Heifers, farming tales and memories of Alf Wight - Julian Norton

A pregnancy was neither wanted nor planned, so it was the bovine equivalent of the morning-after pill, although it wasn’t a pill and it wasn’t the morning after.

On this sunny, late autumnal morning when both vet and farmer had finished almost all of their routine jobs, there was time to chat about the present, and the future and to reminisce about the past.

I love looking forward, always with optimism and excitement but sharing past experiences and stories is almost as good. Especially when the stories come from a wise, old Yorkshire farmer.

We touched on the best (and worst) of the previous vets who had been on the farm over recent decades. Vic Bean featured top of the pile, which was only fitting because he was a magnificent vet and an amazing man.

“He came one day to see my sheep,” said the farmer. “They weren’t looking so good, so I asked him to have a look at them. He filled his pipe and puffed away, just looking at the way they ate and moved. After a while, Vic said he suspected liver fluke and would like to do a post mortem.” The farmer recounted, still visibly in awe, all these years later.

“And within minutes, without taking the pipe out of his mouth, he’d opened up a ewe which had just died, sliced into its liver and found some. ‘Look at them, they are still moving’, he said and I still remember that day. What a vet, what a man!”

I could only agree. I’d met Vic a few times. Once was outside the old veterinary investigation centre in Thirsk, at the start of my veterinary career.

We were both dropping off samples and we chatted in the car park outside. He was a veterinary surgeon with many years of experience and I was a novice junior. Yet he addressed me as an equal; something I’ll never forget.

More stories from the past quickly followed and the farmer recounted the time when he was young, when he had helped a friend, Bill Merrin from Nether Silton, whose colt needed gelding. Alf White, another master vet, came to do the honours.

“We got the horse and he put this great big, clumsy canvas bag over his head. Then, he poured some liquid – I think it was chloroform – into the bottom and he left the horse to wander around until it fell over, asleep. Then he said ‘Right, you and Colin kneel on his neck, to stop him getting up’. And that’s what we did.”

I could picture the scene. Although I have never used chloroform to anaesthetise a horse, I have heard many similar stories. I’ve placed enough horses under GA to know exactly the concern and the sense of drama.

“ ‘Are you nearly done up at that end, Vet’nary?’ I shouted,” continued the farmer.

“Not quite, why – is everything OK?” Alf apparently replied.

“‘Not really,’ I called from the head/neck end of the horse. ‘Colin’s fallen asleep!’”

Poor old Colin, attending to his task with fervour, must have got too close to the chloroform-filled mask and breathed too deeply, rendering him as stupefied as the colt.

I felt like I could (and should) have spent a few more hours chatting with this funny, old farmer and enjoying his stories.

But time was ticking on again. My phone was ringing and I had another job to do…

The Yorkshire Vet continues on Tuesday night on Channel 5 at 8pm.

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