When I felt 'a bit like James Bond in Casino Royale' - Julian Norton
Once upon a time, it was quite customary for vets to socialise over dinner, tea, coffee or proper drinks out of hours. As a student and later as a newly qualified vet in Scotland, I enjoyed cups of tea late into the evening at the house of the on-call vet, as I waited excitedly for some veterinary action. Calvings and prolapses were my favourite. The more senior vets were less excited, their vigour having been slowly eroded over the years, but nevertheless they were always ready to rush out for an emergency.
Calvings and prolapses were my favourite. The more senior vets were less excited, their vigour having been slowly eroded over the years, but nevertheless they were always ready to rush out for an emergency.
A post-work pint was on the cards every now and then when I started work in Yorkshire a few months later. It was a good way to catch up on cases and interesting clients. Sunday lunchtime was another occasion to meet up. It was standard practice for the young vets, often without family close by, to be invited around to the partner’s house for lunch. It worked well for everyone. I’d always volunteer to do any calls that came in during or just after lunch. It only seemed right. Not only did it repay the free lunch, but it helped me develop experience and the older vet could relax on the sofa whilst watching the football or rugby as his Sunday roast was digesting.
On one occasion, I was attending a charity dinner on a Saturday night for a local animal rescue with my boss. He was on first call and I was the back up. We were fortunate to have Fred Trueman giving the after-dinner speech. Not only was he a superb cricketer and a skilful after-dinner orator, but he was also adept at raising huge amounts of money for worthy charities. He’d acquired at least one of his dogs from this local centre and did his best to support their work. Just after he stood up to talk, the first fund-raising round of “heads or tails” having been completed, the beeper beeped. There was a cow with milk fever, just outside Thirsk. It needed a vet.
“Don’t worry. I’ll go and sort this one out,” I volunteered. I was the junior vet and it seemed my prerogative again. I’d come prepared with some spare clothes in case of this scenario- I didn’t want to turn up cow-side in my dinner jacket!
An hour later, the cow was standing up again and I was clean and re-dressed in my black tie. I returned to the hotel and thence my seat, a bit like James Bond after his hiatus during the card game in Casino Royale. “I wish I’d gone to see the cow,” my boss whispered, “I’ve just spent a fortune on this game thanks to Fred.” It was said in jest but many a true word has been spoken like that.
We had another vets’ dinner recently. Five vets went for a pizza, in our local Italian restaurant in Thirsk. It sounds like a parody of a Famous Five book, but it wasn’t. In our practice, we’d had some help from Jimmy, our fantastic locum from North of the border (regular readers will remember him). His final week, the last before he retired, seemed the perfect chance to arrange a get together. Most of us could walk home and anyone who couldn’t had arranged a lift, so there were plenty of glasses of Montepulciano consumed. We covered many topics relevant to the modern veterinary world, reflected on the changes and recollected and reminisced over past times. Jimmy regaled us with hilarious anecdotes about times gone by. And it brought back happy memories of good, old-fashioned veterinary work. And long, laughter-filled chats with colleagues late into the evening.