All Things Wise and Wonderful (All Creatures Great and Small) by James Herriot

Author:James Herriot [Herriot, James]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781453234501
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2011-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 29

LIFE IN THE RAF reminded me of something I always knew: Men are like animals. I don’t mean men are “beastly.” The fact is I don’t think animals are “beastly.” What I mean is that no two are exactly alike. Many people think my farm patients are all the same, but cows, pigs, sheep and horses can be moody, placid, vicious, docile, spiteful, loving.

There was one particular pig called Gertrude, but before I come to her I must start with Mr. Barge.

Nowadays the young men from the pharmaceutical companies who call on veterinary surgeons are referred to as “reps,” but nobody would have dreamed of applying such a term to Mr. Barge. He was definitely a “representative” of Cargill and Sons, Manufacturers of Fine Chemicals since 1850, and he was so old that he might have been in on the beginning.

It was a frosty morning in late winter when I opened the front door at Skeldale House and saw Mr. Barge standing on the front step. He raised his black homburg a few inches above the sparse strands of silver hair and his pink features relaxed into a smile of gentle benevolence. He had always treated me as a favourite son and I took it as a compliment because he was a man of immense prestige.

“Mr. Herriot,” he murmured, and bowed slightly. The bow was rich in dignity and matched the dark morning coat, striped trousers and shiny leather briefcase.

“Please come in, Mr. Barge,” I said, and ushered him into the house.

He always called at midday and stayed for lunch. My young boss, Siegfried Farnon, a man not easily overawed, invariably treated him with deference and in fact the visit was something of a state occasion.

The modern rep breezes in, chats briefly about blood levels of antibiotics and steroids, says a word or two about bulk discounts, drops a few data sheets on the desk and hurries away. In a way I feel rather sorry for these young men because, with a few exceptions, they are all selling the same things.

Mr. Barge, on the other hand, like all his contemporaries, carried a thick catalogue of exotic remedies, each one peculiar to its own firm.

Siegfried pulled out the chair at the head of the dining table. “Come and sit here, Mr. Barge.”

“You are very kind.” The old gentleman inclined his head slightly and took his place.

As usual there was no reference to business during the meal and it wasn’t until the coffee appeared that Mr. Barge dropped his brochure carelessly on the table as though this part of the visit was an unimportant afterthought.

Siegfried and I browsed through the pages, savouring the exciting whiff of witchcraft which has been blown from our profession by the wind of science. At intervals my boss placed an order.

“I think we’d better have a couple of dozen electuaries, Mr. Barge.”

“Thank you so much.” The old gentleman flipped open a leather-bound notebook and made an entry with a silver pencil.

“And we’re getting a bit low on fever drinks, aren’t we, James?” Siegfried glanced round at me.

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