#Christopher Foyle
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Foyle's War
S02E04 - The Funk Hole
by Anthony Horowitz
Celebrating 20 years of Foyle's War 🍾
This is the first episode of Foyle's War I ever saw and still one of my favourites. I can't believe it's 20 years ago today.
This series changed my life (quite literally, as I sit here in a foreign country married to a fellow FW fan with a house and a dog together 😍)
#foyles war#michael kicthen#honeysuckle weeks#twentieth anniversary#christopher foyle#samantha stewart#anthony howell#ds paul milner#anthony horowitz#ITV#foyle friday one day early
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Spring Edition Flufftober Day 7
And i'm behind with these prompts, again
I'm jumping ahead a few months in my Foyle's War AU ahead to write this for the Spring edition of @flufftober.
Giving someone a Present
April 1943
Sam carefully folded the pink scarf her parents had sent back on itself, brushing her fingers on the wool. It would just about go, especially if she wore it with something green-coloured. And it's warm, which is the most important thing, the way the wind even in spring can bite on those long bike-rides.
"Ah, here's one more." Kit, sitting opposite, had reached down and, from somewhere, pulled out yet another package of brown paper, holding it out to her.
She took the small rectange on reflex. "But you've already given me one." Two extra, hard-won, spanners to travel in her coat pocket, in case the bike were to break down enroute.
"Mmm- not exactly mine." Kit said as he settled back into his chair. "I just kept it safe a while."
She pulled the rough packing string free, unfolding the paper and lifting it away. A hardback book with a smokey blue dust-jacket, evocative of shadows and searching torches appeared
"Oh! It's the new Lorac! 'Death Came Softly'" she read off the front cover "I saw this was out in The Times a while ago, but to get it -"
She glanced up at Kit, he flicked his fingers a little, as if to say 'open it' She eased open the cover. Familiar handwriting, set stark against the thin paper of the flyleaf.
' My Dearest Sam,
Happy Birthday to you this 20th April 1943,
My own darling, dearling, Wife,
& Many Happy Returns of the Day.
I hope you enjoy this one
Your ever-loving Husband
Andrew
XXX
She gently brushed her fingertips against the ink, looked up at Kit
"He bought it down...?"
"When he was last on Leave." Kit said as he nodded. He smiled "I've been hiding it since then-" His lips quirked into a knowing smile "Not telling where mind you."
The smile was infectious, "As if I'd ask." She turned to the first page of the story proper, ignoring the disbelieving noise from her father-in-law.
A/N; In which the Author didn't have to Fudge things, because the 1943 E. R. C. Lorac novel is mentioned in the Times of February 24, 1943 - so it was published in time for Sam's (apparent) Birthday.
#fluffspring2024#day 7#foyle's war#foyle's war fanfiction#sam/andrew#sam stewart#christopher foyle#Murder Mystery Bookworm Sam#Long-Distance Marriage
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Foyle’s War
season 1, ep2 ‘The White Feather’
#detective drama#detective drama tv-series#british tv-series#foyle's war#Christopher Foyle#wwII#wwii tv-series#Anthony Howell#Charles Dance#Michael Kitchen#Honeysuckle Weeks#Paul Brooke#Tobias Menzies#english country style#english country house#english countryside
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He always wondered how Rose did it. (FW if possible please)
He always wondered how Rose did it. There was something about her, ever since she’d been placed in his arms swaddled in a cashmere shawl that had reportedly belonged to Sam’s grandmother, that had made him hers. He loved the boys, Anthony with Rosalind’s eyes, Michael nine-tenths Sam’s mischief, but neither one of them had stolen his heart in the same way. He couldn’t say it was that she reminded him of someone dear, though she might grow to do so, nor that it had a long time since there had been a baby, Michael only beginning to stagger around, nappies still draped haphazardly on the line in the small garden. Perhaps it was the way Andrew had said her name and the gentleness in his finger as he stroked her plump cheek, perhaps something else.
It was a mystery and Christopher Foyle couldn’t say he minded that it remained unsolved.
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I am ashamed to have missed the 20th anniversary of this wonderful show a couple of weeks ago. So here is some belated Michael Kitchen, master of the skeptical head tilt, as Christopher Foyle in Foyle’s War (2002-2015).
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Hastings — July 1943 (excerpt from a work in progress):
Foyle pays the driver and turns to face the house in the mid-morning light. The first thing to catch is eye gives him pause. He’s quite certain that he’d left the sitting room curtains drawn. They’re open, although the blackout’s been done.
He opens the door as quietly as he can — it’s locked, an encouraging sign. Perhaps he was mistaken about how he’d left the curtains; but that possibility raises other questions, equally unsettling.
Ah. Well, then, he thinks as he stands in the hall. A happy surprise: Andrew’s tunic and cap are hanging from the coat-tree. And here is Andrew himself, standing in the centre of the sitting room, clad in pyjamas. Just as well the curtains are drawn, then, Foyle remarks to himself.
‘Hello, Dad,’ Andrew whispers, puzzled. ‘Thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.’
‘So did I,’ Foyle replies. At once Andrew raises a finger to his lips and, with his other hand, makes the sort of gesture that clearly calls for, if not silence, then at least a good deal less sound.
‘Plans changed,’ Foyle goes on, in an obliging whisper. ‘Something’s come up. Delighted to see you, of course, but, um, how do you happen to be here, Andrew?’
‘There’ve been eight alerts since Thursday late afternoon.’
‘I know. All of them passed over London.’
‘And I scrambled in all of them, so yesterday morning WingCo put me on seventy-two hours of leave.’
‘Oh! Well, good for him. Good for you as well. Andrew – why are we whispering?’
‘Sam’s sleeping — or I hope she is, anyway — in the spare room.’
Before Foyle can reply to this, Andrew motions towards the kitchen. Foyle follows him there.
‘Why -’ he begins, still whispering.
‘We can speak a bit more normally in here, but even so it’d be best to keep our voices down,’ Andrew breaks in.
‘All right.’
‘Did you have any breakfast?’
‘Not much, but that doesn’t matter. Andrew -’
‘How are Uncle Charles and Aunt Pamela?’ Andrew asks, depositing the cutting board onto the kitchen table with a thud as he does so.
‘They’re very well — they asked to be remembered to you, or course, and wanted to hear all about you. So did Alan, who’s doing splendidly from what I could see.’ Foyle has been moving in the direction of the larder. Most of the loaf has disappeared, he notes with chagrin.
‘Good! What about Averill? How’s she holding up?’
‘Oh, Averill wasn’t there, I’m afraid. She’s still in Yorkshire with her school. Look here, Andrew — how does Sam come to be asleep in my spare room?’
Creaking floorboards become audible, the sound coming from above.
‘The Jerrys strafed a friend of hers quite badly during the last alert — her arm had to be amputated!’ Andrew explains. ‘Sam went to St Mary’s to wait for news, and I found her there. She was exhausted and hadn’t eaten much and wasn’t sure that anyone else would be at her billet, and I thought she oughtn’t to be alone, so I brought her here and gave her, well, gave her some food and sent her to bed.’
‘Mm. How’d you know to look for her at St Mary’s, though?’
‘Oh, I didn’t! I went there because a chap in my flight was shot down during the same op,’ Andrew explains. ‘It was still dark, and we weren’t sure whether he’d bailed out into the drink or over France. He’s Jewish, and we were pretty bloody worried about what might happen to him if Jerry got hands on him.’
‘Yes, I can imagine.’
‘But WingCo telephoned to say he’d been found and taken to St Mary’s. That’s why I was there. He’s pretty badly banged up, but he’ll be all right. Mark Benjamin. Flight Sergeant. Quite a good pilot — the makings of a very good one, really. He only got his wings six weeks ago and he’s not yet nineteen.’
Foyle nods. ‘Well, you did Sam a good turn,’ he tells Andrew, whose eyes widen slightly.
‘I’m not likely to leave Sam, of all people, to wither away in a hospital waiting room, Dad! I thought she ought to sleep in my room,’ Andrew continues. ‘The mattress was new in ’38, wasn’t it? But she insisted on taking the spare room.’
‘Hm.’ Foyle feels a faint pang of concern whose source he can’t immediately identify.
They now hear the first-floor plumbing being put to use.
‘Did she say why she wanted the spare room?’ Foyle asks.
‘Said I’m home on leave, I ought to sleep in my own bed.’
‘I see. Well, yes, I suppose not. And you bedded down on the sitting room floor instead because... ?’
‘Don’t know that I entirely trusted myself to stay in bed upstairs with Sam down the passage.’
Well, that’s honest, at least, Foyle thinks.
‘Andrew? Good morning,’ they hear Sam saying in the hall. Andrew hurriedly pulls his dressing gown more tightly around him. ‘Are you — oh!’ She stands in the kitchen doorway, looking quite horrified. She is fully dressed, only slightly disheveled, and looks a good deal less worn out than she must have done yesterday. ‘Oh!’ she exclaims again. ‘Sir!’ Then, pulling herself together a bit, she smiles and adds, ‘Andrew wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.’
‘True enough — something came up, though, and I decided I’d better come back today.’
‘Not a very restful holiday, I imagine, sir,’ she commiserates.
‘Well, no, that’s true as well, but it was, er, eventful in a number of ways. Sam, I understand you have a friend in the surgical ward at St Mary’s. Since it appears that you two have been emptying my larder anyway -’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘- why don’t you have some breakfast before you set out?’
‘I was going to telephone in advance, actually, to see whether she can have visitors — she hadn’t come ’round yet when Andrew persuaded me to leave — but thank you!’
Over breakfast — more toast, Women’s Institute blackberry jam, a sausage split three ways — Andrew asks, ‘What happened in London, Dad? Or is it something you can’t discuss?’
‘Interesting question,’ Dad replies. ‘It actually involves you pretty directly, Andrew. It seems that we have a relation no one knew about before now — though in my case the connection is only through marriage. You, though, have a long-lost first cousin.’
‘I wonder whether I ought to be hearing this, sir,’ Sam interjects uneasily.
‘Hm. It requires some discretion, undoubtedly. Trouble is, the woman’s present whereabouts are unknown, at least to any of her relations. You might be able to help us with that, Sam.’
‘Me, sir?’
‘Yes.’ He wipes his hands carefully, reaches inside his suit jacket, removes a neatly folded piece of letter paper and turns to Andrew. ‘On Thursday morning,’ he begins, ‘Uncle Charles received a letter from a complete stranger who is, like him, an uncle of the missing woman. This isn’t the letter itself — he let me copy it.’ He unfolds the paper, hesitates for a moment, then continues, ‘Perhaps you’d both better read this,’ offering it to Andrew as he does so.
Andrew takes the letter and moves his chair close enough to Sam’s that they can each hold one of its edges.
It’s all written out on both sides of the page in Dad’s neat hand.
There is silence for a few moments before Foyle hears the two of them gasp in unison. ‘But, Dad,’ Andrew begins, just as Sam exclaims, ‘Oh, sir!’
#foyle's war fan works#sam/andrew#christopher foyle#andrew foyle#andrew & his father#sam stewart#happy boxing day#please bear in mind that this is a DRAFT
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🎙DCS Foyle, please & thank you.
It is possibly intolerably sentimental to associate "Roses of Picardy" with him and Rosalind, and yet.
(This request has made me realize that I don't think we ever see him listening to or responding to music, outside the context of a church service, and he has a rather fraught relationship with those. He turns on the wireless for the news bulletins, but not otherwise. I don't think he has a gramophone. Does he secretly have a tin ear? Do we just not see him listening to music because music belongs to the other two members of his family, the one he lost and the one he might? help.)
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Love when I get so attached to one character that I start to watch other stuff their actor is in and subsequently get attached to them too
#this goes out to you anthony howell <3#first it was christopher samuels; then johan ross; then paul milner#ndhdksh soon Ill get into s.a.m and jonathan reid once I can get their respective games#i could watch a no commentary playthru but I like the experince of playing the game more#i havent watched foyle's war yet but im on the verge of doing so#Anthony Howell has a very nice voice and a very handsome face and great acting skills#proud to be bisexual yall god I love men#oh and I have two ocs with his face/voice#everett samuels and ioan cadigan#addition: oop wrong blog I posted this to sjxhskjd
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👌🏼 🛳️ 😊 for the fic rec meme?
Thanks for the asks, friend. A
👌🏼A fic someone recommended to you
Last year, when I first joined Tumblr and started writing my Chuck fic, @mercurygray recommended @basilone's Form and Void series. It's unlike anything else I have read in the fandom. I am not usually one for fantasy, but the world building in the series makes it feel like it could actually happen. Read it. (And note to self, I need to leave comments on it!)
🛳️A fic that brought you aboard a new ship
Little NoNeed watched Anne of Green Gables (1985) for the first time, so I peaked over on A03. I discovered @freyafrida's beautiful Come Back Home, featuring postwar Walter Blythe and Una Meredith. Their descriptions are writing goals for me.
😊 A fic that made you smile on a bad day.
Foyle's War is one of my favorite TV shows, and @kivrin's Delicious delivers a just-married, happy Christopher Foyle and is a delight. (I even wrote a double drabble based on it several years ago.)
Fic Recs (Ask Meme)
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Hi Charity! I was wondering if you had any good examples of TJ vs TP detectives?
I think I have IxTP detectives down pretty well due to their abundance, but I’m not as sure when it comes to TJs. It’s for my own personal writing, for context.
Thanks!!
TJ Detectives: Sam in Silent Witness (INTJ), Mycroft Holmes in Sherlock (ESTJ), Christopher Foyle in Foyle's War (ISTJ), Elliot Stabler in SVU (STJ), Eames in Criminal Intent (ISTJ).
Those are the ones I remember offhand. Some of them interact with TP detectives, some of them don't.
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Foyle’s War
S01E02 - The White Feather
by Anthony Horowitz
Celebrating twenty years of Foyle’s War 🍾
#foyle's war#twenty years ago#foyle friday#michael kitchen#christopher foyle#honeysuckle weeks#samantha stewart#ds paul milner#anthony howell#my otp#itv#foyles war#foyle
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This idea was meant to be a fill for #flashfictionfriday, but I couldn't get it beyond vibes in time.
A little Coda to the final scene of 'Elise'.
January 1947
The gravesite was behind him, and so was Sam, walking back home at her husband’s side. Sam, the wife of a Member of Parliament. Never thought I'd say that.
Soft steps crunched on the ground behind him, and after a moment Valentine fell in beside him.
“You are going to back to Hastings then?”
“Yes” And don’t try to persuade me otherwise
A moment of silence as the other man took this in, “The end of an era,” he said softly, “Hilda Pierce… you, Mrs Wainwright…” A sigh “It will be very different in the service.”
That is true, Foyle inclined his head, but kept walking, “You’ll manage.” Isn’t that what you do?
“Yes, I suppose.” Valentine dropped into a heavy silence, still keeping pace.
The graveyard was quiet, even the birds weren’t chirping. Did they too know everything in the world had shifted?
“I’ll keep an eye and an ear out for her.”
Something in Valentine’s voice, made him pause and look at the other man,
Valentine in turn tipped his head in the direction Sam had been in, his eyes soft, fond, but behind them a flinty certainty “If anything happens, I’ll make sure she’s out alright.”
He nodded, “If she needs somewhere to go…” He didn’t have to finish the sentence.
“I’ll send her to you.” Arthur gave a little nod, a frown on his face as he carried on looking in Sam’s direction.
Apparently we both don’t think much of ‘The Honorable’ Wainwright.
Valentine turned back to him “I wanted to apologise Foyle, for how I, we, treated you when you came back to England, and for how we used Sam in that. It was cruel, and while it got a result we wanted - it was wrong.” He held out his hand “Good luck, Christopher.”
He took it and shook it, “Same to you.” They shared a look, “And watch your back with them.”
Valentine’s lips twitched, a slight breath of laughter escaping him.
This time, when he walked away, Valentine didn’t follow him.
#foyle's war#foyle's war fanfiction#christopher foyle#arthur valentine#ep: elise#spoilers#sam stewart
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Foyle's War, season 1, ep. 1
#foyle's war#british tv-series#detective drama#detective drama tv-series#Second World War films#Anthony Horowitz#Christopher Foyle#Robert Hardy#Rosamund Pike#Anthony Howell#Honeysuckle Weeks#Michael Kitchen#country england#english style#english country style#english country house#english countryside#english cottage#Julian Ovenden#James McAvoy
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Fic title
By Yonder Shining Star
By Yonder Shining Star
Foyle’s War casefic where Christopher Foyle has to confront his own experiences in the trenches as somehow, the famous war-poem written by Private Walter Blythe, “The Piper,” whom Foyle met shortly before Courcelette, is the key to finding the murderer. Help comes in the unexpected form of Blythe’s sister Diana, now a middle-aged surgeon preparing to go to France within a fortnight. She was nothing at all like Rosalind, barely reminded him of Blythe, and yet there was something about her he could not resist.
#foyle's war x anne of green gables crossover au#christopher foyle/diana blythe#I would probably dance around the case like you wouldn't believe#foyle canonically served in wwi
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OC Questions Tag
Thank you @writernopal for the tag! I'm gonna do this for Horatio, one of my main guys in AOM.
5 words to physically describe your OC (do you have a drawing? even better!)
Shaggy hair, silver highlights, tall
Who inspired your OC? (can be your mum to a very famous fungi)
I think he was inspired by some number of BBC detectives (no I don't mean Sherlock I mean like Dangerous Davies or Christopher Foyle) because he's been with me since the faery police days of Old Canon. I can't draw a one to one comparison though because there's not someone who comes to mind when I consider who is simultaneously soft, highly competent, and kind of unlucky/pathetic, though he's kind of changed since then (mostly that last part).
Give me a song to define your OC (I will listen to it to enter in your WIP mood!)
While On Saturn's Rings by Ernest Gonzales
If I met your OC on the street how would they greet me?
He'd definitely give you a smile. If he knows you a little better, then you can have a wave too, and at some point most people cross into "you can have a hug if you want it" territory. However if he's carrying plants you will have to wait your turn.
Can your OC be your best friend? Why?
Sure, but not his best best friend. There's only one of those and that's Sid.
1 adjective and 1 noun to describe your OC (blue soul)
Blithe worker
Tagging @outpost51, @junypr-camus, @sleepyowlwrites, and anyone else who wants to join in!
#oh boy I will have a drawing soon. he's one of the people I'm drawing portraits for for the powerpoint#c: Horatio#wip: aom#tag games#oc questions tag#Spotify
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Taken from Foyle's Philavery by Christopher Foyle.
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