in a black leather coat with gold buttons and a neat blue uniform with two pips on the shoulder, and we spent a pleasant time chatting. He shamed me, as so many foreigners do, by speaking quite good English.
After passing through the lock gate it was a delight to be gliding along in still water for a change, and I stood out on the strip of deck, watching the many types of vessels that use the canal. There were several German warships, and the young sailors with their little caps on the side of their heads waved cheerily to me as they passed.
The countryside was flat with much farmland and woods, looking very pretty with their autumn tints. We passed many villages with attractive houses, most of which had long, steeply sloping roofs and dormer windows.
After about six hours we arrived at the eastern end of the canal. Here a German immigration official came aboard and stamped my passport. He also put a stamp on my name in the ship’s articles, since this morning I was officially signed on as a member of the ship’s company. It was odd to see the list of Danish names and then “James Herriot, Supercargo.” I felt strangely uplifted. Me, a supercargo!
The sheep looked quite happy this morning, though there is still that nagging cough among the Lincolns. The one with the eye irritation is almost normal now, but the lame sheep has not improved; in fact, it has deteriorated slightly and is running a high temperature, so I have got it in a pen on its own and have given it a shot of penicillin as well as the antibiotic spray. Obviously the infection was deeper than I thought.
The sailor who is my constant helper is the same one who spoke to me on the first evening. His name is Raun and he is a flaxen-haired young husky with great shoulders and a flattened-nosed boxer’s face, but when he smiles he radiates charm. He is warm-natured and an animal lover. When we had installed the lame sheep in its pen he knelt down, put his arms round the woolly neck and gave it a long hug. I have noticed him doing this with the other sheep, particularly the massive Romney Marsh rams. As I have said, they are like huge teddy bears, and Raun seems to find them irresistible. Anyway, I am delighted they have chosen such a man to be my assistant.
At the east end the canal widened out into the Baltic. I could see the town of Kiel just round the corner, and there was a tremendous amount of shipping. We passed an imposing memorial to the Germans killed in the First World War, and there were a few deserted sandy beaches with summer houses around them.
As we headed out into the sea I found a hidden corner of the deck and did a bit of hopping about and running on the spot. I must try to make a habit of this because the only exercise I get is clambering up and down the ladders to the hold, and I will have to work off Nielsen’s abundant fare somehow.
I have decided that I will make a final inspection of the animals each night at ten o’clock and go round them with Raun to hold any I want to examine more closely. Tonight I was told that Raun was steering but that if I went up on the bridge he would soon be relieved.
The ship was pitching wildly as I staggered out onto the upper deck. This, I thought, was the real thing as I felt my way along in the inky blackness, drenched with sea spray, the boards heaving and slippery under my feet, my hands grabbing at anything to hold me upright.
I stumbled onto the bridge and found myself in a decidedly eerie atmosphere. The bridge is an entirely different place at night —absolutely dark—and I had to stand there for a long time before I could pick out the lonely figure at the wheel. That is a quiet job if ever there was one.
When Raun came down with me, I gave the ewe with the eye trouble what ought to be its final application of ointment and injected the lame sheep again. The animals that tried to stand were swaying and tumbling around, but they didn’t seem any the worse. However, I wondered what they
After passing through the lock gate it was a delight to be gliding along in still water for a change, and I stood out on the strip of deck, watching the many types of vessels that use the canal. There were several German warships, and the young sailors with their little caps on the side of their heads waved cheerily to me as they passed.
The countryside was flat with much farmland and woods, looking very pretty with their autumn tints. We passed many villages with attractive houses, most of which had long, steeply sloping roofs and dormer windows.
After about six hours we arrived at the eastern end of the canal. Here a German immigration official came aboard and stamped my passport. He also put a stamp on my name in the ship’s articles, since this morning I was officially signed on as a member of the ship’s company. It was odd to see the list of Danish names and then “James Herriot, Supercargo.” I felt strangely uplifted. Me, a supercargo!
The sheep looked quite happy this morning, though there is still that nagging cough among the Lincolns. The one with the eye irritation is almost normal now, but the lame sheep has not improved; in fact, it has deteriorated slightly and is running a high temperature, so I have got it in a pen on its own and have given it a shot of penicillin as well as the antibiotic spray. Obviously the infection was deeper than I thought.
The sailor who is my constant helper is the same one who spoke to me on the first evening. His name is Raun and he is a flaxen-haired young husky with great shoulders and a flattened-nosed boxer’s face, but when he smiles he radiates charm. He is warm-natured and an animal lover. When we had installed the lame sheep in its pen he knelt down, put his arms round the woolly neck and gave it a long hug. I have noticed him doing this with the other sheep, particularly the massive Romney Marsh rams. As I have said, they are like huge teddy bears, and Raun seems to find them irresistible. Anyway, I am delighted they have chosen such a man to be my assistant.
At the east end the canal widened out into the Baltic. I could see the town of Kiel just round the corner, and there was a tremendous amount of shipping. We passed an imposing memorial to the Germans killed in the First World War, and there were a few deserted sandy beaches with summer houses around them.
As we headed out into the sea I found a hidden corner of the deck and did a bit of hopping about and running on the spot. I must try to make a habit of this because the only exercise I get is clambering up and down the ladders to the hold, and I will have to work off Nielsen’s abundant fare somehow.
I have decided that I will make a final inspection of the animals each night at ten o’clock and go round them with Raun to hold any I want to examine more closely. Tonight I was told that Raun was steering but that if I went up on the bridge he would soon be relieved.
The ship was pitching wildly as I staggered out onto the upper deck. This, I thought, was the real thing as I felt my way along in the inky blackness, drenched with sea spray, the boards heaving and slippery under my feet, my hands grabbing at anything to hold me upright.
I stumbled onto the bridge and found myself in a decidedly eerie atmosphere. The bridge is an entirely different place at night —absolutely dark—and I had to stand there for a long time before I could pick out the lonely figure at the wheel. That is a quiet job if ever there was one.
When Raun came down with me, I gave the ewe with the eye trouble what ought to be its final application of ointment and injected the lame sheep again. The animals that tried to stand were swaying and tumbling around, but they didn’t seem any the worse. However, I wondered what they
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