Away in a Manger - (3 Parts)

[Vetinari]

“It was Christmas Eve Babe, in the drunk tank....” the rough voice of Shane MacGowan bled from the radio and I pressed the buttons, edging the volume higher until the sound drowned out the howling of the wind that the noise of the engine hadn’t entirely masked. I could feel the pull on the steering wheel as the gusts hit the car and tiny flakes of snow were beginning to blow in from the North.

It was indeed Christmas Eve and the next couple of days loomed drearily ahead. I had never enjoyed being on call and especially not during the festive season, but this year, for the first time ever I was to spend the day itself alone. “Very sorry and all that,” my father ‘s voice had been sympathetic as he broke the news on the telephone, but his mother, my grandmother, had been taken ill and he couldn’t be spared and I could only offer my own sympathy before he had rung off, leaving me alone with this appalling feeling of emptiness.

The snow began falling more heavily, starting to lie in earnest. Its heavy flakes tumbled wildly in the gale, lit up in the headlight glare. I turned the car into the narrow lane that led to the little stone lodge house that I called home and drew to a halt in the rough parking place beside the window. I turned off the headlights and the darkness and howling wind surrounded me. Gathering myself, I shoved open the car door and bolted for the front door, seeking shelter under the small roof as I fumbled the key into the lock and pushed the door wide, slamming it behind me.

The room was cold. Grey ashes lay in the fireplace and I knew from experience that an hour or two lay before me until the fire was going well enough to begin to warm the place through. With a sigh, I fell to my knees before the grate and began to clean the fire out methodically with the poker, lifting out the grey dust with the small shovel and placing it carefully into the stainless steel bucket I kept there for the purpose. About halfway through I felt the sudden mounting of irritation in my nostrils and I turned to the side and sneezed heavily and uncovered onto the rug. I had been wincing for a few days now; my throat had been first dry and then irritated but had settled after that into a determined rawness that I knew heralded the onset of a cold. I had been fighting it for a day or two but I could detect from the feeling of heaviness in my head that things were beginning to develop. I rubbed my nose against my shoulder, the tickle subsiding for the time being and I began to place the paper and wood into the fireplace, setting a match to the whole and beginning, as it started to burn up, to place the coals strategically where they were most likely to light.

When it was burning satisfactorily I dragged myself upright and leaned for a moment on the mantelpiece, my head swimming slightly. There was an ache beginning behind my eyes and a shiveriness in my spine that had nothing to do with the chill in the room and everything to do with the viruses that were currently inhabiting my upper respiratory tract. After a second or two the room steadied and I made my way to the kitchen at the back of the house in search of something warm. There were vague thoughts of soup in my head but the ongoing lassitude prevailed. Sloshing some instant coffee and milk into a mug, I waited impatiently for the kettle to boil, hissing its contents into the mug and stirring jerkily. I took a burning gulp of the strong liquid before turning back into the living room, clicking on the television and slumping in front of the fire, which was at least burning brightly, if not giving off much heat as yet.

There wasn’t much on the television. I rejected Noel Edmunds and Mr Blobby in favour of the more peaceful carols from Kings. “In the bleak midwinter,” they sang mournfully as the snow fell outside my window and the frosty wind moaned in the chimney. Gradually, as the fire warmed up, and despite the caffeine in my bloodstream, I began to doze off.

When I reopened my eyes, the screen was showing only Ceefax. The heaviness in my head had progressed further, the pain in my throat was easing a little but the mild feelings of intermittent irritation in my nose seemed to have intensified; indeed I could feel the beginnings of a trickle of fluid and I searched the room for a box of paper hankies I was sure had been there. It was nowhere to be seen and even as I stood deliberating, I felt the wetness blossoming into full blown sneeziness and I stood there helplessly clutching at the back of the chair as the feeling overwhelmed me and I sneezed heavily twice; “Atchew! ..... Huh...AaSHEW!”

I sniffed hastily and put my fingers up to my nose which was threatening to drip. Pinching my nostrils shut I glanced even more desperately around the room. My eyes lit on the box on the mantelpiece and thankfully I crossed the room and grabbing a handful, held the soft bundle up to my nose with relief as its liquid contents overflowed. I could feel another sneeze brewing. Lowering the ball of Kleenex I stood waiting. It was taking its time. Thank goodness there was nobody there to watch I thought as I stood hovering indecisively. I knew from experience that any attempt to prevent myself sneezing would only delay the inevitable but the waiting was frustrating. I sniffled slightly and something shifted high up, sending the feeling over the edge. “HaaSHOOO!” it was a huge sneeze which bent me double, draining and yet infinitely relieving. With another wet blow into the beginning-to-be.soggy hankie, I stood up straighter. Tossing the waste into the remains of the fire I quitted the living room and made my way to bed.

The bedroom was freezing. The only heating in the house came from the fire and although the chimney backed onto this room, the lack of double glazing made a mockery of any heat that propagated through. Flinging off my clothes, I dived into the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin and beyond. I lay there shivering under the heavy bedclothes. A glance at the clock told me it was just after midnight. After twelve and the phone hadn’t rung once. Maybe tonight, maybe just this once the Gods were being kind.

[count tiszula]

What a bleak midwinter; yet at least the narratrix can enjoy the wonder of a Christmas sneeze....

I would have advised her , firstly , to use yesterday's Telegraph to hold in front of the fire and cause it to draw. Secondly, to use the cook's matches she used to light the fire to tickle her lovely nose until inevitability cheered her up....

[Vetinari]

What a bleak midwinter; yet at least the narratrix can enjoy the wonder of a Christmas sneeze....

I would have advised her , firstly , to use yesterday's Telegraph to hold in front of the fire and cause it to draw. Secondly, to use the cook's matches she used to light the fire to tickle her lovely nose until inevitability cheered her up....

I think she'd be better cheered up if you went round and lit the fire for her and plied the Telegraph and matches yourself. Anyway onwards and downwards....

I awoke with a jerk and an automatic glance at the clock. Three a.m.! The phone was ringing. With a resigned sigh I stumbled out of bed, rapidly donned my thick towelling dressing gown, and swayed through to the living room, closing the door behind me to preserve the heat. In spite of the door a gale was still blowing through the crack underneath. I lifted the receiver with a reluctant hand.

“Veterinary surgeon, “ My voice sounded husky and I cleared my throat, already beginning to regret that I hadn’t taken the precaution of moving the hankies closer to the phone before answering.

“Hi, Arthur Nesbitt here. I have a ewe lambing.” the voice on the other end of the phone was warm with the lilt of a boyhood spent in Derry. It sounded as if it was smiling. I could picture him and his dark brown eyes, which always twinkled enticingly as he smiled, something he did often. His hair was dark and curled to his shoulders, his long, slightly mournful face was full of character. He was in no way classically handsome but my boss’s wife had once described him as “sex on a stick” and whilst I had winced at the statement, I couldn’t really disagree with the sentiment.

There was a silence on the line. He was waiting for my reply and yet I found myself unable to answer immediately: I needed to sneeze. I shook my head and rubbed my nose hard and after a moment I managed, in a somewhat strangled tone, “OK, I’ll be out shortly.” I hoped dearly that he would end the conversation there, just hang up the phone so I could find relief without embarrassing myself.......It wasn’t to be.

“Would you have a couple of bottles of penicillin in the car you could spare? I could do with a couple if you’re coming.”

It was a fair question. If I hadn’t enough in the car, it was better that I went to fetch the drugs from the surgery before going to the farm, but right now my breathing was starting to become ragged and any more speech was surely impossible until the itching was relieved. Time stretched out and I hung there in limbo as the silence deepened.

“Are you still there?” the voice sounded puzzled, as well it might, I thought inconsequentially as I stood there frozen in immobility.

At last there was an upsurge of sneeziness and my nose erupted with an embarrassingly loud “HRrrAASSHHew!” I clutched at my nostrils for the second time that night. “Excuse be,” I groaned, feeling a blush start to my cheeks as embarrassment swept through my body.

“Bless you,” his voice was still warm, he sounded if anything concerned. “Are you OK?”

“I’b fide!” The rasping quality of my voice and the intensifying congestion gave the lie to my statement but he swallowed it politely and only replied that he’d wait for me in the house, ringing off without saying goodbye.

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If anything, the storm had intensified. Snow lay thickly on the road, building up in rapidly forming drifts which slewed the car sideways if I hit them with any speed at all. The needle on the speedometer barely crept over thirty throughout the longish drive to the farm, which lay up a deep winding valley, delightful and green in the summer with a meandering stream running sweetly among tall trees, but treacherous in winter due to the tunnelling of the stormy winds which gusted over the grey stone walls with savage ferocity. As I drove I was forced to make frequent recourse to the box of hankies that I had placed on the passenger seat. I spent at least half my time driving with only one hand on the wheel and on three occasions I had agonisingly to close my eyes to sneeze violently. I drew into the farmyard with a feeling of relief at having arrived in one piece.

The wind was biting. I stood at the back of my car and shivered convulsively as I stripped off my warm jacket and woolly jumper and pulled on my calving overall over my shirt sleeves. Previous experience had taught that anything more than shirt sleeves underneath the gown only meant that I couldn’t get the sleeves rolled far enough up for effectiveness but I cursed the stupidity of having forgotten to put my bodywarmer in the car. There was a burning feeling beginning in my chest that was adding to the breathlessness that the biting wind was already producing. Hastily I dug in the box for the lambing ropes, a pair of long plastic gloves and a bottle of lube and trotted quickly over to the farm door, leaning heavily on the doorbell.

It was answered almost immediately. Arthur stood there in the dim light of the hallway. “Come in a minute while I get you a bucket of water,” the slow smile and gorgeous burr invited me in. Arthur stepped smartly out of the room and I heard the gush of a tap running somewhere in the distant bowels of the house. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My nose was pink around the nostrils in a way that wasn’t reminiscent of the effects of the weather and my eyes looked glazed and shiny. I was conscious of black rings around my eyes and I spent a moment cursing in my head. I wished to hell that I hadn’t been called out that night and especially that I hadn’t been called out here; to Arthur. The grim awareness that in only a few minutes I was going to find my hands engaged and any further nasal attention was going to be strictly limited was causing its own trepidation. For the moment though the beast seemed to be slumbering. Perhaps...maybe just possibly I could get through this without humiliating myself entirely.

Footsteps approached along the passageway and Arthur reappeared with a look on his face that looked, if anything, sympathetic. He didn’t say a word however, but edged past me with the bucket which was gently steaming, though as he tugged the door open, the white cloud was whisked away instantaneously and huge snowflakes whirled in through the gap. I gasped as the freezing blast caught me but I turned anyway and followed closely behind Arthur’s broad back as he strode along ahead of me, seemingly oblivious to the devilish wind that whisked up the snow from the ground and hurled it in streams against the rapidly chilling skin of my bare arms. He stopped outside the heavy wooden door of an old-fashioned stone byre and clearing the snow from the track with his boot, slid it effortlessly aside, drawing it to behind us, closing out the winter night.

[Vetinari]

Just quickly, apologies to you Count because I know you are squeamish about things giving birth. I have described the process in some detail; I couldn't help it, it's terribly nostalgic for me ..... I loved that part of the job and miss it still. I'll write something better soon.

And without further ado, here is the third and final part.

The yellow glow of the low ceiling lights greeted us, suffused with warmth by a red bulb hanging low over a pen where two tiny lambs lay sleeping. The pen was strewn with clean yellow straw and I am sure if I had been able to breathe through my nose there would have been a sweet warm fragrance from the hay that hung in racks all around. As it was, I was breathing surreptitiously through my mouth while trying (probably rather hopelessly) to appear not to. I hated to appear weak and in general I could hide most of the symptoms of a cold when I needed to but this one seemed to be having a particularly disastrous effect on my nasal passages and well ...... if it began again when my hands were engaged ...... well I was trying not to think about that possibility. Arthur had turned to me again and was smiling that slow warm smile. Normally I would be trying to draw things out as long as possible but this time the only thought beating in my head was that the sooner I could get away the better it would be. I suddenly realised with a new intensity that I didn’t want to see that smile wiped away. To see it replaced with a look of disgust would be pretty well unbearable.

“Where is she?” I mumbled hoarsely and he pointed to a ewe that lay panting in the corner.

“Over there,” he led me across.

He carefully tied up her head to the railing and I knelt down behind her, pulling on the long plastic gloves and lubricating my arms generously. It was essential to treat sheep with great gentleness and I was always glad of my small hands when I had to work with them. Arthur knelt close beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine now and then as he restrained the ewe with a kind of tender firmness, his placid presence seeming to calm her as only a skilled stockman could.

There was a wonderful mix-up of lambs inside. I could feel their small heads and their tiny feet and at one point one of them nudged at my hand, lifting its little nose as if urging me to get on. Not that I needed any encouragement. Though the hay in the byre was fresh, nonetheless there was a certain amount of dust. I could see it, floating in the lamplight and I could sense it in my already tortured nostrils. With my hands engaged there was little I could do. Surreptitiously, all too aware of the sturdy shoulder that nestled against my own, I tried to breathe silently through my mouth, opening it a little as possible and turning my head away frequently as if to look at the other ewes lying peacefully in the straw.

With infinite gentleness I attached the lambing ropes securely around each miniature leg bone and carefully drew them towards me, guiding the slippery head into the passage. Everything was in position and without jerking I pulled on the ropes, easing the tiny ears past the pelvic inlet. Small hooves appeared, perfect and yet still soft, and I let go of the rope and took the little forelegs themselves. The ewe gave a final push and the head arrived and with a sudden rush the lamb surged forwards and arrived on the straw. I cleaned the mucus from its face and rubbed the ribcage which lifted suddenly under my hand as the lamb took its first convulsive breath before lifting its head and shaking it from side to side. It was always a wonderful moment, none the less special for the hundreds of times I had seen it. Standing up I pulled the little thing around to its mother’s head and she gave that loving bass chuckle that sheep only give at that time. She began to lick the newcomer and I went to the bucket and washed and relubricated my hands.

There was only one more lamb inside and it was already being pushed towards the pelvic inlet by the powerful contractions of the ewe. I could feel the feet in the passage and reaching on past I checked the joints: Both front legs. Carefully I worked the ropes over the hooves and up past the fetlocks, tightening them securely. Pulling in the wrong place could break the legs. I was feeling for the head, which had telescoped round and was being pushed off to the left, when I was suddenly reminded of my own problems. I could feel the beginnings of a trickle of liquid inside my left nostril, the one which was already most irritated. I knew from painful experience that it was quite likely to flood outwards at any second. The only possible helpful course of action might be to rub my nose on my shoulder but my calving gown was made of waterproof material. Not the best thing to absorb any embarrassing overflow. I tried to get my concentration firmly on the job in hand but that didn’t seem to help in the slightest. I could feel a drip, running inexorably downwards. In spite of the roughness of the waterproof material I rubbed my nose against my shoulder anyway and it helped not one whit. Turning my head away once more I sniffled sharply, horrified at the wetness of the sound that emerged. And yet worse was to come because the movement had redoubled the irritation and I recognised with a sense of impending horror that I was going to sneeze.

Even then it took its time. I fought against the inevitability with everything I had. I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, I breathed very slowly, letting the air trickle in through my mouth, I kept my head still, trying to tilt it slightly backwards, begging for the assistance of gravity to come to my aid. I even, at one point, pressed my hose hard against my shoulder and could feel that wetness around my nostrils and in painful shame I turned my head as far away from Arthur as I could yet I knew inexorably that the end result was not going to be in my favour. The viruses were in control and I cursed them and cursed the fate that had brought me here in this horrible disgusting state of vulnerability.

When finally I briefly turned my head to glance at Arthur I found his eyes on my face, watching with an intensity I found almost distressing. I must look dreadful I thought; glassy eyed and red nosed and with worse to come. And yet he only smiled at me rather ruefully. “Got a cold?” he asked gently. Well I could hardly deny it. I only nodded dumbly and to my surprise he didn’t draw away but lifted his hand and patted my shoulder gently. “Poor old girl,” he said softly.

“I’b sorry,” I whispered and he looked at me again wonderingly as he tilted his head to the side.

“Sorry? For what exactly?” his mouth quirked into a smile, the left side slightly higher than the right and one eyebrow raised.

“I’b goig .....” The irritation blossomed throughout my nostrils, spreading crazily until my breathing was ragged and uncontrolled and I sniffled desperately and inhaled again “Huh....” there was a pause and I hung there, tortured and horrified about the mess that was inevitable and yet unable to change anything or do anything to prevent it. I felt the movement first of his shoulder against mine and then I was only aware of his gentle touch, of the warmth and softness of cloth against my face as Arthur reached out and caught my sneeze in his handkerchief.

“Bless you!” he said. I could feel the scalding flush that suffused my face.

He must have seen horror in my eyes and he quickly said as if to reassure,“It’s OK, it was a clean handkerchief.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “It isn’t now,” I pointed out ruefully, my voice muffled by the cloth that he was still holding there.

“Well if I take it away now there will only be more mess,” he pointed out, “so now we’re here, I think you should give your nose a blow as well.” My eyes must have looked pleading but there was no disgust in his face, only compassion. As if reading my thoughts he said “You can’t help it. Now let me help, and then you can get on and get the rest of your job done with my good ewe.”

His fingers felt firm on my nose, and cupping his hand around the back of my head he instructed “Blow! There was nothing to be done but obey. I shut my eyes and blew cautiously into the red and white cotton, and I could feel his fingers press against my nose, closing off each side in turn. With the same gentleness he had shown the ewe, he cleaned my face and somehow it felt both humiliating and reassuring at the same time. There was something intensely intimate about the moment. And then it was over and his shoulder was brushing against mine again, his voice settling the ewe as if nothing had happened. Fighting to retain my composure I concentrated on the job in hand and reaching in, I drew the tiny head of the lamb into the passage and delivered the second miniature arrival in only a few moments. Feeling the chill of the air, it lifted its head as its brother had done and shook itself and this time it was Arthur who pulled the little body round to its mother and the deep pleased chuckling began again.

I stood up feeling suddenly weary and watched listlessly as Arthur bustled around, shaking out some new straw into the pen, bedding up the new arrivals, the first of which was already shakily trying to gain its feet. He nudged it back towards its mother and then turned to me.

“Will you come in to wash up?” I nodded tiredly and he made a motion as if to help me but I moved towards the door as a sudden wave of humiliation washed over me with the memory of the past half hour. Once I was clean I could get back into my car and make my way home and then ...... what? I would have to face him again sometime. I shrugged mentally. As he had said, it wasn’t my fault but why it had to be Arthur .... that I didn’t know.

Arthur himself seemed untroubled. His walk was just as deliberate, his actions unhurried as he turned on the tap and adjusted the heat, handed me the soap and indicated a towel on the heater. He disappeared and I took my time, enjoying the rush of the water and the steam which tickled my nostrils again and I sneezed into the sink unrestrainedly, glad to be once again without an audience.

When I regained the kitchen he was standing at the kettle and he turned and looked over his shoulder with that devastating smile.“Bless you!” he said. There was something about the way he said it that caused a warm blush to spread over my face and I felt confused as his eyes met mine but the water boiled and he turned away, fiddling with something on the counter and then pouring the hot liquid into a glass. He handed it to me and seeing my look of surprise he said “Honey and lemon with a good tot of Irish whiskey. I think you’ve earned it.”

“Thanks!” I said in surprise, shaking my head, dredging for something appropriate and not finding any words. I hastily drank in quick sips and the fiery liquid burned down my throat, warming me up from the inside. With a final gulp I swallowed the last of the drink and went to the mantelpiece to put the glass down. Arthur moved a little closer.

“Maybe you could thank me a little more appropriately....” he said in a teasing voice. I looked at him in confusion, trying again to dredge up something, anything that I could say but he only nodded upwards and my eyes followed his to where a bunch of mistletoe hung above my head. He moved the last step towards me and took me into his arms, his lips reaching for mine, speculatively at first and then more hungrily as I kissed him back. He pulled back for a moment and sighed with satisfaction. "I've been wanting to do that for a while," he said, adding "You looked so sad tonight that I couldn't bear it." He pulled me close and kissed me again and we stood there a long time until, perhaps inevitably my nose began to itch and I pulled away rubbing it furiously as he watched me, looking somehow or other .... almost amused.

“What?” I demanded.

“Well at least if I catch a horrible cold over New Year I know who to call to give me a hand with my sheep.” He gave a humorous shrug and pulled me once again to him and sniffling quietly, I leaned into the hard embrace and closed my eyes.

Fin.

[count tiszula]

Mmm; lovely things giving birth. Thank goodness this leads to our heroine having a really good sneeze into a hankie held by a sympathetic gent, and of course a really good blow ditto...

Though in my days on the road I would have been surprised if my customers had asked me to do their washing up. [Obviously being welcomed by a naked matriarch apparently trying to suckle a baby hedgehog was par for the course.]

[Vetinari]

Though in my days on the road I would have been surprised if my customers had asked me to do their washing up.

Of course not silly, you're a boy! Washing up is girly work

[High on Lullabies]

Finally got round to reading this, and I'm really glad I did Wonderfully descriptive writing and a touching story to go with it. I think it's beautiful. Thank you

[Nicole]

Gosh, how did I miss this? This is fabulous, Vet, really! Your writing is gorgeous...mmmm.... Arthur is sex-ay.

Love it! Thanks for sharing, my darling!

[TheCakeIsAlive]

Okay, 2nd try at commenting. As I managed to accidentally delete everything before posting (and that was after about a 100 things stopped me from finishing reading it at every attempt).

Beautifully described and ooh... lambing! *melts*

Very sweet and awesome story! Very much enjoyed reading it.

psst, is it really bad that it sort of reminded me of James Herriot?

[polychrome]

Very nice. Interesting story, I really liked all the technical details...unfortunately how you described the symptoms is *exactly* how I experience them, and blah I hate feeling that way! However, it's stunning how well you were able to capture them. Arthur sounds super sexy, although, I would have died from embarassment at the blowing into his hanky part. I guess that's the power of 1st person