He certainly derived a great deal of pleasure out of his money and was very generous with it. From as early as 1977, he worked in the practice for only £2,000 per year – a change that benefited not only myself, but Donald Sinclair, too. In one year, after deducting car expenses from his practice profits, he was left with little over £1,000 to show for a year’s veterinary work.

Bob Rickaby, his accountant, was aghast. ‘Alf, you have worked for a whole year for the practice and you have earned no more than you did in 1946!’

His response was to simply shrug his shoulders. ‘Don’t worry about it Bob. I couldn’t care less!’

Never a greedy man, he was, throughout his life, amazed at the lack of generosity he sometimes observed in others. Although unable to identify with it, he could see the funny side.

I remember him telling me, many years ago, of a visit he made to a shop in Thirsk to buy some fireworks. He asked for some rockets.

Another customer overheard his request and leaned towards him. ‘Don’t buy rockets, Mr Wight,’ he whispered, ‘they ’ave a good selection o’ Roman candles an’ some right good Catherine wheels, at good prices an’ all!’

Alf was mystified. ‘My kids love to see rockets soaring into the sky. Anyway, what’s wrong with the rockets?’

The man eased in closer. ‘Why, everyone else can see ’em!’

Alf could now do the things he wanted, without wondering whether he could afford it. More holidays and meals out with friends figured very prominently. The Thirsk area abounds with fine eating places and Alf always enjoyed his food. Having a cosmopolitan taste, he frequented a wide variety of restaurants but he was never happier than when seated in a Chinese or Indian restaurant having already consumed a few pints of good Yorkshire ale at a nearby pub.

Two of Alf’s greatest friends, Alex Taylor and Brian Sinclair, brightened his life during the 1980s. In 1981, Alex retired from his job in the north of Scotland and, three years later, he and Lynne decided to spend their retirement near Thirsk. Alf was delighted; to have his oldest friend living so close was a wonderful bonus.

Alex’s company was a constant source of enjoyment. From their very first days together in Glasgow, he had always had the capacity to make Alf laugh and, with Joan and Lynne being such good friends, this they all continued to do for ten more years.

Another who never failed to paralyse Alf with laughter was, of course, Brian Sinclair, James Herriot’s Tristan. Following Brian’s retirement in 1977, the two of them met almost every Thursday afternoon in Harrogate. Gordon Rae’s death in 1973 had cast a shadow over my father’s Thursday afternoons, but the appearance of the smiling face of Brian among the crowded bookshelves of W. H. Smith – their favourite meeting place – added, once again, that extra touch of pleasure to those visits to his favourite town. Over several cups of coffee, they would reminisce back to the old days in Thirsk, and Alf would revel in the endless funny stories from Brian’s seemingly inexhaustible repertoire.

One person who especially lightened Alf’s life at this time was his daughter. Never were two people closer than Rosie and her father. Since she lived next door, it was natural they should spend a great deal of time with each other – and they had much in common. Holidays, both at home and abroad, hundreds of miles of dog-walking and regular visits to football matches were favourite occupations. Rosie supplied a constant source of interest and conversation to brighten his days and, in the last years of his life, she – with her mother – would provide him with tremendous support.

Alf stated that one reason for turning his back on the limelight was a desire to spend more time with his grandchildren. By 1981, he had four of them. Emma, Rosie’s daughter, was born in 1975, and my son, Nicholas, in 1976. The dedication in James Herriot’s Yorkshireis to both of them.

My daughter, Zoe, arrived in 1980 and my third child, Katrina, in 1981. The Lord God Made Them Allis dedicated to Zoe, and Katrina received her recognition in James Herriot’s Dog Stories.

Alf saw far more of Emma than his other grandchildren. Rosie, as a single parent, received tremendous assistance from her parents in raising Emma, who grew to regard her grandfather more as a father. He was a truly dedicated grandfather and had great patience with her as a small child – walking for miles to pick wild flowers, or reading to her from countless storybooks.

He derived, as many grandfathers do, great pleasure from his grandchildren. All my children are very musical, and I am sorry that my father, who had such an appreciation of music, could not have lived a little longer to hear their performances on the piano, cello and trumpet. He did, however, have the satisfaction of hearing Nicholas play the piano, shortly before winning the St Peter’s School music prize, and he heard Zoe playing the trumpet in a school orchestral performance of the Grand March from Aida.

On the way home from that performance, he kept repeating, ‘Was that reallyZoe playing those clear notes?’ I could not help feeling a little grateful to my children; through their playing, the pleasure they gave to their grandfather compensated somewhat for the agony he had had to endure, listening to the comical attempts from his own son all those years ago.

In 1981, another character bounced into Alf Wight’s life – a self-willed, whiskery-faced Border Terrier called Bodie. After the death of his black Labrador, Dan, no time was wasted in finding another four-legged companion and Bodie, Alf’s last dog, was one with a personality all his own. Alf, who had always admired the Border Terrier as a breed, was a happy man on the day he finally owned one.

Bodie, always regarded as a bit of a show-off, was a very photogenic dog who posed rather like a ham actor in the many photographs taken of him with Alf. The tendency to display a haughty superiority over others of his kind was illustrated many times – especially on meeting other male dogs when he would sail into the attack without a second thought. For the first time in his life, the world’s most famous vet needed a lead before he dared to venture forth with his dog.

Another reason for the lead was that this unpredictable little creature could take off into the distance with alarming suddenness. I remember, one late October afternoon, walking with my father, Bodie and my own little Heeler bitch over the wild moorland at the head of Coverdale. Suddenly, Bodie – without any warning – took off like a rocket and disappeared.

After a full half-hour, we were still desperately shouting his name – strangled cries of ‘Bodd … ee!… Bodd … ee!’ issuing from our cupped hands. Darkness was almost upon us as I scanned the bleak horizon, hearing only the sound of my father’s voice which, by then, was no more than a hoarse croak, We had just about given up hope when I finally spotted a small brown form zooming around the opposite hillside in the gathering gloom. I ran over and was able to catch him as he was demolishing a decomposing rabbit.

Bodie’s greatest pal was Rosie’s dog, Polly, a sweet-tempered yellow Labrador who has, like her effervescent little friend, appeared on many photographs with James Herriot. Bodie was the perfect gentleman towards Polly, always allowing her first grab at the biscuits that my father carried in his pocket during his many walks with the two dogs. Looking at Bodie standing patiently beside Polly, it was hard to believe that this was the hooligan who tore into every male dog unfortunate enough to cross his path.

In his later years, Bodie’s energy consumption dipped dramatically and he became bone idle, refusing to go on his daily walks. He was not, however, allowed to become a total degenerate; Alf carried him under his arm on the outward half of his walk leaving Bodie little choice but to return home under his own steam.