Quotes from James Herriot

I can't bear it, Mr. Herriot. He was like a Christian was that pig, just like a Christian.

There has always been a 'and this is where I come in' feeling about a night call. And as my lights swept the cobbles of the deserted market place it was there again, a sense of returning to fundamentals, of really being me.

I freely admit that I have many times adopted Jim Oakley's precept of a "bloody good gallop," often with spectacular results. To this day I frequently learn things from farmers, but that was one time when I learned from a postman.

Siegfried once told me he had spent half a morning trying to stuff a uterus up a cow's rectum. What really worried him, he said, was that he nearly succeeded)

Old Herriot may be limited in some respects, but by God, he can wrap a cat.

Me dad used to say a strange dog would allus get a cow up." There were murmurs of assent from the assembled farmers and immediate offers of dogs. I tried to point out that one would be enough but my authority had dwindled and anyway everybody seemed anxious to demonstrate their dogs' cow-raising potential. There

I can't bear it, Mr. Herriot. He was like a Christian was that pig, just like a Christian.

And I could find other excuses to get out and sit on the crisp grass and look out over the airy roof of Yorkshire. It was like taking time out of life. Time to get things into perspective and assess my progress.

You don't find cows with names any more and there aren't any farmers like Mr. Dakin, who somehow scratched a living from a herd of six milkers plus a few calves, pigs and hens.

as long as a man can pay 'is way, he's got enough.

It took me longer than I thought and it seemed to me that the calf was beginning to lose patience with me because when its head was forced out by the cow's contractions we were eye to eye and I fancied the little creature was giving me a disgusted "For heaven's sake get on with it" look.

There wasn't much of her, in fact she must have been one of the smallest women I have ever seen—around five feet high—but there was a core of steel in her. She had her own mind and her own way of doing things.

own. I am sure that is what the family remembered best about me because of the way the mother's letter began. "Dear Vet with the bandaged finger …

As I say, I rather pride myself on this little expertise and even today my veterinary colleagues have been known to remark: "Old Herriot may be limited in many respects but by God he can wrap a cat." As

need nerves of steel to be a parent.

They had a toughness and a philosophical attitude which was new to me. Misfortunes which would make the city dweller want to bang his head against a wall were shrugged off with "Aye, well, these things

I pulled a packet of Cold Flake from my pocket. "Cliff, you're a marvel. Will you have a cigarette?" "It 'ud be like givin' a pig a strawberry," the little man replied

I have felt cats rubbing their faces against mine and touching my cheek with claws carefully sheathed. These things, to me, are expressions of love.

onto a heap, making a churned brown trail across the whiteness. 'Now then,' he muttered along the side of a half-smoked cigarette. He was over seventy but still ran the smallholding single-handed. He told me once that he had worked as a farm hand for six shillings a day for thirty years, yet still managed

There have been times in my life when, confronted by black and hopeless circumstances, I have discovered in myself undreamed-of resources of courage and resolution.

Looking back, I realise it was one of the bravest things I have ever done.

My mind went back to my school-days and an old gentleman talking to the class about careers. He had said: "If you decide to become a veterinary surgeon you will never grow rich but you will have a life of endless interest and variety." I laughed aloud in the darkness and as I got into the car I was still chuckling. That old chap certainly wasn't kidding. Variety. That was it—variety.

It was all that was left of a man's dream.

on the back of the chair in an attempt to ease my internal turmoil. My stomach was a lake of volcanic lava bubbling and popping fiercely in its crater with each additional piece of onion, every sip of whisky setting up a fresh violent reaction. Watching Granville at work, a great wave of nausea swept over me. He was sawing busily at the roast, carving off slices which looked to be an inch thick, slapping mustard on them and enclosing them in the bread. He hummed with contentment as the pile