Free Lord God Made Them All by James Herriot

Herriot.” “Coffee time, Mr. Herriot.” He is a fresh-faced lad of seventeen and takes care I don’t miss anything.
    I hurried to the mess room. To my surprise I found it was empty, but there was a large pot of coffee on the table, along with a stack of rye bread and a remarkable selection of cold meats and fish. I counted nine different platters on the table.
    Well, it was an unusual breakfast but I was hungry, so I started operations immediately. The coffee was delicious, and I was happily washing down wonderful raw herring and onion, smoked ham and a particularly toothsome meat loaf when the mess boy appeared and smilingly deposited two fried eggs and bacon in front of me.
    I was surprised but undeterred, and as I started my fresh attack with the ship heaving and pitching, I thanked providence that I had never known sea-sickness.
    I was soon joined by two of the ship’s officers, the mate, a tubby little man also called Rasmussen, and the engineer, Hansen, very dark with a humorous face.
    Neither of them spoke much English, but we managed to converse on various subjects including football pools which, when they had the chance, they both filled up assiduously without success.
    After breakfast I went down to inspect my animals. The general picture was a happy one, but I noticed a sheep limping as it walked to its hay. I examined the feet and found a small area of footrot. I had been told that the Russian vets were meticulous in their examination, but they had missed that one. I directed a long jet of Terramycin aerosol at the affected spot; I was confident that a few more similar treatments would put that right before we reached Klaipeda.
    Another animal blinked painfully at me as I passed its pen, and I found that its eyes were weeping and inflamed. It was the only one so affected, and I felt that it had probably picked up some irritant material on the journey to Hull. I squeezed some chloramphenicol eye ointment across the eyeballs and decided to do the same at midday and in the evening.
    I finished my tour with the comforting thought that so far my stock of drugs was adequate.
    Before lunch the captain asked me to drink a glass of lager with him in his cabin. He himself, despite being a man of natural refinement, drank straight from the bottle; later today I found that this was the approved method among the ship’s officers, but he gave me a glass.
    I sat down at the end of the table and poured the lager, and at that moment the ship gave a tremendous roll. My chair went over; I literally flew through the air, shot across the floor on my side and finished up underneath a desk in the corner. My glass was shattered, and a pool of the precious Carlsberg Special spread across the floor.
    The captain leaped anxiously to my assistance. “Oh, Mr. Herriot, I hope you do not hurt yourself!” As I have said, his English is very good but occasionally little inaccuracies creep in.
    “No, I’m fine,” I replied, laughing. I got up and started on another bottle, but this time I kept my knees jammed against the legs of the table. I am beginning to learn.
    After this little contretemps we went down to lunch, passing on the way the cook’s galley. This was about the size of a large cupboard and was crammed with pans, stove, ovens and food. I wondered how anybody could possibly produce proper meals in that tiny place, and it occurred to me that perhaps that was the reason for the lavish breakfast. The other meals would probably be makeshift, and I mentally resigned myself to the fact that I would have to put up with a primitive diet during the voyage.
    When we had gathered round the table in the little mess room, the first course arrived. It was an exquisite asparagus soup in which floated meat balls and large stalks of asparagus. This was followed by what the captain described as “boneless birds”— tender veal steaks wrapped around strips of bacon, parsley and spices, with anchovies draped across them. We finished off with