Original subtitles

(scoffs) Dogs.

(Mrs Pumphrey) It was very good of you to call so promptly.

I do so hate it when Tricki's laid low with flop bot.

- So does he, poor little man. - Well, all better now.

I can't help noticing he's putting on weight again.

Well, perhaps just a very little. We do try to bear your strictures in mind.

- Say goodbye to Uncle Herriot. - (James) Goodbye, Tricki.

He's always so grateful.

- Well, he is a very, um… - Angela. There you are.

- Morning, Aunt. - Have you had breakfast?

- No, not yet. - But you must eat, darling.

I'll get Hodgekin… Oh, this is Mr Herriot. My niece, Angela Mortimer.

- How do you do? - Good morning, Miss Mortimer.

And what are you going to do today, darling? Have you got any plans?

I've got my Dylan Thomas. I think I'll finish that.

But that's what you did yesterday.

Really, it's too absurd, here in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales.

It's all right, Aunt. You mustn't worry about me.

- It was nice to meet you, Mr Herriot. - Yes. Bye, Miss Mortimer.

- Hodgekin will get you what you want. - It's all right, Aunt. It doesn't matter.

Oh, dear.

- Young people. - Yes.

(to Tricki) Come along, my darling.

Now, then, Tricki. Off you go and play.

Oh, it's so sad.

I've said to Angela, take a leaf out of Tricki's book - he's got such a zest for life.

- Is she ill? - No, not really.

Well, she was engaged to be married and the young man broke it off.

I think it's her pride that's hurt as much as anything.

- Yes, probably. - Isn't that Lady Hulton's Lucia?

Yes, I'm just taking her back to her now. We've had her in the surgery.

Oh, Tricki-Woo will be disappointed to have missed her.

- He's a great one for the ladies. - Yes.

- Right, well, bye, Mrs Pumphrey. - Oh, bye. Thank you again so much.

It's a pleasure.

Hodgekin?

Hodgekin?

Hodgekin?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Mr Herriot! Mr Herriot!

- Hello, Hughie. - Hello, Mr Herriot.

- Something I can do? - No, no.

Charlie says, "Get over there, Hughie, and stop Mr Herriot," so l…

- So you have. - Aye, that's right.

(man) Now, then, Mr Herriot.

- Hello, Charlie. - What brings you up this way, then?

I'm just bringing this old girl back to Lady Hulton.

Oh, aye. Did you give her some treatment, then?

- She's had an operation. - Operation, did she?

Nothing fancy, but she needed it.

- Why was that? - She was uncontrollably promisc…

It was impossible to keep her away from male dogs.

And one solution is to remove the ovaries. Well, in extreme cases like this.

Oh, extreme?

It's an uncommon ailment, this, but you dealt with it?

Well, it's fairly easy.

Aye.

Does it have a name, this condition she had?

Well, the Latin word for it is "nymphomania".

Mania? It would have to be some sort of madness, wouldn't it?

- (James) That's right. - (man) What's up?

Oh, Mr Herriot's fetching the bitch back to Lady Hulton.

- She were a nymphomaniac. - Oh.

- But he's fixed it. - He's got a tremendous gift, Mr Herriot.

Aye, my dad telled me.

Hey, you recognise this little lad? This is Bert's son - Bert.

- You're Bert's lad? - Aye.

- Bert? - Aye.

- Hello, Bert. - Hello.

Well, we won't keep you here. We'll let you get on your way.

Thanks, Charlie. Good to see you.

- Ha! - You wouldn't laugh at a dumb animal?

I am not laughing, Mr Collins.

This accumulation of tartar has given us quite a problem.

- It's no laughing matter, bad breath. - No, indeed it's not.

It's no laughing matter hanging around out there for the best part of an hour.

I normally have forty winks about now.

I have to get up at four o'clock in the morning to get my rounds started.

- Mr Collins… - That's not funny either!

I'm perfectly sure we're all extremely grateful for our morning milk.

I'm sorry you had to wait, but take heart - my brother is back in the practice today.

So we should be very efficient for the next few weeks

if you have occasion to call on us again.

Well, I hope I don't, that's all I can say.

(tyres screech)

Put your foot down, you'll make Silverstone before the light goes.

- Racing a bit, was l, James? - A bit.

- It's the joy of being back. - How was Stewie?

Oh, mad as ever. So is his practice.

Into every life. When did you get back?

10:30. I had one cup of coffee, then Siegfried presented me with a list of calls.

- We have been pretty pushed. - You're not, not this morning.

I've got Grimsdale and the rest of them, you've got Lady Hulton and Tricki-Woo.

Not to mention a dark, sad-eyed beauty into the bargain.

- Mrs Pumphrey? - No, no. Her niece.

I'll catch up with you later, Tris.

I've not seen many like him these days, veterinary, not these days.

No.

Not these days.

Well, now, Mr Wilson, it's just as you suggested - fistulous withers.

And I rather wish I'd seen it earlier, but there we are.

We'll clean it up.

And we'll try some gentian violet, see how that serves.

You know best, veterinary. He hasn't been too wick for a day or two now,

but he'll be all right with you to tend him, I'm sure.

Don't you fret, old Bob.

Well, I don't know how it's been with you, but we've been frantically busy lately.

Aye, I know the way of it. You're talking to a carter now, Mr Farnon.

(Siegfried) Agh!

Now, don't you be so silly! Settle down, you daft thing!

(laughing) lsn't that the funniest thing?

- It's the funniest thing. - What?

He always does that when he sees this here hanky.

He's got a right thing about it.

Why, then, did you take it out?

I forgot. But he didn't, though.

- It's the funniest thing. - (boy laughs)

(Mr Wilson) It's the funniest thing.

I feel such a fool.

(James) Yes, it's rotten luck, Siegfried.

I hardly got a wink of sleep last night.

One little bone, that's all. Just one tiny bone.

Would you like me to sign it for you?

- Don't be juvenile, James. - Sorry.

Who's the letter from?

It's from Stewie Brannan, thanking us for Tristan's services.

Tristan and you will have to deal with the calls for the next day or two.

That's all right. It's lucky he's back. Still in bed, is he?

Amazingly, no. Mrs Pumphrey rang during breakfast and he shot straight out.

- Isn't that extraordinary? - Extraordinary.

- There is one ray of sunshine in all this. - Oh, is there?

I didn't want Caroline to forego the holiday with the children,

so, as in bygone days, I'm going to be domiciled here for a while.

Oh.

Yes. Good plan.

Well, natural existence.

Fed and watered by Mrs Alton.

Living over the shop. What could be more perfect? What does Mrs Alton think?

Oh, Mrs Alton's perfectly happy about the whole thing.

- Why shouldn't she be? - (phone rings)

I'll get it.

Well, all's well that ends well.

Yes.

Is there another cup in there, Mrs Pumphrey?

Why, yes.

I think, you see, that we should talk about Tricki-Woo's diet.

His diet? Of course.

Going by that bone that I removed from his throat,

it's obvious he still loves his chicken.

Oh, he does, yes.

But I notice, too, that there's a bowl of cream in here.

Cream?

Oh, yes.

I'm not sure Uncle Herriot would approve.

But you wouldn't tell him? I mean, it's only an occasional treat.

And we couldn't swallow anything solid this morning.

I do understand this morning is not a normal morning for him,

but he is looking distinctly overweight.

Perhaps I could write out a diet sheet for him?

I do so hate to deny him his little pleasures.

I think I could devise something that wouldn't be too much of a shock for him.

He has been rather short of breath recently.

I'm only thinking of his best interests.

Oh, I know. And it's very kind of you to take so much trouble.

Hello, Aunt. Hodgekin said you wanted me.

Yes, Angela. Come in, come in. Better late than never.

This is Mr Farnon. Mr Farnon the younger, another of our marvellous vets.

My niece, Angela Mortimer.

- How do you do, Miss Mortimer? - How do you do, Mr Farnon?

Is that cup for me?

Yes, if you can bring yourself to swallow anything.

Let me, Mrs Pumphrey.

That's very kind of you.

- Cream, Miss Mortimer? - No, thank you, Mr Farnon.

Tristan, please. Tristan.

(Mrs Pumphrey) Mr Farnon.

Tricki-Woo's diet.

Sorry, um… I think what I'd better do, I'd better pop back another time.

I really do have an awful lot of visits today.

I'll write out a detailed seven-day regime, Mrs Pumphrey.

- I could pop it by… - Whenever you like.

Well, very soon, anyway.

Good, good.

- Have you seen much of the countryside? - No.

Angela hasn't been feeling much like it.

- But I think I should. - Oh, you should, you should.

We'll see what we can do.

- Come on, get her in. - Get up there. Go on.

- Righto, Mr Herriot. - Thanks a lot, Charlie.

No, I can't… I can't push it upwards.

She don't seem to be bloated up much yet.

No. Well, you're right about one thing, Charlie.

- It's a potato. - (Hughie) You were right, then.

- I was. It's a tater, Hughie. - (Bert) ls that bad?

Oh, you leave it to Mr Herriot, lad. He'll sort it.

I can't… I can't quite reach it.

All right, Charlie, just hold her head really firmly, would you, please?

- Bert, take a hold here. - Thank you, Bert.

Yes, I shifted it. Smashed it, you see?

By God! Did you see that, Hughie?

- You mean she's better now? - Cured, at a stroke.

Blooming miraculous!

(cow belches)

- Aye, she can belch again now. - It's nothing. It's not a new technique.

Just like that. Crack! And the job's done.

- Takes some beating, that. - Aye, the speed of it, eh?

Crack! Just like that.

Feel these muscles, Bert.

Oh, aye. There's some iron in there, all right.

- Can I have a feel? - Look, I know I'm not particularly… agh!

There'll be some power there, all right.

Speed, skill, power. That just about says it all, eh?

I'll have another look at her, then I'll be off.

Anything you say, Mr Herriot.

Ah, tranquillity.

The calm of the evening, a subsidence of care and worry.

It's a magical time of day, Mrs Alton.

And the effect is enhanced by a glass of whisky.

- What on earth is that? - Courtesy of the cottage hospital.

Aren't you forgetting there are two of us dining tonight?

No. Mr Tristan's playing darts tonight. Says he'll eat elsewhere.

Oh. Oh, well.

At least it'll stay quiet and peaceful here.

- 7:30. I'm nearly ready in the kitchen. - Ah, good. Splendid.

(man on radio) ..the title "Country Gardens".

(Music "Country Gardens" plays)

(music gets louder)

(Music classical music blares from next door)

(Music "Country Gardens" gets louder)

Supper.

What?

(shouts) Supper!

- Oh, what's this? - Pardon?

What…

(classical music stops)

- What is this? - That, Mr Farnon, is a nourishing soup.

- Looks rather thin. - It's a light chicken broth.

I'm not going to give you anything that might inflame your foot.

Mrs Alton, I've broken one tiny bone in my foot.

It's not going to be inflamed by a square meal.

My way with invalids is to give them nothing that might excite their blood.

My blood is already excited by the level of noise in this house, and by acute hunger.

Now, would you mind turning that thing down a bit?

What… Is there a main course?

- No, there is not. - But there's a pudding, surely?

Oh, aye. Prunes.

Look, how about a spot of sightseeing sometime?

- Yes. I should, I know. - Or even a picnic?

Have you got time? I know you're very busy.

Oh, I'll make time.

All right.

I'll telephone.

All right.

Well, goodbye.

Goodbye.

- Oh, Mr Farnon. - Yes, Mrs Pumphrey.

Thank you so much for Tricki-Woo's diet sheet.

I was wondering if you'd be free to come for drinks this evening?

Well, yes, that would be lovely.

It's for a very special reason. And we're inviting Uncle Herriot too.

Oh.

Off you go.

Yes, well…

Goodbye.

There goes Mr Herriot. Go and stop him, Hughie.

- Thank you, Mr Herriot. - Hughie.

Charlie wants a word. We saw you coming and he says…

Yes, right you are.

- Bert. - Mr Herriot.

- Now, then, Mr Herriot. - Now, then. What's on your mind?

Something's come up. I'd like you to see my mother.

- Pardon? - It's her budgie.

- What's the matter with it? - It's dead.

Ah. Well…

In mysterious circumstances.

I'd like you to come and sort it out.

Well, I'd like to help, of course. I don't see…

I wouldn't like to let her down.

I mean, we promised we'd get you round for a chat.

Yes, all right. Well, I'll try and pop in. Can't promise when.

Ah, that's good enough for me.

Here, write down address and telephone for Mr Herriot.

Don't fret, Mr Herriot. We shan't keep you long.

Now, nice and neat.

It's no laughing matter, veterinary.

No, no.

Very uncomfortable condition, nephritis.

Passing water day and night, she is. It's no laughing matter.

No, absolutely not.

It's quite common now, inflammation of the kidney in cats of her age.

Now, I'm going to give her some pills as well.

And that should sort her out.

Hope so, veterinary. I'm having to clean up after her. It's not funny.

And I'm having to cut back on my time in the garden.

I don't like to do that just now.

So not only are you a keen animal lover, you're a gardener as well?

- Any reason why I shouldn't be? - Absolutely none at all.

I'm a single man. I can do what I like.

Yes, of course you can. Now, where on earth…

- Oh, excuse me. - Ah, James.

James, James, you must comb your hair.

You're invited to Tricki-Woo's, to drinks.

Am I? Well, I can't just at the moment.

(clicks fingers)

(mouths)

Sorry?

What?

Oh, never mind, James.

Ah, here it is. Under my eye all the time.

Now, then, Mr Collins,

I want you to give her one in the morning,

and one in the evening,

and bring her back to see me in three days, can you do that?

So you won't consider visiting a sick animal at home then, veterinary?

Mr Collins, in the midst of your preoccupations,

I can understand that it escaped your notice that I am not wholly mobile.

But I can promise you, I'm not wearing this cast for the sake of fashion.

- I only asked. - I only refused.

Goodbye just now, Mr Collins.

- He's a bit difficult, isn't he? - Impossible is the word, James.

Siegfried, what was that you were trying to tell me about a hamster?

Hamper, James.

Now, look here. I'm back on wartime rations here.

And a good bulging hamper from Tricki-Woo to his dear Uncle Herriot

would make life a good deal sweeter, even tolerable.

- You'd like me to go, I take it? - I'd like you to telephone Mrs Pumphrey.

I'd like you to go for drinks, go for anything, just obey her every whim

until that hamper is forthcoming.

- Desperate man, are we? - We are a desperate man, James.

All right. I have to telephone Helen first, though, of course.

Well, you tell her it's an emergency, now.

(laughs)

I think Tricki's sulking because of his new diet.

New diet?

Mr Farnon took him to task for being overweight.

Oh, yes, I see.

Well, I have to say, Mrs Pumphrey, that I approve wholeheartedly.

Would you like to help yourself to another sherry, Mr Farnon?

- Sorry? - (Mrs Pumphrey) Another sherry?

Oh, no, thank you.

Mr Simmons?

Now, then. I've invited you here because I need help with a difficult problem.

What particular difficult problem did you have in mind, Mrs Pumphrey?

The midsummer vegetable show.

We desperately need the services of an impartial judge.

Every year I'm asked to organise it,

and every year there are complaints about biased judging.

The entrants are so fiercely competitive, you see.

Tempers can run very high.

So this year, I thought simply get a well-respected local personage

who will be entirely beyond suspicion.

Oh, no, no, no. Not Mr Simmons.

One of you two.

Oh.

I don't want to throw a spanner in the works,

but neither of us are very expert on vegetables.

No.

But that's just it. It's precisely all the local experts that everyone considers so unfair.

And then it came to me in a flash.

Who could be more respected than our three marvellous vets?

I had invited your brother too tonight, but I understand he's incapacitated?

- Yes, but I'm sure that he'd love to… - I think that's a splendid idea.

Never mind, never mind. One of you two will do very well.

Now, Mr Simmons, the floor is yours.

Mr Simmons works in my bank at Hargrove,

and he's devised a most cunning plan to see that everything runs smoothly.

Mrs Pumphrey… (clears throat)

Mrs Pumphrey was good enough to take me into her confidence

regarding her worries about creating a new and completely confidential system

for marking the entries of the show.

My solution is colour-coded, invigilated, numerical substitution,

both simple and foolproof.

Instead of a card with the individual gardener's name on it,

there will be only a number, the judge having no knowledge

of which vegetable comes from which entrant,

until he compares the number with a list of names, which he won't see

until after the judging is complete.

Complete.

Isn't that brilliant?

Oh, yes. Marvellous.

And if all that weren't enough, I won't even choose the judge myself this year.

- You won't? - No.

Tricki will. Who could be more impartial?

Could you bring him over here, darling?

All right, Aunt.

(Mrs Pumphrey) Thank you, my dear.

Now, my darling, think hard before you make up your mind.

Who is to be our judge this year?

Which one? Uncle Herriot or Mr Farnon?

Which one? Off you go.

Oh.

(sighs)

- Goodbye, dear friends. - Bye, Mrs Pumphrey.

I didn't stand a prayer, James.

Anyone would think you didn't want to judge the show.

Anyone would be right. I've got a reason for not wanting to make a fool of myself.

- The divine Angela? - Is it that obvious?

- Tris, knowing you as well as I do… - No, James, this is different.

Yes. Yes, of course it is.

No, I mean this is really different.

I feel, I don't know, protective towards her. All I want to do, and you can grin, James,

but all I want to do is to make her laugh again.

Oh, come on, Tris. All you want to do is to enfold her in your manly arms.

Oh, yes. That too.

(Tristan) You can drop me just down here.

- (James) You aren't going to Skeldale? - Uh, no.

(James) Siegfried's going to be very upset, you being AWOL all the time.

Mrs A's invalid diet and Siegfried's grumps

are the bread of sorrow and the waters of affliction.

- I need cakes and ale. - You're a coward, Tris.

I can't think whisky's good for that foot of yours, Mr Farnon.

And I can't think it makes the faintest difference, Mrs Alton.

- Just me alone again for dinner, I see. - Yes. (clears throat) Yes.

Are you all right, Mrs A?

Yes, thank you.

And what have you prepared for this lucky individual this evening?

- A coddled egg and a light salad. - Just one?

No, there's two if you can manage them.

- Is it Mr Herriot? - That's right, Mrs Baxter.

It was nice of you to telephone. Charlie and t'others are waiting for you.

- Oh, are they? - Don't stand outside there, then.

Thank you.

- He's here. - Now, then, Mr Herriot.

- Mr Herriot. - Hello, Mr Herriot.

Hughie, Bert, Charlie. I didn't expect you to be here.

Oh, I wouldn't miss this, Mr Herriot.

No. It's about your budgie, isn't it?

Not that one. That's my new one.

Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Well, what about your old one?

- I put him in t'dustbin. - Well, where is the dustbin?

- They emptied 'em this morning. - Ah.

Right, well, if the dustbin men have been,

it's going to make it rather difficult to do a postmortem in the usual way, you see.

Still, I can always draw what conclusion I can from the living, can't I?

Excuse me. Excuse me, Hughie. Thanks.

Well, he's looking a bit dejected, isn't he?

Perhaps he's not settled in yet.

Well…

Um…

This is a very small room, isn't it?

'Ey up, Charlie.

Forgive me, Mrs Baxter, but there's a very strong smell of frying.

- Do you do a lot of frying? - I mostly fry things, yes.

Yes, and always with the windows closed, like this?

- Yes, I don't like draughts. - No, of course not.

And do you always keep your budgerigars in here?

Only since my husband died.

- I like the company. - (James) Of course.

I couldn't swear to it, but it might have something to do with all your fry-ups.

- Really? - Yes, really. I've only read about it,

but small birds have died in rooms where there's been a lot of frying, you know.

Would you credit it? Straight to the heart of the matter.

Frying fat gives off a chemical, apparently.

Now, I'm making no promises about your new budgerigar,

but keep him in another room, cos it probably isn't too healthy for him in here.

Well, I'll try it. I'll put him in t'parlour,

at least when I'm doing my cooking.

There.

Thank you.

What did I tell you, lads? That's magnificent, that, eh?

- He's a knowledgeable man. - Aye, knowledgeable, all right.

In just one week, we get the nymphomaniac,

the tatered cow and now the stifled budgie.

It's a blooming hat trick. (chuckles)

(Mrs Baxter) Go on! Get off with you! I can't do with you under my feet all day!

- Oh, get a move on, Charles! - All right, all right, I'm going.

- I want a private word with Mr Herriot. - Mr Herriot, I just want to say thanks.

- It were a privilege. - Oh, it's a pleasure.

We'll see you later, then?

- Later? - Aye, the vegetable show.

Wouldn't miss that.

- No, good. - Goodbye, Mrs Baxter.

- Goodbye. - Off you go!

- Now, then, Mr Herriot. - Yes, Mrs Baxter.

My late husband was taken very sudden, like.

- Oh, I'm sorry. - What I want to know is,

would it have been t'cooking fat that did it for him too?

They said it were pneumonia, mind you, but I didn't know about frying then.

Look, Mrs Baxter, I'm not sure it was the frying pan fumes that killed the budgie,

but I am positive they had no effects on your husband.

Good.

Well, goodbye, then, and thank you for calling.

It's a pleasure, Mrs Baxter.

Though there is considerable improvement, Mr Collins,

it's possible at her age the condition may never go…

- Right, then, I'll be off. I'm in a rush today. - Oh, fine.

- (cat meows) - I hear a vet is to be t'judge at t'show.

- Wouldn't be you, would it? - No, it would not.

Well, that's something to be thankful for, I suppose.

(glass breaks, Mrs Alton cries out)

Mrs Alton, what happened?

I've had a turn.

- I feel funny. - Oh, you poor thing.

Here.

You're not well. You must lie down. I'll call Dr Allinson.

- No, I don't want to put you out. - Don't be so silly. I insist.

Put your arm around. Hold on to my shoulders. All right?

Here we go. I'll get you to…

You just take it… Agh!

- Oh, I'm sorry, Mr Farnon. - Don't be so silly.

Don't be silly, Mrs A.

Come on, we'll do it together. All right.

- Oh, dear. - Are you all right? Hold on tight.

I'll get you to your bed just as soon as…

Agh!

Where in heaven's name is Tristan?

- Spectacular, isn't it? - Yes.

It's a wonderful lunch too.

Well, it was Hodgekin's doing.

He's a funny old chap.

We must do this again.

And perhaps we could have dinner one evening?

Yes, perhaps.

I wish I could stay up here longer with you,

but I'm afraid there's a call I promised to make.

I wonder, would you mind coming to this farm with me before I dropped you off?

Of course, if you'd rather not… It's just it would save time. I mean…

I'd love to.

Ah, you nearly laughed then, admit it.

- (man) You're late, Else. - Yeah.

Thank you, thank you.

I'm very happy to welcome so many familiar faces.

As you know, the entries this year are all marked by number and not by name.

And for this, we have to thank Mr Simmons,

who has generously given up his time to allocate the numbers.

And he is the only person who knows to whom these numbers refer.

And your judge today needs no introduction from me.

Ladies and gentlemen, James Herriot.

(applause)

Thank you. Thank you very much.

Well…

- I'll just go down and… - Please.

Thank you.

- Thank you. - (Mrs Pumphrey) Oh, Tricki.

Tricki, come along.

Come along, my darling.

Mr Wilson.

He seems a bit livelier. Perhaps it's the rest he's had.

- How's Mr Farnon? All right, is he? - He'll be out of the plaster soon.

I gather there's a certain handkerchief we're to be wary of?

(Mr Wilson) No need. I haven't got it on me, not today.

Not too close, Angela. We don't want you in plaster too.

I'll stand here.

- Mrs Pumphrey. - Oh, are you ready, Mr Herriot?

- No, actually. I've got a bit of a problem. - Oh? What is it?

Well… Mr Simmons, would you excuse us for a moment?

- Feel free, Mr Herriot. - Thank you.

All the entries look absolutely identical.

From what little I know, you can't tell one from the other.

- Yes, I see. Let's think. - (Tricki-Woo barks)

What, darling?

Yes.

If they all look the same, it won't matter which one you choose.

- Clever boy. - Mrs Pumphrey…

And Tricki says he has a very special prize for you afterwards.

So on with the judging.

- He's responding very nicely, Mr Wilson. - Are you sure you're not hurting her?

Him. No, no, he's fine.

- He's very sweet. - Agh!

(Mr Wilson) Settle down, you foolish lad!

- What happened? - (Mr Wilson) Steady now. Steady.

It were your scarf. It were your scarf that did it.

(chuckling) Well, I never.

I'd finished anyway. No damage done.

(Angela laughs hysterically)

You're right, miss. Look at him, eh?

(Mr Wilson) It's the funniest thing.

(mouths)

- Have you finished? - Yes. I thought we could…

Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?

Mr Herriot will now announce the winners.

Mr Simmons, would you oblige?

Mr Herriot will now compare the numbers he holds

with the ones on the confidential list.

Thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, sorry to keep you waiting.

The winner in the cabbages section is Mr William Hodgekin.

(Mrs Pumphrey) He's never entered anything before.

(James) Well done, Mr Hodgekin.

While the winner in the young marrow section…

is Mr William Hodgekin.

It's a disgrace.

Not again?

(Angela giggles)

- Do you have to do that? - I'm sorry, I can't help it.

I wish I could stay on after I've dropped you off, but I'm afraid I must dash.

(laughs)

(angry murmuring)

And finally, the winner of the carrot section…

Mr William Hodgekin.

(weak applause, angry murmuring)

- It's a shambles. - I'm terribly sorry.

It's a fix!

There's been foul play here!

I mean simple cheating!

- Are you British? - You what?

Cos if you're British, you'll know how to lose like a man.

But it's a fix!

I hope you agree with me, you're going to lose like a man.

(man) I'm packing the whole thing in. I am, I'm packing it in.

Well, it's just one of those things.

I'm going to have a word with Hodgekin.

He should have told me he was entering.

No, no, no, missus.

Now look again.

Here's your onion and here's Mr Hodgekin's.

Now, this, this is never a quality onion, but this, this is an onion.

- Am I right, Bert? - Oh, aye. That's an onion, all right.

(angry murmuring continues)

- It's a shambles. - Amateurs, amateurs.

Never mind. It was much worse last year.

- Coming. - (doorbell)

I'm coming as fast as I can.

Don't go away.

Here we are. Now, who are you?

I'm so sorry, Siegfried. I left my keys behind in the rush. How is she?

Harry Allinson says she's got a severe throat infection and a fever. She's in bed.

- Oh, I am sorry. - I'm so pleased to see you, Helen.

- What have you given her to eat? - Soup.

- Just soup?! - What?

Oh, what on earth?!

Don't worry about anything in there, Helen.

Yes, soup, that's all she wanted, believe me.

- Now she wants tea. - Ah, yes, well, I'll make it.

Oh, that's sweet of you, Helen, thank you, cos I'm going out.

- Where? - I'm going to find that… brother of mine.

Bring him back to face his responsibilities.

Even if I have to put him in a bag and carry him!

Mrs A!

Mrs Herriot's back, she'll look after you. I'm going out for a while. I shan't be long.

Thank you, Helen. You really are an angel from heaven.

- Goodbye. - Bye.

Now, then, Mr Herriot.

Ah, Charlie, Hughie, Bert. All right?

- Hello, James. - Hello, Tris.

- Have I missed all the fun, then? - Yes, such as it was.

That's a pity. I needed something to cheer me up.

Oh, marvellous - a hamper. Delivered personally by Hodgekin, I suppose?

No!

Uh, yes. It was from Tricki, actually.

Tricki? Still, I'm sure it's full of wonderful things. They always are.

- (quietly) Not now, Tris. - Well, I was only…

- (carapproaches) - What the…?

He shouldn't be driving with that foot.

You will come back to the surgery this very instant, without a word of an excuse!

- You're absolutely right, Siegfried. - I refuse any longer… what?

I was on my way. I was just thinking how I'd been neglecting you,

and I think there is something to be said for the old bachelor life.

- Shall we go, then? - Here, you can have this, Tris.

- Your need is greater than mine. - That's awfully decent of you, James.

The hamper! My God, that's exactly what we all need at this moment.

- James, you're a marvel. - Ah, that's all right. I didn't really want it.

Tristan, would you be kind and put that in the back of this car, please?

I want it under my eye at all times.

- You'll be driving looking backwards? - Just put it in the back, Tristan.

- Well, bye. - Goodbye, James.

- I'll see you back there. - Yes, Siegfried. Bye, James.

Bye, Tris.

Just wanted to congratulate you, Mr Herriot.

- Pardon? - Aye, it were tremendous.

- Aye, it was. - It were tremendous.

- Ah, well… - We know you fixed it.

And we've got some clues as to why. But how? How did you manage it?

It were tremendous.

Charlie, it was an accident, honestly.

All right, no matter. Your secret's safe with us.

We just want to say we think you're a marvel.

- Don't we, lads? - Marvel.

(Bert) Marvel.

Thank you very much.

(Charlie) Aye.

Away you go.