'e was badly hurt and I went home for a blanket and brought
'im round to you."
"That was kind of you," I said.
"Have you any idea who he belongs to?"
The girl shook her head.
"No, he looks like a stray to me."
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~ his throat at regular intervals. One lunch time I found Helen
kneeling by the box.
"We shall call him Oscar," she said.
"You mean we're keeping him?"
"Yes."
I am fond of cats but we already had a dog in our cramped quarters and
I could see difficulties. Still I decided to let it go.
"Why Oscar?"
"I don't know." Helen tipped a few drops of chop gravy onto the little
red tongue and watched intently as he swallowed.
One of the things I like about women is their mystery, the unfathomable
part of them, and I didn't press the matter further. But I was pleased
at the way things were going. I had been giving the sulphapyridine
every six hours and taking the temperature night and morning,rexpecting
all the time to encounter the roaring fever, the vomiting and the tense
abdomen of peritonitis. But it never happened.
It was as though Oscar's animal instinct told him he had to move as
little as possible because he lay absolutely still day after day and
looked up at us and purred.
His purr became part of our lives and when he eventually left his bed,
sauntered through to our kitchen and began to sample Sam's dinner of
meat and biscuit it was a moment of triumph. And I didn't spoil it by
wondering if he was ready for solid food; I felt he knew.
From then on it was sheer joy to watch the furry scarecrow fill out-and
grow strong, and as he ate and ate and the flesh spread over his bones
the true beauty of his coat showed in the glossy medley of auburn,
black and gold. We had a handsome cat on our hands.
Once Oscar had recovered, Tristan was a regular visitor.
He probably felt, and rightly, that he, more than I, had saved Oscar's
life in the first place, and he used to play with him for long periods.
His favourite ploy was to push his leg round the corner of the table
and withdraw it repeatedly just as the cat pawed at it.
Oscar was justifiably irritated by this teasing but showed his
character by Iying in wait for Tristan one night and biting him smartly
in the ankle before he could start his tricks. ~ From my own point of
view Oscar added many things to our menage. Sam was delighted with him
and the two soon became firm friends, Helen adored him and each evening
I thought afresh that a nice cat washing his face by the hearth gave
extra comfort to a room.
I came in from a late call to find Helen waiting for me with a stricken
face.
What's happened?" I asked.
"It's Oscar he's gone!"
~Gone? What do you mean?"
"Oh, Jim, I think he's run away."
I stared at her.
"He wouldn't do that. He often goes down to the garden at night. Ar
e
you sure he isn't there?"
"Absolutely. I've searched right into the yard. I've even had a walk
round the town. And remember." Her chin quivered.
"He . . . he ran away from somewhere before."
I looked at my watch.
"Ten o'clock. Yes, that is st range. He shouldn't be out at this
time."
As I spoke the front door bell jangled. I galloped down the stairs and
as I ~, l rounded the corner in the passage I could see Mrs Heslington,
the vicar's wife, through the glass. I threw open the door. She was
holding Oscar in her arms.
"I believe this is your cat, Mr Herriot," she said.
"It is indeed, Mrs Heslington. Where did you find him?"
She smiled.
"Well it was rather odd. We were having a meet ing of the Mothers'
Union at the church house and we noticed the cat sit ting there in the
room."
"Just sit ting . . .?"
"Yes, as though he were listening to what we were saying and enjoying
it all.
It was unusual. When the meet ing ended I thought I'd better bring him
along to you."
"I'm most grateful, Mrs Heslington." I snatched Oscar and tucked him
under my arm.
"My wife is distraught she thought he was lost."
It was a little mystery. Why should he suddenly take off like that?
But since he showed no change in his manner over the ensuing week we
put it out of our minds.
Then one evening a man brought in a dog for a distemper inoculation and
left the front door open. When I went up to our flat I found that
Oscar had disappeared again. This time Helen and I scoured the market
place and side alleys in vain and when we returned at half past nine we
were both despondent.
It was nearly eleven and we were thinking of bed when the door bell
rang.
It was Oscar again, this time resting on the ample stomach of Jack
Newbould.
Jack was leaning against a doorpost and the fresh country air drifting
in from the dark street was richly intermingled with beer fumes.
Jack was a gardener at one of the big houses. He hiccuped gently and
gave me a huge benevolent smile.
"Brought your cat, Mr Herriot."
"Gosh, thanks, Jack!" I said, scooping up Oscar gratefully.
"Where the devil did you find him?"
"Well, smatter o' fact, 'e sort of found me."
"What do you mean?"
Jack closed his eyes for a few moments before articulating carefully.
"Thish is a big night, the knows, Mr Herriot. Darts championship.
Lots of t'lads round at t"Dog and Gun lotsh and lotsh of 'em. Big
gather in'."
"And our cat was there?"
"Aye, he were there, all right. Sit tin' among t'lads. Shpent t'whole
even in' with us."
"Just sat there, eh?"
"That e' did." Jack giggled reminiscently.
"By gaw 'e enjoyed is self. Ah gave 'im a drop o' best bitter out of
me own glass and once or twice ah thought 'e was goin' to have a go at
chuck in' a dart. He's some cat." He laughed again.
As I bore Oscar upstairs I was deep in thought. What was going on
here?
These sudden desertions were upsetting Helen and I felt they could get
on my nerves in time.
I didn't have long to wait till the next one. Three nights later he
was mis sing again. This time Helen and I didn't bother to search we
just waited.
He was back earlier than usual. I heard the door bell at nine o'clock.
It was the elderly Miss Simpson peering through the glass. And she
wasn't holding Oscar he was prowling on the mat waiting to come in.