by Jim Wight
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.
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 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 underportrayed 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.
As before, we went to watch the shooting on several occasions, and all agreed that the background of the wild fellsides and dales added an authenticity that was missing from the first film. Alf was particularly pleased that the scenery of the Yorkshire Dales was going to be shared with so many others.
Many of his friends went with him to watch the filming, Brian, Denton Pette – and Donald, too. Denton was intrigued to observe Richard Pearson’s portrayal of his own character, Granville Bennett. At the time, Denton owned an MGB and the boot of the car had been lovingly converted into a bar, stocked with a fine selection of beers and spirits. The actors and film crew were not slow to avail themselves of Denton’s extraordinary hospitality, and Rosie remembers arriving one day above Keld in the upper reaches of Swaledale, to be greeted by a smiling Denton with the words, ‘Rosie, my dear! A small aperitif, perhaps?’
On these trips into the Dales, there was someone else who appreciated the odd tipple from Denton’s ‘mobile pub’ – an old friend and colleague of his, and Alf’s, called Basil Aylward. Basil, the veterinary surgeon from Richmond in lower Swaledale, was the veterinary advisor to the film – Alf having again declined to play any major part in its production.
The mischievously-smiling Basil, a bon viveur in a similar mould to Denton, was another colleague in whose company Alf laughed continuously. One of their favourite meeting places was the Black Bull at Moulton, near Richmond, where many a good tale was told over a few beers and the magnificent seafood that is the speciality of the house.
Basil, a born raconteur, was
able to recall a seemingly endless store of highly entertaining tales of mishaps and calamities which typify the life of the veterinary surgeon. It is the disasters which befall our colleagues that are so much more interesting to listen to than their triumphs, and this open admission of his own fallibility was an endearing feature of Basil’s personality.
In his fourth book, Vet in Harness, James Herriot describes an incident in which he travels with Granville Bennett to a veterinary society meeting in Appleby. They drive over the moors in a violent snowstorm but, amazingly, arrive safely. After the meeting, he and Granville – fortified with good food and fine ale – return at incredible speed over the wild, snowbound road, only to discover the following morning that the road on which they had just travelled was reported to have been blocked for days!
It was, in fact, that redoubtable pair, Basil and Denton, who made the white-knuckle ride to Appleby and back, and it was after hearing about it from Basil one night that Alf took out his notebook and marked the incident as one to form the basis of a good story in a future book. This is another example of his using author’s licence; the story did not happen as he told it but, as with so many others, it was based upon a real incident.
‘It Shouldn’t Happen to a Vet’ was another box office success. As excellent family viewing, it was a change from the increasingly violent films that were being released at the time. Although Alf, in fact, enjoyed many films in which sex and violence were the prominent feature, he was still pleased that this wholesome film was one to which the whole family could be taken safely.
