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 Storieshad 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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘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 mywork!’ 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 sueyou? 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 imder 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?’