Read The Real James Herriot Online
Authors: Jim Wight
The Real James Herriot (4 page)
However, other tenements, such as the one in which Alf was to spend his earliest years, were in a different category altogether. Although not very prepossessing from the outside, they were perfectly respectable within. To walk inside one was often a revelation. The uninspiring, sometimes grim exterior belied a pleasant, roomy interior with high, sculptured ceilings in the living-rooms and ample space everywhere.
The ground-floor flat in which Alf spent the earliest years of his life, although not exactly the finest example of the Glasgow tenement flat, was perfectly sound and respectable, so much so that the entrance to his home was known as a âwally close'. These were quite special in that, having tiled walls, one was considered to be a few rungs up the ladder of affluence living âup' one of these. Each flat consisted of three or four rooms â a large living-room with an adjoining kitchen and one, sometimes two, bedrooms and a bathroom and lavatory. There were recesses set into the sides of the living-room across which curtains could be drawn, thus providing extra sleeping accommodation.
Milk and coal were both delivered by horse and cart. The milk was left in a jug outside the door, and the coalman would clatter into the house to dump the coal into a bunker situated in a corner of the kitchen. The coal was used for heating and, in many flats, it was also the means of fuelling the cooking ranges that were the dominant feature of the tenement kitchens. As well as cooking and heating the home, these imposing black steel fireplaces provided all the hot water the family needed. Alf's first tenement home may not have been a palace but it was comfortable and adequate.
One of the myths that has grown up around Alf Wight and his success is that of his dragging himself up from the âgrinding poverty' of his youth. The fact is that his Glasgow days were exceptionally happy â with the cold finger of hardship rarely felt by young âAlfie' Wight. The Yoker area of Glasgow â a respectable, working-class part of the city â was one in which many Glaswegians aspired to live. There was certainly heavy industry, shipyards and steelworks â and there were parts of Yoker where faint hearts would fear to tread, especially on Friday and Saturday nights â but much of it was inhabited by solid citizens who were well above the poverty line.
Only a few minutes' walk from Alf's home would take him out into green fields and farmland, backed by the Kilpatrick Hills and the Campsie Fells in the distance â a very different picture from the Yoker of today. The stage upon which Alfie Wight played out the happy hours of his childhood has been replaced by a scene of neglect, dominated by drab buildings and wasteland. Boarded-up shops are a testimony to the crime that, as in most other big cities, seems to be a constant threat. As he played on the streets and in the nearby fields with his friends, young Alf without doubt enjoyed Yoker's better times.
His parents were dedicated workers who ensured that the family was always well catered for. Pop held down a good job as a ship plater in the big Yarrow's shipyard which was close to the family home, and he supplemented his earnings by playing the piano in the local cinemas. He was the leader of an orchestra which provided the sound tracks for silent films as well as music for the intervals between the shows.
Pop took great pride in his musical ability. In the evenings, when most of his workmates were having a drink in the bars of Yoker, Pop would be found seated in front of the beloved grand piano he had brought with him from Sunderland. He would practise happily for hours. I can clearly recall my grandfather seated in front of his cherished
piano, eyes closed and with a look of sheer pleasure on his face as his hands danced over the keys. He had lost the forefinger of his right hand when he was a young man but this did not seem to hinder his ability. He used to compose his own music and, in his later years, accompanied a group known as the âGlenafton Singers' who performed at many concerts in Glasgow. Pop was a truly gifted musician whose enthusiasm spread to his son ensuring that he, too, would discover that the love of music was one of life's greatest joys.
Hannah Wight was as musical as Pop. She and her husband were members of the Glasgow Society of Musicians, performing regularly at concerts in the city. He was the accompanist on the piano while she sang in the choir as a contralto under her maiden name, calling herself âMiss Anna Bell'. The extra money they earned while performing with this professional organisation must have been a welcome addition to the family budget.
The mid 1920s was a particularly worrying period and parts of Glasgow were grim places to be at the time of the General Strike in 1926. Soldiers were on the streets to maintain law and order, and the windows of the buses and trams were covered in steel netting to protect them from flying missiles hurled by desperate and rebellious mobs. Pop, along with thousands of workers, was made redundant from the shipyards. As with so many others, he had to sway in the winds of depression sweeping the city as work became almost impossible to get. However, he managed to survive through sheer determination and adaptability by turning his hand to other means of earning a living â working first as a joiner and later, when Alf was a teenager, by opening a fish and chip shop. He also had the advantage of having a very resolute and resourceful wife.
Around 1928, Pop's income from playing in the cinemas was ruthlessly cut with the advent of sound tracks which accompanied the films, but Hannah was already earning a living in her own right. Musical ability was not the only talent she possessed; she was adept at making clothes. In the mid 1920s, she set aside one of the rooms of the family home to establish a thriving dressmaking business that she would keep going for almost thirty years. She became so busy that, in the early 1930s, she employed not only several seamstresses but a maid by the name of Sadie. Hannah developed a clientele of many wealthy and influential ladies â something that would be a vital contribution to the family finances.
With two parents who ensured that there was always some money coming into the home, young Alf Wight never knew real hardship. His parents, admittedly, were under financial pressure at times, especially when Alf's education had to be financed, but they survived the years of depression in the city far better than most. Indeed, at that time, there would be few houses in the streets of Yoker that could number a maid and a grand piano among its occupants. Although there were to be times when the spectre of poverty stared Alf in the face, it was not during his childhood days on the streets of Glasgow.
Shortly before he was five years old, Alf Wight began his education at Yoker Primary School. It was a good school and the teachers were well qualified, putting great emphasis on learning the three âRs'. The headmaster was a man called Mr Malcolm â âBeery' Malcolm to the children as he had a florid face that looked as though it was partial to a pint of beer. He was a Master of Arts and a fine headmaster but young Alf's favourite teacher was Mr Paterson who taught History.
Alf loved History and all through his adult years he enjoyed reading books on historical subjects, saying they gave him a stab of excitement to know that he was reading about events that actually happened. Mr Paterson was the man who stimulated this interest through his sparkling and enthusiastic teaching methods. When describing battles, he charged up and down the rows of children, waving a huge cane and spearing his imaginary foes: Robert the Bruce cutting the English to pieces at the Battle of Bannockburn was brought vividly to life, and the laughing children loved every minute of it. Little did the young lad realise that one day many years later he, too, would bring the past alive with his account of the veterinary profession as it used to be. He was to be every bit as graphic with the pen as had been his animated teacher with his cane, leaping around the classroom all those years ago in Yoker.
Alf excelled at English but Arithmetic was a subject he could never fathom and he would stare vacantly at his classmate, Willie Crawford, who could come up with the answer to a problem within seconds. Fortunately, it was not a subject that was essential to his further education, and was one that would forever remain a deep, insoluble mystery.
Yoker School gave Alf Wight an excellent start to his education and he took away many happy memories after leaving. The greatest legacy bestowed upon Alf by his first school, however, was the meeting there
of a boy who was to become his lifelong friend. Alex Taylor lived a short distance away in Kelso Street and the two boys struck up a friendship that was to last more than seventy years. Alf would have many good friendships in the course of his life, but none would stand the test of time more steadfastly than that with Alex Taylor.
One amazing character remained forever engraved on Alf's memories of his days at Yoker School â a redoubtable individual by the name of âPimple' Wilson. This boy made a name for himself by declaring his intention to leap out of a second-storey tenement window with the sole assistance of an old umbrella. This caused immense excitement among the children and the forthcoming event was awaited with eager anticipation. The great day came, with large crowds of children, Alf and Alex among them, gathering to watch the spectacle. They were not to be disappointed. After a period of tense expectation, the hero of the hour appeared on the window ledge, his âparachute' in hand, ready for action. There were a few taut moments as the boy fidgeted around on the window ledge, then suddenly, to the sound of gasps from his young audience, he sprang out of the high window, umbrella held aloft. For about one second, all went well, but his plans were to go badly wrong. The old umbrella suddenly turned inside out and, accompanied by the screaming boy, zoomed to the ground. âPimple' was taken to hospital and was soon on the mend. It had been a short but dramatic show, and was to remain Alf's most vivid memory of his days at Yoker School.
It was, of course, long before the days of television, and Alf, Alex and the other children made their own amusements. Games played outside in the playground, going by such sophisticated names as âmoshie', âspin the pirie' and âcuddie hunch', required no expensive equipment. When not at school, they spent hours kicking a football about, while âWee Alfie Wight' often hurtled around the streets on his fairy cycle â the possession of which made him the envy of his classmates. They were happy and carefree days. Despite the poverty and desperation that stalked the streets of Glasgow during the Depression, parents had no fear for the safety of their children. How different it is today.
One of the great entertainments for the children in those days was the cinema. The whole area abounded with picture houses, with the âpenny matinée' one of the most popular occasions. For the princely sum of one penny, or twopence if the upstairs balcony was preferred, the youngsters could see a whole show and many a Saturday afternoon was spent watching comedy or western films. Cowboy films in those
days were very popular and the children loved them despite the absence of sound tracks. A favourite hero of the Old West was a wisecracking cowboy by the name of Drag Harlin. This gunfighter did not appear on film, but was a character in some of the popular books of the day. Years later, Alf and Alex would roar with laughter as they recalled their boyhood days reading these âscholarly' descriptions of life in the Old West. Alex recently recalled an example of the author's peerless style of writing: âA blue-black hole appeared in the middle of his forehead. An amazed expression crossed his face as he slumped slowly to the floor!' Such passages as these deserved, Alf once said, ârecognition as literary classics!'
Sundays were days for going to church. During his adult life, Alf was not a regular church-goer, but in his primary school days he attended Sunday School each week. His memories of going to church in Yoker were not as vivid as those when he occasionally attended in Sunderland with his uncles and aunts. The Methodist services in those days were conducted with fiery enthusiasm. The minister would frequently be interrupted from the floor with cries of âHallelujah!' or âPraise the Lord!', followed by splinter groups chanting hymns with rhythmic and deafening abandon. It was pure âfire and brimstone' which young Alf found quite daunting. The services in Yoker Church were not quite so dramatic but one story he told about his Sunday School was rather more intriguing. The small children who were taken out regularly for short walks were taught to spit whenever they passed the Catholic church.
When the history of the city of Glasgow is considered, the spectacle of small children spitting at a church should come as no surprise. Glasgow has had a strong Irish-Catholic population since the middle of the nineteenth century when thousands poured into the city to find work during the boom years. This resulted in Glasgow becoming a city split by religious beliefs, and feelings could run high. In Alf's day (and still now) you were either a âProddy' or a âPapist' in parts of Glasgow and, along with his friends, young Alfie Wight, the little Protestant, was instructed by his teacher to vent his feelings against the Catholic enemy. Fortunately, this sectarian dogma failed to establish a hold over young Alf, and he grew up to be a most fair-minded and tolerant man who could never understand the hatred engendered by these strong beliefs.
Life at Yoker School prepared Alf well for the next step in his education. Most of his schoolmates went on to government-maintained
secondary schools â including Alex Taylor who went to Victoria Drive School â but Alf's mother had other ideas. She wanted the very best for her son and decreed that he would go to one of the foremost fee-paying schools in Glasgow. Alf obtained the grades necessary for his secondary education and on 3 September 1928, he travelled three miles into the city to the leafy suburb of Hillhead where he walked, for the first time, through the doors of Hillhead High School.
At the time of Alf's admission, Hillhead High School had an excellent reputation, and there was strong competition for places. Alf found himself mixing with many pupils who came from more affluent homes than his own in Yoker. This did not worry him. For the next five years he played his part in applying himself diligently to his work, as his parents played theirs in meeting the school fees and providing a stable family background.
These were difficult times for Pop. Having been made redundant from the shipyards, he was still playing in cinemas and theatres in the city, as well as working as a joiner but his income was certainly not enough to support his family and meet the school fees of around £2â10s per term. Alf, who loved his father dearly, would later reminisce about those days in Glasgow. âIt was a great struggle at that time for poor old Pop,' he said. âHe was bouncing in and out of jobs, with absolutely no guarantee of security in any one of them, but he always held down a job of some sort.'
Although Pop was rarely out of work, it was Hannah, through her thriving dressmaking business, complemented by giving some piano and singing lessons, who was largely responsible for keeping the family finances afloat. Alf Wight was never to forget the support he received from his parents throughout his eleven years of education in Glasgow.
The building in Cecil Street in which he began his secondary education was a solid, but dour, four-storey building within which was a maze of small, overcrowded classrooms. The problems presented by this lack of space, in a school with more than 600 pupils, resulted in its moving, in September 1931, to another building a short distance away in Oakfield Avenue. Here Alf spent the final two years of his time at Hillhead. In the summer of 1997, I visited my father's old school. No longer a fee-paying school, it is now run by the Education Department of Glasgow City Council, but this austere red brick building has hardly changed in appearance from Alf's days there. Inside, the classrooms are still arranged exactly as they were, alongside the once-icy corridors he strode as a boy. The present headmaster, Ken Cunningham, told me
that the school was very aware of its connection with James Herriot but, although he enjoyed his time there, Alf rarely referred to his days at Hillhead. Perhaps those days of intense study, combined with iron discipline, did not leave such lasting memories as other more flamboyant periods of his life.
It was during his years at Hillhead, however, that the young Alf Wight was to develop qualities he would carry with him throughout his life â diligence and ambition, together with a love of literature, sport and music. Above all, he acquired attributes that would be the hall-mark of the father I knew â a keen interest in a wide variety of subjects, enthusiasm for everything he did, and a great appreciation of any good fortune that would come his way.
He always assured us that he was a poor pupil, but his school reports tell a different story. His final leaving report is marked âexcellent' for progress, diligence and conduct. His three best subjects were English, French and Latin, with the dreaded Maths trailing far behind. He was well taught. Hillhead, under the headmaster Frank Beaumont, had a reputation for academic excellence backed up by strong discipline. Corporal punishment, so frowned upon today, was a very effective means of maintaining law and order; the school motto was
Je maintiendrai
, âI will maintain'. The trusted ally of the teachers in upholding discipline was the belt, and Alf was on the receiving end of it many times. This is one part of his life at school that Alf remembered well. One of his teachers, âBig Bill' Barclay, one whom he remembered better than any, commanded great respect through his physical presence as well as his teaching ability. He did not need to use the belt too often but when he did it was an occasion to be remembered. Some of the teachers would use the belt without hesitation â the slightest misdemeanour being punished with up to six lashes across the hands and wrists. Three thongs at the end of the thick leather strap ensured that there was a thorough distribution of pain.
Alf received a nasty surprise one day when Mr Filshie, his Maths master, expressed displeasure at his pupil's performance. Alf had achieved the remarkable total of 5% in a trigonometry exam and was about to be punished. He recalled this painful incident in his contribution to the Hillhead High School Centenary Year Magazine in 1985.
âWight,' said Mr Filshie ominously, âI have always thought that you were just an amiable idiot and have treated you accordingly, but now that I see you have come out top of the class in your English paper, I
can only conclude that you have not been trying for me. Hold out your hands!'
Although doing nothing to improve Alf's Maths, this painful means of maintaining control worked and there was a record of excellent discipline within the school. It was this, perhaps, that stimulated the young Alf Wight to keep, for the first time, a diary.
One of the most intriguing aspects of James Herriot's writing was his ability to reproduce incidents that occurred many years before. His attention to detail is so authentic that one would be forgiven for thinking that they happened only yesterday. Many people, when discussing his work, assumed that he meticulously kept diaries to which he referred when he began writing in earnest. Alf often stated, in his many interviews with the media, that he did not keep a diary and that he could remember the old days clearly, right down to the smallest detail. Despite these assertions, he was widely disbelieved, but, in fact, Alfred Wight was not quite the organised and methodical man that many believed him to be. Apart from two brief periods in his life, he did not keep a diary but he was a great observer, especially of anything that interested him, and had an excellent photographic memory. The fascinating vagaries of human nature and the humorous incidents that unfolded before his eyes remained firmly in his mind; this, combined with his gift as a writer, provided a recipe for success.
The first time he kept a diary was from 1933 until 1935 â during his last year at Hillhead School and his first two years at Glasgow Veterinary College. His mother preserved these old diaries, and they have provided an insight into the enthusiastic approach to life that Alf exhibited as a young man.
He used his diary to poke fun at his teachers at Hillhead. âMiss Chesters (Sophy), endeavours to pump French into us. Chesters is frank and almost boyish and I like her very well. Twice a week, we get Mr (Tarzan) Brookes for Elocution. This bird, tho' probably well meaning, is nothing but a funiosity.' And he wrote about his Latin master: âBuckie was in a terrible mood today. Roaring and bellowing at us like a rogue elephant. Today, I was amazed to see the length to which his eyes could boggle without falling out.'
As is hinted by these humorous swipes at his teachers, he enjoyed his time at Hillhead. He loved English and Latin, reading widely around both subjects in his spare time at home. He read ancient writers such as Cicero and Ovid, saying later that so well-versed was he in Latin that
he reckoned he could carry on a conversation with an ancient Roman. Alf's English, too, benefited from the hours of reading that he put in, and the great enthusiasm he showed for his subjects meant that his school studies were a pleasure.
I always knew that my father was a well-read man. Our home in Thirsk was always bulging with books and almost all of them had been read. His love of reading stemmed from his schooldays â days during which, whenever he had a spare hour or two, he had a book in his hand. He did not just enjoy reading adventure stories; he devoured the classics avidly. By the age of fifteen, he had read the entire works of Charles Dickens, and his diaries substantiate this. Throughout, there are references to Dickens, Scott, Pepys and, on a more lyrical note, Shakespeare and Milton. âGot Dickens'
Tale of Two Cities
out of the library as we have to read it for school. That suits me down to the ground as I am a great admirer of Dickens.' Dickens gets another mention: âDad is smoking Kensitas. They give coupons and I sent away for a catalogue; included is the works of Dickens in 16 superb volumes for 10 shillings. I'm going to get them.'
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, H. G. Wells and H. Rider Haggard were amongst his favourite adventure writers and he wrote that O'Henry was âa joy to read'. The Kensitas coupons came in very useful; as well as the complete works of Dickens, volumes of O'Henry and Shakespeare were obtained with their assistance. On the lighter side, P. G. Wodehouse was his number one author, and the
Jeeves Omnibus
his favourite book of all. He read and re-read this book throughout his life, the antics of Jeeves, Bertie Wooster, Young Bingo and others invariably rendering him helpless with laughter.
P. G. Wodehouse must have had a profound effect on young Alf. Some turns of phrase that he used in his diaries smack of passages from Wodehouse's books. While on holiday in West Kilbride in July 1933, he wrote the following about some people he had met: âDavid Somerville seems to be crackers over Evelyn, the poor fish! Monty and I regard Dorothy as a fairly decent spud.' This style appears frequently in his diaries, revealing evidence of his admiration for Wodehouse's work.
As a boy, he shared these moments of laughter over Wodehouse with his own father who was also an avid reader and whose home was always full of books. The high quality of the English teaching at Hillhead under âJohnny' Gibb and âBig Bill' was a great stimulus but Pop was also very influential in steering Alf towards the joy of reading, deserving a great
deal of credit for the encouragement he gave his son in those formative years.
As well as encouraging his son to read, Pop was largely responsible for instilling in him a great love of music. The intense satisfaction his father gleaned from both playing and listening to it did not go unnoticed by the young boy who grew up to appreciate good music every bit as much as his father. Pop loved all kinds of music. During our many visits to Glasgow in my younger days, I used to be fascinated by the old gramophone player that stood in a corner of the house next to the grand piano. This venerable machine had to be wound up by hand, after which the turntable began to revolve and a huge steel arm with a wicked-looking needle would be lowered onto the record. The result was a wild crackling, behind which could be heard some music. It was, however, Pop's pride and joy. One of his favourite operatic records was of the great Caruso singing âVesti la Giubba' from
I Pagliacci.
One of Alf's enduring boyhood memories was of his father, sitting night after night next to the old gramophone, listening to this great performer. When Caruso's magnificent voice began to slip into a lower gear, Pop would leap to his feet and crank vigorously at the handle of the gramophone until musical perfection was restored. That overworked record is still in my possession.
Alf's parents first started him at the piano at the age of six. He had years of lessons â his teacher being none other than his father â but he was a poor pupil and practised with little enthusiasm. This became a source of intense frustration for Pop, and many hours of raised voices and discordant notes were endured by father and son before Pop finally conceded defeat. Alf did perform, at the age of thirteen, at a concert in Clydebank Town Hall but that was to be the pinnacle of his piano-playing career.
None of this lessened Alf's love of music. Although he was never to be the accomplished player his father had been, he had inherited his, and his mother's, ear for music â something that would give him untold pleasure throughout his life.
It was not only the academic and cultured side of his schooldays that Alf enjoyed; he loved playing sport and Hillhead had a proud reputation on the playing fields of Scotland. Cricket, athletics and tennis were Alf's favourites and in the 1931â2 year he won an athletics medal, coming second in the Inter-scholastics Sports. His main achievement was in
the long jump â known as the broad jump in those days â where he produced a jump of over nineteen feet.
Alf was keen on athletics but the sport at which he really excelled was tennis. In his final year at Hillhead he reached the tennis final only to be narrowly defeated, but he was not discouraged. He had joined Yoker Tennis Club and reached the club's final the following year, only to be beaten once again. However, being beaten in two successive finals did not deter him. He continued to play tennis regularly throughout his remaining years in Glasgow, winning many matches in the West of Scotland Tennis Championships, and when he finally moved to Yorkshire, he played competitive tennis until well into his thirties. His hours of playing when a young man in Glasgow resulted in his becoming a highly proficient performer.
Both the playing of and the following of sport figured prominently in Alf's schooldays, with his boyhood diaries full of references to it. The England cricket team and the fortunes of Hillhead on the rugby field are frequently mentioned but most of the space is allocated to Sunderland Football Club. Despite the fact that his team was 150 miles away, his allegiance to the Red and Whites never faltered. During his years in Glasgow, he watched Rangers and Celtic many times â and he supported Motherwell in the Scottish League â but the fanaticism of his father ensured that it was the team from the town of his birth that remained closest to his heart.