Alfred Wight had certainly boosted the economy of North Yorkshire. Such was his fame by now, that small businesses began using his name. ‘Herriot’ cafés, guest houses and hotels sprang up to make good profits out of the tourists who continued to pour into the area. An advertisement for one hotel particularly amused him. A part of its brochure read, ‘Welcome to “Herriot Country”, the home of the world’s most famous vet … No pets.’
Alf derived great satisfaction out of this boom in the tourist trade. Although some of the local people were not too pleased that their part of the world had become such a focus of attention, and turned an unfriendly eye towards so many strangers invading their patch, Alf often said, ‘I have put money into a lot of pockets around here and that has to be a good thing.’
Others agreed with him. In April 1984, he was the first winner of the Yorkshire Salver – awarded in recognition of services to Yorkshire and its people. He received his award at a ceremony in Leeds and was nominated for ‘Putting Yorkshire on the international map and bringing tourists, trade and employment as a result.’
Alf Wight was proud to receive such awards but some that gave him the greatest thrill were those bestowed on him by his own profession. As early as 1975, he had been made an honorary member of the British Veterinary Association and, seven years later, on 8 June 1982, he received his Fellowship of the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons. This recognition, from the profession of which he was always particularly proud to be a member, meant a great deal to him. The words delivered that day by the College’s President, Peter Hignett, were very perceptive:
‘The Veterinary Profession owed Alf Wight a considerable debt of gratitude … not only because he had presented the profession to members of the public as a concerned and caring body of men and women but because he had never at any time sacrificed the respect of his colleagues for the popularity of public acclaim. The profession is proud of him and the way he has conducted himself in a situation which would have turned many a lesser man’s head.’
In 1984, he received an honorary degree of Doctor of Veterinary Science from the University of Liverpool with, again, the emphasis being on his contribution to the image of his profession.
This tremendous enhancement of the popularity of his profession had been recognised very quickly by veterinarians in the USA. The American Veterinary Medical Association had honoured him as early as 1975, and he was particularly pleased to read a review of his work, in that same year, by Professor Eric Williams of the Oklahoma State University College of Veterinary Medicine.
Professor Williams, who was a veterinary practitioner in his native Wales before emigrating in 1961, highlighted one aspect of James Herriot’s writing – the authenticity of his accounts of veterinary life. This was something with which veterinarians all over the world could identify. In his review of All Things Bright and Beautiful, Professor Williams wrote:
‘Here is a brilliant, honest, lucid day-by-day-and-night, exposition of the triumphs and despairing moments of veterinary practice.… James Herriot’s honest revelations come as a much needed tonic and reassurance to a world which appears to be going mad when daily we are faced with crime, scandal and vanishing moral standards. I am overjoyed that my colleague portrays so well the bonds of trust and friendship with his clients which are the basis for a successful professional life … to aspiring veterinarians, here is a superb thesis on veterinary practice.’
Eric Williams remained a staunch supporter of my father and his effect upon the profession. For many years, he was the Editor of the Bovine Practitioner, the official journal of the American Association of Bovine Practitioners. In 1982, Alf was the very first recipient of honorary membership of that association. Although proud to receive such an honour he, as we expected, declined to visit America for the presentation – but it still took place. A delegation of the association, including Eric Williams, came to Yorkshire and presented Alf with his honour at the Three Tuns Hotel in Thirsk.
How he enjoyed that evening! He was able to swap experiences with his colleagues from the other side of the Atlantic and listen to the successes and failures that are common to veterinarians the world over.
Alf received countless offers to travel around the world and receive the many honours that kept coming his way but, by the beginning of the 1980s, he began to feel overwhelmed by his ever-increasing fame, and politely either refused them or received them in absentia. He even declined to appear on the front page of the enormously influential Timemagazine – something that could have propelled his fame to even dizzier heights. He stuck to his regular excuse that he was ‘one per cent author and ninety-nine per cent veterinary surgeon’.
From 1980, Sinclair and Wight was a five-person practice. With Alf’s workload being lighter than it had been, he had plenty of time, had he so wished, to rush round the world furthering his image. The real reason for his reluctance was that he had had enough. He was determined to prevent the relentless publicity taking him over and he wanted, quite simply, to be left alone. Nothing was going to change his way of life, and it was his success in maintaining this ideal that was largely responsible for his continuing happiness in the face of an avalanche of publicity that could so easily have overwhelmed him.
Now Alf Wight, the retiring family man, was coming to a decision that would disappoint millions of his fans. He declared in 1981 that he would write no more books.
It was becoming impossible to completely dodge the spotlight. Everyone knew who he was. Tourists poured into the surgery while ever-bigger waves of fan mail were stuffed through his letter box. One envelope was addressed to ‘James Herriot, Darrowby, Scotland’; it homed in on the unwilling celebrity like all the others.
In a newspaper article in July 1981, following an exhausting promotional tour of Britain after the publication of The Lord God Made Them All,Alf made the following statement:
‘I feel I just have to escape. I’m nearly sixty-five and all I want is a bit of a rest. I’ve never been one for the limelight and now, all I want is to get back to normal. I want to spend more time with my grandchildren. I want to start enjoying again the things I used to enjoy, gardening and walking. I want to get involved again in the thing I do best, my work as a vet. At this very moment, the very mention of writing makes me want to scream.’
His massive literary success had brought him a sense of deep satisfaction but, for someone who did not enjoy the attendant publicity, it was becoming a burden. Life at home among his family and friends, and around the farms of North Yorkshire, was closer to his heart.
Alfred Wight fully appreciated the tremendous benefits writing had bestowed upon him but he was acutely aware of something else; he had been a happy man long before James Herriot walked into his life. He was, indeed, grateful for all James Herriot had done for him, but the time had now come to show him the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
One of the greatest benefits bestowed upon Alf Wight by his friend James Herriot – financial security – was enhanced by the election to power of a Conservative government in 1979. Its lower levels of personal taxation meant that Alf could retain a higher proportion of his earnings so, by 1981, he could consider himself a millionaire.
He was not an inspired businessman but, more importantly, he had common sense. He had no desire to stretch his financial horizons to the limit, while words like ‘Off-shore Investments’ and ‘Split Capital Trusts’ meant little to him. A distrust of the stockmarket, coupled with a cautious approach to investing money, led to his missing out on the great share bull market of the 1980s, but he lost little sleep over this. He retained his distrust of ‘smart deals’ and ‘unbeatable offers’ until the end, and a favourite expression was ‘Beware glossy brochures!’