In 2003 I went on a sabbatical. It was something the principals had decided on early in the new practice that we formed in 1998 with Stuart Burrough. I can’t recall the frequency, but the agreement was that each of the three principals, Pete A, Stuart and myself, would from time to time be awarded a three-month break from the practice, on full pay. An overseas trip in search of veterinary knowledge or skills which could be brought back to the practice was part of the deal, but it was meant to refresh and rekindle enthusiasm for the job.
When it came to my turn in 2003, I was already heavily involved in extending my knowledge and practice in dog reproduction. One of the top people in the world in that field was Professor Catharina Linde-Forsberg at the university in Uppsala, Sweden. I had already met Catharina at a three-day dog insemination workshop in 2000, also in Uppsala. She had offered me the chance to do further research, so I decided that that would be the basis for my sabbatical.
An added attraction was that our daughter Jane was studying advanced engineering geotechnics in Grenoble, France. And, to top it off, my good friend Neil Reid agreed to come to Scotland with me for a fortnight, studying malt whisky distilleries and golf courses. So it was lining up to be a pretty good trip.
Sweden had a further attraction for me. On my first visit I had met a delightful local who had spent some years in New Zealand. Claes Cedeström is a charming and gregarious companion, hugely travelled, well read and a keen sportsman. On the first occasion I had met him at a golf course beside Stockholm Airport when the AI course in Uppsala had finished. We played nine holes, then went for lunch in the clubhouse.
‘Will you have a beer?’ he enquired. I would, and in no time a pint, frosted and clear, was at the table. Then his arrived, a half pint. I didn’t say much, but I played very badly in the second nine, and Claes won the match easily.
A year later when Claes visited New Zealand I commented on that game and the fact he only had a half pint to my pint. ‘Oh yes,’ said Claes, ‘and yours was 7.5 per cent. Mine was light beer, 2 per cent.’ Thanks Claes.
Back on the sabbatical I spent a pleasant week at the university with Catharina and her colleagues. I have to say that there wasn’t a lot going on in the dog AI field that week, so I spent a bit of time in Uppsala, watching people go by. I came to realise that up to a certain point in a young person’s life their face is bright and open, the corners of the mouth turned up.
Then somewhere in the mid- to late twenties there’s a change. It may be to do with jobs, responsibilities, or having children, but there is a definite change to a more closed face, eyes less open, mouth turned down at the corners. It gave me food for thought.
When the week was up, I travelled on the train back to Stockholm and transferred to the Tullinge line where I was met at the station by Claes and his 17-year-old daughter Sophie, and off we went for a few days on their farm, south of Stockholm.
Then we took off across Sweden on a golfing trip. We played at some fantastic courses as we travelled west over several days, staying in hotels and backpackers. We moved into the mountains near the border with Norway, where we met Lapps, that nomadic group of people who own and herd reindeer, and after a week we passed over into Lillehammer. From there we drove high over the Norwegian mountains, bare and forbidding, reminiscent of our own Fiordland, and came down to the wonderful Sandefjord. It’s magnificent scenery, and the population is low. I felt very much at home.
Finally we drove back to Oslo through a tunnel 27 kilometres long, an experience in itself, and arrived at the house of Claes’ cousin Janna. She was a nice woman in her late forties, her husband a bearded Viking. We stayed the night in their home, with their four children from teenage down.
Klaus, the husband, was welcoming in a challenging sort of way. ‘From New Zealand, eh?’ he said. There was something about the way he said it that made me feel a bit less than welcome.
Klaus prepared trout, a small fish for each of us, beautifully cooked and presented. He poured each of us a drink, schnapps, small and powerful. We ate and sipped, the children very much part of the conversation. Their Uncle Claes was here, and his friend from far off New Zealand, and it was an occasion.
Then Klaus finished his schnapps. He reached for the bottle and poured himself another. My glass was finished too, and also Claes’, but Klaus either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. He finished that one quickly, then another, and a fourth.
The conversation around the table was humming. The children wanted to know about New Zealand, and Janna and Claes had a lot of family things to catch up on.
Klaus, meanwhile, had lapsed into silence. Clearly drinking schnapps was not something one could do at the same time as talking. He finished his sixth glass and suddenly spoke.
‘So, New Zealanders don’t like us killing whales, eh?’ He looked intensely at me, his eyes already bloodshot.
‘Oh, I’m not sure we should go there tonight,’ I responded. I certainly didn’t want an argument as a guest in someone else’s house.
‘What’s wrong with killing whales? Norwegians have always killed whales.’ His voice became loud, more insistent. ‘Norwegians would!’
‘Well, you have your beliefs, we have ours,’ was my feeble reply.
By now he was shouting. ‘It is our right to kill whales!’ he thundered. ‘What right have New Zealanders to stop us?’ He was working himself into a fury. How the hell had I got into this? How could I escape unharmed? I’m not afraid of a reasoned argument but this was becoming pretty difficult. The children had all stopped talking and were waiting to see what happened next.
Janna saved me. ‘It’s not right to talk to our guest like that,’ she admonished him calmly. ‘Now go to bed.’ And he did. He just got up and disappeared, without a word. In the morning we woke up late-ish and he was already gone, off to work.
As we drove off to see my own Norwegian friends, fly fishermen I had met at home, I mused again at what a rich and wonderful life my veterinary career had given me.
I’d been to places and met people I would never have met otherwise, and I was the better for it. I think.
The rest of the trip was great. Fishing in Norwegian rivers, meeting Jane in Grenoble and watching her come to grips with her postgraduate engineering work, in French. Finally, I spent a week with Neil in Scotland. We played golf in the mornings and visited whisky distilleries in the afternoon. Not the other way round.
I came home refreshed for a few more years of work. But I never forgot the Norwegian dinner. A strange and funny night where I got in the schtuck without saying anything at all.
