CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
One day in 1978, my father called me to his house in Thirlby. ‘Jim,’ he said, I want to ask you something.’ I always knew when he was going to mention something important; he spoke slowly and quietly with a slight trace of uncertainty.
‘Michael Joseph would like to produce a picture book of those parts of Yorkshire I have made famous through my writing. It would be accompanied by a text, written by me. They want to call it James Herriot’s Yorkshire’
His eyes were now focused directly on mine as he continued. ‘What do you think of the idea? Do you think that my words alongside photographs would interest people?’
I felt somewhat flattered that this established best-selling author valued my opinion, but I was not really surprised. Although not without confidence in his own ability, he continually sought suggestions from others – maintaining until the end of his life that he was simply ‘an amateur at the writing game’.
I thought for a few moments. ‘No, Dad. I don’t think that it’s a good idea at all.’
‘Why not?’
‘Why should someone from, say, California, want to look at some pokey little corner of Swaledale?’ I replied confidently. ‘These places bring back great memories for us, but I can’t see the fascination in them for anyone else. Forget it. It won’t sell.’
‘You don’t think so?’
‘No.’
‘Perhaps you’re right.’ He lapsed into thought and dropped the subject.
He must have listened to me because he told his publishers that he had serious misgivings about the project. However, their persuasive arguments finally won the day, and Alf agreed to go ahead. This beautifully illustrated book, the inspired idea of Alan Brooke, then editorial director at Michael Joseph – and whose concept received wholehearted support from Alf’s editor Anthea Joseph – went on to become a mega best-seller, far exceeding all his previous books. It became the ‘essential companion’ for the thousands of fans from all over the world who flocked to see those ‘pokey little corners’ of Yorkshire that I had confidently predicted would hold no interest for them.
The dubious quality of my advice was emphatically illustrated some sixteen years later. In 1995, four months after my father’s death, Rosie and I took part in a BBC television programme about outdoor activities called ‘Tracks’. Part of this weekly programme described those walks that were particular favourites of selected celebrities and, for James Herriot’s favourite, we had chosen to film the programme in the upper reaches of Swaledale.
This wild and unspoilt area figures largely in the Yorkshire book. He loved it for its beauty and loneliness but we were not alone for long on that occasion. I was astonished to see a coach disgorge a throng of American tourists who strode purposefully past us, many of them clutching their copy of James Herriot’s Yorkshire] Sixteen years after publication, it still held its fascination for so many of his fans.
This book was published in 1979 and is totally factual. Such was its success that it became the trailblazer for many look-alike publications, including Wynford Vaughan-Thomas’s Wales, Poldark’s Cornwall, Catherine Cookson’s Northumberlandand the highly popular series of books by the enigmatic fellwalker, Alfred Wainwright. My father loved reading Wainwright’s books; he wrote simply, but with great feeling, for the high country of the British Isles, especially the Lake District and Scotland, and I feel sure that had he and my father met, they would have had much in common.
The superb photographs in James Herriot’s Yorkshirewere taken by the freelance photographer, Derry Brabbs; it was his first book and its tremendous success was to make his name. He was to go on and illustrate many more of the books that would follow in its wake, including the Wainwright series.
Derry was chosen in a somewhat bizarre fashion. Nowadays, photographic agencies would be asked to submit the portfolios of their major clients but not so in 1978. Michael Joseph decided that a Yorkshire-based photographer would be best, for obvious reasons: not only would he or she be close at hand, but would already understand the vagaries of the Yorkshire weather. The firm’s managing director, Victor Morrison – who, with his considerable flair for design, oversaw the book’s production – had a secretary whose husband was a freelance photographer. He was consulted and suggested that a simple way to start would be to check the Yellow Pagesdirectories for Yorkshire, under the heading PHOTOGRAPHERS, and see what emerged. Victor Morrison did just that and compiled a list. Derry Brabbs, having the luck to have a surname starting with B, was approached first of all – and the search for a photographer ended there.
James Herriot’s Yorkshireis lavishly illustrated with photographs of places that evoked many happy memories for Alf. The pictures of Wensleydale brought back images of the hard, early years helping his old friend Frank Bingham, at a time when he had first set eyes upon the magic of the Yorkshire Dales. There is an account of a Youth Hostelling holiday when I and a schoolfriend, Ian Brown, walked with my father through Wensleydale and Swaledale. Such was the popularity of the book, that this walk has been traced by many people and has become known as the ‘Herriot Way’.
The vivid photographs of the Thirsk area, the place where the vast majority of the stories had their origins, and where my father brought us up along an uncertain but happy road, had especial meaning for him.
The North York Moors and the Yorkshire coast are not forgotten. Derry Brabbs’s pictures of the old Grand Hotel in Scarborough made Alf shiver as he recalled his days in the RAF, drilling on the beach and sleeping in the cold, windswept dormitories. On a softer note, he fondly remembers the town of Harrogate, his haven of escape every Thursday afternoon at a time when he was working day and night to establish himself as a veterinary surgeon.
Every section of the book stirred memories, some of them hard but all of them happy. ‘But what I see most clearly on my map,’ Alf wrote in the book’s introduction, ‘is the little stretch of velvet grass by the river’s edge where I camped or picnicked with my family. I can see the golden beach where my children built their castles in the sand. These are the parts, when my children were very young, which stand out most vividly from the coloured paper. These, indeed, as I look down on my Yorkshire, are the sweet places of memory.’
James Herriot’s Yorkshireis about the recollections of a best-selling author. To his family, it meant a little more. It invoked memories of a father who ensured that we were able to share his happiness in those days when we were young.
*
By 1979, over 12 million books by James Herriot had been sold, and Alf had little more to prove to his publishers, but writing had become a way of life and, in 1981, his seventh book of stories was published. This book, entitled The Lord God Made Them All, took him over four years to complete but there were reasons for this. Not only had he written the text for James Herriot’s Yorkshiresince the last volume of stories, Vet In A Spinpublished in 1977, but the new book was much longer. This was primarily for the American market with its insatiable demand for ‘big’ books, and enabled St Martin’s Press to publish The Lord God Made Them Allat the same time as the British edition. They had, of course, had to wait to publish Vets Might Flyuntil Vet In A Spinwas published, so they could produce one big volume, All Things Wise and Wonderful.
The new book became an instant best-seller on both sides of the Atlantic, and such was James Herriot’s popularity in the United States that over half a million copies were sold there in hardback alone.