The Real James Herriot (35 page)

This casual approach to his fame by the local people was illustrated by an incident that remained etched in his memory. In 1974, when Alf had four published books to his name, BBC Television cameras descended on Thirsk. They were there to film for the ‘Nationwide' programme – and the object of their attention was James Herriot and his meteoric rise to fame. The film crews were there all day. Zoom lenses homed in on him as he calved cows, cameras were held inches from his face as he drove from farm to farm, and the premises at 23 Kirkgate were festooned with all the latest in modern technical equipment and what seemed like miles of cable. It was a long and tiring day.

It was well into evening surgery when the director finally said to Alf, ‘Mr Wight, would it be possible – just to round everything off nicely – to interview one of the interesting old characters that you talk about in your books? Can you think of anyone?'

‘There happens to be a man in the waiting-room who would fit the bill perfectly,' replied my father, pleased to be able to take a break from the exhausting schedule. ‘His name is Mr Hogg, an engaging chap, and a well-respected breeder of sheepdogs.'

Not only was Mr Hogg, a farmer from nearby Kilvington indeed, something of a character, he was also a good talker. He revelled in his appearance in front of the cameras, and the director got more than his money's worth.

When the interview had finally ended, the farmer sidled up to the
director and whispered quietly into his ear. ‘I 'eard that yer wanted ter talk to a local character. Is that right?'

‘Yes,' replied the director.

Mr Hogg's voice sank to a whisper. He pointed a soiled finger towards Alf. ‘Yer should 'ave a word wi' Mr Wight. 'E's a very interestin' feller!'

‘Oh yes?' said the director.

‘Aye! In fact, Ah'll tell tha summat!' He put his face even closer to the director's ear. ‘Don't let it go no further, like, but … just between you an' me … Ah've 'eard 'e's written a couple o' books!'

In tandem with the literary success, there were many happy occasions in the first half of the 1970s. In September 1973, Rosie was married and twelve months later it was my turn to leave the family home. I was thirty-one years old and I think my parents were pretty relieved that I had finally taken the plunge. Having been living at home for almost seven years, they were beginning to think that I was going to be a permanent resident.

EB01BodyTextLineSpaceOne of the happiest events occurred in May 1973 when our beloved football team, Sunderland – against all the odds – beat Leeds United in the FA Cup Final. This, the most coveted prize in the English game, had last been won by Sunderland way back in 1937.

Alf travelled to Wembley with his old friend Guy Rob, and I well remember the smiling, swaying figure staggering back home that Saturday night. In 1990, he wrote about that memorable day in a newspaper article:

‘When the referee blew the final whistle at Wembley and I found myself dancing with my arms round a distinguished-looking gentleman in a camel coat who was a total stranger, I felt that from that moment on I could die happy.'

Alf derived enormous pleasure and satisfaction from his literary achievements, but nothing would thrill him more than watching that tremendous victory for the red and whites.

There were other less happy events. In June 1972, Joan's brother, Joe Danbury, died in hospital following a protracted illness. This distinguished and good-natured man was liked by everyone and his death was a severe blow, especially to Joan.

Then, on the last day of December 1973, Alf's great friend and colleague, Gordon Rae, died. Despite his dedication to physical fitness, Gordon had developed severe arthritis in both hips, followed by a series
of heart attacks. His death was felt keenly by both Alf and Joan. Their weekly Thursday outings to Harrogate were a little darker without Gordon's open and laughing face. He was one of the most likeable men Alf had had the privilege of knowing.

At his funeral, Alf and Joan recalled their impecunious days of the 1960s when, unable to afford the cost of dinner out to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary, Gordon and Jean Rae had saved the day. As Alf had also just had his 50th birthday, he was asked where he would like to spend the occasion. ‘The Double Luck Chinese restaurant!' had been his immediate response. The occasion was to be modest, but both enjoyable and delicious – and one that would, for ever, be fondly remembered by Alf and Joan.

Joan's mother, Laura Danbury, who had lived with us for so many years, outlived her son, Joe, but by only three years. In the final twelve months of her life she was confined to a nursing-home in Ripon. She was almost blind and my wife, Gillian, used to read her extracts from my father's first books. The old lady would lie back in bed and listen attentively to every word that was said. She always thought the world of her son-in-law and she loved his stories as well.

Alf, in return, had a great regard for his quiet and gentle mother-in-law who, even a day or two before her death, had the complexion of a young girl. He often said to me, ‘Before you think of marrying someone, have a good look at her mother. More often than not, she will turn out to be like her!' Perhaps he had gazed long and hard at Laura Danbury before marrying Joan all those years ago in 1941.

Another less than happy event occurred in 1975 when Rosie divorced her husband, Chris Page. She moved back to Thirsk with her baby daughter, Emma, and her life soon began to improve as she began work as a doctor in general practice in the town. She received enormous help from her parents in raising Emma who spent most of her childhood in the company of her grandparents. The four of them spent many holidays together, the majority of them in Alf's, and Rosie's, favourite surroundings – the lochs and mountains of north-west Scotland. When Emma was older, they travelled abroad on holiday, but the magic of Scotland always had a special place in their hearts.

One of their favourite haunts was the Ardnamurchan peninsula, the most westerly point of the British Isles. This is a quiet and lonely spot but, when the weather is kind, it is an area of haunting beauty, with magnificent white beaches, and views out towards the islands of Rhum,
Eigg and Skye. Alf had always loved the wild and lonely places of Britain, and each time he stood on the beach at Sanna Bay, staring across the sea to the mystical blue peaks of the Cuillins of Skye, he felt a particular thrill that no other place in the world could give him.

This was a peaceful retreat where he felt a million miles from the media pressure. He was always grateful that his fame as an author, rather than a star of the screen, meant that he went largely unrecognised. He was, therefore, somewhat surprised one day, while on holiday in Scotland, to be approached by a man.

It was in 1986 and the book
James Herriot's Dog Stories
had recently been published. On the jacket of this book is a picture of him with his Border Terrier, Bodie, and Rosie's yellow Labrador, Polly. The man walked up to him and said, ‘Excuse me, but wid ye be, by any chance, James Herriot?'

‘As a matter of fact, I am,' he replied, ‘but how on earth did you know? I didn't think that my face was well known?'

‘Oh no, it wisnae you I recognised,' continued the man. ‘It wis the twa dugs!'

Alf Wight's face, especially in the earlier years of his success, may not have been known to many but, in 1973, just as the Herriot band-wagon was gaining momentum, his fame was to receive a boost which would ensure that his name would become familiar to millions more. A film based on his books was going to be made. This would be followed by a second one, and a television series which would be shown all over the world. James Herriot, the reluctant celebrity, was soon to become a star of the screen.

‘You know Simon Ward, the actor who played young Winston Churchill in the film we saw recently?' my father said to me one morning in 1973.

‘Yes,' I replied.

‘Well, he's going from strength to strength,' he continued. ‘He's going to play another famous person in his next role.'

‘Who's that?' I asked.

‘Me!'

Within six months of his first success in America, the idea of turning the best-selling books into a film became a reality. The film, called ‘All Creatures Great and Small', was sponsored by Reader's Digest and was made originally for American television. It was released in this country in the spring of 1975.

The idea of seeing himself and his friends portrayed on the big screen thrilled Alf. ‘Just think of all those famous stars performing
my
work!' he said. His feelings at the time were ones of pride mixed with incredulity. Apart from Simon Ward playing himself, Anthony Hopkins, who later was to become a major international star, played Siegfried, Brian Stirner was Tristan, while the part of Helen was taken by Lisa Harrow.

During the shooting of the film in 1974, we visited the film sets on several occasions to watch the actors at work. Alf felt a twinge of disappointment when he learnt that the chosen location was the North York Moors rather than the Yorkshire Dales, but this did little to dampen his excitement as he watched, almost disbelievingly, his past come to life before his eyes. He had no desire to become involved with the production of the film. He approved the scripts but declined to act as veterinary advisor – a job taken on by a colleague from York, George Sutherland.

Alf was especially delighted with the performance of Anthony Hopkins, who brought out the warm and effervescent nature of Siegfried perfectly. He thought that Simon Ward, too, was ideally cast as the slightly bemused young vet, pitched into the company of so many
singular characters. He was intrigued by Lisa Harrow as she bore a marked resemblance to Joan in her younger years.

These were heady days, but unfortunately not everyone approved of the way they were depicted. After visiting the film set near Pickering with Alf, Brian and their wives, Donald Sinclair declared he was not happy about his portrayal. Never was the unpredictability of ‘Siegfried' more vividly illustrated than at that time.

One morning, shortly after they had been up to watch the shooting of the film, I walked into the office at 23 Kirkgate to find my father seated, ashen-faced, at his desk. It was obvious that something had upset him deeply. He turned to look at me and his voice trembled as he spoke. ‘Donald is going to sue me, Jim!'

His words rendered me speechless for several moments. ‘Sue you? Why? What have you done?'

He stared out of the window as he often did when grappling with his feelings. ‘He does not approve of the way that he has been played in the film. I knew that he didn't like the way that he came over in the books, but I never thought that it would come to this. After all we've been through together!'

I felt a surge of anger and disbelief. ‘I would give my right arm to be shown to the world as Siegfried Farnon,' I retorted. ‘He is portrayed as a generous and warm individual, an interesting and fascinating man. His unpredictability shows up, but we all know that that is exactly what he is like!'

My father said nothing, but I was fired with indignation and continued to vent my feelings. ‘You have been a great friend and support to him for years, and he threatens to
sue
you? And it's no good his saying that the way he has been described is exaggerated, just ask any of the farmers round here! You have
under
portrayed him if anything. If he tries to sue you, I'll be the first to jump on the stand and give the real facts!' My words tumbled over each other as I let him know exactly how I felt. Like my father, I have never been outwardly aggressive, but Donald's threat infuriated me – especially as I had rather envied his being portrayed as he had been.

My father held up his hands. ‘Just calm down, will you, Jim? I've been thinking about this for some time. Why do you think that Donald is such a peerless character? I'll tell you why – it's because he doesn't realise he is! It's all very well everyone else having a good laugh at his extraordinary behaviour but he genuinely doesn't believe that he is
eccentric. I think perhaps he feels I'm making fun of him and it's understandable that he's upset. You know what he's like, he changes his mind with the wind direction. It may all blow over so don't say anything to him, all right?'

I realised that my father, who knew his partner as well as anyone, was probably quite right, but I had my final say. ‘Donald should feel proud to be associated with such a memorable character as Siegfried Farnon!'

This flare-up from Donald had been brewing for some time. Three or four years previously, when he had first set eyes on
If Only They Could Talk,
he had remained tight-lipped. This was in striking contrast to his brother's reaction. Brian was delighted to be known as Tristan, and discussed his new role enthusiastically with Alf whenever they met, but in all the years that I knew Donald, I never once heard him speak about the books of James Herriot.

Alf did. The only time that he ever heard his partner refer to his work was when he said to him, one day after reading the first book, ‘Alfred! This book is a test of our friendship!'

This had upset Alf, but now his greatest fear had materialised – that his writing would not only hurt someone but that he would be taken to court over it. Even worse, it was one of his oldest friends who was raising objections.

I remember him saying to me at the time, ‘I have lain awake these last two nights wishing that I had never written the bloody books!'

The threat of legal action from Donald was a risk that the film company had had to take. At the outset, he had refused to sign a licence issued by the producers, Tallent Associates of New York, allowing them to ‘make any changes in, deletions from or additions to any account of my life and to fictionalise and dramatise the account as the producer may deem necessary'.

Brian had signed his disclaimer without a murmur but Donald had felt differently. In his opinion, it would give the producers a free hand to depict him in the film as they wished, and for a man who resented his part in the James Herriot phenomenon, his reluctance to sign is hardly surprising. He had been upset when the producers risked the consequences and had gone ahead without his agreement, but when he saw the portrayal of himself on the film set, his long-felt, simmering feelings of disapproval boiled over.

Alf acted quickly. He immediately telephoned not only Brian, but
their sister, Elsa, who lived in the south of England. Having explained the situation, they both offered Alf their full support, agreeing that the depiction of their brother was not exaggerated in any way. Elsa was a great fan of the Herriot books and was so indignant that Donald was objecting to the character of Siegfried that she warned her brother forcibly that there would be dire consequences should he attempt to take the matter further. Whatever she said appeared to work and filming continued.

Donald exploded again the following year, when he read some of the reviews of the film which described Anthony Hopkins' performance as the ‘eccentric bachelor' and the ‘excitable Siegfried', but never again was the threat of litigation to cloud the relationship between the two men.

In Donald's defence, I firmly believe that he would never have actually sued my father. He was always a man whose next move was impossible to predict and, despite this confrontation over his portrayal as Siegfried, he always had a deep respect for his partner.

In all the time that I knew Donald, I never really understood how he felt about the publicity surrounding the ‘Herriot explosion'. Shortly after his threat of legal action, he and Audrey were present at the end-of-film parties that everyone enjoyed with the actors and producers, and they seemed to be thoroughly at ease.

In the following years, when thousands of tourists invaded the surgery, Donald would frequently take it upon himself to give them a guided tour of the premises and the old garden. Was this the same man who had confronted his partner about the books and films which he said he disapproved of so strongly? The inimitable Siegfried Farnon was every bit as unpredictable in real life as James Herriot had shown him to be.

After this episode, Alf trod very warily when writing about Siegfried, toning down his character considerably in future books. I thought this was a great shame and I told my father so at the time. I had always reckoned Siegfried to be the pivotal character in the books, one whom the many Herriot fans had grown to love. Tom McCormack, of St Martin's Press in New York, agreed. He wrote to Alf in 1974:

‘I think you can honestly tell your partner that the million American readers who have come to know him through
All Creatures
are immensely fond of him. Next to James and Helen, he is easily the favourite character in the book. Surprisingly, his combustibility is a much more attractive thing than any blandness and sobriety that might
replace it … I'd urge strongly that the American edition be allowed to retain the lively and explosive Siegfried we've all grown so fond of.'

Throughout their years together, Alf was always the driving force in the practice to whom Donald often turned for advice, even on personal matters. There was no real need for him to bow to Donald's wishes in any way but, at the back of his mind, he felt a stab of guilt. I remember his saying to me at the time, ‘We all have a laugh at old Donald and his ways but perhaps it's a bit different for him, being on the receiving end of it all?'

Alfred Wight had upset one of his oldest friends and he was going to see that it did not happen again. From then on, the character of Siegfried was considerably played down in the books.

One thing that softened the blow a little for Donald was that he, Brian and I received a small percentage of the money from the film royalties. This was a legal measure to avoid tax, my father arguing that we had contributed towards providing the material on which the original stories were based. The taxman did not allow any substantial amounts to filter down to us but, nevertheless, it was a welcome addition to the yearly budget. Alf felt that any amount, no matter how small, was better in the pockets of his friends than adding to the already considerable sum that was fattening the purse of the Inland Revenue.

This injection of cash was repeated with the next film, and we received regular little cheques right through the television series into the 1980s. As a newly-married man, I was highly appreciative of this extra money, and Brian, too, was delighted to receive these welcome boosts to his economy, as a letter written to Alf in May 1980 reveals. The style shows that he had changed little from those fantasising days of his youth:

Salutations Schistosoma,

I have just received a simple printed letter from David Higham and his limited Associates, enclosing another simple cheque for £597.38.

A blessing on you, kind and noble sir – this means that I and my kin can revel in the hot groceries once more and I can indulge my craving for Tetley's Bitter Ale to my belly's content.

We must meet again soon, to taste the dishes of Cathay, so nobly served in Wetherby Market Place.

Yours as ever,

Wolf J. Flywheel

The first film received good notices and a second one was planned. This one, called ‘It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet', was shot in 1975 and had its Gala Première in London's Shaftesbury Avenue on 8 April 1976.

Reader's Digest again sponsored the film and the producer, as for the previous one, was David Susskind. This time, to Alf's delight, the film was shot in the Yorkshire Dales around his most favourite areas of Wensleydale and Swaledale. Apart from Lisa Harrow who played Helen once again, there were different actors playing the main characters. John Alderton – already popular with the British public for his many appearances in ‘Upstairs Downstairs' – took the part of James Herriot. Colin Blakely played Siegfried but, in this film, there was no Tristan character.

While John Alderton provided a more forceful James Herriot, with a flash of humour always evident, Colin Blakely's role as Siegfried was more subdued than the portrayal by Anthony Hopkins. Although he brought some wonderful comedy to the part, there was hardly a trace of the spontaneous eccentricity that was the hallmark of the real man. This was partly because Alf insisted on some changes since he was not prepared to upset Donald again. After reading the scripts in advance of shooting, he was adamant that the peaks and troughs of Siegfried's character be smoothed out.

Joan and Alf approved of all the actresses who played the part of Helen in the films and television series, but Lisa Harrow was their favourite. She never forgot her role in the Herriot films and kept in touch with Alf and Joan for years afterwards.