Chapter 15
Dorking - the great escape

To have chased cattle from the A24 and return them to their field is a task that should only rightfully occur once in any person's lifetime. that a second occurrence should take place some forty miles from the original is unfortunate to say the least.

As the nineteen-sixties turned into the nineteen-seventies Sue and I lived on a farm at South Holmwood, some three miles south of Dorking. The farm was a mile or so down a country lane that terminated in a road junction with a pond on the corner. It is at this pond that families gather to feed the geese and while away the hot summer afternoons.

One lunchtime the cows broke out of the yard in which they spent the winter and in which they waited to be milked. Their first excursion was round the manager's house where they succeeded in rutting the whole of his lawn. From there they moved towards the road. The first indication that I received of their escape was when my relief milker and neighbour saw them trotting past his window and phoned me. By the time I had pulled on my wellington boots half the herd had passed and was turning up the road to the A24. I managed to hold the tail of the stampede until two workers came and started to return the cows to their yard. I was then free to pursue the head of the herd. Slowly I overhauled them as we climbed the hill to the main road, yet I became aware that at that pace I would not get past the leaders before we reached it. Even if I could, they would be able to disperse over the unfenced cricket field and be more unmanageable than while confined to left and right by the road boundary hedges and fences.

One final effort might enable me to overtake them, but my legs were almost spent. I visualised the chaos that would ensue if they reached the A24 on a stretch where vehicles sped along the dual carriageway. Visions of carnage and twisted metal sped through my mind as I ran the race of a lifetime. Yet I was making no headway, and in fact was beginning to lag. And then I saw a sight for sore eyes; someone was cycling down the hill towards us. For a second I stopped, breathed deeply and called to him to get off his bike and shout and flap his arms. that would surely spook the cows, stop them in their tracks and reverse their direction of travel. it was a simple plan and thence would surely succeed. There was one flaw in it. He was petrified. He didn't get off his bike. He didn't shout. He didn't wave his arms. All he did was cycle into the ditch. Silently. Well, - silently at first. Then he shrieked as the bike stopped more suddenly than he did.

I am not sure whether it was this final shriek or more likely to my mind the sight of a person cycling straight off the road and into the ditch that stopped the cows, but stop they did. They are always inquisitive of the ridiculous. And in the few seconds that they hesitated I was able, spent as I was, to place myself between them and the main road. Soon afterwards help arrived.

My meal was cold but welcome when I arrived home.