Alf gave the man a knowing look. ‘Well, there you are!’ he said. ‘Don’t you be so quick to judge a person in fixture.’

For his first book, Alf Wight received £200 as an advance from Michael Joseph, half on signature of the contract on 5 August 1969 and the other half due on publication. This advance would be set against royalties of 10% of the book’s published price for the first 2,000 books sold, rising to a maximum of 17½% should the book become a best-seller. At his first meeting with Anthea Joseph, she had explained to him that advances for first books by unknown authors were rarely high; it was not so much the outlay in advance they had to consider when taking on a new author, but the fact that the book would take up a place on the publishing list and would need time and care spent on it by all the departments.

It was indeed a modest amount but he fingered that first cheque in wonderment. He was soon, however, to receive a far bigger boost to his financial status. In November, Jean LeRoy negotiated the sale of the serial rights to the influential newspaper, the London Evening Standard. The book was to be serialised, prior to publication, in a newspaper with a huge circulation in London and the home counties.

Alf thought that he had entered the world of fantasy when he received a telephone call from his agent informing him of the deal that had been struck. The newspaper was to pay £36,710 for the serial rights – a sum that would be considered good today, but thirty years ago was monumental. I was there when he received the call and saw him nearly fall off his chair. To a man who had had only £20 four years before, it was unbelievable. On that day, with grim words like ‘mortgages’ and ‘overdrafts’ soon to be spectres of the past, he reckoned that his financial worries were over for all time.

I remember my father’s happiness at the time as he began to feel that people were on his side. He had had to make many decisions in his life, but that of employing an agent was surely the very best. He often said to me, ‘I love to think of all those people beavering away on my behalf, taking all the decisions and negotiating deals, while I sit up here in Yorkshire and just carry on writing!’

Alf Wight remained loyal to David Higham Associates throughout his career, never forgetting the good work they did for him. David Bolt, the agent who sold the first book to Michael Joseph, left the firm at the beginning of 1971 to establish another agency and, realising the potential of James Herriot, wanted Alf to move with him. Fully aware of how much David Bolt had helped him, this was a difficult decision, but Alf opted to stay with the firm rather than the individual agent. From that time onwards, his agent at David Higham was Jacqueline Korn, who dealt with every James Herriot book and continues to handle his literary affairs to this day. Sadly, Jean LeRoy – the author-cum-agent who had been so instrumental in kick-starting Alf’s literary career – died in 1970. She was never to see the phenomenal rise to success of the little-known vet who had sent her his frayed manuscript on that fateful day in 1969.

The serialisation of If Only They Could Talkby the Evening Standardin the spring of 1970 was a time of high excitement. I remember the thrill my father felt as he read the copies of the newspaper, seeing his work actually in print for the very first time.

He would receive mountains of fan letters during his life but he never forgot the very first one. It was from an elderly man living in the East End of London who had read the first episode in the newspaper. This was the incident in the opening chapter where James Herriot spends hours calving a cow in the middle of the night. After finally completing the job in a state of exhaustion, the farmer asks him whether he would like a drink. To the reply of ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Dinsdale, I’d love a drink,’ James Herriot receives the curt response, ‘Nay, I meant for t’ cow!’

I remember my father telling us about that episode at the time it actually happened, and we had all found it very funny. James Herriot’s very first fan, however, was not so amused. The letter was barely literate but it exuded pure outrage. The shaky writing was deeply imprinted into the paper: ‘If I’d been you, I would’ve chucked that bucket of water (bloody) over his head!’

If Only They Could Talkwas published in April 1970 and 3,000 copies were printed. It sold steadily and, later in the year, another 1,000 came off the press. This was by no means spectacular but it was good for a first book by an unknown author.

Alf could not resist looking in the local bookshops to see whether his book was being prominently displayed. He was disappointed. Very few copies seemed to be on view and, in many cases, it was placed in the children’s sections. Brian Sinclair, who was delighted to be portrayed as Tristan, was very supportive. He, often assisted by John Crooks – Alf’s first veterinary assistant – went into every bookshop, he could find, switching the book onto the best-seller shelves to help the sales!

This eager support from Brian contrasted sharply with the attitude displayed by Donald, whose response to the release of If Only They Could Talk –from the first day of publication – had been one of almost total silence. The two brothers, sharing many qualities through their singular behaviour, were, in other respects, so very different.

Alf looked for references to his book in the review pages of numerous newspapers and magazines but without much success. However, despite the lack of publicity, he was a man still hardly able to believe his good fortune in becoming a published author, and was more than satisfied.

One person who loudly extolled the virtues of the book was his ebullient cousin, Nan Arrowsmith, in Sunderland. Not only was she the most fanatical lover of animals of all Alf Wight’s relatives – always possessing at any one time a noisy menagerie of assorted dogs and cats – but she and Tony ran a bookshop in the town and she looked forward eagerly to selling his book. Half of Sunderland must have known that her cousin was now an author.

One day, a young sales representative walked into the shop. ‘You may be interested in this new book,’ he said, showing her a copy of If Only They Could Talk. ‘Some old vet has written down his experiences. It’s all been done before, but it may be worth stocking a couple of copies or so?’

He could not have anticipated the dramatic response. ‘Let me tell you, young man!’ Nan exploded, blasting cigarette smoke into his face. ‘James Herriot is mycousin and he is notold! He’s nobbut a lad! And I’ll tell you something else – his books are going to be best-sellers and I personally will sell hundreds. You mark my words, you cheeky young bugger!’ The long grating laugh that followed helped to put the startled sales rep at ease.

It is not surprising that many people saw the potential of that first book. It is written in an easy-to-read, conversational style, with vivid characterisation woven into the poignant descriptions of a bygone way of life. Above all, the book conveys a warm feeling to the reader, with an abundance of humour and astute observations into that most fascinating of subjects, human nature.

It is revealing to compare this polished final product with the earlier book that was rejected in 1967. There is no doubt that Alf had made huge strides in the art of writing within the space of only two years.

In Chapter 8 of If Only They Could Talk, Siegfried takes James to a farm to perform a post mortem. He forgets his knife and has to borrow a carving knife from the farmer’s wife.

This story was included in the original novel, and the following is an extract:

‘When he arrived at the house he found that he had forgotten to take his p.m. knife and decided that he would have to borrow a carving knife.’