In a small beech copse ringed with a drystone wall, slightly set back from the road that tumbled down the steep side of the fell into a lush valley with dark green floodplains sweeping slowly down towards the silver snake of the river which wound lazily past farms and villages, a high pitched, grating wheeze split the warm air. This was shortly followed by the appearance as if from nowhere of a battered blue box, and out stepped a young, fair-haired man dressed for cricket, followed by a grumpy-looking woman with short, dark hair and a red-headed boy in an uncomfortable-looking school uniform. The Doctor, who had changed his striped trousers for more conventional whites in the hope of being invited into someone's cricket game, took a deep breath and grinned. "Darrowby in the Yorkshire Dales, August 1939. And a warm, sunny bank holiday Monday, to boot. If there isn't a cricket game going on somewhere, I'll never trust my judgement again." Turlough peered up through the bright green leaves of the beech trees to the astonishing blue of the sky and remarked that this wasn't so very bad, he supposed, but at the mention of the date, Tegan was looking at the Doctor with a mixture of sadness and cynicism.
"August bank holiday, 1939, you say? It must be a matter of days before-"
"Yes, Tegan, it is. But it hasn't happened yet, so let's not think about the future, just for today, hmm? I can promise you most of them will be trying not to."
"Whatever you say."
"Anyway, I'm off to find a cricket match, and you two are free to explore the delights of the 1930s Yorkshire Dales. Or you could come and watch the cricket…?" His hopeful expression dwindled away into forlorn resignation as the looks on their faces told him very clearly that, by now, even Tegan was thoroughly fed up of cricket. "Well, whatever you like, but if you need me, just look for the nearest cricket pitch and I'll be there."
"You promised this place was safe enough that we wouldn't need you" pointed out Tegan, but the Doctor had already set off down the hill, hands in his pockets and whistling contentedly. She sighed, then hurried after the Doctor to confront him about what exactly he had meant by 'if you need me'. Turlough returned to the TARDIS, partly to find his sketchbook, but more to avoid Tegan. After a couple of minutes, he emerged, sketchbook in hand, and began to wander slowly downhill towards the distant town.
Siegfried was out at a farm visit over lunch, so Tristan was spared the lecture he had been dreading on the health benefits of sport and sportsmanship, however James and Helen were both in, and James, not having been able to escape the match himself, wasn't about to let Tristan slope off, or to convey his excuses for doing so to Siegfried. "Don't make such a fuss, Triss. If anyone's going to kill you, it'll be Siegfried if you don't turn up, not Tagger if you do." Resigned to his fate, Tristan set off upstairs to change into his whites, and ten minutes later was dragging his feet out of Skeldale house and down towards the other end of Darrowby and the cricket pitch. He wasn't heading in the usual direction, instead towards a smaller path that ran alongside both the scrubby field that served as a pitch and the hay meadow behind it, which rose steeply into a hill, affording an excellent view of the entire game. In summer, when the grass was long, it provided perfect cover in which to hide without being too far from the game, so that one could be conspicuously present at the beginning of the game, conveniently disappear while Tagger Herd was bowling and then reappear as soon as he had gone off, feigning disappointment. Tristan wasn't sure how well this technique would work with Siegfried on the prowl, but it was certainly worth a try.
There was a smaller track up ahead which came down from the fells just above Darrowby, and joined Tristan's route just ahead of him. On this track and about to reach the path was a young, fair-haired man in cricket whites whom Tristan didn't recognise. He assumed this was a new addition to the away team, then realised there was something familiar about the stranger. There was something in his way of walking and holding himself, even in his looks, that reminded him of a taller, thinner and younger version of Siegfried, or perhaps their father. As the other approached and Tristan could make out his face more clearly, he realised with a shock that this other person, whoever he was, was a perfect replica of himself, even down to the clothes he was wearing. Tristan's counterpart reached the confluence of the two paths just as he did, and smiled pleasantly at him, then spoke;
"Excuse me, old chap, but you wouldn't happen to know where I could find a game of cricket, would you?" Then, suddenly, he blinked hard, as if noticing Tristan for the first time, did a double take, put his head in his hands and groaned. Startled and confused, Tristan could only stare.