Eddie quickly realised his mistake. More than one letter of apology arrived on Alf’s doorstep but my father was unrepentant. I remember arguing with him at the time, reminding him that they had been friends for so long, but I was unable to influence him. Once something was fixed in his mind, he could be a very difficult man to reason with.
As the years rolled by, I am happy to say that his attitude softened towards Eddie and they resumed correspondence. Eddie’s hurtful accusations, however, were the ultimate reason for Alf Wight’s refusal to appear at the disciplinary hearing in 1981.
The years from 1981 to 1985 were a non-productive time for James Herriot the author – during which he savoured the rest from the pressures of writing – but the size of the ‘James Herriot Industry’ decreed that he could never completely return to the relative obscurity of veterinary surgeon and family man. His name was now too big. Fan mail continued to pour into his house and, with the name of James Herriot producing visions of pound and dollar notes for many, he was under gentle but constant pressure from his main publishers in England and America to produce another book.
Alf had little interest in how much money he, or other people, would make out of his return to the typewriter, but writing by now was in his blood. He was all too aware of the massive changes he had observed within his profession and the heartfelt desire to preserve that old way of life in print was beginning to assert itself again.
‘I consider that I am a very fortunate man,’ he said. ‘I have lived through the golden years of veterinary practice – without doubt, the best years.’ The new age of rules, regulations and paperwork did not appeal to him, and a deepening nostalgia for his rapidly disappearing world was to result in his sitting, once again, in his study, tapping out more stories.
I remember this as a time of concern for my mother. Realising that her husband was not getting any younger, but also aware that she could not stop him pursuing the interest that had now become ingrained in his soul, she urged him to refrain from the deadlines of delivery dates and to take things a little more slowly.
During the glitzy years of the 1970s, at which time she often accompanied him on his public engagements, many people believed that she was the dominant force of the pair – displaying an apparently unenthusiastic attitude to his success. Knowing him better than anyone, and fully acquainted with his sensitive nature, Joan was simply trying to protect him from the avalanche of publicity that she feared would have a detrimental effect on him. In doing so, she conveyed a false impression of the relationship between her and her husband. Throughout their long marriage, it was he who made all the major decisions in the family.
Realising that Alf could never fully turn his back on writing, she was not really surprised when, in 1986, he allowed himself to be persuaded to write some material for a new television series of ‘All Creatures Great and Small’ He had, in fact, written a few stories already – the list of ‘headings’ for ever at his side – and this latest approach was enough to rekindle his eagerness to begin writing again in earnest. The result of this was, eventually, the publication in 1992 of his final book, Every Living Thing. James Herriot was, once again, standing by the side of Alfred Wight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
In the years between his finally finishing The Lord God Made Them Allin 1980, and beginning serious work on Every Living Thingin 1988, Alfred Wight wrote no other books. Despite this, several new ones were to appear under his name during that period. As well as The Best of James Herriot, which was published in 1982, James Herriot’s Dog Storieswas published in 1986, together with a succession of children’s books that came out throughout the 1980s, the last one being produced in 1991.
The book of dog stories was a compilation taken from the previously published books. The introduction is of particular interest as it is the only time that James Herriot gave his many fans an insight into his life as a young man at Glasgow Veterinary College – where the dog was regarded in those days as a species of minor importance, and the cat was hardly ever mentioned! How different it is for the veterinary student of today.
For the children’s books, as with Dog Stories, Alf had little to write. Each one was a story taken from the earlier Herriot works – brightly illustrated to appeal to the younger generation. In consultation with his editor, Jenny Dereham, some of these stories were quite heavily re-written, with the more explicit veterinary descriptions considerably toned down and the stories trimmed or stretched out to the appropriate length. They were an inspired idea. Each one was based on a specific character – Blossom the cow, Oscar the cat and Bonny the cart-horse amongst them. One of the books, The Christmas Day Kitten, was an international best-seller. James Herriot’s gift of bestowing endearing qualities on these engaging creatures, together with the colourful illustrations by the talented artists, Peter Barrett and Ruth Brown, guaranteed their success.
As the children’s books began to appear, Alf received countless letters from his many young fans, as well as drawings of their favourite animal characters. James Herriot’s easy style appealed to all readers, from the discerning professional reviewer down to the young child in primary school. His fan club truly encompassed all readers great and small.
Two of those stories have special significance for me, as it was I who was responsible, many years previously, for providing the material within them. Moses the Kittenwas the first in the series for children, and was published in 1984. It originated from a visit I paid to Terry Potter’s farm at Baldersby near Thirsk. I had just completed my work on the farm when Ted, the pigman, said to me, ‘Come over ’ere. Ah’ve summat ter show ther!’
He took me over to a pen in which there was a huge sow suckling an enormous litter of shiny, pink piglets. It was not this scene of utter contentment that impressed me the most, however; I was astonished to see that one of the piglets in the row was black!
‘Ah bet yer’ve never seen a pig like yon little youth!’ said Ted. ‘’Ave a closer look!’
The ‘piglet’ was, to my amazement, a cat – and a fairly well-grown one, too. ‘Ah found ’im wanderin’ about t’buildings ’alf dead wi’ cold an’ Ah thowt Ah’d give ’im a chance an Ah put ’im ter this auld sow,’ said Ted. ‘Look at ’im now! By! ’E ’as done well!’ The sleek, black coat was one of the finest I had ever seen on a cat. The creature gave me a cursory glance before elbowing his way deeper into the row of fat, feasting piglets.
I recounted this experience to my father over lunch. He suddenly stopped eating and sprang upstairs for his notebook. ‘Another story to add to the James Herriot collection,’ he said, after returning to his knife and fork.
Another of the children’s books, Blossom Comes Home, had its origins on the farm of my father’s old friend and client, Arthur Dand. Arthur showed me an old cow that was quite obviously past her productive life. She had been a wonderful cow in her time but her overgrown feet, protruding hip bones and sagging udder displayed stark evidence of a lifetime of high milk production.
Arthur had always been very attached to her but, one day, having realised that he could no longer afford to keep her, he had reluctantly come to the decision to send her for slaughter. As he gazed after the wagon that was taking his old friend away on her final journey, she put her head out of the back of the trailer before emitting a long and plaintive cry. The sight of the old cow, staring out for the last time at the pastures she loved, was too much for Arthur. He leapt into his car, raced after the slaughterman’s wagon, flagged it down and, within minutes, Blossom was back home.