Author's Note: This story is based on the 2020 revival of All Creatures Great and Small. I own nothing that you recognise. Please review if you can!
24th June 1937
He could hear the sounds of the village coming to life outside his bedroom window.
Summer had well and truly arrived in Darrowby, the morning glow streaming through the net curtains that softly billowed in the gentle breeze, sent to provide momentary respite from the warmth of the day to come. It was the time of day that Siegfried Farnon loved best, those moments when he would simply lie in bed, listen, think and feel before the routine of the day took over.
His thoughts were many and varied. Sometimes he thought about the calls he knew he had to make that day. Sometimes he thought about the calls that might come through that day for tomorrow. Sometimes he thought about how different this day might be from the one before or the one to come. Sometimes he thought about how life altogether could have been different if different choices had been made in the past...
The latter thoughts never brought him any great comfort and it was when he allowed his mind to stray there that he always found himself swinging his legs over the bed and rising to greet the day. A brief wash at the basin, a change of clothes and he was ready. Another day as Darrowby's premier veterinarian. Or, he thought to himself rather charitably, at least one of them.
When he opened his bedroom door, the smell of that morning's breakfast wafted along the corridor towards him and he felt his stomach rumble as he descended down the stairs and headed into the kitchen.
"Morning James," he greeted his assistant with assured cheerfulness.
"Morning Siegfried," James Herriot replied, pouring himself some tea from the pot Mrs Hall had just placed in the middle of the table. "It looks like being another beautiful day."
"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" he turned and looked out of the window. "A perfect day indeed to start the pig inoculations!"
James paused, "Pig inoculations?"
"Yes, it's always such an enjoyable task. I made a list of the relevant farms yesterday and we can split it so that it shouldn't take too long. You can take that feckless brother of mine with you, if he ever decides to get out of bed at a decent hour that is."
"'e's already been an' gone," Mrs Hall remarked, placing a plate of bacon and eggs down in front of him. "Said he wanted to run up to the Salter farm and check on those ewes."
"Well, wonders will never cease," Siegfried replied. "Perhaps we shall make a vet out of him after all."
"You're too 'ard on him."
"I'm nothing of the sort. He needs a firm hand. Well when he comes back with the car, assuming that he will, you and he can start on your share of the list, James."
"Don't forget your other calls," Mrs Hall reminded him. "Everything else doesn't just stop because it's time for pigs to get their injections." She paused for a moment. "I…eh…'ad a call from Tom Bailey yesterday," Reaching for the teapot, she poured herself a cup, the flow of liquid against china the only sound for what seemed like the longest time.
"Oh," Siegfried said, caught slightly off guard. "I…eh…well…he…he's been using Paddy Trotter's services these last few years," he replied, lifting the pot for himself and trying to avoid his housekeeper's gaze. "What…eh…what did he want?"
"Someone to go up and look at one of his horses. I didn't ask why he 'ad decided to come back to us and he didn't offer to explain. I added him to James's list. I 'ope you don't mind."
Siegfried glanced over at James who was obliviously cutting into his bacon and felt a slight sliver of relief at the fact he wouldn't have to face Bailey, not to mention gratitude that Mrs Hall had had the foresight to recognise his discomfort at the prospect. "No, that's fine," he said. "Be good for James to gain some experience in dealing with difficult customers."
James paused and looked over at him. "I've been here almost six months. You think I haven't had that experience already?"
"Not from Tom Bailey you haven't."
"Don't you listen to him, James," Mrs Hall said encouragingly. "Bailey's bark is worse than his bite, mark my words."
Siegfried met her gaze this time, a thousand unspoken words passing between them. Naively, he had always assumed she had been on his side, supported him in the choices that he had made and the actions done or, in some cases, not done. They had never really discussed it, such a thing being improper despite the warmth of their relationship, and there was no trace of malice in her expression, yet he couldn't help but wonder if she harboured thoughts that could be, in some way, not too far from his own.
"I'm sure you'll do fine, James," he said, spearing some bacon with his fork. "Like I said, all good experience for you."
XXXX
"You're the new one then."
James paused at the stable door and turned back to where Tom Bailey was standing behind hm. A tall, heavyset man, he didn't look like someone with whom he would like to trifle and, for a brief moment, he inwardly cursed Tristan for having refused to come with him.
"Tom Bailey?" the younger man had said when James had explained he had been added to his list for the day. "I'm not going up there."
"Why not?"
"Well, because…just because," Tristan had floundered. "Why don't you do your calls and then come back here and pick me up for the pig inoculations? I think that sounds like the fairest thing all round." Before James had had a chance to protest, Tristan had thumped him on the back and promptly disappeared.
"The new one?" he echoed, forcing his mind back to the present moment.
"The new assistant," Tom said. "Farnon's new assistant."
"I suppose I am," he replied, "though I've been in Darrowby now for almost six months, so I don't know if I still qualify as being all that new."
"You're new to me."
"Yes…well…quite. Shall I take a look then?" Without waiting for further instruction, he swung open the stall door and stepped inside to where the horse in question was waiting. His front feet were stretched out in front of him, his hind feet positioned underneath, his body weight pressed against the back of the stall. As James approached, he skittered slightly, clearly unsure of his visitor. "Whoa boy, take it easy…" he said softly, reaching up and gently touching the horse's neck. "That's it…it's ok…"
"What's wrong with him?"
"Well I won't know until I properly examine him but…"
"So, examine him then. Thought you were supposed to be a bloody vet!"
James opened his mouth to reply when a female voice floated into the stall from outside. "Give the man a chance, Dad. He's only been here five minutes." Turning, he saw an auburn-haired woman slide past Tom and come into the stall behind him. "I told him I thought it might be laminitis but obviously I'm no expert."
"I was thinking along the same lines myself," James replied with a smile. "I just need to have a proper look at his feet."
"I can hold him for you," she said, moving to the side and taking hold of the horse's headcollar. "In case he starts thrashing about."
"Thanks." He put his bag down and then, one by one, lifted the horse's feet, whilst the woman whom he could only assume was Tom's daughter muttered soothing words. "Well," he said finally. "Your diagnosis was correct."
"Bloody laminitis?!" Tom boomed from the doorway. "Well that's just bloody fantastic, isn't it?"
"It's treatable," James said, "but you'll need to make sure that he sticks to a grass hay diet for a while and that the shavings in here are changed regularly, otherwise it could get worse. There are no abscesses that I can see at the moment, but you'll need to keep an eye out and call me back out immediately if they appear so that I can drain them. Hopefully, he should be right as rain in a few weeks."
Tom uttered a mouthful of expletives and then turned away from the stall, kicking the wall violently as he did so.
"Pay no attention to him," his daughter said. "He loves all our animals as though they were his own children. He hates it if anything's wrong with any of them." She patted the horse's neck again and then held out her hand, her clear blue eyes meeting his. "I'm Lily. Lily Bailey.
"James Herriot."
"Nice to meet you James. You're not from round these parts then."
"No, Glasgow." He closed his bag. "Forgive me for saying, but you don't sound like you're from round these parts either."
She blushed slightly and looked away, "I've spent some time in London over the last few years. People there often find it hard to understand a Northern accent, so I tried to tone it down and it seems to have stuck. My father thinks I'm too 'posh' now for the farm."
They emerged from the stables back out into the morning sunshine and Lily closed and bolted the stall door behind them. "I'll make sure that we do what you've suggested."
"You sound almost like you could be a vet yourself," he laughed.
"Maybe at one time it might have been a silly dream."
"Hardly a silly dream."
She laughed, "Well…things change don't they. I'm too old now anyway."
He was poised to tell her that didn't seem true, but stopped himself in time. "My partner said that your father usually uses Mr Trotter for his veterinary needs. I think he was surprised when Mrs Hall said that he had contacted us instead."
Lily paled slightly and looked away again. "Well…between you and me, James, Paddy Trotter's an old goat that I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw him. When I arrived back here a few weeks ago and found out Dad had been using him, I told him that it was a mistake. So, when Oscar started to go lame, I told him he should phone Skeldale House."
"Well, we're very grateful," James said, turning back towards the car.
"How…uh…how is Siegfried…Mr Farnon, I mean?"
"Oh…his usual self. Do you know him well?"
She paused slightly before nodding. "Yes, yes I do. Well, it was very nice meeting you, James. No doubt we'll be seeing you again before long."
"No doubt," he agreed, opening the car door and climbing inside. As he slowly meandered his way down towards the main road, he glanced back in the mirror to see her standing atop the hill, watching him leave.
XXXX
James's visit to the Bailey farm had been playing on Siegfried's mind all day, though the sheer variety of calls he had required to make, coupled with the ever present excitement of the pig inoculations, had forced him to think about other things. When his mind had been free to wander, however, he couldn't help returning to the farm on the windswept hill. It had been more than five years since he had been there, told in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome to ever return, and he had taken Tom Bailey's words and lived by them, never once passing within sight of the property in all that time.
Dinner had been a fairly quiet affair, everyone tired after the day's efforts. He had noted Tristan stealing glances at him on regular occasions, the look on his face indicating that he wanted to say something and yet wasn't quite sure if he had the courage to. In any other situation, he might have called his younger brother out on it but given that he was fairly sure that they were probably thinking about the same thing, he elected to remain silent. That evening, Tristan took himself off to bed early and Mrs Hall declared that she was going to do some baking for the morning and so Siegfried found himself alone with James in the sitting room.
"How did you get on with Tom Bailey?" he asked, casually flipping through the letters that Mrs Hall had left on the side.
"He was as irascible as you suggested he would be," James replied ruefully. "I confess he made me quite nervous."
"And what was the problem with his horse?"
"Laminitis, but I think we caught it in good time. Not that he really needed my diagnosis," he laughed.
"Really, why was that?"
"His daughter seemed quite the vet herself. She had already diagnosed it before I had had the chance to take a look for myself. Not to mention the fact that I think my experience with her father would most likely have been a lot worse if she hadn't been there."
Siegfried froze, a chill sweeping suddenly over him despite the closeness of the sitting room and he turned slowly back around to look at his assistant, now ensconced in the armchair glancing through the newspaper. "His what?"
"What?"
"Bailey's...what?"
"His daughter," James replied without lifting his head. "She seemed very able at keeping him in check. What was her name again…?"
"Lily."
"That's right, Lily." James looked up, "She was asking for you, actually. I told her that you were well."
"She…she asked for me?" Siegfried asked weakly.
"Yes. She said that she had been in London for a while but that she had come home…" James continued to talk, but Siegfried had no understanding of what the other man was saying. His voice seemed to fade away into the distance as a rushing noise started in his ears and, without further recourse or explanation, he turned and made his way out of the sitting room and towards the stairs, just as Mrs Hall came out of the kitchen.
"Oh," she said upon seeing him, "would you like…?"
"No, thank you."
"But it's…"
"I said no thank you!" His tone was harsher than he intended, and he couldn't fail to see the look of wounded surprise on her face. At that moment, however, he could focus on nothing else except his own immediate feelings and he hurriedly climbed the stairs to his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him before sinking down onto the bed, his heart pounding in his chest, a slight sweat breaking out on his brow.
Lily…she was there. She was on the farm at the top of the hill. She was so close and yet so far.
Dear, sweet Lily…
"Oh, my darling," he whispered to no-one in particular, "my darling…" Rolling over onto his stomach, he reached under the bed and felt for the small wooden box that he kept there, pushed against the far wall under the headboard. His fingers brushed against it and he pulled it towards himself, finally lifting it up and onto the bed beside him. As he reached for the drawer beside his bed, he saw that his hand was shaking and, once he had retrieved the small key, found it took two or three attempts before he could slide it gently into the lock.
As he drew the lid back, the familiar scent of her perfume floated up to greet him, captured forever in the pages held within. Slowly, he withdrew the letters one by one, his eyes dancing over the prose as he took in the words that she had written, only realising as they blurred before his eyes that he was weeping.