Norman Beaumont shook his head. “No, Scott Fitzgerald.” I didn’t argue because Norman usually knew. In fact, it was one of the attractive things about him. I enjoyed having veterinary students seeing practice with us. They helped with fetching and carrying, they opened gates and they were company on our lonely rounds. In return, they absorbed a lot of knowledge from us in our discussions in the car, and it was priceless experience for them to be involved in the practical side of their education. Since the war, however, my relationships with these young men had undergone a distinct change. I found I was learning from them just about as much as they were learning from me. The reason, of course, was that veterinary teaching had taken a leap forward. The authorities seemed to have suddenly discovered that we weren’t just horse doctors and that the vast new field of small-animal work was opening up dramatically. Advanced surgical procedures were being carried out on farm animals, too, and the students had the great advantage of being able to see such things done in the new veterinary schools with their modern clinics and operating theatres.
