Free All Things Bright and Beautiful by James Herriot Page A

nice to see you—you’re quite a stranger.” She smiled her slow, friendly smile.
    “Hello, Helen. Yes, you know what lambing time’s like. I hope things will ease up a bit now.”
    “Well I hope so too. Hard work’s all right up to a point but you need a break some time. Anyway, come and have some tea. Are you hungry?”
    “I am now,” I said, gazing at the packed foodstuffs. Helen laughed. “Well come on, sit in. Dad, leave your precious Farmer and Stockbreeder and come over here. We were going to sit you in the dining room, Jim, but Dad won’t have his tea anywhere but in here, so that’s all about it.”
    I took my place along with Helen, young Tommy and Mary her brother and sister, and Auntie Lucy, Mr. Alderson’s widowed sister who had recently come to live with the family. Mr. Alderson groaned his way over the flags, collapsed onto a high-backed wooden chair and began to saw phlegmatically at the tongue.
    As I accepted my laden plate I can’t say I felt entirely at ease. In the course of my work I had eaten many meals in the homes of the hospitable Dalesmen and I had discovered that light chatter was not welcomed at table. The accepted thing, particularly among the more old-fashioned types, was to put the food away in silence and get back on the job, but maybe this was different. Sunday tea might be a more social occasion; I looked round the table, waiting for somebody to lead the way.
    Helen spoke up. “Jim’s had a busy time among the sheep since we saw him last.”
    “Oh yes?” Auntie Lucy put her head on one side and smiled. She was a little bird-like woman, very like her brother and the way she looked at me made me feel she was on my side.
    The young people regarded me fixedly with twitching mouths. The only other time I had met them they had found me an object of some amusement and things didn’t seem to have changed. Mr. Alderson sprinkled some salt on a radish, conveyed it to his mouth and crunched it impassively.
    “Did you have much twin lamb disease this time, Jim?” Helen asked, trying again.
    “Quite a bit,” I replied brightly. “Haven’t had much luck with treatment though. I tried dosing the ewes with glucose this year and I think it did a bit of good.”
    Mr. Alderson swallowed the last of his radish. “I think nowt to glucose,” he grunted. “I’ve had a go with it and I think nowt to it.”
    “Really?” I said. “Well now that’s interesting. Yes…yes…quite.”
    I buried myself in my salad for a spell before offering a further contribution.
    “There’s been a lot of sudden deaths in the lambs,” I said. “Seems to be more Pulpy Kidney about.”
    “Fancy that,” said Auntie Lucy, smiling encouragingly.
    “Yes,” I went on, getting into my stride. “It’s a good job we’ve got a vaccine against it now.”
    “Wonderful things, those vaccines,” Helen chipped in. “You’ll soon be able to prevent a lot of the sheep diseases that way.” The conversation was warming up.
    Mr. Alderson finished his tongue and pushed his plate away. “I think nowt to the vaccines. And those sudden deaths you’re on about—they’re caused by wool ball on t’stomach. Nowt to do wi’ the kidneys.”
    “Ah yes, wool ball eh? I see, wool ball.” I subsided and decided to concentrate on the food.
    And it was worth concentrating on. As I worked my way through I was aware of a growing sense of wonder that Helen had probably baked the entire spread. It was when my teeth were sinking into a poem of a curd tart that I really began to appreciate the miracle that somebody of Helen’s radiant attractiveness should be capable of this.
    I looked across at her. She was a big girl, nothing like her little wisp of a father. She must have taken after her mother. Mrs. Alderson had been dead for many years and I wondered if she had had that same wide, generous mouth that smiled so easily, those same warm blue eyes under the soft mass of black-brown hair.
    A spluttering from Tommy and Mary