Free If Only They Could Talk by James Herriot Page A

silver and balled up notes. When he pulled out a thermometer they flew around him in a cloud.
    After a week or two of headlong rush he would disappear; maybe for the evening, maybe overnight and often without saying where he was going. Mrs. Hall would serve a meal for two, but when she saw I was eating alone she would remove the food without comment.
    He dashed off the list of calls each morning with such speed that I was quite often sent hurrying off to the wrong farm or to do the wrong thing. When I told him later of my embarrassment he would laugh heartily.
    There was one time when he got involved himself. I had just taken a call from a Mr. Heaton of Bronsett about doing a PM on a dead sheep.
    'I'd like you to come with me James,' Siegfried said. 'Things are quiet this morning and I believe they teach you blokes a pretty hot post mortem procedure. I want to see you in action.'

    We drove into the village of Bronsett and Siegfried swung the car left into a gated lane.
    'Where are you going?' I said. 'Heaton's is at the other end of the village.'
    'But you said Seaton's.'
    'No, I assure you...'
    'Look, James, I was right by you when you were talking to the man. I distinctly heard you say the name.'
    I opened my mouth to argue further but the car was hurtling down the lane and Siegfried's jaw was jutting. I decided to let him find out for himself.
    We arrived outside the farmhouse with a screaming of brakes. Siegeried had left his seat and was rummaging in the boot before the car had stopped shuddering 'Hell!' he shouted, 'No post mortem knife. Never mind, I'll borrow something from the house.' He slammed down the lid and bustled over to the door.
    The farmer's wife answered and Siegfried beamed on her. 'Good morning to you, Mrs. Seaton, have you a carving knife?'
    The good lady raised her eyebrows. 'What was that you said?'
    'A carving knife, Mrs. Seaton, a carving knife, and a good sharp one, please.'
    'You want a carving knife?'
    'Yes, that's right, a carving knife!' Siegfried cried, his scanty store of patience beginning to run out.
    'And I wonder if you'd mind hurrying. I haven't much time.'
    The bewildered woman withdrew to the kitchen and I could hear whispering and muttering.
    Children's heads peeped out at intervals to get a quick look at Siegfried stamping irritably on the step. After some delay, one of the daughters advanced timidly, holding out a long, dangerous-looking knife.
    Siegfried snatched it from her hand and ran his thumb up and down the edge. 'This is no damn good!' he shouted in exasperation. 'Don't you understand I want something really sharp. Fetch me a steel.'
    The girl fled back into the kitchen and there was a low rumble of voices. It was some minutes before another young girl was pushed round the door. She inched her way up to Siegfried, gave him the steel at arm's length and dashed back to safety.
    Siegfried prided himself on his skill at sharpening a knife. It was something he enjoyed doing. As he stropped the knife on the steel, he warmed to his work and finally burst into song. There was no sound from the kitchen, only the ring of steel backed by the tuneless singing; there were silent intervals when he carefully tested the edge, then the noise would start again.
    When he had completed the job to his satisfaction he peered inside the door. 'Where is your husband?' he called.
    There was no reply so he strode into the kitchen, waving the gleaming blade in front of him. I followed him and saw Mrs. Seaton and her daughters cowering in the far corner, staring at Siegfried with large, frightened eyes.
    He made a sweeping gesture at them with the knife. 'Well, come on, I can get started now!'
    'Started whet?' the mother whispered, holding her family close to her.
    'I want to PM this sheep. You have a dead sheep, haven't you?'

    Explanations and apologies followed.
    Later, Siegfried remonstrated gravely with me for sending him to the wrong farm.
    'You'll have to be a bit more careful in future, James,'