The name of James Herriot had been propelled into millions of households within weeks of publication. Tom McCormack had gambled and he had won. He had spent over $50,000 in promoting the book but, as he was to acknowledge later, If it weren’t for a man named Alfred Ames, it all might have turned out different.’

Despite the staggering success of his new author, Tom McCormack did not rest on his laurels. Sales of All Creatures Great and Smallhad hit the market like a typhoon – one he had no intention of allowing to abate. What better way was there, he thought, of ensuring this than by inviting James Herriot himself over to the States on a promotional tour?

Alf, although excited by all the publicity he was receiving, felt that his primary allegiance was to the practice and, with the busy time of lambing fast approaching, his initial reaction was to refuse the invitation. There were only four vets in the practice at that time, but we assured him that it was too good an opportunity to miss, so in late February 1973, he visited America for the first time.

The trip only lasted a week but it pulsated with action from beginning to end. There were long successions of television appearances and book signings, interspersed with tours around the sights of New York, with visits to exotic restaurants and cocktail parties. To a man used to the steady life among the even steadier Yorkshire people, it was like a dream.

When he returned home, my mother and I asked how it had all been. He replied, ‘Utterly fantastic – but I’m knackered!’ The high life in America had been a truly wonderful experience but he was pleased to be back in Yorkshire. Much as he had enjoyed his time in the United States, he assured us that he would never do another promotional tour.

It was not to be. Throughout the summer of 1973, sales of the paperback were so massive that he finally agreed to do a second tour in the autumn of that year, this time organised by Bantam Books. The tour lasted three weeks and was even more exhausting than the first. Joan accompanied him on this second trip but they had little time to themselves. They flew to several big cities and the tour was, again, a long procession of book signings and television appearances. It seemed to Alf that every room in the United States had a television – every one of which appeared to be switched on permanently – and his face must have been seen in millions of homes, morning after morning.

During phone-in sessions, he was asked questions about skunks and alligators (animals rarely seen in the surgery of Skeldale House), he argued with people about the ethics of religious slaughter (Alf always hated to discuss emotive subjects that could result in explosive argument) while, all the time, there was the pressure of an ever-tightening schedule that had to be adhered to.

He returned from this second trip totally drained. After a few days recovering from the ordeal, he put down his memories of the tour.

 … To a book signing session in New York where a queue of fans brought not only their books but their pets, too. They deposited shaggy creatures on the table with requests like, ‘You gotta sign this to Fluffy, Dr Herriot.’ Some of the names were unusual. Naming a pair of hamsters Hermann and Lucius struck me as a little bizarre, but the feeling of wonder wore off as I autographed books to cats called Hamburger, Sweet Feets, Pancake, Noo-catt Noo-catt, Popcorn and there was a canary in the queue, William Byrd. The dear Americans! Warm-hearted, generous and even more scatty over their animals than we are.

I had only one respite in the entire three weeks, one blessed Sunday when I awoke to find no appointments fixed. It was in San Francisco and, outside my bedroom window, the Californian sun poured down on the Golden Gate bridge spanning the blue waters of the bay to the mountains beyond. I knew I should be out there tasting the delights of this most beautiful of cities but I lay motionless hour after hour staring glassily at the ceiling. And yet I have survived. The floors have stopped moving, my cheeks have stopped twitching and my stomach has almost agreed to make peace and let bygones be bygones. Still, the parting thought remains. I love America and its people but I’m not going back, just yet …

It took Alf several weeks to recover. He returned with bronchitis, cystitis and severe phlebitis in both his legs and, for a while, he took on the appearance of an old man. This, he vowed, had been his last promotional tour, and it was. Over the next five years, his subsequent books were combined into two further volumes for the American market, both storming the best-seller lists and remaining at the top for weeks. His sales did not need the boost of any more personal appearances.

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.