fork as if trying to give a one man rendering of the Anvil Chorus. “I hope you weren’t any the worse to go to Bamford’s.”
I listlessly crumbled some dry toast on my plate. “Well I did the job all right, but I’d had a bit too much—no use denying it.”
Siegfried was in one of his encouraging moods. “By God, James, those Bamfords are very strict methodists. They’re grand chaps but absolutely dead nuts against drink—if they thought you were under the influence of alcohol they’d never have you on the place again.” He ruthlessly bisected an egg yolk. “I hope they didn’t notice anything. Do you think they knew?”
“Oh maybe not. No, I shouldn’t think so.” I closed my eyes and shivered as Siegfried pushed a forkful of sausage and fried bread into his mouth and began to chew briskly. My mind went back to the gentle hands replacing the monstrous cap on my head and I groaned inwardly.
Those Bamfords knew all right. Oh yes, they knew.
9
T HE SILVER HAIRED OLD gentleman with the pleasant face didn’t look the type to be easily upset but his eyes glared at me angrily and his lips quivered with indignation.
“Mr. Herriot,” he said. “I have come to make a complaint. I strongly object to your allowing students to practise on my cat.”
“Students? What students?” I was mystified.
“I think you know, Mr. Herriot. I brought my cat in a few days ago for a hysterectomy and I am referring to this operation.”
I nodded. “Yes, I remember it very well…but where do the students come in?”
“Well the operation wound was rather large and I have it on good authority that it was made by somebody who was just learning the job.” The old gentleman stuck out his chin fiercely.
“Right,” I said. “Let’s take one thing at a time. I did that operation myself and I had to enlarge the wound because your cat was in an advanced state of pregnancy. I couldn’t squeeze the foetuses through my original incision.”
“Oh? I didn’t know that.”
“Secondly, we have no students with us. They only come at holiday times and when they are here they certainly are not allowed to carry out operations.”
“Well this lady seemed to be absolutely sure of her facts. She was adamant about it. She took one look at the cat and pronounced that it was the work of a student.”
“Lady?”
“Yes,” said the old gentleman. “She is very clever with animals and she came round to see if she could help in my cat’s convalescence. She brought some excellent condition powders with her.”
“Ah!” A blinding shaft pierced the fog in my mind. All was suddenly clear. “It was Mrs. Donovan, wasn’t it?”
“Well…er, yes. That was her name.”
Old Mrs. Donovan was a woman who really got around. No matter what was going on in Darrowby—weddings, funerals, house-sales—you’d find the dumpy little figure and walnut face among the spectators, the darting, black-button eyes taking everything in. And always, on the end of its lead, her terrier dog.
When I say “old”, I’m only guessing, because she appeared ageless; she seemed to have been around a long time but she could have been anything between fifty five and seventy five. She certainly had the vitality of a young woman because she must have walked vast distances in her dedicated quest to keep abreast of events. Many people took an uncharitable view of her acute curiosity but whatever the motivation, her activities took her into almost every channel of life in the town. One of these channels was our veterinary practice.
Because Mrs. Donovan, among her other widely ranging interests, was an animal doctor. In fact I think it would be safe to say that this facet of her life transcended all the others.
She could talk at length on the ailments of small animals and she had a whole armoury of medicines and remedies at her command, her two specialties being her miracle working condition powders and a dog shampoo of unprecedented value for improving the
I listlessly crumbled some dry toast on my plate. “Well I did the job all right, but I’d had a bit too much—no use denying it.”
Siegfried was in one of his encouraging moods. “By God, James, those Bamfords are very strict methodists. They’re grand chaps but absolutely dead nuts against drink—if they thought you were under the influence of alcohol they’d never have you on the place again.” He ruthlessly bisected an egg yolk. “I hope they didn’t notice anything. Do you think they knew?”
“Oh maybe not. No, I shouldn’t think so.” I closed my eyes and shivered as Siegfried pushed a forkful of sausage and fried bread into his mouth and began to chew briskly. My mind went back to the gentle hands replacing the monstrous cap on my head and I groaned inwardly.
Those Bamfords knew all right. Oh yes, they knew.
9
T HE SILVER HAIRED OLD gentleman with the pleasant face didn’t look the type to be easily upset but his eyes glared at me angrily and his lips quivered with indignation.
“Mr. Herriot,” he said. “I have come to make a complaint. I strongly object to your allowing students to practise on my cat.”
“Students? What students?” I was mystified.
“I think you know, Mr. Herriot. I brought my cat in a few days ago for a hysterectomy and I am referring to this operation.”
I nodded. “Yes, I remember it very well…but where do the students come in?”
“Well the operation wound was rather large and I have it on good authority that it was made by somebody who was just learning the job.” The old gentleman stuck out his chin fiercely.
“Right,” I said. “Let’s take one thing at a time. I did that operation myself and I had to enlarge the wound because your cat was in an advanced state of pregnancy. I couldn’t squeeze the foetuses through my original incision.”
“Oh? I didn’t know that.”
“Secondly, we have no students with us. They only come at holiday times and when they are here they certainly are not allowed to carry out operations.”
“Well this lady seemed to be absolutely sure of her facts. She was adamant about it. She took one look at the cat and pronounced that it was the work of a student.”
“Lady?”
“Yes,” said the old gentleman. “She is very clever with animals and she came round to see if she could help in my cat’s convalescence. She brought some excellent condition powders with her.”
“Ah!” A blinding shaft pierced the fog in my mind. All was suddenly clear. “It was Mrs. Donovan, wasn’t it?”
“Well…er, yes. That was her name.”
Old Mrs. Donovan was a woman who really got around. No matter what was going on in Darrowby—weddings, funerals, house-sales—you’d find the dumpy little figure and walnut face among the spectators, the darting, black-button eyes taking everything in. And always, on the end of its lead, her terrier dog.
When I say “old”, I’m only guessing, because she appeared ageless; she seemed to have been around a long time but she could have been anything between fifty five and seventy five. She certainly had the vitality of a young woman because she must have walked vast distances in her dedicated quest to keep abreast of events. Many people took an uncharitable view of her acute curiosity but whatever the motivation, her activities took her into almost every channel of life in the town. One of these channels was our veterinary practice.
Because Mrs. Donovan, among her other widely ranging interests, was an animal doctor. In fact I think it would be safe to say that this facet of her life transcended all the others.
She could talk at length on the ailments of small animals and she had a whole armoury of medicines and remedies at her command, her two specialties being her miracle working condition powders and a dog shampoo of unprecedented value for improving the
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