Some more surprises were in store. One of the more unpleasant aspects of a veterinary surgeon’s life is the wide range of amazing smells that assails the nostrils – smells taken for granted by the experienced veterinary surgeon but which can come as a considerable shock to those who are unused to them. Alf had experienced plenty of challenging smells in the small animal clinics in Glasgow, but he was unprepared for the fresh olfactory experience that awaited him as he and Tom Fleming walked into a large knacker’s yard near Dumfries.
These establishments, now no longer in existence, disposed of fallen stock and unfit meat; being full of dead and decomposing animals, they were not the most edifying of places. Young Alf Wight had not been inside this one for more than a few seconds before he, quite spontaneously, vomited his breakfast straight out onto the floor. The smell that had hit him was quite unlike anything he had experienced, a mixture of decaying organs and the sickly sweet smell of fresh blood. Mountains of skins, bowels and bones loomed over him while a bright green piglet lying at his feet did little to ease the situation. His reaction was watched with mild interest by a slaughterman who was sitting on a carcass, happily munching at a large sandwich, a fat-smeared, blood-stained teacup in his hand. This man, wallowing amongst, possibly, every pathogenic organism known to mankind, was the picture of health.
His pink, shining face broke into a smile. ‘Dae ye no like the smell?’ he laughed. ‘Ah widnae worry, they all dae that when they first walk in here!’
Many years later, as a qualified veterinary surgeon, Alf would watch, with equal amusement, other young students struggling to come to terms with the bombardment of smells from a knacker’s yard that he himself by then regularly entered with nonchalance.
There was another veterinary surgeon with whom Alf saw practice during his final two years at the veterinary college. J. J. McDowall, a vet in Sunderland, was someone who played a very influential part in Alf’s life, both before and after his qualification from Glasgow Veterinary College.
During his regular visits to his relatives in Sunderland, he would stay in Beechwood Terrace with his Auntie Jinny Wilkins. Not only was her home very close to J. J. McDowall’s practice, but she used to attend his surgery with her dog, Bonzo. Alf, at her suggestion, enquired whether it might be possible to obtain some practical experience with him. This request, which was readily agreed to, began a friendship between the two men which would last for many years.
These were the days before the Veterinary Surgeons Act of 1948 which prohibited the practising of veterinary medicine and surgery by non-qualified people. Prior to this, students could work unsupervised among animals, and McDowall often left Alf to run surgeries single-handed. He wrote a letter to his parents in 1938 from Sunderland:
‘Down at the clinic (where Wight is in charge) I had to remove a tumour from a dog aged 12 years and after hacking away for a bit found it was attached to a testicle – so I had to remove the testicle too … a bigger job than I had ever tackled. I can tell you, I wished Mac had been by my side. I sent the dog away with a horrible wound and never expected to see it alive again. But, strange to say, it turned up for dressing two days later, bright and frisky and the wound beautifully clean. I felt immensely bucked up about it.’
At this stage of his life, while still only a student, he was experiencing the pressures and emotions that typify the veterinary surgeon’s day: the anxious waiting to know whether your patient is going to survive; the joy and satisfaction of a job well done. There can be no doubt that the Veterinary Surgeons Act is a necessary one. It is wrong that inexperienced people should work on animals without adequate supervision, and the Act was passed to protect the interests of the patient. Nevertheless, students in those earlier years certainly gained wonderful experience from being thrown in at the deep end.
Back in Glasgow, Alf spent most of his time studying. He was now in the ‘home straight’, with only the passing of Medicine and Surgery standing between him and a career as a veterinary surgeon. But it was not all work; some recreation was essential to break the long sessions of swotting he put in, secreted up in his little bedroom in Anniesland Road. He went walking and played tennis as much as he dared, but it was on Saturday nights that he and his friends would go to the cinema or go dancing in the big Glasgow ballrooms.
On a more cultural note, he frequently went to the theatre with his mother. Glasgow boasted a huge number, and the Regal, La Scala, the Playhouse and the Alhambra were theatres that Alf got to know well. It was here that he acquired not only an appreciation of classical music but, also, considerable knowledge of the subject. One of his greatest memories as a young man was hearing Rachmaninov play his Second Piano Concerto in a Glasgow concert hall. He and his mother who were seated very close to the stage, watched, spellbound, as the great man, crouching like a bear over the keys, played some of the most wonderful music they had ever heard.
Music a few rungs down the ladder of culture was to be heard at the veterinary college dances at Buccleuch Street on most Friday nights, and Alf regularly attended these throbbing sessions. The governing body of the college needed to turn a blind eye to the dances; if they had not done so, those riotous functions might well have been terminated.
Alex Taylor heard about the dances and asked if he could attend one. It turned out to be an evening he was never to forget. When Mrs Taylor learned that her son was going to the next vet college dance, she asked Alf, ‘I’ve heard that these occasions can be a wee bit rough, Alf, and I’ve heard that some rather odd women attend them. Now, Alex won’t get into any trouble, will he?’
He was quick to reassure her. ‘Oh goodness me, no, Mrs Taylor. It’s just a wee bit of a get-together with a few of the lads and then we just stroll up to the college to have a few dances before going off home. Don’t you worry yourself. Alex will be fine, just fine.’
He did not think it necessary to tell Mrs Taylor that this was also ‘freshers’ night’ which added that little extra spice to the evening’s activities. It began, as usual, in a public house in Glasgow. The place was bulging with students and Alex was soon enjoying himself. The noise was stupendous, with everyone laughing, including Alex, who seemed to be surrounded at all times by red, sweating faces. Any semblance of intelligent conversation soon melted away as the rate of consumption of beer and whisky accelerated.
Eventually, closing time was rung, and they were evicted noisily onto the city streets. Alex can vaguely remember Alf carrying aloft a lifesize cardboard figure of ‘Johnny Walker’, as the swaying column of students ascended the hill to Buccleuch Street. By this time, Alex’s mouth was hanging open and everything was a blur; it seemed that the whole of Glasgow was revolving before his eyes. The students decided to crash past the officials at the gates of the college to avoid paying the modest entrance fee. This was only partially successful as, in the ensuing fracas, Alex received a massive blow on the chin which laid him out.
This posed a dilemma for Alf. Here was his best friend whom he had brought to the vet college dance for the first time. It was meant to be a good night out with the lads but, instead, he was pole-axed. What was he going to do with him? It did not help that Alf was in a high state of intoxication himself and in no real condition to help anyone. The serene expression upon Alex’s face led his friend to suspect that the blow he had just received was not entirely responsible for his present condition – but he still had a crisis on his hands.
Suddenly, he had a burst of inspiration. The dance, as always, was taking place on the upper floor of the veterinary college and, in the yard below, he saw several long boxes filled with wood shavings. These seven-foot long containers had carried a supply of new microscopes and other laboratory equipment. ‘The very thing!’ thought Alf. ‘Let’s put Alex in one of those. He will be comfortable in among the shavings and I can keep an eye on him from up here.’