GOOD DEED FOR THE WEEK

Evening Star, Issue 25324, 4 November 1944, Page 9

GOOD DEED FOR THE WEEK

[Written by Mary Scott, for the ' Evening Star.']

It was one of those unpleasant October evenings; chill and gray, with a raw wind and gusts of icy rain. ' L said to the men when they came in tired and wet, " Have a cup of tea, but don't eat anything; we'll have dinner in half an hour." Those words wore to be thrown in my teeth two hours later. With the knowledge of a good fire waiting for them, they hurried out, to feed the bullocks in the home jiaddock, calling to me to turn on the first bath in five minutes. The only mercy vouchsafed to me that evening, was that I remembered to turn off that bath before I left the house.

Presently I heard a. jingle of chains from the shed and with a sense of foreboding called out, " What on earth ■do you want with the straining gear? " A voice answered with cold passion: " Going to pull a bullock out of the swamp." With a groan I removed the joint from the oven, strained the vegetables before they became a soggy mash, and, hoping for the best, put on heaVy boots and followed. Of course it had chosen one of tho worst spots on the farm. The swamp was narrow and very deep, and marks on the steep bank told their tale; the beast had been walking too close to the edge; the earth had collapsed, and now only his black and unpleasant head was protruding from the green slime. Impossible to work horses in such a spot, and so the only chance lay in the straining gear. It was now half-past six, and the men were tired and hungry. I could not return to the house and leave them to it. With a little shudder I tried to jump from stone to stone* of the ford; missed, as sank to my knees. Still, I knew my duty; although there was little a mere woman could do, she could at least help to adjust ropes, see that the steer didn't strangle, and make sympathetic noises at intervals. ;

He was a strong bullock, and had not 'been there long; if we could get him out before dark he would be all right, but he would drown during the night. However, it takes time to adjust straining gear,, find a stump or tree that will take the strain, and all the time the light was going fast. At last the gear was in order and a rope fastened under the bullock's jaw. Inch by inch he was drawn across the swamp; movement was almost imperceptible, and he made no effort ±o help himself, sulky as only a , bullock can -be when the world is against him. The trouble was that he had to be taken across the swamp, since this bank was too steep. The far one was bad enough, and it seemed to me impossible to get him up, or, if we did, to keep him from taking the backward step that alone would be necessary to put him in the creek again. However, across he came, ,a tiny tug at-a time. Things were beginning to look cheerful when the inevitable happened. The rope round his neck broke at the very moment when both men were testing it with their full weight. One took a startling sideways swoop down the steep bank while the other sat down in the swamp, less gracefully but much more forcefully. It was one of those moments when an_ experienced wife does not smile; neither does she speak, even sympathetically; she merely treasures the whole sceno in her heart, knowing that the time will come, not that evening perhaps, when it will be hailed yith immense appreciation by a family audience, _ including the two victims. By the time a new rope had been adjusted it was almost dark, and I had stumbled home, oozing mud at every step,\ to fetch storm lanterns and torches and take the opportunity to stoke up the fire and utter encouraging words to the congealing dinner. By the time I got back, half the steer was out of tho water, but the hind-quarters were still contentedly wallowing. But they got'him out. I merely stood by the straining gear (expecting the wire to snap at any moment, fly up in my face, and blind me for lire) and held a torch as one man worked it,

link by link, while it carried a strain that seemed impossible to ignorant eyes. But even this was nothing to the strain the bullock's neck was carrying. Watching it drawn up the bank, you felt convinced that it •would emerge a giraffe rather than a self-respecting black Polled Angus of rather superior type. By eight o'clock it was out of the swamp and reclining contentedly on the only flat piece of ground above the water. There it seemed quite happy to remain, apparently taking weather observations and finding them little to its liking. "If it gets up quickly it may go backwards; better pull it another six feet," they agreed. I had no idea that six feet contained 'so many inches, but at last it was done and the animal lay in a safer spot. But to get him to his feet—here we seemed to meet our Waterloo. Vainly we tugged

and pushed, put his legs in a more convenient position, attempted to tell him that the game was up. He lay, placid and inert. Then inspiration came. He was the greediest of all the bullocks; they would try the inducement of a bunch of hay. T was on the lower eide, and one of them shouted, " Don't get down there in case he should get up and go for vou." I should like to put it on record that I did not move; if I should Drove an inducement. I was ready to sacrifice myself. But it -was the hay he liked, not me. In the dark the men placed a bundle just beyond his reach. He snuffled, rose reluctantly to his feet, and ate it with maddening deliberation. By the time he had finished it was so dark that you could not see 10 feet ahead, but they placed a bundle further on and illuminated it -with the storm lantern, depending from the longhandled shovel. The bullock- Jooked up, started visibly at the sight of this glorious vision, and moved on, snatching eagerly at the hay while we watched with all the satisfaction of those who have provided a banquet for starving children. - The scene-had the fantastic effect of some mediaeval play—the lantern above, the ox placidly munching, the sluggish water reflecting the light, and on the bank three shivering creatures watching ■ hungrily while they regretted those biscuits that had not been provided with their cup of tea. It now seemed to me thatNthe beast creation had had its day, and it was time to rememher mere human beings, so I went home to the dying fire and frozen relics of my dinner. As I was doing brisk things with a frying pah (anathema to the intelligentsia, hut a very presenthelp in time of trouble) the men came in, mud to the thighs, to tell me that the bullock had suddenly decided to cross the ford and walk up to join its friends on the,flat land above. It had been calm and unhurried to the last, and entirely undamaged by its adventure. I said, soothingly, " Splendid. The bath is run on. Let's forget all about it. I'll turn on for the news."

. . . But I had mistaken the time. A voice spoke sternly, adjuring us all to remember that this was Animal Week, and we must do our best for the beasts. I switched it off. We had done our good deed for the week.