It was a wonderful effort deserving of the highest praise and served not only to save his own skin, but also to divert the pursuit momentarily from his friends. Joe faltered in his stride and the other dogs, coming up at terrific speed, knocked him over. For about three seconds there was a snarling, fighting heap and then they sorted themselves out and went after the other two men. These latter were still going well with never a backward look, all their faculties intent upon their goal – the little green door at the top. It did not seem they could possibly make it. The dogs, with Joe in the van and the little Scottie bringing up the rear, were closing the gap at an alarming speed.

But over the last few yards the two runners made a supreme effort and stepped up their pace by the vital fraction. For a sickening moment it seemed they would jam together in the doorway, but then they were through with the door banged behind them and the dogs leaping up at it and howling in thwarted rage.

I ran up the garden to rescue the fat man up the tree. Henry did not come with me; he was lying on the floor, pulling at his collar and making strange, moaning sounds. By yelling savagely and throwing stones, I managed to get the dogs rounded up and locked safely behind the french windows.

I then, apprehensively, approached the apple tree. The fat man was slowly climbing down. He wheezed and groaned and when he gained the ground he leant back against the trunk of the tree gasping for air. He said not a word in reply to my stammered apologies. After a minute he pulled his black beret more firmly down over his ears and tottered painfully up the path and through the door. I could not recognise him as the lissom athlete of a short time ago.

This lively little interlude was followed by a problem that persisted for several weeks. The dustbin men, not surprisingly, had no desire to revisit the old garden and the refuse in the back yard soon assumed mountainous proportions. Donald eventually solved the dilemma by firmly pressing a pound note into one of the dustbin men’s hands outside the Black Bull in Thirsk, with the assurance that his pack of dogs would be kept under firm control in future.

Brian Sinclair visited Thirsk not only during his vacations from veterinary college, but whenever the practice became impossibly busy. He would then ‘secure’ leave to come to Thirsk where he would help by going on farm visits, making up medicines, acting as a receptionist, or assisting with any other tasks Donald set him. This rather elastic arrangement with the veterinary college contributed to Brian taking over ten years to pass his examinations. He had, in fact, begun his veterinary education at the Royal Dick Veterinary College in Edinburgh when he was seventeen, but repeated failures in his examinations resulted in the college suggesting to Donald that his brother should carry on his studies at an alternative centre of learning.

He moved to Glasgow Veterinary College for just one year – where he was thrown out of the terrifying Professor Emslie’s class for laughing (something that was completely beyond Alf’s comprehension), before Donald, now at his wit’s end, returned him to Edinburgh.

Dire warnings from Donald, together with a realisation that the funding of his education could possibly cease, resulted in the young man pulling himself together and finally qualifying as a fully-fledged veterinary surgeon in December 1943.

Alf could never look back on those early days with Donald and Brian without a smile stealing across his face. They were, in reality, days of toil and hardship, but they were also ones of humour and excitement, spent with two of the most entertaining men he had had the privilege of knowing. Many years later, through the books of James Herriot, those hours of laughter along the stone corridors of ‘Skeldale House’ would be shared by millions more.

CHAPTER TEN

In 1941, Brian Sinclair was involved in a very important event in Alfred Wight’s life. The two young men were friendly with a cattle dealer in Thirsk called Malcolm Johnson, a likeable worthy of the town who met Brian and Alf regularly over a few pints of beer. This sociable fellow, a mine of information on the local population, enjoyed not only male company – he knew numerous young ladies, one of whom was a girl called Joan Danbury.

He approached her one day. ‘There’s a dance in the village hall in Sandhutton tomorrow night,’ he said. I’m thinking of going with a couple of friends of mine and wondered if you and a few of your friends would like to come along?’

At the time, Joan was already involved quite seriously but she was always interested in a lively night out. ‘Who are these friends of yours? Do I know them?’ she asked.

‘Oh, a couple of young veterinary fellows – Alf Wight and Brian Sinclair. They’re a good laugh and they have a car so we could all drive out to the dance.’ Wisely, Malcolm decided not to describe the car in too much detail; he was all too aware of its condition. It was a typical Sinclair car, featuring holes in the floor, a symphony of rattles, and the rich, unmistakable aroma of the farmyard.

Joan agreed to go. On a wet night in March 1941, Alf, Brian, Malcolm, Joan, her friend Doreen Garbutt and another young woman set off from 23 Kirkgate in the direction of the village dance in Sandhutton.

Joan Danbury, on whom the character of Helen in the Herriot books is based, was not the daughter of a farmer as the reader is led to believe. She was a secretary at Rymer’s Mill, the corn merchants in Thirsk, and her father was an official in local government who was working at that time in York. Her family came from Winchcombe, a picturesque little town in the Cotswolds in Gloucestershire, and they moved to Thirsk when Joan was eight years old. At the time of her meeting with Alf, she had quite a string of boyfriends, her number one suitor being a wealthy farmer from the Harrogate area.

It is not surprising that she had her admirers; photographs taken of her in her younger days reveal a very attractive girl. Some of the descriptions of Helen in the first books describe the young Joan Danbury vividly: ‘The small, straight nose’ and the mouth ‘that turned up markedly at the corners as though she was just going to smile or had just been smiling. The deep warm blue of the eyes under the smoothly arching brows made a dizzying partnership with the rich black brown of the hair.’

Alf’s first evening with Joan in the company of their friends did not go smoothly. In appalling weather, the little Ford car ground to a halt on a flooded road with water pouring in through the floor. The men leapt out, pushed the car onto drier ground, restarted it and returned to 23 Kirkgate in order to dry themselves out. They finally made the dance, then returned once again to the old house where they spent the remainder of the evening chatting, drinking and listening to Brian’s endless string of humorous stories. He threw in a couple of spectacular convulsions for good measure.

From that very first meeting, Alf decided that Joan Danbury was worth pursuing, although he acknowledged there was plenty of competition. He summoned up the courage to ask whether he could see her again and, to his delight, she agreed. If she was looking for someone with money, she certainly was on to a loser with Alf Wight. He may have been a professional man but, in common with many young veterinary surgeons of his day, he was a financial nonentity; he was worth little more than the clothes he stood up in, with his capital in the bank standing at around five or ten pounds.

She saw other qualities in him. He was an attractive young man with a sincerity and honesty about him that appealed to her. Most importantly, they shared a similar sense of humour and she enjoyed his company – vital ingredients in the recipe for a long and happy relationship.