astringent powders fighting for them.
I didn't see them again until the following afternoon. Mr Clark was
nowhere around so I went over to the railway wagon and opened the half
door.
This, to me, is the thing that lies at the very heart of veterinary
practice; the wondering and worrying about how your patient is
progressing then the long moment when you open that door and find out. I
rested my elbows on the timbers and looked inside. The calves were lying
quite motionless on their sides, in fact I had to look closely to make
sure they were not dead. I banged the door behind me with deliberate
force but not a head was raised.
Walking through the deep straw and looking down at the outstretched
animals, each in his rough sacking jacket, I swore to myself. It looked
as though the whole lot was going to perish. Great, great, I thought as
I kicked among the straw - not just one or two but a hundred per cent
death rate this time.
"Well you don't look very 'opeful, young man.' Mr Clark's head and
shoulders loomed over the half door.
I dug my hands into my pockets. "No, damn it, I'm not. They've gone down
really fast, haven't they?'
"Aye, it's ower wi' them all right. I've just been in t'house ringing
Mallock.'
The knacker man's name was like the pealing of a mournful bell.-"But
they're not dead yet,' I said.
"No, but it won't be long. Mallock allus gives a bob or two more if he
can get a beast alive. Makes fresher dog meat, he says.'
I didn't say anything and I must hav~ '~-' gave a wry smile and r~~
~spondent because the farmer g white scour. If you get the ~d you can't
blame me for a bad job.' t~ave a go at them with this tit's called M and
B 693, it came in the post this l~gs - they're called the before.
They're supposed ~which cause scour.' id. "A lot of little blue ~is
ailment but none of about these sulphonremedies, they're a your calves.'
the five still bodies. :. seen calves like that, 0 ~ c, ~
~~ / ~ ~
the first time I saw this in action was when ~3
N,watching me pulling milk from a teat. Witho'& :, s',` "brought an
unyielding cloven hoof down on t.
rightly, stocky man ;~ "New, they got me on t'phone at Jenkinson's,
just down "'road.' He gave me a smile of peculiar sweetness I studied
Jeff Mallock as I always did with a kind of wonder. He had spent the
greater part of his forty odd years delving in decomposing carcases,
slashing nonchalantly with his knife at tuberculous abscesses, wallowing
in infected blood and filthy uterine exudates yet he remained a model of
health and fitness. He had the clear eyes and the smooth pink skin of a
twenty-year-old and the effect was heightened by the untroubled serenity
of his expression. To the best of my knowledge Jeff never took any
hygienic precautions such as washing his hands and I have seen him
enjoying a snack on his premises, seated on a heap of bones and gripping
a cheese and onion sandwich with greasy fingers.
He peered over the door at the calves. "Yes, yes, a clear case of
stagnation of "'lungs. There's a lot of it about right now.'
Mr Clark looked at me narrowly. "Lungs? You never said owl about lungs,
young man.' Like all farmers he had complete faith in Jeff's instant
diagnosis.
I mumbled something. I had found it useless to argue this point. The
knacker man's amazing ability to tell at a glance the cause of an
animal's illness or death was a frequent source of embarrassment to me.
No examination was necessary - he just knew, and of all his weird
catalogue of diseases stagnation of t'lungs was the favourite.
He turned to the farmer. "Well, ah'd better shift 'em now, Willie.
Reckon they won't last much longer.'
I bent down and lifted the head of the nearest calf. They were all
shorthorns, three roans, a red and this one which was pure white. I
passed my fingers over the hard little skull, feeling the tiny horn buds
under the rough hair. When I withdrew my hand the head dropped limply on
to the straw and it seemed to me that there was something of finality
and resignation in the movement.
My thoughts were interrupted by the roar of Jeff's engine. He was
backing his wagon round to the door of the calf house and as the high
unpainted boards darkened the entrance the atmosphere of gloom deepened.
These little animals had suffered two traumatic journeys in their short
lives. This was to be the last, the most fateful and the most sordid.
When the knacker man came in he stood by the farmer, looking at me as I
squatted in the straw among the prostrate creatures. They were both
waiting for me to quit the place, leaving my failure behind me.
"You know, Mr Clark,' I said, 'even if we could save one of them it
would help to reduce your loss.'
The farmer regarded me expressionlessly. "But they're all dyin', lad.
You said so yourself.'
"Yes, I did, I know, but the circumstances could be a bit different
today.'
"Ah know what it is.' He laughed suddenly. "You've got your heart set on
havin'a go with them little tablets, haven't you?'
I didn't answer but looked up at him with a mute appeal.
He was silent for a few moments then he put a hand on Mallock's
shoulder. "Jeff, if this young feller is that concerned about ma stock
I'll 'ave to humour 'im. You're not bothered, are you?'
"Nay, Willie, nay,' replied Jeff, completely unruffled, "I can pick 'em
up tomorrow, just as easy.'
"Right,' I said. "Let's have a look at the instructions.' I fished out
the pamphlet from the tin and read rapidly, working out the dose for the
weight of the calves. We'll have to give them a loading dose first. I
think twelve tablets per calf then six every eight hours after that.'
"How do you get 'em down their necks?' the farmer asked. "We'll have to
crush them and shake them up in water. Can we go into the house to do
that?'
In the farm kitchen we borrowed Mrs Clark's potato masher and pounded
the tablets until we had five initial doses measured out. Then we
returned to the shed and began to administer them to the calves. We had
to go carefully as the little creatures were so weak they had difficulty
in swallowing, but the farmer held each head while I trickled the
medicine into the side of the mouth.
Jeff enjoyed every minute of it. He showed no desire to leave but
produced a pipe richly decorated with nameless tissues, leaned on the
top of the half door and, puffing happily, watched us with tranquil
eyes. He was quite unperturbed by his wasted journey and when we had
finished he climbed into his wagon and waved to us cordially.
"I'll be back to pick 'em up in t'mornin', Willie,' he cried, quite
without malice I'm sure. "There's no cure for stagnation of "'lungs.'
I thought of his words next day as I drove back to the farm. He was just
stating the fact; his supply of dog meat was merely being postponed for
another twenty-four hours. But at least, I told myself, I had the
satisfaction of having tried, and since I expected nothin
g I wasn't
going to be disappointed.
As I pulled up in the yard Mr Clark walked over and spoke through the
window. "There's no need for you to get out of the car.' His face was a
grim mask.
"Oh,' I said, the sudden lurch in my stomach belying my calm facade.
"Like that, is it?'
"Aye, come and look 'ere.' He turned and I followed him over to the
shed. By the time the door creaked open a slow misery had begun to seep
into me.
Unwillingly I gazed into the interior.
Four of the calves were standing in a row looking up at us with
interest. Four shaggy, roughjacketed figures, bright-eyed and alert. The
fifth was resting on the straw, chewing absently at one of the strings
which held his sack.
The farmer's weathered face split into a delighted grin. "Well ah told
you there was no need to get out of your car, didn't I? They don't need
no vitnery, they're back to normal.'
I didn't say anything. This was something which my mind, as yet, could
not comprehend. As I stared unbelievingly the fifth calf rose from the
straw and stretched luxuriously.
"He's wraxin', d'you see?' cried Mr Clark. "There's nowt much wrong wi'
them when they do that.'
We went inside and I begun to examine the little animals. Temperatures
were normal, the diarrhoea had dried up, it was uncanny. As if in
celebration the white calf which had been all but dead yesterday began
to caper about the shed, kicking up his legs like a mustang.
"Look at that little bugger!' burst out the farmer. "By gaw I wish I was
as fit meself!'
I put the thermometer back in its tube and dropped it into my side
pocket. "Well, Mr Clark,' I said slowly, "I've never seen anything like
this. I still feel stunned.'
"Beats hen-racin', doesn't it,' the farmer said, wide-eyed, then he
turned towards the gate as a wagon appeared from the lane. It was the
familiar doom-burdened vehicle of Jeff Mallock.
The knacker man showed no emotion as he looked into the shed. In fact it
placid eyes, but I fancied the puffs of blue smoke from his pipe came a
little faster as he took in the scene. The pipe itself showed some fresh
deposits on its bowl some fragments of liver, I fancied, since
yesterday.
When he had looked his fill he turned and strolled towards his wagon. On
the way he gazed expansively around him and then at the dark clouds
piling in the western sky.
"Ah think it'll turn to rain afore t'day's out, Willie,' he murmured.
I didn't know it at the time but I had witnessed the beginning of the
revolution. It was my first glimpse of the tremendous therapeutic
breakthrough which was to sweep the old remedies into oblivion. The long
rows of ornate glass bottles with their carved stoppers and Latin
inscriptions would not stand on the dispensary shelves much longer and
their names, dearly familiar for many generations - Sweet Spirits of
Nitre, Sal ammoniac, Tincture of Camphor would be lost and vanish for
ever.
This was the beginning and just around the corner a new wonder was
waiting - Penicillin and the other antibiotics. At last we had something
to work with at last we could use drugs which we knew were going to do
something.
All over the country, probably all over the world at that time, vets
were having these first spectacular results, going through the same
experience as myself; some with cows, some with dogs and cats, others
with valuable racehorses, sheep, pigs in all kinds of environments.
But for me it happened in that old converted railway wagon among the
jumble of rusting junk on Willie Clark's farm.
Of course it didn't last - not the miraculous part of it anyway. What I
had seen at Willie Clark's was the impact of something new on an
entirely unsophisticated bacterial population, but it didn't go on like
that. In time the organisms developed a certain amount of resistance and
new and stronger sulphonamides and antibiotics had to be produced. And
so the battle has continued. We have good results now but no miracles,
and I feel I was lucky to be one of the generation which was in at the
beginning when the wonderful things did happen.
Those five calves never looked behind them and the memory of them gives
me a warm glow even now. Willie, of course, was overjoyed and even Jeff
Mallock gave the occasion his particular accolade. As he drove away he
called back at us:
"Them little blue tablets must have good stuff in 'em. They're just
things I've ever seen could cure stagnation of "'lungs.'
Chapter Thirty-four.
There was one marvelous thing about the set-up in Darrowby. I had the
inestimable advantage of being a large animal practitioner with a
passion for dogs and cats. So that although I spent most of my time in
the wide outdoors of Yorkshire there was always the captivating
background of the household pets to make a contrast.
I treated some of them every day and it made an extra interest in my
life interest of a different kind, based on sentiment instead of
commerce and because of the way things were it was something I could
linger over and enjoy. I suppose with a very intensive small animal
practice it would be easy to regard the thing as a huge sausage machine,
an endless procession of hairy forms to prod with hypodermic needles.
But in Darrowby we got to know them all as individual entities.
Driving through the town I was able to identify my ex-patients without
difficulty; Rover Johnson, recovered from his ear canker, coming out of
the ironmongers with his mistress, Patch Walker, whose broken leg had
healed beautifully, balanced happily on the back of his owner's coal
wagon, or Spot Briggs who was a bit of a rake anyway and would soon be
tearing himself again on barbed wire, ambling all alone across the
market place cobbles in search of adventure. I got quite a kick out of
recalling their ailments and mulling over their characteristics. Because
they all had their own personalities and they were manifested in
different ways.
One of these was their personal reaction to me and my treatment. Most
dogs and cats appeared to bear me not the slightest ill will despite the
fact that I usually had to do something disagreeable to them.
But there were exceptions and one of these was Magnus, the Miniature
Dachshund from the Drovers' Arms.
He was in my mind now as I leaned across the bar counter.
"A pint of Smiths, please, Danny,' I whispered.
The barman grinned. "Coming up, Mr Herriot.' He pulled at the lever and
the beer hissed gently into the glass and as he passed it over the froth
stood high and firm on the surface.
"Fit? It's beautiful!' Danny looked fondly at the brimming glass. "In
fact it's a shame to sell it.'
I laughed, but pianissimo. "Well it's nice of you to spare me a drop.' I
took a deep pull and turned to old Mr Fairburn who was as always sit
ting
at the far corner of the bar with his own fancy flower-painted glass in
his hand.
"It's been a grand day, Mr Fairburn,' I murmured sotto voce.
The old man put his hand to his ear. "What's that you say?'
"Nice warm day it's been.' My voice was like a soft breeze sighing over
the marshes.
I felt a violent dig at my back. "What the heck's the matter with you,
Jim? Have you got laryngitis?'
I turned and saw the tall bald-headed figure of Dr Allinson, my medical
adviser and friend. "Hello, Harry,' I cried. "Nice~ to see you.' Then I
put my hand to my mouth.
But it was too late. A furious yapping issued from the manager's office.
It was loud and penetrating and it went on and on.
"Damn, I forgot,' I said wearily. "There goes Magnus again.' ! "Magnus?
What are you talking about?' "Well, it's a long story.' I took another
sip at my beer as the din continued from t, ffice. It really shattered
the peace of the comfortable bar and I could sp-lars fidgeting and
looking out into the hallway. t little dog ever forget? It seemed a long
time now since Mr aew young manager at the Drovers, had brought Magnus
in to had looked a little apprehensive. ~ ~; watch him, Mr Herriot.'
towel ~' ~9 ~ >;~, He's very vicious.' doom-bu~r~t>' -~O 'c little form,
a mere brown dot on the table. He would The knacke;; ~ at around six
pounds. And I couldn't help laughing. was difficult to im" ~ enough,
surely.' but I fancied the puffs~,. 3<eckwith raised a warning finger.
"I took him to the . ~
.
t . 1 . ~
:~:
:~: ~ ": l .~
:i!:
~P i
V ~` Lr! llcl/Ti~3
J~l vet in Bradford where I used to manage the White Swan and he sank
his teeth into the poor chap's finger.'
"He did?'
"He certainly did! Right down to the bone! By God I've never heard such
language but I couldn't blame the man. There was blood all over the
place. I had to help him to put a bandage on.'
"Mm, I see.' It was nice to be told before you had been bitten and not
after. "And what was he trying to do to the dog? Must have been
something pretty mayor.'
"It wasn't you know. All I wanted was his nails clipping.'
"Is that all? And why have you brought him today?'
"Same thing.'
"Well honestly, Mr Beckwith,' I said, "I think we can manage to cut his
nails without bloodshed. If he'd been a Bull Mastiff or an Alsatian we
might have had a problem, but I think that you and I between us can
control a Miniature Dachshund.'
The manager shook his head. "Don't bring me into it. I'm sorry, but I'd
rather not hold him, if you don't mind.'
"Why not?'
"Well, he'd never forgive me. He's a funny little dog.'
I rubbed my chin. "But if he's as difficult as you say and you can't
hold him, what do you expect me to do?'
"I don't know, really ... maybe you could sort of dope him .. . knock
him out?'
"You mean a general anaesthetic? To cut his claws .. .?'
"It'll be the only way, I'm afraid.' Mr Beckwith stared gloomily at the
tiny animal. "You don't know him.'
It was difficult to believe but it seemed pretty obvious that this
canine morsel was the boss in the Beckwith home. In my experience many
dogs had occupied this position but none as small as this one.
Anyway, I had no more time to waste on this nonsense.
"Look,' I said, "I'll put a tape muzzle on his nose and I'll have this
job done in a couple of minutes.' I reached behind me for the nail
clippers and laid them on the table, then I unrolled a length of bandage
and tied it in a loop.