Oct 10, 2019
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Gallowglass - BBC - January 10, 1993 - January 24, 1993
Drama / Miniseries (3 episodes)
Running Time: 157 minutes todal
Stars:
Michael Sheen as Joe
Paul Rhys as Sandor
Arkie Whiteley as Nina
John McArdle as Paul
Claire Hackett as Tilly
Gary Waldhorn as Ralph Apsoland
Harriet Owen as Jessica
Barbara Hicks as Joan
Alan Palmer as Vic
Nerys Hughes as Diana
Paolo Grovannucci as Cesare
Bruno Scipioni as Adelmo
Hercules Parrot.
A fragment for Foyle Friday
you’re really getting the deep recesses of the writer’s notebook here folks... Christopher Foyle and Barbara Hicks, assume a relationship started during the war and he came straight to her when he returned from America in 1946, dodging Valentine and Pierce but not dodging a case of flu.
Christopher looked oddly small huddled in the bed. Despite his dressing gown and the hot water bottle, he was still shivering. He looked more like [Barbara’s son] David than like a man she might… “Aspirin and Horlicks,” Barbara said roughly, putting the mug down on the bedside table. “Drink up.”
“Sorry,” he said miserably, through chattering teeth.
“Don’t. No cough? Sore throat?”
He shook his head. “Just c-can’t... bloody get warm.”
“The aspirin will stop the fever going up; that’ll stop the chills.” She wanted both to stroke the steely down of his hair and to shake him. Until his teeth rattle, she thought, except of course his teeth were rattling already. “Drink it while it’s hot.”
Christopher pulled the duvet up higher, and reached for the mug. “Sorry,” he said again, when his hand shook and a bit of the drink slopped out onto the table.
“Let me.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and held the mug for him. “At least until you’ve drunk some of it.”
He grimaced, but took a few swallows, bringing the level of liquid down to something less perilous. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “It’s good.”
“Good.” Barbara gave in to the temptation to touch him, though she kept it to a clinical back of the hand against his hot forehead. “You don’t do anything halfway, do you, Christopher?”
He widened his eyes and twisted his mouth, embarrassed and amused and dismissive all at once. “Generally don’t do this at all.” He took the mug from her and held it close to his chest. “...getting old,” he muttered down at the Horlicks.
“Or, you’re worn out from six years of war and eight months in America, but perhaps those are only considerations for mere mortals.” Barbara drew her hand back into her lap. “You’re rather proving my point,” she added, surprised at the gentleness of her own voice.
He trembled, this time with a short, silent laugh. “I have missed you, Barbara.”
Barbara looked away. “I didn’t think I’d miss you,” she said, studying the gas meter. “But I did.”
“I’m glad,” he answered quietly.
She turned back to watch him drink the hot medicine. “Surprised?”
“Mm.” He tilted his head and made a little upside-down smile. “Perhaps… half surprised?”
“You ridiculous man,” she said, warmly this time.
a fragment for Foyle Friday
Salisbury, Wilts. 30 May 1943
Dear Sam,
Thank you again for being so kind to Lydia. Your letter of introduction to your aunt has been most helpful. Through her assistance with the Board of Visitors for Salisbury Infirmary, Lydia secured a position in the records office there. Local accommodations are scanty, but with a few days’ concerted effort we’ve found a comparatively reasonable room in a boarding-house convenient to both the Infirmary and a school for Jimmy.
Having seen that under current circumstances there is still no possibility of efficient travel for civilians, I’ve chosen to take advantage of necessity and will be making my way back to Hastings with some stops in the New Forest to explore streams I haven’t fished for many years. I don’t expect I’ll have any typing for you before 19th June at the earliest. I’ll write again if I’ll be away longer than that.
I’ve written to Andrew as well but as I have no doubt that he opens your letters more eagerly than mine I’d be obliged if you could mention to him that I’ll be away for a fortnight or so.
Sincerely,
CF
Barbara Hicks turned back to the bar, ordered a second half-pint of bitter, and carried it towards the corner table. Halfway there her nerve nearly failed her, but the shape of the ear, and of the strong, stubby fingers holding open the pages of the pamphlet on the table, gave her the courage to cross the room and put down the second glass. When he looked up she knew for certain, though her mouth only went drier.
“Mr. Foyle,” she said.
“Mrs. Hicks.” He stood up courteously to greet her, only a twitch of his eyebrows betraying surprise. “How are you?”
“Very well, thank you. And you?”
“Very well.” He smiled slightly as he glanced down at the beer on the table.
“It’s bitter. Not ginger beer this time, at least.”
He smiled a little more at that, though his piercing eyes gave nothing away. “Won’t you join me?” he said, moving his papers to the side.
“Thank you.”
He took the glass of beer, raised it slightly to her, and took a sip. “Better than the ale,” he said.
Barbara nodded and drank some of her own.
“I, ah.” He tilted his head. “Suppose the New Forest is an excellent selecting ground for poles.”
“Rather limited, actually. So much old growth that would take significant milling. The ideal is younger trees, fifty or so years old. There’s so much ground to cover the Land Army’s issued me a car.”
He nodded, and glanced to his papers again.
Barbara followed his gaze and recognized the blue cover of a 1930s highway code manual. "You don't have your shadows? That thin dark man, and the little blonde driver,” she clarified, when he tilted his head in inquiry.
"No." He traced the edge of the table with a finger. His hair was longer than it had been in ‘41, his face a fraction more worn, but his eyes were the same. "No, I’m here as a private citizen. Well. Always a private citizen, now. I resigned from the police."
Barbara's ribs tightened with an intensity that startled her. "Your son. Was he...?"
"No," he answered at once. The blue eyes held hers. "No, thank God, he's fine, the last I heard.” His lips curved and his brow contracted in the sad smile that had been in her mind so often in the months since their last meeting in the churchyard by the Land Girls’ hostel. “But there were... demands from my superiors that... I could not stomach.”
You know there should be more Foyle/Barbara Hicks fanfiction
fifteen minutes to the end of the work day. TGIFF
The home internet has gone wonky... but happily I have the complete FW on DVD. Might be a good night for rewatching They Fought in the Fields. And rereading a story from the very-small-but-very-good universe of Foyle/Hicks fic: They Didn’t Fight in the Fielding by Kelly Chambliss.
They Fought in the Fields: An Etheree
The last time he held a woman she was dead. Hospital white filled his eyes. Or maybe that was tears. Now all is green. She holds him back and her hands will leave marks on his coat as her heart will leave marks on his hands that felt it beating.