Let Sleeping Vets Lieand Vet in Harnesswere combined into one volume, All Things Bright and Beautifulwhich was published in September 1974. Vet in a Spinand Vets Might Flywere amalgamated into All Things Wise and Wonderfuland this hit the market in September 1977. Both came out to glowing reviews followed by tremendous sales.
Alf never showed any inclination to return to the United States. He loved to meet the American people – and his affection for them never wavered – but he was content to see them on his own ground. Over the years, he must have shaken hands with many thousands of tourists as they flooded into his part of Yorkshire, but he never allowed his massive popularity to overwhelm him. As far as he was concerned, his celebrity status made no difference to his attitude towards the many friends and acquaintances he had made over his years in Thirsk. This aspect of his character, one that was greatly appreciated by the local people, would be reflected in their constant protection of his privacy in the face of so many visitors. He was still regarded in the local community as Alf Wight, not James Herriot – something he had wanted since those very first days along the road to fame.
It was fortuitous that, as well as this level-headedness, his sense of humour did not desert him since he was occasionally reminded that his writing did not please everyone. In 1977, he wrote in the magazine Pedigree Digest:
The letters, like my visitors, are mainly complimentary. I read them with my morning tea and it is a good start to the day to learn that I have given pleasure to many people in many ways. The letters which touch me most deeply are from people who are ill or who have suffered bereavements and who tell me that I have made them laugh and helped them to face life.
But nothing is perfect and even the letters have their other side. It makes me choke over my tea when I am suddenly accused of an ‘obsession with drink and profanity’ or out of the blue I am told that my books ‘reek of male chauvinism’. The Americans in particular castigate me for ‘taking the Lord’s name in vain’ based on what I had thought to be an occasional innocent ‘My God’ in my writings.
One or two visitors expressed disappointment upon meeting him. On the covers of the American editions, James Herriot was depicted as a handsome young hulk but Alf, of course, was around sixty when the hordes of tourists began to invade Thirsk. Some of them, expecting to see a younger man, received a surprise. He wrote about one such incident in the magazine Pedigree Digestin 1977:
Many readers of my books come along to the surgery expecting to see a dashing young vet of twenty-five. When they are confronted by a grizzled sixty-year-old they often find it difficult to disguise their dismay.
Most of them are diplomatic about this but one lady was disconcertingly forthright. ‘You know’, she said, ‘it was so funny when I introduced my daughter to you this afternoon. She thought she was going to meet a young man and she got a dreadful shock when she saw you!’ Fortunately, this information was imparted to me in a pub and I was able to reach for a quick restorative.
He was finding that fame can bring its own problems but he accepted this quite calmly. I remember his handing me a strange letter from a displeased reader. After I had finished reading it, he gave me a resigned smile with the words, ‘You can’t win ’em all, boy!’
Such sharp little wounds to his ego, however, were few and far between as his popularity continued to accelerate throughout the 1970s but, despite this, Alf continued to maintain as low a profile as possible, politely but firmly declining all the many invitations to revisit the United States. Ironically, it was his friends and family who gleaned far more enjoyment and satisfaction from holidays there.
In the late 1970s, Brian Sinclair – who was now famous as Tristan – toured America on several occasions, speaking about his friend James Herriot. He received wonderful hospitality from his hosts, many of whom were veterinarians, like himself. Brian used to meet Alf regularly in those days, regaling him with stories about his American experiences, and Alf would rarely return from these meetings without another humorous anecdote.
One of his favourite memories was that of Brian recounting a social occasion at which there was a Scotsman dressed in full Highland regalia. He was wearing a magnificent kilt, hanging in front of which was a highly-coloured, hairy sporran. This splendid human being was approached by a pleasantly inebriated woman. She had heard of the mysteries that lurked beneath a Scotsman’s kilt and was fascinated by the dangling sporran. She pointed at it unsteadily and, in a slurred voice, said, ‘Now tell me, truthfully, what exactly doyou carry in your scrotum?!’
It was not only Brian, but many other friends, who benefited from the high regard in which Alf was held in America. On trips over there, whenever they mentioned that they were from Yorkshire, the name of James Herriot almost invariably arose. It was one that bonded many friendships across the Atlantic.
Tom McCormack and Alfred Ames – two men who played vital parts in helping Alf to his success – were held in very high esteem by the family. Tom and his wife Sandra met Alf and Joan several times over the years during their frequent visits to Great Britain, while the Alfreds – Ames and Wight – and their wives were to meet in Yorkshire in August 1988. That vital and influential review in the Chicago Tribuneso many years before remained fresh in the minds of both men.
Alf Wight was a man who always appreciated those who had helped him and, in return, Tom McCormack never forgot the Yorkshire vet whose writing helped put his firm back on a safe footing. In October 1995, eight months after Alf’s death, he and Sandra made the special journey from America to pay their respects at the memorial service in York Minster. It was to be his final gesture towards the author to whom he said, all those years ago in 1973, ‘Beyond the money, you do bring Sandra and me a personal pride unmatched by anyone else we publish. You are exactly the kind of man one comes into publishing for.’
Despite fans from all over the world thronging the waiting-room at 23 Kirkgate, Alf never allowed this world-wide adulation to unseat his sense of priorities. He had been twice to America where he had been treated like a hero. He was an international celebrity, with his financial worries now behind him, but he was still exactly the same man that I had always known. Not only did he speak very little about his achievements, but his attitude to his family, friends and local people remained completely unchanged.
Around 1977, I remember approaching him for some advice about a problem in the practice. I apologised and said, ‘I shouldn’t really be bothering you with this, Dad. You are a best-selling author now. You shouldn’t have to worry about the practice any more.’
He replied swiftly, ‘I don’t care how many million books I have sold, the welfare of this practice will always be more important to me!’
The explosion of publicity surrounding his literary success was beyond anything that any of us could have imagined but, during those exciting years of the 1970s, he was still, first and foremost, a family man and a veterinary surgeon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR