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All Creatures Great and Small #1-5
If Only They Could Talk ~ It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet ~ Let Sleeping Vets Lie ~ Vet in Harness ~ Vets Might Fly ~ Vet in a Spin
JAMES HERRIOT [Hardcover] Herriot, James
830 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1982
7 people are currently reading
138 people want to read
About the author
James Herriot
233 books3,347 followersJames Herriot is the pen name of James Alfred Wight, OBE, FRCVS also known as Alf Wight, an English veterinary surgeon and writer. Wight is best known for his semi-autobiographical stories, often referred to collectively as All Creatures Great and Small, a title used in some editions and in film and television adaptations.
In 1939, at the age of 23, he qualified as a veterinary surgeon with Glasgow Veterinary College. In January 1940, he took a brief job at a veterinary practice in Sunderland, but moved in July to work in a rural practice based in the town of Thirsk, Yorkshire, close to the Yorkshire Dales and North York Moors, where he was to remain for the rest of his life. The original practice is now a museum, "The World of James Herriot".
Wight intended for years to write a book, but with most of his time consumed by veterinary practice and family, his writing ambition went nowhere. Challenged by his wife, in 1966 (at the age of 50), he began writing. In 1969 Wight wrote If Only They Could Talk, the first of the now-famous series based on his life working as a vet and his training in the Royal Air Force during the Second World War. Owing in part to professional etiquette which at that time frowned on veterinary surgeons and other professionals from advertising their services, he took a pen name, choosing "James Herriot". If Only They Could Talk was published in the United Kingdom in 1970 by Michael Joseph Ltd, but sales were slow until Thomas McCormack, of St. Martin's Press in New York City, received a copy and arranged to have the first two books published as a single volume in the United States. The resulting book, titled All Creatures Great and Small, was an overnight success, spawning numerous sequels, movies, and a successful television adaptation.
In his books, Wight calls the town where he lives and works Darrowby, which he based largely on the towns of Thirsk and Sowerby. He also renamed Donald Sinclair and his brother Brian Sinclair as Siegfried and Tristan Farnon, respectively. Wight's books are only partially autobiographical. Many of the stories are only loosely based on real events or people, and thus can be considered primarily fiction.
The Herriot books are often described as "animal stories" (Wight himself was known to refer to them as his "little cat-and-dog stories"), and given that they are about the life of a country veterinarian, animals certainly play a significant role in most of the stories. Yet animals play a lesser, sometimes even a negligible role in many of Wight's tales: the overall theme of his stories is Yorkshire country life, with its people and their animals primary elements that provide its distinct character. Further, it is Wight's shrewd observations of persons, animals, and their close inter-relationship, which give his writing much of its savour. Wight was just as interested in their owners as he was in his patients, and his writing is, at root, an amiable but keen comment on the human condition. The Yorkshire animals provide the element of pain and drama; the role of their owners is to feel and express joy, sadness, sometimes triumph. The animal characters also prevent Wight's stories from becoming twee or melodramatic — animals, unlike some humans, do not pretend to be ailing, nor have they imaginary complaints and needless fears. Their ill-health is real, not the result of flaws in their character which they avoid mending. In an age of social uncertainties, when there seem to be no remedies for anything, Wight's stories of resolute grappling with mysterious bacterial foes or severe injuries have an almost heroic quality, giving the reader a sense of assurance, even hope. Best of all, James Herriot has an abundant humour about himself and his difficulties. He never feels superior to any living thing, and is ever eager to learn — about animal doctoring, and about his fellow human creature.
http://us.macmillan.com/author/jamesh...
In 1939, at the age of 23, he qualified as a veterinary surgeon with Glasgow Veterinary College. In January 1940, he took a brief job at a veterinary practice in Sunderland, but moved in July to work in a rural practice based in the town of Thirsk, Yorkshire, close to the Yorkshire Dales and North York Moors, where he was to remain for the rest of his life. The original practice is now a museum, "The World of James Herriot".
Wight intended for years to write a book, but with most of his time consumed by veterinary practice and family, his writing ambition went nowhere. Challenged by his wife, in 1966 (at the age of 50), he began writing. In 1969 Wight wrote If Only They Could Talk, the first of the now-famous series based on his life working as a vet and his training in the Royal Air Force during the Second World War. Owing in part to professional etiquette which at that time frowned on veterinary surgeons and other professionals from advertising their services, he took a pen name, choosing "James Herriot". If Only They Could Talk was published in the United Kingdom in 1970 by Michael Joseph Ltd, but sales were slow until Thomas McCormack, of St. Martin's Press in New York City, received a copy and arranged to have the first two books published as a single volume in the United States. The resulting book, titled All Creatures Great and Small, was an overnight success, spawning numerous sequels, movies, and a successful television adaptation.
In his books, Wight calls the town where he lives and works Darrowby, which he based largely on the towns of Thirsk and Sowerby. He also renamed Donald Sinclair and his brother Brian Sinclair as Siegfried and Tristan Farnon, respectively. Wight's books are only partially autobiographical. Many of the stories are only loosely based on real events or people, and thus can be considered primarily fiction.
The Herriot books are often described as "animal stories" (Wight himself was known to refer to them as his "little cat-and-dog stories"), and given that they are about the life of a country veterinarian, animals certainly play a significant role in most of the stories. Yet animals play a lesser, sometimes even a negligible role in many of Wight's tales: the overall theme of his stories is Yorkshire country life, with its people and their animals primary elements that provide its distinct character. Further, it is Wight's shrewd observations of persons, animals, and their close inter-relationship, which give his writing much of its savour. Wight was just as interested in their owners as he was in his patients, and his writing is, at root, an amiable but keen comment on the human condition. The Yorkshire animals provide the element of pain and drama; the role of their owners is to feel and express joy, sadness, sometimes triumph. The animal characters also prevent Wight's stories from becoming twee or melodramatic — animals, unlike some humans, do not pretend to be ailing, nor have they imaginary complaints and needless fears. Their ill-health is real, not the result of flaws in their character which they avoid mending. In an age of social uncertainties, when there seem to be no remedies for anything, Wight's stories of resolute grappling with mysterious bacterial foes or severe injuries have an almost heroic quality, giving the reader a sense of assurance, even hope. Best of all, James Herriot has an abundant humour about himself and his difficulties. He never feels superior to any living thing, and is ever eager to learn — about animal doctoring, and about his fellow human creature.
http://us.macmillan.com/author/jamesh...
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
July 30, 2011
The complete and unabridged novels:
If Only They Could Talk
It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet
Let Sleeping Vets Lie
Vet in Harness
Vets Might Fly
Vet in a Spin
If Only They Could Talk
It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet
Let Sleeping Vets Lie
Vet in Harness
Vets Might Fly
Vet in a Spin
September 13, 2019
I got this book as a present from my parents when I was young and dreaming of becoming a vet, and it immediately became a favourite of mine. I read it every couple of years or so until I lost it in a move. I have finally got my hands on it again and I must say, reading it was like slipping on an old glove. From the first sentence, on to the first few paragraphs, I had a huge grin on my face. I remember this!
The enjoyment lasted through all six novels contained in this 829-page edition. It was wonderful to find all the stories I remembered, like reconnecting with old friends--humans and animals alike-- like Terry Watson (p. 144 of my edition), who kept two cows of his own and stayed up all night caring for his sick cow, after having put in a full day's work for the farmer he worked for, then went to work and put in another full day of work. There was also Frank Metcalfe (p.378), who had farming in his blood but who, because of bad luck, had to pack up and go work in the steel mill after he lost everything. I was very saddened by his story. From some parts of the Pennines you can see away over the great sprawl of Teeside and when the fierce glow from the blast furnaces set the night sky alight I used to think of Frank down there and wonder how he was getting on. He'd make a go of it all right, but how often did his mind turn to the high-blown green hollow where he had hoped to build something worth while and to live and bring up his children? (p.383) I always felt a tug at my heart when I looked in there at the thick dust on the floor, the windows almost opaque with dirt, the cobwebs everywhere, the rusting water bowls, the litter of straw bales, peat moss and and sacks of oats where once Frank's cows had stood so proudly. It was all that was left of a man's dream. (p.374)
Reading this book was an even richer experience as an adult, because the things I didn't quite understand as a child, and which I skimmed over, now gave the stories more meaning. For example, the story where Jim is late for the performance of The Messiah. It didn't mean anything to me 30 years ago, but now I actually know what it is, having been to a performance myself. The same goes for nasturtiums. I didn't know what they were when I was young, but now I do--I tasted them when they grew in abundance in my brother's garden.
Also, I felt a small thrill of excitement when, on page 160, Jim met Helen Alderson for the first time. She was apologizing that it would be a bit of a walk to get up to the calf Jim had been called out to see. I looked at the girl for a few seconds. 'Oh, that's all right, I don't mind. I don't mind in the least.' Helen was very pretty. She was mentioned more often in the novels than I had remembered, probably because I wasn't so much interested in romance as a young girl as I was in being a vet, but there she was: 'There's not much wrong with you, Jim, but I can tell you one thing - you've been just a bit edgy since you went out with the Alderson woman.' (p. 208)
There were also the rules of practice that Jim worked out while seeing to his veterinary work (p. 185): ... one was that it was always the biggest men who went down. (At the sight of blood.) I had, by this time, worked out a few other, perhaps unscientific theories, e.g. big dogs were kept by people who lived in little houses and vice versa. Clients who said 'spare no expense' never paid their bills, ever. When I asked my way in the Dales and was told 'you can't miss it', I knew I'd soon be hopelessly lost.
To illustrate the first rule, James Herriot tells the story of the Viking: The door was opened and a huge young man with a shock of red hair ambled into the box; he was a magnificent sight with his vast shoulders and the column of sunburned nieck rising from the open shirt. It needed only the bright blue eyes and the ruddy, high-cheekboned face to remind me that the Norsemen had been around the Dales a thousand years ago. This vas a Viking. I laughed out loud even before the end, because I remembered, and knew what was coming. On the next page, just after Jim makes his incision: the Viking was out cold.
Then there are the little details I have discovered, that I hadn't noticed before. For example, I discovered the source of the title for he first novel, If Only They Could Talk:
And what of the animals around whom the whole little drama revolves? It is a pity they cannot talk because it would be charming to have their views. What do they think of their varying lives? What do they think of us? And do they manage to get a laugh out of it all? (p. 123 of my edition)
James Herriot really is my favourite author, even after all this time. Here are a few gems I particularly enjoyed in his writing style:
Almost lovingly I got together the ingredients of one of my favourite treatments, long since washed away in the flood of progress... (p. 231)
There were other manifestations of the author's nostalgia, like on page 702: Siegfried and I browsed through the pages, savouring the exciting whiff of witchcraft which has been blown from our profession by the wind of science.
And again, on page 232: You don't find people like the Bramleys now; the radio, television and the motorcar have carried the outside world into the most isolated places so that the simple people you used to meet on the lonely farms are rapidly becoming like people anywhere else. There are still a few left, of course - the old folk who cling to the ways of their fathers and when I come across any of them I like to make some excuse to sit down and talk with them and listen to the old Yorkshire words and expressions which have almost disappeared.
I do love the author's mastery of the Englis language, in sentnces like this one: Anybody who has travelled a narrow passage a few feet ahead of about a ton of snorting, pounding death will appreciate that I didn't dawdle. (p.318)
Siegfried would never have had the patience to go through all this procedure; his system was based on Napoleon's dictum of 'On s'engage et puis on voit' and it usually involved a lot of yelling and rushing about. (p.321)
Siegfried was quite the character, and I always got a good laugh when he put on his patient look: No, let me finish, James. Marriage is a very serious step, not to be embarked upon without long and serious thought. Why in God's name does it have to be next week? Nest year would have been soon enough and you could have enjoyed a nice long engagement. But no, you've got to rush in and tie the know and it isn't so easily untied, you know.'
'Oh hell, Siegfried, this is too bad! You know perfectly well it was you who... '
'One moment more. Your precipitate marital arrangements are going to cause me a considerable headache but believe me I wish you well.
This was so funny because only a few pages earlier, it was Siegfried who had tried to convince James to get married (p.386):
'Until you get married I'm afraid I shall fail to get the full benefit of your assistance in the practice because frankly you are becoming increasingly besotted and bemused to the extent that I'm sure you don't know what you're doing half the time.'
'What the devil are you talking about? I've never heard such...'
'Please hear me out, James. What I'm saying is perfectly true - you're walking about like a man in a dream and you've developed a disturbing habit of staring into space when I'm talking to you. There's only one cure, my boy.'
James Herriot had more hilarious gems, like when he remarks about Harry Cromarty, who despite his best efforts and good intentions ruins a field parade in the RAF (p.634): Had Cromarty not been serving in the armed forces of a benign democracy he would probably have been taken quietly away and shot. As it was, there was really nothing anybody could do to him. NCOs weren't even allowed to swear at the men.
Further, on page 687, the author remarks: The clever economists who tell us that we don't need British agriculture and that our farms should be turned into national parks seem to ignore the rather obvious snag that an unfriendly country could starve us into submission in a week.
Some of the stories didn't resonate with me in my youth, but today, with so much attention being paid to mental health, I realize the author was very in tune to his fellow man, like with the story of Paul Cotterell who couldn't deal with the loss of his little dog.
All in all, an excellent read. I would say if was epic, but somehow that grand description doesn't seem fitting for these wonderful, down-to-earth stories. I love them from beginning to end, and also really appreciate how the first book, If Only They Could Talk starts with James getting off the dusty bus to walk toward the practice where he would meet his new boss and embark on his veterinary career, and how the story comes full circle when, at the end of Vet in a Spin, he gets off the same dusty bus when he comes home from the RAF, and walks the dirty road to reunite with his wife and young son.
The enjoyment lasted through all six novels contained in this 829-page edition. It was wonderful to find all the stories I remembered, like reconnecting with old friends--humans and animals alike-- like Terry Watson (p. 144 of my edition), who kept two cows of his own and stayed up all night caring for his sick cow, after having put in a full day's work for the farmer he worked for, then went to work and put in another full day of work. There was also Frank Metcalfe (p.378), who had farming in his blood but who, because of bad luck, had to pack up and go work in the steel mill after he lost everything. I was very saddened by his story. From some parts of the Pennines you can see away over the great sprawl of Teeside and when the fierce glow from the blast furnaces set the night sky alight I used to think of Frank down there and wonder how he was getting on. He'd make a go of it all right, but how often did his mind turn to the high-blown green hollow where he had hoped to build something worth while and to live and bring up his children? (p.383) I always felt a tug at my heart when I looked in there at the thick dust on the floor, the windows almost opaque with dirt, the cobwebs everywhere, the rusting water bowls, the litter of straw bales, peat moss and and sacks of oats where once Frank's cows had stood so proudly. It was all that was left of a man's dream. (p.374)
Reading this book was an even richer experience as an adult, because the things I didn't quite understand as a child, and which I skimmed over, now gave the stories more meaning. For example, the story where Jim is late for the performance of The Messiah. It didn't mean anything to me 30 years ago, but now I actually know what it is, having been to a performance myself. The same goes for nasturtiums. I didn't know what they were when I was young, but now I do--I tasted them when they grew in abundance in my brother's garden.
Also, I felt a small thrill of excitement when, on page 160, Jim met Helen Alderson for the first time. She was apologizing that it would be a bit of a walk to get up to the calf Jim had been called out to see. I looked at the girl for a few seconds. 'Oh, that's all right, I don't mind. I don't mind in the least.' Helen was very pretty. She was mentioned more often in the novels than I had remembered, probably because I wasn't so much interested in romance as a young girl as I was in being a vet, but there she was: 'There's not much wrong with you, Jim, but I can tell you one thing - you've been just a bit edgy since you went out with the Alderson woman.' (p. 208)
There were also the rules of practice that Jim worked out while seeing to his veterinary work (p. 185): ... one was that it was always the biggest men who went down. (At the sight of blood.) I had, by this time, worked out a few other, perhaps unscientific theories, e.g. big dogs were kept by people who lived in little houses and vice versa. Clients who said 'spare no expense' never paid their bills, ever. When I asked my way in the Dales and was told 'you can't miss it', I knew I'd soon be hopelessly lost.
To illustrate the first rule, James Herriot tells the story of the Viking: The door was opened and a huge young man with a shock of red hair ambled into the box; he was a magnificent sight with his vast shoulders and the column of sunburned nieck rising from the open shirt. It needed only the bright blue eyes and the ruddy, high-cheekboned face to remind me that the Norsemen had been around the Dales a thousand years ago. This vas a Viking. I laughed out loud even before the end, because I remembered, and knew what was coming. On the next page, just after Jim makes his incision: the Viking was out cold.
Then there are the little details I have discovered, that I hadn't noticed before. For example, I discovered the source of the title for he first novel, If Only They Could Talk:
And what of the animals around whom the whole little drama revolves? It is a pity they cannot talk because it would be charming to have their views. What do they think of their varying lives? What do they think of us? And do they manage to get a laugh out of it all? (p. 123 of my edition)
James Herriot really is my favourite author, even after all this time. Here are a few gems I particularly enjoyed in his writing style:
Almost lovingly I got together the ingredients of one of my favourite treatments, long since washed away in the flood of progress... (p. 231)
There were other manifestations of the author's nostalgia, like on page 702: Siegfried and I browsed through the pages, savouring the exciting whiff of witchcraft which has been blown from our profession by the wind of science.
And again, on page 232: You don't find people like the Bramleys now; the radio, television and the motorcar have carried the outside world into the most isolated places so that the simple people you used to meet on the lonely farms are rapidly becoming like people anywhere else. There are still a few left, of course - the old folk who cling to the ways of their fathers and when I come across any of them I like to make some excuse to sit down and talk with them and listen to the old Yorkshire words and expressions which have almost disappeared.
I do love the author's mastery of the Englis language, in sentnces like this one: Anybody who has travelled a narrow passage a few feet ahead of about a ton of snorting, pounding death will appreciate that I didn't dawdle. (p.318)
Siegfried would never have had the patience to go through all this procedure; his system was based on Napoleon's dictum of 'On s'engage et puis on voit' and it usually involved a lot of yelling and rushing about. (p.321)
Siegfried was quite the character, and I always got a good laugh when he put on his patient look: No, let me finish, James. Marriage is a very serious step, not to be embarked upon without long and serious thought. Why in God's name does it have to be next week? Nest year would have been soon enough and you could have enjoyed a nice long engagement. But no, you've got to rush in and tie the know and it isn't so easily untied, you know.'
'Oh hell, Siegfried, this is too bad! You know perfectly well it was you who... '
'One moment more. Your precipitate marital arrangements are going to cause me a considerable headache but believe me I wish you well.
This was so funny because only a few pages earlier, it was Siegfried who had tried to convince James to get married (p.386):
'Until you get married I'm afraid I shall fail to get the full benefit of your assistance in the practice because frankly you are becoming increasingly besotted and bemused to the extent that I'm sure you don't know what you're doing half the time.'
'What the devil are you talking about? I've never heard such...'
'Please hear me out, James. What I'm saying is perfectly true - you're walking about like a man in a dream and you've developed a disturbing habit of staring into space when I'm talking to you. There's only one cure, my boy.'
James Herriot had more hilarious gems, like when he remarks about Harry Cromarty, who despite his best efforts and good intentions ruins a field parade in the RAF (p.634): Had Cromarty not been serving in the armed forces of a benign democracy he would probably have been taken quietly away and shot. As it was, there was really nothing anybody could do to him. NCOs weren't even allowed to swear at the men.
Further, on page 687, the author remarks: The clever economists who tell us that we don't need British agriculture and that our farms should be turned into national parks seem to ignore the rather obvious snag that an unfriendly country could starve us into submission in a week.
Some of the stories didn't resonate with me in my youth, but today, with so much attention being paid to mental health, I realize the author was very in tune to his fellow man, like with the story of Paul Cotterell who couldn't deal with the loss of his little dog.
All in all, an excellent read. I would say if was epic, but somehow that grand description doesn't seem fitting for these wonderful, down-to-earth stories. I love them from beginning to end, and also really appreciate how the first book, If Only They Could Talk starts with James getting off the dusty bus to walk toward the practice where he would meet his new boss and embark on his veterinary career, and how the story comes full circle when, at the end of Vet in a Spin, he gets off the same dusty bus when he comes home from the RAF, and walks the dirty road to reunite with his wife and young son.
March 1, 2014
People are never just good or bad, I know that. Reading some of the books that I have lately, you'd get the impression that the majority of people are truly bad but sometimes do good things if it serves them well. It's disheartening, and I don't think it's fair. James Herriot is different. He is good. His job is super hard, he has a ton to complain about if he wants to, but instead he writes his stories with such an indomitable spirit. I find chicken soup for the soul a little hard to swallow, but this author makes me laugh and love life more. He knows how to slow down and take the time to enjoy his surroundings and the good parts of his work and glosses over the bad because honestly, who needs to dwell on the bad? I think he's telling us that in the end, the bad parts don't matter. And I believe him. Great books, Mr. Herriot.
November 7, 2017
Riveting reads all. Not just because of the animals but because of the many memorable characters and the evocation of Yorkshire rural life at a particular period.
April 30, 2024
Very good relaxing read. The every day life of a country vet in the thirties, in the Yorkshire Dales.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews