The Yorkshire Vet: A chance meeting revives memories of treatments you won't find in a text book

He worked as cowman for a herd just outside Thirsk at the time when my veterinary career had just started. What he didn’t know about cows was not worth knowing and I used every opportunity when visiting the farm where he worked to glean extra bits of practical knowledge. I had a thorough theoretical grasp of facts, medication regimes and illnesses of all types, but like many nascent vets, it was perfecting the practicalities that I craved the most. “For cystic cows, I allus reckon you can’t beat a PRID,” he’d say and new-vet-me would take mental note. He’d have top tips for fixing blocked teats- techniques that you’d never find in a text-book and persuasive ways to coerce a cow into an AI cubicle. In the shop this evening, it was great to catch up briefly and we reminisced over past times and previous bovine ailments.

In front of the spirits section, he pronounced proudly, “I once gave a cow a whole bottle of whiskey just like that one. She had eaten too much kale and an old vet from a practice in Wetherby where I used to work said the only thing that would help was a bottle of whiskey, so I poured a whole one down her throat.”

“And did it help?” I asked.

“No. She died immediately.”

Nowadays, Marcus’ cricketing and farming days are over, but he throws himself with the same enthusiasm into his new job and has a thriving taxi business.

“I need the cheapest bottle of wine,” he explained to me and the man behind the counter.

“Are you not working tonight?” I asked.

“I am, yes. But this is a delivery. Someone’s called me to pick up a cheap bottle of wine and deliver it to her house.”

Times have certainly changed. Local village cricket is pretty much a thing of the past, largely consigned to history. Many of the dairy herds around Thirsk have wound up- when I first practised there were around seventy within a ten mile radius; nowadays there are about four in the same area- and the farm where Marcus used to work now has a pair of robots rather than a cowman. It’s good for the cows and efficient but, of course, at the expense of a farm job. Marcus had made a successful, non-farming job for himself and judging by the width of the smile on his face, was enjoying it. (“I still miss me cows, though,” he would always admit).

“I hope your bottle of wine goes down better than the whiskey in the cow, Marcus,” I said by way of goodbye.

“Aye, so do I!”