Throughout his childhood and school days, the Wight family would frequently return to Sunderland on holiday. Here they would stay with their relatives, all of whom shared the qualities of warmth, humour and generosity.
Warm, however, was not a word to describe the town where they lived. Sunderland has been portrayed as the unhealthiest place to live in the British Isles – a town (although, in fact, Sunderland has recently been accorded the status of a city) of drab, grey buildings and acres of wasteland where, in the winter, freezing easterly winds scream in from the North Sea, while the slightly warmer westerlies carry lung-demolishing pollution from the great industrial areas nearby. In later years, many of Alf’s relatives, including Uncles Matt and Bob, and their sister Ella, left the town to live further south, with few of them having regrets about leaving the harsh climate.
It is true that first impressions of Sunderland can be less than appealing, but there are parts of the city that are full of character, especially near the sea front. The Roker and Seaburn areas of Sunderland, and the old fishing village of Whitburn further along the coast, are very attractive places, with their tidy houses and the waves of the North Sea breaking on the beach.
Alf spent many happy days of his childhood in this invigorating playground. During his teenage years, often accompanied by his cousin George Bell – son of Uncle Stan – he would spend hours playing football and tennis in the local parks, walking along the fine beach, and watching cricket at the Ashbrooke Cricket Ground where the local team competed in the Durham Senior League.
One of Alf’s fondest memories of Sunderland was the food. The town abounded with ‘pork shops’ where succulent sandwiches of hot roast pork, often accompanied by that north-east delicacy ‘pease pudding’ (a tasty concoction made by boiling peas in ham water) could be bought for only a few pence. If he had an extra penny to spare, the sandwich would be dipped in rich, brown gravy to give this culinary masterpiece that final dash of magic. He used to say that the smell issuing from those pork shops would suck him through their doors like a giant magnet.
No matter what else he did when he visited Sunderland, Alf always found time to see his Uncle Bob Wight who lived in nearby Penshaw, a village of grey coal-miners’ cottages, from where the two would walk for miles, discussing countless subjects of interest. Robert Wight, an intelligent, well informed and infectiously enthusiastic man, deeply impressed the young Alf who, through his endless quest to better himself, would mirror the qualities of his favourite uncle.
It was a combination of his parents, Uncle Bob and the strong discipline and fine standards Alf experienced at Hillhead that was largely instrumental in developing the young man’s optimistic and positive approach to life, and it was during those influential years of his schooling that the first seeds of ambition were sown in his mind. It was one that would, years later, make him famous – the ambition to become a veterinary surgeon.
CHAPTER THREE
At the time of Alf Wight’s admission to Hillhead School, Britain was in the grip of a fearsome depression. Glasgow was badly hit. The great shipyards on the River Clyde were laying men off regularly, with the average worker earning little more than one pound per week. Conditions within the veterinary profession – certainly no place for any get-rich-quick character – were little better since very few could afford to pay the vet’s fees. Alf, however, early in his time at Hillhead, had made a firm decision to become a veterinary surgeon.
There was little in Alfred Wight’s childhood to point him in the direction of a future with animals. Not only did he receive no encouragement from his parents, but his home in Yoker – crowded as it was with his mother’s dressmaking business as well as his father’s grand piano – had little room for animals. It is difficult to imagine a way of life further removed from that of the country veterinary surgeon than his own city upbringing; the smoke and noise of Glasgow seem poles apart from the hills and dales of Yorkshire that he would describe so vividly many years later.
In 1928, however, a character entered his life who had a profound influence upon his choice of a future career. In that year, partly as a reward for his obtaining the grades necessary for admission to Hillhead School, his parents bought an Irish Setter puppy. There had been cats in the house, but he had always yearned for a dog. Now he had one. This puppy, which was called Don, was the first of Alf’s many canine companions and he adored him. A large proportion of his time, throughout his school and college days in Glasgow, was devoted to Don as he walked for miles with the big red dog. He not only walked him day and night around the streets and parks surrounding the family home, but at weekends he would think nothing of walking Don up to twenty miles and more into the nearby Kilpatrick Hills, The Allander, Peel Glen and many other beautiful areas that were on the doorstep.
Don figures prominently in Alf’s diaries. He refers to him as the ‘old hound’ and it appears that almost everywhere that young Alf went, the ‘hound’ was by his side. One of his great boyhood friends was a lad called ‘Curly’ Marron, who lived in the same tenement block in Yoker, and walks with Curly and the ‘hound’ seem to have been a daily routine. Walking remained one of Alf’s lifelong passions and that sleek, handsome Irish Setter was the first of many dogs with whom he would share it.
Don was not the easiest of dogs. When in the mood on one of his innumerable walks, he had a disconcerting habit of suddenly bursting away over the horizon. No one worried too much about stray dogs in those days and he usually turned up hours later, tail curled between his legs, worming his way along the floor in abject apology. Nobody in the family had the heart to reprimand the cringing form and he got away with it time and again. He knew how to grovel but he also knew how to growl. Should anyone approach him too closely when in possession of a bone, the ominous rumbling and the quivering lips were a clear warning that Don required no assistance. He was a dog who demanded respect. Despite this, he was a great companion, and a faithful friend who served not only to confirm Alf Wight’s inherent love of animals, but to strengthen his awareness of the unique bond that exists between a man and his dog.
However, it was not only the acquisition of a pet that was to influence Alf’s decision to become an animal doctor. At the age of thirteen, he read an article in the Meccano Magazine. It was one of a series entitled ‘What shall I be?’, and this particular article was all about veterinary science as a career. As a regular subscriber to the magazine, he had seen several of these articles but it was this one that held a particular appeal for him. As a dedicated dog owner himself, the thought of earning his living through caring for animals gave him a thrill of excitement.
Looking out from the photograph in the centre of the page was the president of the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons, Mr G. P. Male, MRCVS. He was a distinguished-looking man with neat, well-manicured hair and around his neck hung the glittering chain of office. Young Alf was impressed.
The first paragraph made interesting reading: ‘Veterinary Surgery is one of the few professions in which the number of entries has shown a considerable decline in recent years.’ How different it is today with thousands of prospective students competing fiercely for the few allotted university places. The article, however, went on to say: ‘This decline is probably due to the belief that the expansion in motor traffic has reduced the prospects of success in the profession. The belief is a mistaken one, however, for the decline in importance of the horse is being partially counteracted by the growing demand for the services of the veterinary surgeon in other directions.’ This sentence (and how very true it would turn out to be) gave the young schoolboy some encouragement. The first inklings of an idea to become a veterinary surgeon had taken root in his mind.