thanks to my old friend Thys, an eccentric Afrikaner vet I had worked with on my frequent trips to South Africa while I was training. Thys had taught me always to insert my left hand into the cow, so that I could properly feel the uterus from inside.
‘Clarrie’s been one of my best cows,’ he said, ‘and I think I felt something when I checked her, so I’m hoping she’s in the family way again now.’
‘Clarrie?’ I said, eyebrows raised.
Tom looked sheepish. ‘I know it’s not the wisest thing to do to name them, but she’s a lovely cow, and she reminds me of Clarrie in The Archers – long-suffering and good-hearted.’
I laughed. ‘OK, Tom, let’s hope Clarrie is going to make you a happy dad again.’
I inserted my arm and felt her uterus. There was nothing there.
‘I’m so sorry, Tom, she’s not pregnant.’
His face fell. ‘Really? I could have sworn she was. Could you be wrong?’
I turned to him and said, ‘Well, I know I’m still freshly graduated, but I’m certain I can’t feel anything.’
His face fell. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I’ll give it a second go, just to make sure,’ I said.
Clarrie was none too happy by this time. She’d had enough of my arm up her rump and was trying to shake me off.
‘Hang onto her, will you, Tom? She’s getting frisky and I’d rather not be trampled on my first outing as a fully-fledged vet, thanks.’
After a second check I pulled off my gloves and turned to Tom.
‘I promise you, there’s no obvious foetus in there, Tom, unless she’s in the early stages, which I can’t tell without a scanner. Could that be possible?’
‘No, she should be well on by now. Let me feel.’ He inserted his hand into the cow. He wasn’t happy. ‘Oh, Jo, what a shame. This girl is one of my best yielders.’
His shoulders drooped. He knew it was time to send Clarrie to market. For Tom, as for all dairy farmers, with milk prices at an all-time low, hard-headed decisions had to be made.
He looked at me, his expression defiant.
‘I know I should let her go,’ he said. ‘But I’m not going to. Not yet. Clarrie has more than earned her keep until now. I’m going to put her out to pasture and give her a bit longer. She may fall pregnant next time round. She deserves another chance.’
I hesitated. He was making the decision with his heart, not his head. But sometimes we all need to do that.
I smiled. ‘OK, Tom, good call. Let’s hope she’s in calf again in a few months.’
He smiled, relieved. ‘Come on then, I think you’ve earned a slice of Mum’s apple pie.’
The following day my phone rang. It was one of the publicity crew from ITN Productions, asking whether I would be willing to do a few interviews to publicise Young Vets. This was a television series that had been made in my last year at vet college and it was about to air. Along with nine other student vets from my academic year at the Royal Veterinary College, I had been followed around on most of my work placements by a camera crew. Nerve-wracking at first (who wants to have their mistakes filmed?), within a couple of weeks the crew and I became friends and I barely noticed the cameras. In fact, it felt a bit odd, and even lonely, when they weren’t trailing me through every muddy farmyard, stable, operating suite and consulting room. When the series was completed the final shots were of our graduation, the 10 of us leaping in the air with joy.
I said I would be happy to give interviews. We’d been warned that this would be a necessary part of the process when we had first signed up for the series, but I couldn’t help feeling horribly nervous. What if I said the wrong thing? What if I made a fool of myself? Or I embarrassed vets everywhere with my comments?
Most of my interviews could be done over the phone, thankfully. At least that way the interviewers wouldn’t be able to see how nervous I was, and ITN could supply photos from a shoot we’d done with them. But I still felt distinctly jittery.
After our return from Cornwall it was hard to say goodbye to the family, and especially hard to say goodbye to Tosca, who was still not quite her old self. But that was when I had to go and start my first two weeks of locum work at Braxton’s so, waving goodbye to the family, I packed my things into my little car and off I went.
When I got back home after that first stint of locum work I felt absolutely exhausted. It was so good to be home. Mum was cooking a roast chicken for dinner, Dad gave me a big hug and I sat down on the sofa and burst into tears. I was looking forward to a couple of weeks at home now, volunteering at Folly Wildlife Hospital, before heading off for two weeks in the South African sunshine with Jacques – I couldn’t wait.
Tosca was still doing well. She was a little more frail than before, but she was still bouncing around and was happy to curl up beside me as I checked the statistics for my research project. During our final year at the RVC we’d all had to carry out a piece of original research; mine was on horses’ hooves, and whether wearing horse shoes was ultimately of benefit or if horses were actually better off without them. I’d had to photograph and measure the hooves of a lot of horses and I had put a huge amount of work into it, so I was delighted when my supervisor said he thought that what I’d produced was good enough to be published in a scientific journal. But before I submitted it I had to repeat the measurements to verify that my results – which came down in favour of horses not wearing shoes – were valid and reliable. So I had to painstakingly work through it all again.
Soon after I got home I had a visit from our local ITV news programme, South East Today. Young Vets was due to air in a couple of days and they wanted an interview. No sooner had I said yes than they confirmed a date and arrived, cameras in tow. We did an interview in the sitting room and then rushed off to the stables so they could show me with my two horses, Elli and Tammy. As they were leaving they said it would be on the lunchtime news that day. That was in two hours’ time.
At five to one I turned on the TV and sat down, a plate of cheese toast on my knee, to watch. I hadn’t seen the films of Young Vets and I still couldn’t imagine what it was going to be like watching myself on TV. It was a strange experience. I think it’s almost impossible to see yourself on film and not feel critical (why didn’t I tuck that lock of hair behind my ear and why do I sound so cheesy?), but it could have been worse.
The news clip was a taste of what was to come. Two days later the whole family sat down to watch the first episode in the Young Vets series. I only appeared in the introduction to the first one – I wasn’t given a solo slot until Episode Four – so I was able to enjoy watching the others. I grinned at Charlie, one of the friendliest and kindest people I knew, and then Grace, who could appear a bit ditzy but was ultimately an excellent vet.
As soon as the programme got underway the tweets began. I never did get used to reading Twitter comments from people who didn’t know me, but when the four episodes in which I had solo sections were aired, there were plenty of them to read. Only one was genuinely unkind and I realised I had been lucky – I could have been mauled. Most people had nice things to say about the programme and the vets.
On one morning towards the end of that week, Tosca seemed unwell again. I stroked
