Truth in the Dales

by greenvelvetsofa

Summary:

An old friend unexpectedly reappears, and brings a host of new questions for Tristan, now back from Egypt and settled at Skeldale House once more.

A sequel to my other work ‘Truth in the Desert’.

Chapter 1

‘You forget what you’re sending them off to.’ As Tristan said the words, he knew they weren’t true. Not a day had gone by when he hadn’t thought of life in Egypt, and one life in particular. Six months or more must have passed, and he hadn’t heard a word from Nye. He’d sent a couple of letters himself – light-hearted ones full of the Dales anecdotes Nye had first warmed to him over. But he’d not heard anything back. Truthfully he hadn’t expected to – he wasn’t even sure his letters were reaching Nye anymore. He’d heard Nye’s regiment was due to move out a matter of days after Tristan himself had left. But still a little hope remained.

The shock of coming home had been intense – the starkness of the contrast with his life in Cairo was at times hard to bear. The speed with which he had returned was almost part of the problem – he’d have preferred to spend a month or two in some neutral zone before returning to that storied home. But no matter – he muddled through, as per.

‘Get in here Herriot!’ Why was he being so weird about it? He knew that things weren’t going to be the same. Nye aside, James was a father now, and their lives would never have stayed as they were. Helen had been accepting beyond belief, but they were parents now, and if there’s one thing Tristan knew about new parents, it’s that they didn’t have any time for fun. James burst from the surgery, and met him with a beaming smile. The slightest hesitation in their greeting, as each weighed up the other, in a way they had never really done before, in the entire time they had known each other. But soon the front fell away, and they were their usual selves. James teasing Tristan for his moustache –he had almost forgotten he hadn’t had one when he left. Then reunion with Helen – who he was truly delighted to see, and meeting little Jimmy. He hadn’t known quite how he’d feel about the child. Babies were a bit of a sore spot in the Farnon household, and he’d never really spent much time around them. But his naturally warm nature instantly reached out to the sweet, helpless little lad, and that was it – he knew he’d be there for Jimmy no matter what.

And of course there was Siegfried. ‘To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, and to be late is unacceptable.’ It had only seemed right. It was almost like their whole relationship – they’d been early, on time and late, but never quite when they were expected. He was so relieved to see Siegfried, and only in that moment did he truly realise how much his brother meant to him. Siegfried seemed to feel the same, reuniting on the platform where they’d parted, not knowing if they would meet again in this world or the next. On the drive home Siegfried had questioned him about the journey, his health, his new role, but seemed to know better than to ask about how he actually was. He had arrived back on a busy day, with Jimmy’s christening and James’s parents down from Glasgow. Finally, the hug he had been looking forward to most, from a relieved Mrs Hall. He now couldn’t see her without thinking of all the things he’d told Nye about her – stories of her sticking up for him, being there for him, pushing him to better himself in a far more humane and understanding way than Siegfried ever managed.

So, all in all it was not a bad homecoming. He was happy to be back, truly. But there was a nagging emptiness which no trip to The Drovers, yard cricket, or success in his new job could fill. He was lonely.

Chapter 2

Summary:

The letter Tristan has been waiting for finally arrives.

A cold March morning the following year. Life had been ticking along quite uneventfully, considering there was a war on. Gathered around the table, little Jimmy crawling hither and thither chasing Dash with lively giggles, the grown-ups quickly scoffing breakfast before heading out to their respective busy days. Mrs Hall came back into the room and passed a pile of post to Siegfried. He rifled through them, pausing at one or two, passing one to James (‘the MAG’), giving Mrs Hall a postcard from Dorothy. He flicked past a bill, and lingered on a rather tatty envelope. It bore a bloody fingerprint and a Cairo postmark.

‘One for you, Tristan.’ He passed it over, and watched as the colour drained from Tristan’s face at the sight of it.

‘I think I had better…’ Tristan began, abruptly pushing his chair back and nearly running from the room. In the hallway he stopped to breath, and looked at the envelope. Surely it couldn’t be from anyone else? The blood…Could it be the letter he had been dreading? Not caring that the others were still so close, he carefully opened the letter (‘his hands touched this’), hands shaking.

Dear Tristan,

Sorry about the blood – would you believe I cut myself shaving? They’re sending me home. I broke my arm and am no use to anyone (hence the cut, and my atrocious handwriting – although given you’ve hardly seen mine perhaps you think this is what it always looks like?). It’s not as bad as all that – the fellow next to me lost a leg.

Perhaps you have written, but I have not, and for that I am sorry. I suppose I didn’t know what to say. But I do now. I go first to my parents, and then to my sister. But after that, my time is my own, and I would like to visit The Dales. Perhaps you can make some recommendations? It would be a pleasure to see you. I leave tomorrow morning, and am due in Wales by next week. If you want to see me, please write at the address below. I can’t now tell you how much I would enjoy seeing the places you spoke of, and perhaps even meeting the people. But I know you are busy and much time has passed in silence, so if I receive no reply, I will understand.

Your affectionate friend,

Nye Thomas.

He provided an address in Wales, presumably that of his parents.

Tristan could not help it – he let out a sob of relief, crossing his arms and putting his head in his hand. Siegfried appeared a moment later, stepping softly up to him.

‘Tris? Is everything all right?’ Tristan’s head shot up, and he ran his hand through his hair quickly.

‘Yes, yes it’s fine!’ he said, attempting cheerfulness.

‘Bad news?’ Tristan had not breathed a word of Nye to anyone at home. He hadn’t known what to say, or how to say it without giving away how much he meant to him.

‘I had thought it would be, but no, it’s great news, of a sort.’ Siegfried smiled.

‘That’s wonderful. A friend?’

‘Yes, a friend from Cairo. He’s been invalided out, and wants to visit.’

‘Oh, marvellous! Well, you know we always have room for guests.’ Siegfried was being more than his usual self, clearly making an effort in the face of this rare display of worry from Tristan. They still had spoken so little of ‘their wars’, although they were spending more time together than they had done in years. And enjoying it, what’s more.

‘Thank you. Yes, I’ll write to him, if I may.’ He checked the date on the letter: two weeks ago. So Nye would be easily in Wales by now. Perhaps worrying that Tristan had not written. He briefly thought of trying to phone, but guessing at the small size of the village and therefore potential lack of phone, and suspecting it would be too overwhelming, he decided against it. ‘Actually, do you mind if I pop out Siegfried?’

‘Of course, no need to ask me!’ Siegfried replied. Tristan smiled, and pulled on his coat. He was still clutching the letter in his hand. He walked across the square to the Post Office, and queued up.

‘Morning Arthur. Yes, telegram please. This is the address.’ He carefully read out the address, aware that he was likely pronouncing all of the Welsh names incorrectly.

‘Right oh, and what’s the message?’

‘Come as soon as you can, stop. I’ll be waiting, stop.’

Chapter 3

Summary:

Reunited at last.

The following week he received a brief note, written on hotel paper.

Dear Tristan,

As a discharged man finally re-entering civilian life, I can write more freely. The joy I felt on receiving your telegram is nearly unmatched. I have done some research and I believe Brawton is the nearest station to Darrowby – you can expect me there at 15:00h, Tuesday. I can stay for a week in the first instance, beyond that I have yet to form plans.

Know that I am an older, albeit no more wise, man than when we last met.

With greatest affection,

Nye

***

‘And where is your Welshman to stay?’ Siegfried asked over dinner.

‘Why, here of course!’ Mrs Hall exclaimed.

‘In whose bed?’ Tristan almost blushed at how on-the-nose the question was, not entirely certain Siegfried didn’t know what he was doing.

‘He can have my bed, and I’ll go back in the cupboard. It’s not as if I’m not used to it! Some days it feels like Carmody only just left!’

‘And he won’t mind sharing?’

‘Come off it Siegfried, he’s just out of the army! I’m sure having a proper bed at all still feels like a luxury.’

‘Have it your way, of course! He’s your friend.’ Tristan glowed internally at the thought. Yes, he was Tristan’s friend. Strangely he couldn’t recall a time he’d had a friend to stay, let alone one as significant as Nye. It had never seemed a wise idea to bring a school chum home over the holidays, Siegfried having been even more volatile in those days.

‘We’re looking forward to meeting him,’ James piped up, warmly.

‘I’m hoping he can verify some of your more fanciful anecdotes!’ Helen laughed.

‘Well, we didn’t serve together the whole time, but I’m sure there are a few he’ll back me up on! Not least the quality of the drinks at Farouk’s!’ They laughed, Siegfried rolling his eyes.

***

James had been a little wary at the mention of Nye. Tristan had never told him what Nye meant to him. Since his return, it had been so abundantly and unquestionably clear that their former arrangement was done and dusted, that they had settled into a genuine friendship. The love was still there, and there was always a sense that given the slightest free time, it could be rekindled. But James took his responsibilities too seriously, and enjoyed them too much, to be swayed from his new role as doting father and loyal husband. Even if Helen seemed to wish he would from time to time. She had welcomed Tristan back with almost more affection than James, relieved to have someone to bring James out of himself, and to have Tristan’s relentless optimism to balance out the often stormy atmosphere at Skeldale. It helped that Tristan threw himself into the role of de facto uncle, and even volunteered for the night shift with Jimmy on several occasions, giving Helen some much-needed sleep. From their chummy but distant pally-ness of youth, they had grown into a firm and deep friendship. There were times Tristan nearly told Helen about Nye, but at each he realised he still didn’t quite know what he would say, or how he would feel. So he kept his secret, and used it to warm his bed at night.

***

Tuesday lunch time, and Tristan was almost sick with nerves. He forced down the sandwich Mrs Hall presented him with, though his mouth felt dryer than the desert he’d left behind. James was out on a call, and Helen and Jimmy were at the Victory Gardens. It was just him, Siegfried, and Mrs Hall, and they both seemed to pick up that he wasn’t feeling himself. They exchanged furrowed brows and pursed lips.

‘Perhaps I ought to head off. Don’t want to be late.’ Tristan scraped his chair back from the table like a man facing his own hanging.

‘I’m sure you won’t be, love,’ Mrs Hall reassured him. He nodded and went to the door. ‘Hold on!’ Mrs Hall called after him. He stopped, and she strode to meet him, placing a small basket in his hands. ‘He’ll probably be hungry after his journey.’ Tristan smiled gratefully.

‘Thank you Mrs H.’ He turned again, when Siegfried stood.

‘Hang on.’ Tristan stopped again, sighing, and giving Siegfried a questioning look. Siegfried held out his car keys. ‘Best take the Rover. Wouldn’t want him getting a bad first impression of Yorkshire in that old banger of yours.’ Tristan chuckled, taking the keys.

‘Thanks Siegfried.’

***

He took a round-about route, knowing that he was going to be fantastically early if he didn’t. In the end, he still got there early. Leaving the car at the station, he walked up and down the road to kill the time. Then there it was, steam appearing on the horizon, the ‘chuff, chuff’ of the approaching train. Damn, he was going to be late after all. He ran back down the hill to the station, where people were already making their way out to waiting carts and cars. He pushed his way through, and stepped out onto the platform. He looked up and down, then heard his name.

‘Tristan!’ That Welsh lilt could only be him. He turned, and saw Nye. His arm was in a sling, his hair longer and messier than before, and he had a shadow of stubble growing on his face. But otherwise, he was exactly the same. Those warm eyes the same ones he had stared into for so long on that last night. ‘Well, aren’t you going to say hello?’ Tristan snapped to as if awoken, and strode towards him.

‘Hello! How are you old man? Good journey?’ Trying to pretend this was just another friend, just anyone he might be pleased to bump into at the station. He shook Nye’s hand enthusiastically, and smiled.

‘Not too bad, not too bad! The landscapes on the way were magnificent!’

‘That’s Yorkshire for you – can’t be beaten!’

‘So I’m told. Well, help an old and wounded man with his luggage?’ Tristan leapt into action, picking up the two small suitcases, and leading Nye out to the car.

‘Bit of an upgrade from the camel!’ Nye joked at the sight of the shiny Rover.

‘Ha, it’s my brothers! In your honour of course.’

‘I’m flattered! I won’t tell him we drive a decrepit old Morris at home!’

‘Me too!’ Tristan exclaimed in delight. Laughing, he threw the suitcases in the back, and they jumped in. Putting the car in gear, they sped off, Tristan hardly thinking where to go – just delighted to finally be with his friend.

Chapter 4

Summary:

Savouring the drive home.

Speeding over the hills and Dales, Tristan took the long way home, this time to savour time, not kill it. He was relishing being alone with Nye – a depth of alone they’d never really managed before. Sweeping up the hills, he pointed out various landmarks, farms he’d spoken about, and general sites of interest. Nye was the perfect passenger, interested in his stories, asking polite questions which showed how much he’d listened, in the present and the past. As they rose up the land, they reached a particularly scenic spot, with a view up the valleys and on to the horizon.

‘Shall I pull over?’

‘Yes, let’s!’ Tristan parked up gently on the soft verge. Engine off. Silence. Nothing but the wind, the larks, and distant sounds of bleating sheep.

‘It’s wonderful,’ Nye said.

‘I think so.’ He turned to Nye, and their eyes met. Nye smiled.

‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ Nye said.

‘Oh? I think I’m a bit better fed than I was.’ Nye laughed. ‘And you – your letter made me think I’d be picking up an ancient wiseman, but bar an inch of hair you look just the same!’

‘Ha, flattering as ever.’

‘Truthful as ever.’ He reached his hand across to Nye, and they linked fingers.

‘I don’t know what we’re doing Tristan.’

‘Me neither.’ They looked out at the view, both making some attempt to process their feelings. ‘Oh, Mrs Hall gave me this.’ Tristan reached round and brought out the basket, which proved to be stuffed with scones and a flask of tea.

‘She really is exactly as kind as you said!’ Nye smiled.

They munched on scones and swapped superficial updates, not yet ready to touch on deeper things. Sharing the cup from the flask, they delighted in being able to touch each other’s hands. In all the time they sat, they didn’t see another human being. Polishing off the last scone half each, they brushed crumbs from their hands, and settled back in their seats.

‘Well, I suppose it’s time to face the Wagner,’ Nye said, determination in his voice. Tristan nodded, and started the car, pulling away carefully, and turning towards Darrowby.

Chapter 5

Summary:

Many meetings.

Pulling up in the courtyard, it was already starting to get dark. Tristan had actually timed this quite carefully, so there wouldn’t be long to wait before dinner. Putting the hand break on, he turned to Nye and spoke quietly.

‘Now, if you need an escape, just start talking about Farouk’s, and I’ll know it’s time to get you out of there.’ Nye laughed.

‘Really, I’m sure I won’t need to!’ Tristan pursed his lips in uncertainty, looking towards the house, and got out of the car. Picking up Nye’s luggage, he stepped gingerly towards the house. Nye grabbed the basket and hung it his bad arm.

‘Hullo!’ Tristan called as they entered. Mrs Hall quickly appeared to meet them.

‘Tristan, you’re back!’ She smiled.

‘Yes, here we are. Mrs H, may I introduce you to my good friend, Aneurin Thomas.’ He made an extra effort to pronounce the Welsh name correctly. Mrs Hall stepped forward and offered a hand, which Nye warmly shook.

‘Mrs Hall, it is a pleasure to finally meet you – I have heard so much about you.’ Mrs Hall smiled, and looked at Tristan.

‘Well I’m afraid I can’t say the same Mr Thomas, but I am very pleased to meet you nonetheless.’

‘Please, to use the old joke, Mr Thomas is my father. Nye is what everyone calls me.’ Mrs Hall smiled, knowing it was a joke Siegfried used.

‘Well in that case, you must call me Audrey. Now you best come in and put your things down. Tristan, do you want to take them upstairs, and I’ll settle Nye in the drawing room?’

‘Of course.’ He turned, then quickly turned back. ‘Is anyone else around?’

‘Helen and Jimmy are up top, James is out, and Siegfried’s in his study.’

‘Right oh.’ He shot Nye a meaningful glance, and bounded out.

‘Come this way Nye. Can I get you a brew?’

‘Oh no need, I’ve already had the one you provided earlier,’ he replied, handing her the basket.

When Tristan came back down, he found Mrs Hall and Nye chatting away in the drawing room, Jess and Dash fawning over Nye.

‘Sit yourself down Tris,’ Mrs Hall said, gesturing to the spot next to Nye on the settee. The door opened as Tristan sat down, and Siegfried entered. Tristan and Nye stood straight up.

‘Hello Siegfried. I’d like you to meet my friend Aneurin Thomas.’ Siegfried smiled warmly, taking his pipe from his mouth and giving Nye a firm handshake.

‘Pleasure to meet you Mr Thomas.’

‘And you, Mr Farnon.’

‘Oh that’ll be too confusing – Siegfried is better.’

‘Well for my part then Nye is easier than Aneurin.’ Siegfried laughed.

‘You’re not wrong there. Now, can I get you a little aperitif?’

‘I would be much obliged!’ Siegfried turned to the drinks cabinet, and held up a bottle of whisky, giving Nye a questioning look. ‘Perfect!’ Siegfried first poured a sherry for Mrs Hall, then poured three glasses, handing one each to Nye then Tristan. They sipped in satisfied silence for a moment.

‘The good stuff!’ Nye joked. Tristan looked a little surprised, but Siegfried laughed.

‘Ah so I see he really has talked to you about our ways!’ Nye smiled.

‘There were times I felt I was almost here with you all, he’s told me so much.’

‘Ah yes, he has always rather been one for rabbiting on, our Tristan.’

‘Out there in the desert, there’s nothing I wanted more than to hear about your gentle life here in the green valleys. It was just what I needed.’ Nye spoke with more sincerity than he had done all day, and met Siegfried’s eye with a clear gaze. Siegfried gave him a thoughtful smile, as if to tell him he’d passed the test.

‘I can well imagine. I myself was in France, so the climate was not quite so different as you boys had, but I can well recall the sentiment.’

‘Tristan told me about your time in the RAVC.’

‘Seems an awfully long time ago now. I’m too old for this one! But, if I may, you don’t seem so very much younger than me?’

‘Aye that’s true – I’m close to the cut-off. I think that’s why they let me go when this happened’ (he moved his broken arm) ‘less bother to find one of the many younger, fitter men to replace me than go to the effort of waiting for me to be fixed.’ Siegfried pursed his lips and nodded.

‘Yes, I’m afraid these situations always bring out the bloody-minded pragmatist in people.’ He turned, swallowing the last of his drink. ‘But, as in this case it has meant you’re home safe for good, we must celebrate it!’

‘I best go and check on the dinner – it won’t be long,’ Mrs Hall cut in, standing.

‘Need a hand?’ Tristan asked.

‘You’re all right Tris.’ She gave him a cheeky smile, both aware that he’d never offered to help before. ‘You three sit and chat.’ At that moment, the top door opened and Helen and Jimmy made their way down the stairs. When she appeared, Nye was struck by just how beautiful, and beatific, she was, with the charming little boy in her arms, and her thick brown curls framing her face.

‘You must be Nye!’ She said, putting Jimmy down next to the dogs and offering a hand. He took it and they kissed cheeks.

‘Guilty as charged!’ They laughed.

‘And how are you finding our fine Dales? Anything to compare with the Valleys of home?’

‘Oh they compare very nicely I think – Tristan gave me a whistlestop tour on the drive over.’ Helen smiled and gave Tristan a raised eyebrow, which told him once and for all that she at least definitely understood what was going on.

‘I’m sure he did – he knows them as well as any.’ The front door slammed.

‘Hullo? Where’s my wee boy?’ James. Nye’s heart raced. They all turned to the door, which James soon swept through. He caught up Jimmy shuffling towards him, and gave him a big kiss on each cheek. Suddenly Nye felt rather inadequate. This was a strapping Scotsman in the prime of his life. His face recalled Italian Renaissance sculptures, where he felt his own rather resembled Northern renaissance etchings – and at that more Rembrandt than Durer. That trio would be a fine thing indeed. James turned to face him, still holding Jimmy in his arms.

‘Hello! You must be Nye!’ Nye smiled, and offered a hand.

‘Yes, that I am!’ Tristan looked nervously between the two of them – the distinct sense that each was weighing up the other was undeniable. He stepped forward and put his hand on Nye’s shoulder.

‘This is James, Nye.’

‘I had put that together actually.’ They laughed, and James took a seat, soon followed by the others.

‘So Nye, you’ve come up from Wales?’ James asked

‘Guildford actually. I was visiting my sister.’

‘Ah right, I don’t know it myself.’

‘There’s a half-built cathedral, and not much else.’

‘Well it must have been lovely seeing your sister.’ Siegfried was the last one standing, watching the scene with a growing sense of losing control of things. To his relief, Mrs Hall reappeared.

‘If you’d like to come through, dinner is served.’

***

Dinner was a jolly affair. Nye’s genuine interest in his work warmed James to him, and they soon let go of their tension. Nye proved as charming a companion as they could wish for, matching the natural charm Tristan himself was known for. It was clear to the others why they would be friends, despite their differences. He seemed to know just enough about all of them to say exactly the right things, exchanging Latin with Siegfried, reminiscing about trips to Scarborough with Mrs Hall, asking Helen after her father and sister and delighting in her stories, and congratulating James on his success with the TB testing, whilst also showing a depth of understanding of its trials and tribulations. When pudding was eaten and coffee was brewing, they moved back to the drawing room.

‘I best get this little one to bed,’ Helen announced, wiping the last of his dinner off Jimmy’s chin. ‘It was lovely to meet you Nye, I’m glad you’re staying.’ He returned the sentiments, and the hug that she offered him. As she turned, she whispered to Tristan: ‘You’ve got a good one there, Tris.’ He blushed, but squeezed her arm in thanks.

What followed was a classic Skeldale evening. Games at the table, in which Nye very graciously conceded defeat to Siegfried’s questionable word choices, then quiet reading, some wireless and a nightcap.

‘Well, I best head up as well. Look forward to speaking more in the morning,’ Mrs Hall said, making the for her rare move of squeezing his hand in farewell. Then it was just the men. Tristan and Nye were sat on the settee, James and Siegfried in armchairs. James watched Nye closely, trying to understand quite what was going on. He thought he knew really, although he was a little afraid to admit it. There was no denying that this new rival was a handsome man. Rugged where he himself, despite his years on the moors, was soft. Distinguished where he was youthful. Oddly poetic, artistic, where he was more catalogue. But he could no less deny that he liked the man. That Tristan would be drawn to him, a good match for him, he understood. He just wasn’t quite ready to let Tristan go.

‘I best get up before I miss Helen – she falls asleep faster than Jimmy these days!’

‘Right oh James, goodnight!’ Siegfried called. They each wished him goodnight, and he crept upstairs. Just Nye and the Farnons were left.

‘Perhaps you two better head up to your digs. You’ve had a long journey today Nye,’ Siegfried said around his pipe.

‘I’ll admit I am rather tired,’ Nye replied.

‘Well, we can’t have it be said that we exhaust our guests! Off you go!’ Siegfried said with a chuckle.

‘Night Siegfried,’ Tristan said.

‘Goodnight, Siegfried.’

‘A goodnight to you both.’ Tristan and Nye moved from the room. Tristan looked over his shoulder as they went, and was met with a warm, encouraging smile from his older brother.