The Real James Herriot by Jim Wight Read Free Book Online Page B

out of a 1990s science-fiction horror story than pre-war Glasgow, but he recovered where many others had died.
    This debilitating experience was responsible for a severe dip in his academic results at school, together with a complete cessation of his sporting activities. No wonder he was so glad to be alive. In August 1933, while on holiday in Sunderland, after a particularly exhilarating day playing tennis and bathing in the sea, he wrote: ‘When I look at all the fun I’ve had today and think that, last year, I was a wreck with diphtheria, I thank God for my health. It is the most precious possession anyone can have.’
    He emerged from the darkness of diphtheria a new person, brimming with fresh ideas and enthusiasms. He was determined to keep himself fit. One day he was given a book called
My System
by Lieut. J. P. Muller. On the front of the book was a picture of a Greek God and, inside, photographs of a lean, wiry man twisting his body in a multitude of directions. Alf thought this person was the fittest human being he had ever seen and decided that he himself was going to become even fitter. He aimed to transform himself into the second J. P. Muller.
    The ‘System’ is based upon a regime of cold baths followed by exercises – one which my father followed religiously in his youth, and his diary is liberally sprinkled with references to it.
    On 20 April 1933, he wrote: ‘I’m feeling as fit as the proverbial fiddle.I put it all down to the exercises and cold baths. I am much brighter and healthier than I was last year before my illness and I seem to be on the upgrade. I’m going to enter everything at this sports – that is the 100 yards, 220 yards, broad jump, discus, javelin, hurdles, cricket ball, and place and drop kick.’ He had certainly set himself an optimistic target, his idea being to run off with medals in each one of them. Unfortunately, he got a little carried away with his training, pulled a muscle in his groin, and took no part when Sports Day arrived.
    So keen was he on
My System
that he bought me a copy and, during my years in Glasgow as a student, I followed in his footsteps in trying to emulate the indomitable Mr Muller. The cold bath is the worst part. Survival time in the water can be measured in minutes, during which time breathing accelerates alarmingly, while genitalia disappear completely from view. Upon leaping out of the bath, a testing regime of physical jerks is followed by the ‘rubbing exercises’; with the help of an abrasive glove, the body is vigorously massaged until it is glowing like a beacon. Loud shouting helps towards the overall feeling of well-being. I did not stick this routine for very long but the young Alf Wight followed it rigorously for years and was taking cold baths right up until the time he was living in Yorkshire.
    Alf also subscribed to
Superman
magazine and bought a succession of chest expanders. Not only was he going to be as fit as J. P. Muller, he intended to be twice the size. His best mate Alex Taylor, too, was determined to build a mighty body and the two boys exercised furiously to attain their goal. They measured their bodies regularly but, after several weeks of intense activity, they were no nearer to being supermen than the day they started, and the craze ground to a halt. All that was left as a reminder was a rusty old set of springs that I discovered in my grandmother’s home many years later.
    Alf considered enthusiasm to be one of the most important of human qualities – one that is both invigorating and uplifting. Throughout his life he was an enthusiast, and he displayed these qualities as a boy at school, as is revealed by many entries in his diaries. Some of the many pastimes which he enjoyed were quite unusual – and whilst a number were short-lived, his eagerness to improve himself shines out from the pages. On 20 February 1933 he wrote: ‘I’ve the notion to make myself a good jazz pianist … I think I’ll send to Uncle Bob