Meeting the Real Thing

Long before I actually saw England's 'pleasant pastures' for myself, I saw it within the pages of the lovingly written All Creatures Great and Small, by James Herriot. It was probably the first of many that reached inside and made me long to walk there.

Today, as you can see, there is another bright fire to warm us here in this woodland cabin; deer peeking in, snow falling, dark as only winter can be in these freezing climes. I can almost feel the way James Herriot did as he was awakened by the telephone at 3 a.m. Wanting to stay in his warm bed. Required to haul himself out of it and into the freezing air to get dressed (sometimes the clothes went right over the pajamas), because Sigfried wouldn't.

James Herriot is the pen name for James Wight, a Veterinary Surgeon in Yorkshire, who wrote the series of books. Uniquely, he began writing at age 50, continuing his practice as a Vet long after he found success as an author. When we found ourselves in England in the 1980's, one great goal while there was to locate, and visit, James Herriot. At that time he still lived in the Veterinary practice as described in his books, and 'saw' the public as an author one afternoon each week. Hurray! We would drive the miles, wait in the lines, and shake the hand of our hero.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/ljb/43353552/

My niece, and my two tiny children, piled into the car and rocketed northward on the Motorway, toward Thirsk (Darrowby, in the book series). It was a Wednesday, the day Mr. Herriot would receive public visitors, and in our never-ending-quest to be in front, we arrived early. Stood in the front of the line. Were ushered into the main receiving area of his veterinary surgery. And suddenly, there was a murmur from behind, the crowds parted, and Mr. Herriot himself was escorted to the front of the room.

We all stared. Our tiny children even stared. There was something about Herriot that made you look at him and listen. He was calm, and kind, and gentle. He was white haired, and he was patient. Droves of mostly American tourists were gaping at him in utter silence, and he graciously endured. For he was a shy man, frequently baffled by the trail of tourists that seemed to accompany him everywhere.

(Thought: Why is it that many British authors are trailed by droves of American, and not British, tourists? Haven't figured that one out yet. A British neighbor, upon being told where we were going, had responded, 'Whatever for?')

But we knew why. We had read the books, watched the TV series, been charmed and drawn in, and thus were propelled to meet this man. Why sit in your home and only read, when you can make a bit of extra effort, and meet the Real Thing?

James Herriot passed away in 1995, and the veterinary surgery is now a museum dedicated to the memories he penned. But the stories remain and will be treasured by generations of eager readers year after year, all of them wishing they had been able to meet the shy, the creative, the generous, James Herriot.

See you along the way!
the SconeLady

photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ljb/43353552/">lisabatty</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>