Carmody remains remarkably assured throughout the morning until the two men head to their last call before lunch where, having just opened the farm gate, the young vet’s composure is put to the test.

  Apparently from nowhere an evil-looking little black cur dog glided silently out, sank its teeth with dedicated venom into Carmody’s left buttock and slunk away.

  Not even the most monolithic dignity can survive being bitten deeply and without warning in the backside. Carmody screamed, leaped in the air clutching his rear, then swarmed to the top of the gate with the agility of a monkey.

  By the afternoon, Carmody has recovered some of his poise and asks James, with a touch of arrogance, whether he can perform some injections. James then tasks him with a variety of difficult and dirty jobs: chasing a litter of pigs around a pen so they splatter filth all over him; treating an unwilling old carthorse with Istin drenching liquid, most of which ends up on his expensive clothes; and finally taking some blood samples from a large white sow. James takes pleasure in seeing all of this, surprised to detect a vein of sadism in his make-up.

  Extracting a few ccs of blood from the ear vein of a struggling pig is a job which makes most vets shudder and it was clearly a dirty trick to ask a student to do it, but the memory of his coldly confident request at the beginning of the afternoon seemed to have stilled my conscience.

  The two young vets then visit a bullock that has a tumour on its jaw, which, when a halter rope is placed over his head, bolts ‘like a black thunderbolt’ across a field, with Carmody hanging on for dear life.

  He took a last few soaring, swooping steps then he was down on his face. But he didn’t let go. The bullock, going better than ever, had turned towards us now, dragging the inert form apparently without effort, and I winced as I saw it was headed straight for a long row of cowpats.

  It was when Carmody was skidding face down through the third heap of muck that I suddenly began to like him. And when he finally did have to release his hold and lay for a moment motionless on the grass I hurried over to help him up. He thanked me briefly then looked calmly across the field at a sight which is familiar to every veterinary surgeon – his patient thundering out of sight across the far horizon.

  The student was almost unrecognizable. His clothes and face were plastered with filth except where the saffron streaks of the Istin showed up like war paint, he smelt abominably, he had been bitten in the backside, nothing had really gone right for him all day yet he was curiously undefeated. I smiled to myself. It was no good judging this bloke by ordinary standards; I could recognize the seeds of greatness when I saw them.

  Carmody stays with the Darrowby practice for two weeks, after which, not unsurprisingly, he qualifies with top marks before gaining a PhD and further degrees and qualifications. The character of Carmody was in fact based on the assistant Oliver Murphy who worked at 23 Kirkgate in 1956 for four months. Like Carmody, he was serious, with a great academic mind, but Alf found him pleasant to work with and local farmers admired his dogged perseverance under trying circumstances. He returned one day caked in mud having chased wild bullocks around a yard, even hanging upside down from a beam in a rodeo-style attempt to catch one.

  Another two assistants would feature in the books, although in reality over thirty assistants worked at the Thirsk practice, all of them providing a rich array of stories for the James Herriot books. Alf gave his students a lot of support and they in turn learned a huge amount and provided invaluable help during busy periods, particularly during tuberculin testing.

  The assistant John Crooks features in the last two books. Having worked with the practice during university vacations, he is almost part of the family when he joins them as an assistant. He soon proves himself a capable veterinary surgeon and stays with the practice for three years – a period on which James looks back fondly.

  As John settled into the practice, I found a miraculous easing of my life. It was rather wonderful to have an assistant, especially a good one like him. I had always liked him, but when I got a call to a calving heifer at three o’clock in the morning and was able to pass it on to him and turn over and go back to sleep, I could feel the liking deepening into a warm affection.

  John eventually marries a local teacher, Heather, and the two live at the Darrowby practice before setting up a practice in Beverley. ‘Before he departed,’ writes James, ‘he paid us the charming compliment of “filling” a bottle with the air from Skeldale House to be released in his new surgery with the object of transferring some of our atmosphere.’ The real John Crooks – the only assistant in the Herriot books to retain his real name – did exactly this when he left the practice. He too was a self-assured and immensely likeable man, and he and his wife, Heather (her real name also), remained good friends with Alf and his family. After setting up a practice in Beverley, Yorkshire, he rose to become president of the British Veterinary Association in 1983, but he never forgot the support and invaluable advice he received from Alf and Donald, and looked back on his days in Thirsk as some of the happiest of his life.

  A few days after John leaves, the new assistant Calum Buchanan arrives. Tall and sporting a walrus moustache, he walks down the platform of Darrowby station with a giant lurcher by his side. Also draped over his shoulder is a large hairy animal, which James is surprised to discover is his pet badger Marilyn. At Skeldale House, Siegfried looks aghast as the young graduate wolfs down an entire fruit cake; Siegfried pushes James into an empty office: ‘What the hell have we got here, James? An assistant with a blasted badger round his neck! And a dog as big as a donkey!’

  While clearly an unusual fellow, Calum has glowing references from his university and soon shows how capable he is as a veterinary surgeon, performing a caesarean on a heifer on his very first call-out and then meticulously cleaning his instruments afterwards. Before long, people are requesting the services of ‘the vet wi’ t’badger’.

  ‘Can I speak to the vet wi’ t’badger?’

  As I handed the phone to our new assistant, it struck me that this request was becoming common and it did me good to hear it. It meant that Calum was being accepted by the farmers. I didn’t mind at all if some of them wanted him instead of me. What I dreaded hearing was ‘Don’t send that young bugger!’ which I had heard about from some of my neighbouring vets when they employed new assistants.

  We had been so lucky with John Crooks who had been an outstanding asset to our practice and it seemed to be asking too much of fate for a second top-class man to come along. All the new graduates were better educated than I had been but there were other reasons why a few didn’t make the grade. Some of them just couldn’t face the long rough and tumble of general practice with its antisocial hours, others lacked the ability to get on with the clients, and one or two were academically bright but unpractical.

  Calum, to my vast relief, seemed to be slotting into the job effortlessly but, just as John and Tristan had been different from each other, so was he from them. Very different. His ever-present badger fascinated people, his tall, walrus-moustached appearance, eager friendliness and unusual outlook on life made him interesting to both farm and small animal clients but, most important of all, he knew his stuff. He was a fine vet.

  Calum is also a keen ornithologist and naturalist, and even convinces James to join him on a trip to look for deer, the two rising before dawn and riding two shire horses into the woods as if in some kind of Narnia fantasy. As Siegfried predicts, however, Calum continually adds to his menagerie of pets, soon bringing into the house two Dobermann dogs, Maggie and Anna, alongside a variety of other wild creatures.

  It was around the time when Calum’s third badger arrived that an uncanny sense of the inevitable began to settle on me.

  The new badger was called Bill and Calum didn’t say much about his unheralded advent. He did mention it in an off-hand way to me, but prudently failed to take Siegfried into his confidence. I think he realized that there wasn’t much point in upsetting my partner further – it seemed only reasonable to assume that Siegfried was getting a little punch-drunk with the assorted creatures milling around and wouldn’t even notice.

  I was discussing the day’s work with my colleagues in the doorway of the dispensary when Siegfried ducked down. ‘What the hell was that?’ he exclaimed as a large feathery body whizzed past, just missing our heads.

  ‘Oh, it’s Calum’s owl,’ I said.

  Siegfried stared at me. ‘That owl? I thought it was supposed to be ill.’ He turned to our assistant. ‘Calum, what’s that owl doing here? You brought it in days ago and it looks fit enough now, so take it back where it came from. I like birds, as you know, but not rocketing round in our surgery like bloody eagles – could frighten the life out of the clients.’

  The young man nodded. ‘Yes . . . yes . . . she’s almost recovered. I expect to take her back to the wood very soon.’ He pocketed his list of visits and left.

  I didn’t say anything, but it seemed certain to me that once Calum had got his hands on an owl of his very own he wasn’t going to part with it in a hurry. I foresaw some uncomfortable incidents.

  ‘And listen to those fox cubs!’ Siegfried went on. ‘What a racket they’re making!’ The yapping, snarling and barking echoed along the passage from the back of the house. There was no doubt they were noisy little things. ‘What does Calum want them in here for?’

  ‘I’m not sure . . . He did say something, but I can’t quite recall . . .’

  ‘Well,’ Siegfried grunted, ‘I just hope he’ll remove them as soon as the problem is over.’

  Later that day, Siegfried and I were setting a dog’s fractured radius when Calum walked into the operating room. Marilyn, as usual, was on his shoulder, but today she had company; seated comfortably in the crook of the young man’s arms was a little monkey.

  Siegfried looked up from his work. He stopped winding the plaster of Paris bandage and his mouth fell open. ‘Oh, my God, no! This is too much! Not a bloody monkey now! It’s like living in a bloody zoo.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Calum with a pleased smile. ‘His name is Mortimer.’

  ‘Never mind his name!’ Siegfried growled. ‘What the hell is he doing here?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, this isn’t a pet – in a way, he’s a patient.’

  Siegfried’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean – in what way? Is he ill?’

  ‘Well, not exactly . . . Diana Thurston has asked me to look after him while she’s away on holiday.’

  ‘And you said yes, of course! No hesitation! That’s just what we need here – bloody monkeys roaming the place on top of everything else!’

  Calum looked at him gravely. ‘Well, you know, I was in a difficult position. Colonel Thurston is a very nice man and one of our biggest clients – large farm, hunting horses and umpteen dogs. I couldn’t very well refuse.’

  My partner recommenced his winding. The plaster was setting and I could see he wanted time to think. ‘Well, I see your point,’ he said after a few moments. ‘It wouldn’t have looked so good.’ He glanced up at Calum. ‘But it’s definitely just while Diana’s on holiday?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely, I promise you.’ The young man nodded vigorously. ‘She’s devoted to the little chap and she’ll pick him up as soon as she returns.’

  ‘Oh, well, I suppose it’ll be all right.’ Siegfried shot a hunted look at the monkey which, open-mouthed, teeth bared and chattering, was apparently laughing at him.

  We lifted the sleeping dog from the table and carried him to one of the recovery kennels. My partner seemed indisposed to speak and I didn’t break the silence. I had no desire to discuss Calum’s latest acquisition because I happened to know that Diana Thurston wasn’t just going to Scarborough for a fortnight – she was off to Australia for six months.

  I was called out that evening and went to the surgery for extra drugs. As I walked along the passage I could hear a babel of animal sounds from the end of the house and, on opening the door to the back room, I found Calum among his friends. The three badgers were nosing around the food bowls, the owl flapped lazily onto a high shelf. Storm, vast and amiable, waved his tail in welcome, while the Dobermanns regarded me contemplatively. Mortimer the monkey, clearly already under Calum’s spell, leaped from a table into the young man’s arms and grinned at me. In a corner, the fox cubs kept up their strange yapping and growling and I noticed two cages containing a couple of rabbits and a hare – apparently new arrivals.

  Looking round the room I realized that Siegfried had been right from the very beginning. The menagerie was now firmly installed. And as I opened the door to leave I wondered just how big it was going to grow.

  Calum was modelled on Brian Nettleton, an assistant who joined the Thirsk practice in 1957. He proved to be one of the most capable veterinary surgeons to work there and was immensely popular with the clients. His large stature matched his personality, and he too carried around a badger which always accompanied him when he frequented the local pubs. He had a great affinity with animals of all types and, as featured in Every Living Thing, he would cook up large vats of hideous-smelling tripe for his badgers while owls swooped up and down the corridor and foxes ran around the garden. A lover of nature, he was less bound by routine and frequently disappeared off into the wilds. It was Alf’s son Jim who joined him on the early-morning trips, and Brian always knew exactly where they could see animals in their own habitat. He was also very musical and played the piano accordion; he once bought Alf’s daughter a squeeze box in a jumble sale, teaching her slightly risqué songs thereafter. The ‘vet wi’ t’badger’ – adored by Alf’s family, the local farmers and the regulars in the Drovers’ Arms – was as unforgettable in life as he was on the page.

  Chapter 5

  ROMANCE and FAMILY LIFE

  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.’

  James has driven to the Alderson farm of Heston Grange to see to a calf. There, he is met by the farmer’s daughter, Helen Alderson, who immediately catches his attention, and he is more than happy to spend a few more minutes in her company as they walk up a hill. In a barn, he finds a trembling calf, which, he confirms, has a fractured radius and ulna. He applies a wet bandage to its leg, waits for it to dry and the calf immediately trots away and happily reunites with his mother. Pleased with his success, the two leave the barn and take in the view below.

  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 onto 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.’