2016-17 James Herriot: "All Creatures Great and Small": The Little Miracle
THE HARSH REALITY
They didn’t say anything about this in the books, I thought, as the snow blew in through the gaping doorway and settled on my naked back.
I lay face down on the cobbled floor in a pool of nameless muck, my arm deep inside the straining cow, my feet scrabbling for a toe hold between the stones. I was stripped to the waist and the snow mingled with the dirt and the dried blood on my body. I could see nothing outside the circle of flickering light thrown by the smoky oil lamp which the farmer held over me.
THE LEGENDARY UNCLE
I had heard this sort of nonsense before. A short time in practice had taught me that all farmers were experts with other farmers’ livestock. When their own animals were in trouble they tended to rush to the phone for the vet, but with their neighbours’ they were confident, knowledgeable and full of helpful advice. And another phenomenon I had observed was that their advice was usually regarded as more valuable than the vet’s. Like now, for instance; Uncle was obviously an accepted sage and the Dinsdales listened with deference to everything he said.
“Another way with a job like this,” continued Uncle, “is to get a few strong chaps with ropes and pull the thing out, head back and all.”
“I know what this little fellow wants,” I said. I grasped the calf by its fore legs and pulled it up to its mother’s head. The cow was stretched out on her side, her head extended wearily along the rough floor. Her ribs heaved, her eyes were almost closed; she looked past caring about anything. Then she felt the calf’s body against her face and there was a transformation; her eyes opened wide and her muzzle began a snuffling exploration of the new object.
Her interest grew with every sniff and
she struggled on to her chest, nosing and probing all over the calf, rumbling
deep in her chest. Then she began to lick him
methodically. Nature provides the perfect stimulant massage for a time like
this and the little creature arched his back as the coarse papillae on the
tongue dragged along his skin. Within a minute he was shaking his head and
trying to sit up.
I grinned. This was the bit I liked. The little miracle. I felt it was something that would never grow stale no matter how often I saw it. I cleaned as much of the dried blood and filth from my body as I could, but most of it had caked on my skin and not even my finger nails would move it. It would have to wait for the hot bath at home. Pulling my shirt over my head, I felt as though I had been beaten for a long time with a thick stick. Every muscle ached. My mouth was dried out, my lips almost sticking together.
Full text of "All Creatures Great and Small" by James Herriot: [Click Here]
Audio Book: "All Creatures Great And Small" Unabridged: [Click Here]
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| "James Herriot" [James Alfred Wight] [1916-1995] |
James Alfred Wight [1916-1995], known by the pen name James Herriot, was a British veterinary surgeon and writer, who used his many years of experiences as a veterinary surgeon to write a series of semi -autobiographical books about rural life in Yorkshire.
In 1972, a collection of his works, "All Creatures Great and Small", became an instant classic. His books, 18 in all, sold 60 million copies worldwide, and inspired two movies and a BBC serial. Success seemed to have little effect on his daily routine. "If a farmer has a sick cow," he said, "they don't want Chales Dickens turning up; they want a good vet. And that's what I have tried to be."
His collected works include
- All Creatures Great and Small [1972]
[incorporating If Only They Could Talk and It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet] - All Things Bright and Beautiful [1974]
[incorporating Let Sleeping Vets Lie and Vet in Harness] - All Things Wise and Wonderful [1977]
[incorporating Vets Might Fly and Vet in a Spin] - The Lord God Made Them All [1981] and
- Every Living Thing [1992]
What follows is taken from Chapter One of the book "All Creature Great and Small"
to which I have chosen the caption --
to which I have chosen the caption --
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| Miracle that never fades - Mother's love |
THE HARSH REALITY
They didn’t say anything about this in the books, I thought, as the snow blew in through the gaping doorway and settled on my naked back.
I lay face down on the cobbled floor in a pool of nameless muck, my arm deep inside the straining cow, my feet scrabbling for a toe hold between the stones. I was stripped to the waist and the snow mingled with the dirt and the dried blood on my body. I could see nothing outside the circle of flickering light thrown by the smoky oil lamp which the farmer held over me.
No, there wasn’t a word in the
books about searching for your ropes and instruments in the shadows; about
trying to keep clean in a half bucket of tepid water; about the cobbles digging
into your chest. Nor about the slow numbing of the arms, the creeping paralysis
of the muscles as the fingers tried to work against the cow’s powerful
expulsive efforts.
There was no mention anywhere of the gradual exhaustion, the feeling of futility and the little far-off voice of panic.
There was no mention anywhere of the gradual exhaustion, the feeling of futility and the little far-off voice of panic.
My mind went back to that
picture in the obstetrics book. A cow standing in the middle of a gleaming
floor while a sleek veterinary surgeon in a spotless parturition overall
inserted his arm to a polite distance. He was relaxed and smiling, the farmer
and his helpers were smiling, even the cow was smiling. There was no dirt or
blood or sweat anywhere.
That man in the picture had
just finished an excellent lunch and had moved next door to do a bit of calving
just for the sheer pleasure of it, as a kind of dessert. He hadn’t crawled
shivering from his bed at two o’clock in the morning and bumped over twelve
miles of frozen snow, staring sleepily ahead till the lonely farm showed in the
headlights. He hadn’t climbed half a mile of white fell-side to the doorless
barn where his patient lay...
THE LEGENDARY UNCLE
...“Well now, what have you found,
young man?” Uncle’s penetrating voice cut through the silence. “Head back, eh?
You won’t have much trouble, then. I’ve seen Mr. Broomfield do ’em like that—he
turns calf right round and brings it out back legs first.”
I had heard this sort of nonsense before. A short time in practice had taught me that all farmers were experts with other farmers’ livestock. When their own animals were in trouble they tended to rush to the phone for the vet, but with their neighbours’ they were confident, knowledgeable and full of helpful advice. And another phenomenon I had observed was that their advice was usually regarded as more valuable than the vet’s. Like now, for instance; Uncle was obviously an accepted sage and the Dinsdales listened with deference to everything he said.
“Another way with a job like this,” continued Uncle, “is to get a few strong chaps with ropes and pull the thing out, head back and all.”
I gasped as I felt my way
around. “I’m afraid it’s impossible to turn a calf completely round in this
small space. And to pull it out without bringing the head round would certainly
break the mother’s pelvis.”
The Dinsdales narrowed their
eyes. Clearly they thought I was hedging in the face of Uncle’s superior
knowledge.
And now, two hours later, defeat was just round the corner. I was just about whacked. I had rolled and grovelled on the filthy cobbles while the Dinsdales watched me in morose silence and Uncle kept up a non-stop stream of comment.
And now, two hours later, defeat was just round the corner. I was just about whacked. I had rolled and grovelled on the filthy cobbles while the Dinsdales watched me in morose silence and Uncle kept up a non-stop stream of comment.
Uncle, his ruddy face glowing
with delight, his little eyes sparkling, hadn’t had such a happy night for
years. His long trek up the hillside had been repaid a hundredfold. His
vitality was undiminished; he had enjoyed every minute.
As I lay there, eyes closed, face stiff with dirt, mouth hanging open, Uncle took his pipe in his hand and leaned forward on his straw bale. “You’re about beat, young man,” he said with deep satisfaction. “Well, I’ve never seen Mr. Broomfield beat but he’s had a lot of experience. And what’s more, he’s strong, really strong. That’s one man you couldn’t tire.”
As I lay there, eyes closed, face stiff with dirt, mouth hanging open, Uncle took his pipe in his hand and leaned forward on his straw bale. “You’re about beat, young man,” he said with deep satisfaction. “Well, I’ve never seen Mr. Broomfield beat but he’s had a lot of experience. And what’s more, he’s strong, really strong. That’s one man you couldn’t tire.”
Rage flooded through me like a
draught of strong spirit. The right thing to do, of course, would be to get up,
tip the bucket of bloody water over Uncle’s head, run down the hill and drive
away; away from Yorkshire, from Uncle, from the Dinsdales, from this cow.
Instead, I clenched my teeth,
braced my legs and pushed with everything I had; and with a sensation of
disbelief I felt my noose slide over the sharp little incisor teeth and into
the calf’s mouth. Gingerly, muttering a prayer, I pulled on the thin rope with
my left hand and felt the slipknot tighten. I had hold of that lower jaw.
At last I could start doing
something. “Now hold this rope, Mr. Dinsdale, and just keep a gentle tension on
it. I’m going to repel the calf and if you pull steadily at the same time, the
head ought to come round.”
“What if the rope comes off?” asked Uncle hopefully.
I didn’t answer. I put my hand in against the calf’s shoulder and began to push against the cow’s contractions. I felt the small body moving away from me. “Now a steady pull, Mr. Dinsdale, without jerking.” And to myself, “Oh God, don’t let it slip off.”
“What if the rope comes off?” asked Uncle hopefully.
I didn’t answer. I put my hand in against the calf’s shoulder and began to push against the cow’s contractions. I felt the small body moving away from me. “Now a steady pull, Mr. Dinsdale, without jerking.” And to myself, “Oh God, don’t let it slip off.”
The head was coming round. I
could feel the neck straightening against my arm, then the ear touched my
elbow. I let go the shoulder and grabbed the little muzzle. Keeping the teeth
away from the vaginal wall with my hand, I guided the head till it was resting
where it should be, on the fore limbs.
Quickly I extended the noose till it reached behind the ears. “Now pull on the head as she strains.”
“Nay, you should pull on the legs now,” cried Uncle.
“Pull on the bloody head rope, I tell you!” I bellowed at the top of my voice and felt immediately better as Uncle retired, offended, to his bale.
Quickly I extended the noose till it reached behind the ears. “Now pull on the head as she strains.”
“Nay, you should pull on the legs now,” cried Uncle.
“Pull on the bloody head rope, I tell you!” I bellowed at the top of my voice and felt immediately better as Uncle retired, offended, to his bale.
With traction the head was
brought out and the rest of the body followed easily. The little animal lay
motionless on the cobbles, eyes glassy and unseeing, tongue blue and grossly
swollen.
“It’ll be dead. Bound to be,” grunted Uncle, returning to the attack.
I cleared the mucus from the mouth, blew hard down the throat and began artificial respiration. After a few pressures on the ribs, the calf gave a gasp and the eyelids flickered. Then it started to inhale and one leg jerked.
Uncle took off his hat and scratched his head in disbelief. “By gaw, it’s alive. I’d have thowt it’d sure to be dead after you’d messed about all that time.” A lot of the fire had gone out of him and his pipe hung down empty from his lips.
“It’ll be dead. Bound to be,” grunted Uncle, returning to the attack.
I cleared the mucus from the mouth, blew hard down the throat and began artificial respiration. After a few pressures on the ribs, the calf gave a gasp and the eyelids flickered. Then it started to inhale and one leg jerked.
Uncle took off his hat and scratched his head in disbelief. “By gaw, it’s alive. I’d have thowt it’d sure to be dead after you’d messed about all that time.” A lot of the fire had gone out of him and his pipe hung down empty from his lips.
THE LITTLE MIRACLE
“I know what this little fellow wants,” I said. I grasped the calf by its fore legs and pulled it up to its mother’s head. The cow was stretched out on her side, her head extended wearily along the rough floor. Her ribs heaved, her eyes were almost closed; she looked past caring about anything. Then she felt the calf’s body against her face and there was a transformation; her eyes opened wide and her muzzle began a snuffling exploration of the new object.
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| The Little Miracle |
I grinned. This was the bit I liked. The little miracle. I felt it was something that would never grow stale no matter how often I saw it. I cleaned as much of the dried blood and filth from my body as I could, but most of it had caked on my skin and not even my finger nails would move it. It would have to wait for the hot bath at home. Pulling my shirt over my head, I felt as though I had been beaten for a long time with a thick stick. Every muscle ached. My mouth was dried out, my lips almost sticking together.
A long, sad figure hovered
near. “How about a drink?” asked Mr. Dinsdale.
I could feel my grimy face cracking into an incredulous smile. A vision of hot tea well laced with whisky swam before me. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Dinsdale, I’d love a drink. It’s been a hard two hours.”
“Nay,” said Mr. Dinsdale looking at me steadily, “I meant for the cow.”
I began to babble. “Oh yes, of course, certainly, by all means give her a drink. She must be very thirsty. It’ll do her good. Certainly, certainly, give her a drink.”
I could feel my grimy face cracking into an incredulous smile. A vision of hot tea well laced with whisky swam before me. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Dinsdale, I’d love a drink. It’s been a hard two hours.”
“Nay,” said Mr. Dinsdale looking at me steadily, “I meant for the cow.”
I began to babble. “Oh yes, of course, certainly, by all means give her a drink. She must be very thirsty. It’ll do her good. Certainly, certainly, give her a drink.”
I gathered up my tackle and
stumbled out of the barn. On the moor it was still dark and a bitter wind
whipped over the snow, stinging my eyes. As I plodded down the slope, Uncle’s
voice, strident and undefeated, reached me for the last time.
“Mr. Broomfield doesn’t believe in giving a drink after calving. Says it chills the stomach.”
“Mr. Broomfield doesn’t believe in giving a drink after calving. Says it chills the stomach.”
Audio Book: "All Creatures Great And Small" Unabridged: [Click Here]
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