FORTY
A LOT OF THE Dales farms were anonymous and it was a help to find this one so plainly identified. “Heston Grange” it said on the gate in bold black capitals.
I got out of the car and undid the latch. It was a good gate, too, and swung easily on its hinges instead of having to be dragged round with a shoulder under the top spar. The farmhouse lay below me, massive, grey-stoned, with a pair of bow windows which some prosperous Victorian had added to the original structure.
It stood on a flat, green neck of land in a loop of the river and the lushness of the grass and the quiet fertility of the surrounding fields contrasted sharply with the stark hills behind. Towering oaks and beeches sheltered the house and a thick pine wood covered the lower slopes of the fell.
I walked round the buildings shouting as I always did, because some people considered it a subtle insult to go to the house and ask if the farmer was in. Good farmers are indoors only at meal times. But my shouts drew no reply, so I went over and knocked at the door set deep among the weathered stones.
A voice answered “Come in,” and I opened the door into a huge, stone-flagged kitchen with hams and sides of bacon hanging from hooks in the ceiling. A dark girl in a check blouse and green linen slacks was kneading dough in a bowl. She looked up and smiled.
“Sorry I couldn’t let you in. I’ve got my hands full.” She held up her arms, floury-white to the elbow.
“That’s all right. My name is Herriot. I’ve come to see a calf. It’s lame, I understand.”
“Yes, we think he’s broken his leg. Probably got his foot in a hole when he was running about. If you don’t mind waiting a minute, I’ll come with you. My father and the men are in the fields. I’m Helen Alderson, by the way.”
She washed and dried her arms and pulled on a pair of short Wellingtons. “Take over this bread will you, Meg,” she said to an old woman who came through from an inner room. “I have to show Mr. Herriot the calf.”
Outside, she turned to me and laughed. “We’ve got a bit of a walk, I’m afraid. He’s in one of the top buildings. Look, you can just see it up there.” She pointed to a squat, stone barn, high on the fell-side. I knew all about these top buildings; they were scattered all over the high country and I got a lot of healthy exercise going round them. They were used for storing hay and other things and as shelters for the animals on the hill pastures.
I looked at the girl for a few seconds. “Oh, that’s all right, I don’t mind. I don’t mind in the least.”
We went over the field to a narrow bridge spanning the river, and, following her across, I was struck by a thought; this new fashion of women wearing slacks might be a bit revolutionary but there was a lot to be said for it. The path led upward through the pine wood and here the sunshine was broken up into islands of brightness among the dark trunks, the sound of the river grew faint and we walked softly on a thick carpet of pine needles. It was cool in the wood and silent except when a bird call echoed through the trees.
Ten minutes of hard walking brought us out again into the hot sun on the open moor and the path curved steeper still round a series of rocky outcrops. I was beginning to puff, but the girl kept up a brisk pace, swinging along with easy strides. I was glad when we reached the level ground on the top and the barn came in sight again.
When I opened the half door I could hardly see my patient in the dark interior which was heavy with the fragrance of hay piled nearly to the roof. He looked very small and sorry for himself with his dangling foreleg which trailed uselessly along the strawed floor as he tried to walk.
“Will you hold his head while I examine him, please?” I said.
The girl caught the calf expertly, one hand under its chin, the other holding an ear. As I felt my way over the leg the little creature stood trembling, his face a picture of woe.
“Well, your diagnosis was correct. Clean fracture of the radius and ulna, but there’s very little displacement so it should do well with a plaster on it.” I opened my bag, took out some plaster bandages then filled a bucket with water from a nearby spring. I soaked one of the bandages and applied it to the leg, following it with a second and a third till the limb was encased in a rapidly hardening white sheath from elbow to foot.
“We’ll just wait a couple of minutes till it hardens, then we can let him go.” I kept tapping the plaster till I was satisfied it was set like stone. “All right,” I said finally. “He can go now.”
The girl released the head and the little animal trotted away. “Look,” she cried. “He’s putting his weight on it already! And doesn’t he look a lot happier!” I smiled. I felt I had really done something. The calf felt no pain now that the broken ends of the bone were immobilised; and the fear which always demoralises a hurt animal had magically vanished.
“Yes,” I said. “He certainly has perked up quickly.” My words were almost drowned by a tremendous bellow and the patch of blue above the half door was suddenly obscured by a large shaggy head. Two great liquid eyes stared down anxiously at the little calf and it answered with a high-pitched bawl. Soon a deafening duet was in progress.
“That’s his mother,” the girl shouted above the din. “Poor old thing, she’s been hanging about here all morning wondering what we’ve done with her calf. She hates being separated from him.”
I straightened up and drew the bolt on the door. “Well she can come in now.”
The big cow almost knocked me down as she rushed past me. Then she started a careful, sniffing inspection of her calf, pushing him around with her muzzle and making muffled lowing noises deep in her throat.
The little creature submitted happily to all the fuss and when it was over and his mother was finally satisfied, he limped round to her udder and began to suck heartily.
“Soon got his appetite back,” I said and we both laughed.
I threw the empty tins into my bag and closed it. “He’ll have to keep the plaster on for a month, so if you’ll give me a ring then I’ll come back and take it off. Just keep an eye on him and make sure his leg doesn’t get sore round the top of the bandage.”
As we left the barn the sunshine and the sweet warm air met us like a high wave. I turned and looked across the valley to the soaring green heights, smooth, enormous, hazy in the noon heat. Beneath my feet the grassy slopes fell away steeply to where the river glimmered among the trees.
“It’s wonderful up here,” I said. “Just look at that gorge over there. And that great hill—I suppose you could call it a mountain.” I pointed at a giant which heaved its heather-mottled shoulders high above the others.
“That’s Heskit Fell—nearly two and a half thousand feet. And that’s Eddleton just beyond, and Wedder Fell on the other side and Colver and Sennor.” The names with their wild, Nordic ring fell easily from her tongue; she spoke of them like old friends and I could sense the affection in her voice.
We sat down on the warm grass of the hillside, a soft breeze pulled at the heads of the moorland flowers, somewhere a curlew cried. Darrowby and Skeldale House and veterinary practice seemed a thousand miles away.
“You’re lucky to live here,” I said. “But I don’t think you need me to tell you that.”
“No, I love this country. There’s nowhere else quite like it.” She paused and looked slowly around her. “I’m glad it appeals to you too—a lot of people find it too bare and wild. It almost seems to frighten them.”
I laughed. “Yes, I know, but as far as I’m concerned I can’t help feeling sorry for all the thousands of vets who don’t work in the Yorkshire Dales.”
I began to talk about my work, then almost without knowing, I was going back over my student days, telling her of the good times, the friends I had made and our hopes and aspirations.
I surprised myself with my flow of talk—I wasn’t much of a chatterbox usually—and I felt I must be boring my companion. But she sat quietly looking over the valley, her arms around her green-clad legs, nodding at times as though she understood. And she laughed in all the right places.
I wondered too, at the silly feeling that I would like to forget all about the rest of the day’s duty and stay up here on this sunny hillside. It came to me that it had been a long time since I had sat down and talked to a girl of my own age. I had almost forgotten what it was like.
I didn’t hurry back down the path and through the scented pine wood but it seemed no time at all before we were walking across the wooden bridge and over the field to the farm.
I turned with my hand on the car door. “Well, I’ll see you in a month.” It sounded like an awful long time.
The girl smiled. “Thank you for what you’ve done.” As I started the engine she waved and went into the house.
“Helen Alderson?” Siegfried said later over lunch. “Of course I know her. Lovely girl.”
Tristan, across the table, made no comment, but he laid down his knife and fork, raised his eyes reverently to the ceiling and gave a long, low whistle. Then he started to eat again.
Siegfried went on. “Oh yes, I know her very well. And I admire her. Her mother died a few years ago and she runs the whole place. Cooks and looks after her father and a younger brother and sister.” He spooned some mashed potatoes on to his plate. “Any men friends? Oh, half the young bloods in the district are chasing her but she doesn’t seem to be going steady with any of them. Choosy sort, I think.”