Donald exploded again the following year, when he read some of the reviews of the film which described Anthony Hopkins’ performance as the ‘eccentric bachelor’ and the ‘excitable Siegfried’, but never again was the threat of litigation to cloud the relationship between the two men.

In Donald’s defence, I firmly believe that he would never have actually sued my father. He was always a man whose next move was impossible to predict and, despite this confrontation over his portrayal as Siegfried, he always had a deep respect for his partner.

In all the time that I knew Donald, I never really understood how he felt about the publicity surrounding the ‘Herriot explosion’. Shortly after his threat of legal action, he and Audrey were present at the end-of-film parties that everyone enjoyed with the actors and producers, and they seemed to be thoroughly at ease.

In the following years, when thousands of tourists invaded the surgery, Donald would frequently take it upon himself to give them a guided tour of the premises and the old garden. Was this the same man who had confronted his partner about the books and films which he said he disapproved of so strongly? The inimitable Siegfried Farnon was every bit as unpredictable in real life as James Herriot had shown him to be.

After this episode, Alf trod very warily when writing about Siegfried, toning down his character considerably in future books. I thought this was a great shame and I told my father so at the time. I had always reckoned Siegfried to be the pivotal character in the books, one whom the many Herriot fans had grown to love. Tom McCormack, of St Martin’s Press in New York, agreed. He wrote to Alf in 1974:

‘I think you can honestly tell your partner that the million American readers who have come to know him through All Creaturesare immensely fond of him. Next to James and Helen, he is easily the favourite character in the book. Surprisingly, his combustibility is a much more attractive thing than any blandness and sobriety that might replace it … I’d urge strongly that the American edition be allowed to retain the lively and explosive Siegfried we’ve all grown so fond of.’

Throughout their years together, Alf was always the driving force in the practice to whom Donald often turned for advice, even on personal matters. There was no real need for him to bow to Donald’s wishes in any way but, at the back of his mind, he felt a stab of guilt. I remember his saying to me at the time, ‘We all have a laugh at old Donald and his ways but perhaps it’s a bit different for him, being on the receiving end of it all?’

Alfred Wight had upset one of his oldest friends and he was going to see that it did not happen again. From then on, the character of Siegfried was considerably played down in the books.

One thing that softened the blow a little for Donald was that he, Brian and I received a small percentage of the money from the film royalties. This was a legal measure to avoid tax, my father arguing that we had contributed towards providing the material on which the original stories were based. The taxman did not allow any substantial amounts to filter down to us but, nevertheless, it was a welcome addition to the yearly budget. Alf felt that any amount, no matter how small, was better in the pockets of his friends than adding to the already considerable sum that was fattening the purse of the Inland Revenue.

This injection of cash was repeated with the next film, and we received regular little cheques right through the television series into the 1980s. As a newly-married man, I was highly appreciative of this extra money, and Brian, too, was delighted to receive these welcome boosts to his economy, as a letter written to Alf in May 1980 reveals. The style shows that he had changed little from those fantasising days of his youth:

Salutations Schistosoma,

I have just received a simple printed letter from David Higham and his limited Associates, enclosing another simple cheque for £597.38.

A blessing on you, kind and noble sir – this means that I and my kin can revel in the hot groceries once more and I can indulge my craving for Tetley’s Bitter Ale to my belly’s content.

We must meet again soon, to taste the dishes of Cathay, so nobly served in Wetherby Market Place.

Yours as ever,

     Wolf J. Flywheel

*

The first film received good notices and a second one was planned. This one, called ‘It Shouldn’t Happen to a Vet’, was shot in 1975 and had its Gala Première in London’s Shaftesbury Avenue on 8 April 1976.

Reader’s Digest again sponsored the film and the producer, as for the previous one, was David Susskind. This time, to Alf’s delight, the film was shot in the Yorkshire Dales around his most favourite areas of Wensleydale and Swaledale. Apart from Lisa Harrow who played Helen once again, there were different actors playing the main characters. John Alderton – already popular with the British public for his many appearances in ‘Upstairs Downstairs’ – took the part of James Herriot. Colin Blakely played Siegfried but, in this film, there was no Tristan character.

While John Alderton provided a more forceful James Herriot, with a flash of humour always evident, Colin Blakely’s role as Siegfried was more subdued than the portrayal by Anthony Hopkins. Although he brought some wonderful comedy to the part, there was hardly a trace of the spontaneous eccentricity that was the hallmark of the real man. This was partly because Alf insisted on some changes since he was not prepared to upset Donald again. After reading the scripts in advance of shooting, he was adamant that the peaks and troughs of Siegfried’s character be smoothed out.

Joan and Alf approved of all the actresses who played the part of Helen in the films and television series, but Lisa Harrow was their favourite. She never forgot her role in the Herriot films and kept in touch with Alf and Joan for years afterwards.

As before, we went to watch the shooting on several occasions, and all agreed that the background of the wild fellsides and dales added an authenticity that was missing from the first film. Alf was particularly pleased that the scenery of the Yorkshire Dales was going to be shared with so many others.

Many of his friends went with him to watch the filming, Brian, Denton Pette – and Donald, too. Denton was intrigued to observe Richard Pearson’s portrayal of his own character, Granville Bennett. At the time, Denton owned an MGB and the boot of the car had been lovingly converted into a bar, stocked with a fine selection of beers and spirits. The actors and film crew were not slow to avail themselves of Denton’s extraordinary hospitality, and Rosie remembers arriving one day above Keld in the upper reaches of Swaledale, to be greeted by a smiling Denton with the words, ‘Rosie, my dear! A small aperitif, perhaps?’

On these trips into the Dales, there was someone else who appreciated the odd tipple from Denton’s ‘mobile pub’ – an old friend and colleague of his, and Alf’s, called Basil Aylward. Basil, the veterinary surgeon from Richmond in lower Swaledale, was the veterinary advisor to the film – Alf having again declined to play any major part in its production.

The mischievously-smiling Basil, a bon viveurin a similar mould to Denton, was another colleague in whose company Alf laughed continuously. One of their favourite meeting places was the Black Bull at Moulton, near Richmond, where many a good tale was told over a few beers and the magnificent seafood that is the speciality of the house.

Basil, a born raconteur, was able to recall a seemingly endless store of highly entertaining tales of mishaps and calamities which typify the life of the veterinary surgeon. It is the disasters which befall our colleagues that are so much more interesting to listen to than their triumphs, and this open admission of his own fallibility was an endearing feature of Basil’s personality.