The Real James Herriot (19 page)

I must away to bed now. I wish my wife was here to cuddle but it won't be long now! Goodnight sweetheart.

If Alf's time at Windsor represented the high spot of his Air Force career, his days of success and achievement were numbered. Henceforward, they would be ones of frustration and disappointment.

From Windsor, he was posted to Salford, near Manchester, where he was due to be classified as a pilot and it was there that his Achilles heel struck. The anal fistula began to give him such pain that, reluctantly, he had to seek medical advice. Despite the doctors showing considerable
concern about the condition, he managed to persuade the authorities that he still felt fit to progress to the next stage of his training. He remained keen to do well but his optimism was misplaced; with the RAF adamant that anyone going on to fly combat aircraft had to be one hundred per cent fit, he was now a marked man.

He was posted to Ludlow in Shropshire where the men were subjected to a ‘toughening up' course – digging ditches, erecting fences, constructing a reservoir, and helping the local farmers with their harvest. The exercise instilled a sense of fitness and well-being once again, and he soon began to feel as fit as he had been in Scarborough. His hopes of continuing his flying career were dashed, however, when he was summoned to see a specialist in Hereford in July. Three days later, he underwent an operation on the anal fistula in the RAF hospital at Creden Hill, Hereford.

Alf, who remembered the pain of those operations all too well, often used to wonder whether he could have progressed further in the RAF had the Air Force surgeons just left him alone. The operation in Hereford was a disaster; far from curing his condition, it merely added to the pain and he very soon realised that a fulfilling career in the forces was never going to be possible. As he watched his trainee comrades depart without him for Canada to continue their instruction, he felt deep disappointment and failure.

He was sent to a convalescent home, Pudlestone Court Auxiliary Hospital near Leominster, where he had a pleasant but rather aimless existence. Pudlestone Court was a fine old country house, and he was told by the old matron in charge that he should relax as much as possible, taking a little exercise by walking in the beautiful parkland, playing clock golf, tennis or croquet, or just lounging in the deck chairs on the lawn. The food was excellent, he reported to Joan, and he was able to have a hot bath each night.

During his two weeks there, he occupied his time teaching some of the other men to play the piano and spending many hours tending the garden. The hours of working the soil behind 23 Kirkgate had turned him into a very capable gardener and the matron was extremely impressed with his work.

His gentle existence at Pudlestone Court was in marked contrast to the exacting regime in Scarborough but his spirits were sinking lower with every passing day. Still in a great deal of discomfort, he was examined at the hospital at Creden Hill where, to his despair, he was
operated upon yet again. The operation was another pain-racked failure. To further compound his feelings of misery, it was discovered that the tooth that had been pulled out eight months before still had some of the root left embedded in his jaw. Realising that, in the eyes of the RAF, he was an invalid, he knew that he would never progress further in the quest to serve his country. He had had enough – he wanted to go home.

On 23 August he was sent to Heaton Park, Manchester, where he was assigned to ‘stores'. Here he was put in charge of the stocks and distribution of mountains of clothing and footwear. It was a mercifully brief assignment. In
Vet in a Spin,
he sums up his feelings perfectly, writing: ‘Somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice kept enquiring how James Herriot, member of the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons and trainee pilot, had ever got into this.'

While he was at Heaton Park, he went before the Medical Board again, and this time it was decided that he was to be ‘grounded'. He was declared, officially, as ‘unfit for aircrew', and on 28 October he was sent to Eastchurch in Kent. This was a discharge camp, a great ‘filter tank' of the RAF, from where, in a letter to Joan, he described his feelings about it: ‘All the odds and sods of the RAF are here and there are plenty of scroungers and hard cases but plenty of laughs going on too, I must say.'

Despite shafts of humour from his assorted comrades, with whom he spent most of his time playing football or going to the pictures, he was by now thoroughly depressed. As a final insult, his pay was clawed back to three shillings per day after which, having taken stock of his financial position, he reckoned that he had the sum of four pennies to his name!

His feelings of despair at that time were not helped by the news of the death of his beloved old dog, Don. Don had remained in Glasgow when Alf went south to earn his living as a vet; although it was a wrench to leave him, he decided it would be kinder to leave him at the home he knew. Alf's parents had looked after him so well that he had reached the age of fifteen before finally succumbing to renal failure. Alf, who had rarely failed to ask after Don in his many letters home, learned of the news with great sadness as his mind strayed back to the countless miles the ‘old hound' had run by his side.

As he looked out across the flat, grey landscape of Eastchurch, Alf reflected upon those happier days he had spent in the green dales of
Yorkshire and on the fine mountains of Scotland. He was at a low point of his life; one that seemed to be going nowhere.

Wondering how long he would be condemned to his futile existence, Alf applied for discharge from the RAF. To his dismay, this was rejected. He was so desperate to re-start a life of meaning and hope, he re-applied. His requests were finally heeded and on 10 November 1943, to his profound relief, he left the Royal Air Force. LAC2 Wight, J. A. had completed his war service for his country. It had lasted for just under one year.

In his books, Alfred Wight wrote amusingly about those final weeks in the Royal Air Force but, in reality, they were some of the most miserable of his life. He was a reject – something that was hard to accept for an ambitious man who took a great pride in all he did.

The reading of his old letters has been a moving experience. Those to his parents during his courtship were like a cry for help and understanding, while those to his wife during his time in the RAF displayed the soul of a man torn apart by conflicting emotions. His early days in the RAF were full of expectation but, as his Air Force career began to crumble, his feelings of hopelessness became more apparent with every letter. Through no fault of his own, his attempts to serve his country in its time of need had failed but he left feeling that, at least, he had tried.

His time in the forces contrasted sharply with that of his old Glasgow chums, Alex Taylor and Eddie Hutchinson. Both had been called up into the army, and both spent years abroad – Alex in North Africa and Italy, while Eddie served his time in the Far East. They would look back on their army days with pride and satisfaction but Eddie paid a price for his. His experiences fighting the Japanese in the jungles of Burma left scars that were never to heal, and he would never again be quite the carefree lad with whom Alf and Alex had spent so many happy times in Glasgow.

His Air Force career, frustrating though it had been, left no scars on Alf; indeed, the affectionate and amusing accounts of his Air Force days that appear in his books hint that he did not consider them a total waste of time. He had met many interesting people from all walks of life and had experienced that feeling of great comradeship common to so many who have served their country in times of war.

Had he not been invalided out, his whole life could have been so different. I remember him saying to me, years later, ‘Who knows, much as I have cursed that fistula, it may have saved my life!'

On his return to civilian life, Alf still had a job. He had maintained correspondence with Donald who, with the help of Brian – albeit
still
unqualified – had managed to keep the practice going and now welcomed Alf back. His days of marching, drilling and playing football were at an end. Many years of hard work stretched before him but they would be times of happiness and achievement. No longer an unwanted man, he could now restart his life as a veterinary surgeon – the life that he loved best.

After his discharge from the RAF, Alf Wight travelled straight up to Glasgow. His parents were still living at 694 Anniesland Road, which had been rebuilt after the German air raid of almost two years before, and Joan, baby son and Auntie Jinny, from Sunderland, were staying there with them. By this time, Alf's mother had mellowed towards Joan who had visited her in-laws twice during her husband's time in the forces. The proud presentation of her baby to the grandparents contributed greatly towards improving the relationship between Joan and her mother-in-law, one that would become easier as the years passed by.

Alf, although so happy to be reunited with his family, was not at all well. The stress of his final weeks in the RAF, together with the pain induced by the thorough overhaul of both ends of his digestive tract, had left him in a state of mental and physical exhaustion. But he could not stay long in Glasgow; he was broke, and needed to get back to Thirsk and begin building a secure future for his family. On returning to Thirsk, he soon found that the practice had become much busier. Years later, when recalling the pain and weariness at that time, Alf remarked, ‘I had the simplest and most effective of therapies – work!'

Alf had a job in Thirsk to return to – but no home. In June 1943, while he was still serving in the RAF, Donald Sinclair had remarried and was living with his wife at 23 Kirkgate. Unable to return to live in the top rooms at Kirkgate, Alf joined Joan and her parents at their home in Sowerby.

This was no hardship for Alf. The house, Blakey View, was situated on the tree-lined front street of this attractive village whose appearance has changed very little to this day. Blakey View was not only comfortable, with a pleasant walled garden at the back, but it was conveniently positioned next to the Crown and Anchor pub and many were the pints of beer that Alf shared with his father-in-law and friends in its welcoming interior.

Donald's marriage had come as a shock to Alf, as he had always considered his senior partner to be the archetypal ladies' man who
would never settle down. The James Herriot books depict Siegfried as full of charm and attractive to women, while Tristan is portrayed as the girl-chaser, but as an expert in the art of pursuing the fairer sex, the elder brother stood alone.

Siegfried's housekeeper is described in the books as repeatedly telling visitors to Skeldale House that her employer was in Brawton visiting his mother. James Herriot based this fictional town on Harrogate, which was where Donald's mother lived, but there is little doubt that she was not the only lady who enjoyed the company of the real Siegfried Farnon on his regular absences from the practice.

Donald, however, married well. His bride was Audrey Adamson and they were to remain happily married for over fifty years. She had an entirely different temperament to her husband; where he was impulsive and impatient, she was the embodiment of calm. Many considered her to be the perfect foil for the mercurial Donald.

The new marital status of his senior partner – and thus the changes at Kirkgate – was not the only difference Alf found when he returned to work. He soon discovered that the practice in Thirsk was busier than ever. One of the greatest contributors to the rejuvenation of British agriculture was Adolf Hitler, the war years having ensured that the country needed food. With both arable products and livestock becoming more valuable, farming fortunes took an upturn and, with them, those of the veterinary profession.

Alf found himself working harder and harder, and although enjoying his work despite the long hours, he soon began to feel that a major decision about his future would have to be made. As a salaried partner, he was not only working harder than Donald, but doing virtually all the night calls, and he felt that he deserved his fair share of the profits. In addition, he had no lasting security. He wanted to have a full partnership. With Donald benefiting from the increased revenue from the practice, a large gulf had opened between the fortunes of the two men and it was widening by the day.

Alf would often recall those days. ‘My overwhelming ambition was to work for one man – J. A. Wight. Much as I liked Donald, I needed more security. I was simply working myself to the bone and filling his pockets.' In January 1944, he approached Donald with a view to acquiring a full partnership. Donald, although having a genuine affection and respect for his younger colleague, had no intention of relinquishing undisputed control over his practice, and Alf's request was flatly refused.

Alf found he had easily re-established himself in the practice, and felt that he could have enjoyed a long and happy future in Thirsk; he liked the farmers with their hard and honest approach to life, and he got on well with his senior partner, despite his unpredictable ways. Desperately disappointed at Donald's rejection, he began to consider his options.

He would not attempt to establish a business in opposition to Donald; not only did he regard him as a friend but his contract as a salaried partner precluded such a move within a radius of ten miles of Thirsk. He discussed the situation with Joan who, although not wanting to leave a town that had been her home for so many years, was fully prepared to go where her husband could find security which, for a man in his perilous financial position, was of paramount importance. He had no alternative but to begin to look elsewhere.

Many conflicting opinions about Donald Sinclair have been expressed over the years. Articles have been written accusing Alfred Wight of being too hard on Donald, claiming that his portrayal of Donald as Siegfried Farnon was unfair and that he was not simply an eccentric and unusual man, but one full of fine qualities – ones that the books failed to convey. Others, however, have hinted that James Herriot was much too kind towards the character of Siegfried, saying that the real Donald severely exploited his younger partner throughout his professional career.

The truth lies somewhere in between. Above all, Donald was a humorous and warm personality, someone whom it was utterly impossible to dislike and there is no doubt that James Herriot portrayed him as such. The fan mail that Alf received over the years substantiates this; to millions of readers, Siegfried Farnon is a most engaging and fascinating man. In this respect, James Herriot's readers have not been misled, but Alf hid the other side of his partner from his fans. Donald may have been a most interesting and entertaining person but he was also one of the most difficult, with many being of the opinion that the partnership survived thanks only to the patience and good nature of Alfred Wight.

Regular work was something to which Donald would never submit. He was not a lazy man – in fact, he was on the go all the time – but his erratic personality dictated that he could not discipline himself to work regular hours. In the early years when there were only the two of them in the practice, Alf worked almost every night, Donald looking
after night duties only when his partner was away on his short and infrequent holidays. The constant and tiring grind of veterinary practice was not for Donald Sinclair.

This fact was only discussed among his close associates and, in his later years, my father used to amuse us with his memories of Donald's reluctance to work. ‘There is a subtle difference in our approach to night work between Donald and myself,' he told me, many years ago. ‘I dislike night work, but I do it. He loves it, but he doesn't do it!'

Donald regularly told me how much he, himself, loved out-of-hours work and often he would reprimand me gently should I be a little short-tempered in the morning following a night of feverish activity on some farm while everyone else, including Donald, was asleep. ‘You should count your blessings, Jim,' he would say to me patiently. ‘It's a privilege to get up in the early hours on a summer morning and drive around this beautiful countryside. It's like a holiday with pay!' Strangely, he very rarely enjoyed this attractive aspect of the veterinary surgeon's life.

‘Call out the boys!' was a cry we often heard. Such was his pride in our provision of a prompt twenty-four-hour service, he would repeatedly inform our clients, ‘If you have any doubts, do not hesitate to telephone. Day or night, call out the boys!'

The ‘boys', of whom I was one, did not advertise their services with quite the same enthusiasm. Over the twenty-five years that I worked with Donald, I never saw him perform any night duties at all, save during one period in the mid 1970s. He decided then, for some inexplicable reason and at the age of well over sixty, to begin regular visits to farms at night – something he had
never
done previously. Was this because he was feeling a little guilty? I do not think so. I am sure it was just another example of his unique and unpredictable personality.

Donald's avoidance of regular work throughout his professional life has been a source of great amusement, not only for Alf Wight, but for the many young veterinary surgeons who worked in our practice. A gentle smile would always crease my father's face whenever he produced the classic phrase which summarised his partner's attitude perfectly. ‘Willing to work … but won't!'

Alf not only worked harder in the practice than his partner, he shouldered almost all the responsibilities of running it. He had no one to share this burden as Donald steadfastly declined to take on any additional partners. Many young veterinary surgeons sought partnerships in Thirsk but all were refused, myself included. Donald did not
want the hassle of partnerships, considering them a potential source of bad feeling within the practice. There may be some truth in this, but it also resulted in the practice of Sinclair and Wight lacking any real stability, with the paying customers having to keep adjusting to a long procession of different veterinary assistants driving on to their farms.

James Herriot was very loyal in the portrayal of his partner in the books, revealing little of the difficult side to his character but, in fairness to Donald, his many good qualities would always far outweigh his less appealing ones.

When I was refused a full partnership in 1976, I did not worry too much. I had some security – knowing that, one day, I would inherit my father's share – but for him, back in 1944, the situation was very different.

At the time Alf was not short of offers. He was in regular touch with his first employer, Jock McDowall in Sunderland, while he saw a great deal of Frank Bingham in Leyburn during the course of his work. Not only did both men, having heard of Alf's dissatisfaction with his situation in Thirsk, express their interest in his joining them, but his old Glasgow college friend, Eddie Straiton, who was building up a large practice in Staffordshire, wrote to Alf as early as November 1943 suggesting the possibility of a partnership.

In February 1944, Alf visited Stafford to have a look round and he liked what he saw. Eddie was well organised and his practice was booming, with a busy small animal branch as well as the large animal work. There were cows everywhere; Staffordshire, with its endless green fields full of bovines, was exactly what Alf was looking for. He returned to Thirsk to think things over and discuss a possible move with Joan. There was no urgency to join Eddie straight away, which suited Alf as he wanted time to consider; a big decision lay ahead. Staffordshire, although an attractive county, could not take the place of Yorkshire in Alfred Wight's heart; he desperately wanted to remain in the county that he loved. Over the next few months, he could think of little else but his future. In the rare time off that he had, he visited other parts of the country where there were opportunities to set up in practice.

One place he visited was Whitby on the Yorkshire coast. As there was no veterinary surgeon there at that time, Alf considered it had potential. One afternoon, he stood on the high ground near Whitby Abbey and looked out to sea. As he watched the waves crashing onto the shore, with a bitter north-east wind slamming into his face, he
thought to himself, ‘It can be cold in Thirsk, but this is something else!' He looked out to sea again before turning round in a full circle. Another thought struck him: ‘There's only half a practice here!' No money was to be made out of the North Sea, and Whitby was crossed off the list.

He visited a practice in Cumbria where there was a possible partnership but he did not take to the veterinary surgeon there; a future with someone he did not particularly like was not an appealing prospect and that opening too was jettisoned.

His brain boiled with possibilities. He still had offers from both Jock McDowall and Frank Bingham but did not consider them seriously. He did not fancy going back to work in Sunderland. Not only had he grown to love the beauty of the countryside around Thirsk but he did not want to return to mainly small animal work, having tasted the life of a country vet. He realised he would also have to work very long hours unless old Mac changed his drinking habits. Frank Bingham's offer had the attraction of a life among cows in some of the finest scenery in England but, much as he loved Frank, he could not accept, knowing that he would be doing almost all the work. Frank could spend vast amounts of time with a glass in his hand and Alf knew him well enough to know that he would never change. There was no one he liked more than Frank Bingham, but the easy-going Irishman and the young, ambitious Alf Wight would form a very one-sided partnership.