All Creatures Sick and Well

Thirsk and Sowerby

James Herriot's books about being a veterinarian in the Yorkshire Dales were well-loved in my family as I was growing up. They directly contributed to a determination of being a vet someday for several years of my young life, and while that dream eventually faded into other pursuits, the stories have stayed with me. His books are as comforting to me as old friends, so naturally I felt that a trip up north to see the Dales couldn't be missed.

My Friday train tickets to Thirsk and York had been purchased in advance, so when my slight sore throat began to turn into a rather painful one on Thursday afternoon, I went into home doctor mode. I tried gargling with salt water, thick applications of Vick's vapor rub, cups of hot water with honey and lemon, plenty of fluids and bed rest--it all went into action. But it was too little, too late. At 6am Friday morning I purchased aspirin and lozenges and hauled myself to King's Cross station--feeling like this was all a very bad idea indeed.

Undoubtably one of the grandchildren of a patient of Herriot's

The station in Thirsk is over a mile from the town centre. When I am at full strength, that would be no distance at all, even in the light rain. However, sick Deborah moves slower and complains a lot more--even with no one around to hear her. I had drawn myself a map of the route thankfully, so I found the James Herriot museum with only a slight detour into Sowerby (which turned out to be a charming neighboring town). 

The dispensary

Thirsk is the town where Alf Wight (James Herriot) came to work in the veterinary practice of Donald Sinclair (Siegfried Farnon in the books), although he called it Darrowby. I really enjoyed the museum and the helpful staff there. They said they appreciated that my own extensive JH knowledge came from his books rather than the TV show which was quite popular over here.

Intense concentration was needed for this calving; I think it might be a breech presentation.

York

From Thirsk, I journeyed south to York (or Old York, as I like to call it, now that I live in the New York). I was told that I would like York because, "it's one of those old English cities that Americans love." And of course I did love it. Every building is perfectly ancient and have plaques announcing this or that event that happened in the 1st or 14th centuries by Richard the III or Emperor Constantine. I wandered through the lovely museum gardens and the ruins of St. Mary's Abbey and decided that what my poor throat really needed was some ice cream. 

Yorkminster

In my sickly state I decided that it was necessary to climb the tower of Yorkminster. Five quid and three hundred dizzyingly circular steps later, I was spent. The view was well worth it however, and I rewarded myself afterward with Yorkshire cream tea at Betty's tea house. Charmingly, York still has city walls that can be walked on--although they lost some of their magic for me when I realized that I would have to walk a half mile past the train station to get down from them. 

While I was wandering around York I learned from a pub sign that the England-Sweden game would be going on while I was en route to Liverpool and that my friend, who had offered to meet me, would be missing part of the game. He knew that of course, but had been too courteous to say anything. English boys are much more polite than their American counterparts it seems. As it was, the football match was tied 2-2 when he picked me up, and England scored (leading to their win) just as we were entering a pub and ordering Guinness (another remedy for my throat?)! 

very attractive English and Swedish fans prepare to cheer for their teams in the Euros