Tis Himself

Like with the first film, I’ve decided to dump these all in one post for multiple reasons. One of being that a lot of the actual film stills did not make it online digitally, just the posters did.

First I’ll have the images you’ll most likely be looking for (i.e. The Bates Family together), then the posters, then the rest in loose order of the film, and BTS at the end. Most of stills are just photos from the book or other merchandise. 

Ben Blackall was the still photographer for ANE; the black and white photo shoot was by Jason Bell Photo.

I do not plan to update this post with more or bigger stills, unless a new one with all three Bateses appears.

Please like or reblog this if you’re interested in the idea 😊

The BBC estimates that most people will only read 6 books out of the 100 listed below. Reblog this and bold the titles you’ve read.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen 2 Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkein 3 Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte 4 Harry Potter series 5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee 6 The Bible 7 Wuthering Heights – Emily Bronte 8 Nineteen Eighty Four – George Orwell 9 His Dark Materials – Philip Pullman 10 Great Expectations – Charles Dickens 11 Little Women – Louisa M Alcott 12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy 13 Catch 22 – Joseph Heller 14 Complete Works of Shakespeare 15 Rebecca – Daphne Du Maurier 16 The Hobbit – JRR Tolkien 17 Birdsong – Sebastian Faulks 18 Catcher in the Rye 19 The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffeneger 20 Middlemarch – George Eliot 21 Gone With The Wind – Margaret Mitchell 22 The Great Gatsby – F Scott Fitzgerald 23 Bleak House – Charles Dickens 24 War and Peace – Leo Tolstoy 25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – Douglas Adams 26 Brideshead Revisited – Evelyn Waugh 27 Crime and Punishment – Fyodor Dostoyevsky 28 Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck 29 Alice in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll 30 The Wind in the Willows – Kenneth Grahame 31 Anna Karenina – Leo Tolstoy 32 David Copperfield – Charles Dickens 33 Chronicles of Narnia – CS Lewis 34 Emma – Jane Austen 35 Persuasion – Jane Austen 36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe – CS Lewis 37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini 38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres 39 Memoirs of a Geisha – Arthur Golden 40 Winnie the Pooh – AA Milne 41 Animal Farm – George Orwell 42 The Da Vinci Code – Dan Brown 43 One Hundred Years of Solitude – Gabriel Garcia Marquez 44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney – John Irving 45 The Woman in White – Wilkie Collins 46 Anne of Green Gables – LM Montgomery 47 Far From The Madding Crowd – Thomas Hardy 48 The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood 49 Lord of the Flies – William Golding 50 Atonement – Ian McEwan

“Well, I think that looks rather good. What do you think?”

A beaming face stared up at her, eyes bright and chubby cheeks burnished pink, flecked with white from the flour that had somehow flew free from the mixing bowl in quite a generous quantity.

“Yay, cake!”

Two little arms shot into the air, and caused the chair that their owner was perched upon to rock slightly on its legs. Anna was quick to notice and threw herself forward, circling both arms around her little boy. It seemed like only yesterday when he was bundled in blankets, tiny face with perfect features peeking out, cradled in her arms. So small and so precious. Time had gone she didn’t quite know where. He was getting so big now, growing day by day. Everyone commented that while he had her fair colouring, it was likely that he would take after John in height, and he was already proving the prediction right.

She seized the opportunity to give him a squeeze, revelling in his sweet laughter and squirming as she held him close to her.

“Yay, indeed,” she chimed, pressing a kiss above his ear. “Now, we’ll have to put it in the oven for a little while first, because if we try to eat it now – “

She pretended to scoop some of the mixture up with her fingers, scrunching up her face in mock disgust on ‘tasting’. Johnny, far from being deterred, found her display highly amusing, his little shoulders shaking with giggles.

“ – it won’t be very nice at all. It won’t take long, though.” She smiled wide to reassure him, before lifting him from where he stood on the chair with a slightly exaggerated ‘oof!’ Her hands landed on her hips as she glanced around the kitchen, and in a matter of seconds, Johnny mimicked her stance, which made her stutter out a laugh.

“Dear me. I hadn’t realised what a mess we had made.”

The kitchen had turned into quite the picture, bowls scattering the counter-top, which was covered liberally with flour and sugar – indeed, she wasn’t entirely sure that there was much of either substance left in their respective bags. Most of the eggs had gone into the mixture, which was good news, but some cracked casualties had ended up on the floor, and she had to be careful where she placed her steps.

“Oops.”

She couldn’t stop herself from giggling at her boy’s innocent appraisal.

“We’ll have to clean this up,” she paused to glance at the clock, keeping an eye to the time. Where had the afternoon gone to? “Luckily, Mummy is used to working quickly. Because the next job will be to get you all tidied up too, my sweet-pea.”

She was reminded of her housemaid days as she went at rapid speed, scrubbing and wiping. She let Johnny do some sweeping with the broom, although she was careful to keep him to his own patch of the floor which was quite tidy to begin with. He did a wonderful job, rightly pleased with himself as he smiled up at her once more.

Once everything was almost back to new in the kitchen they headed upstairs, Johnny marching for a few strides until he decided he’d rather be carried for the rest of the journey. Anna was more than happy to oblige; the feeling of their son hitched upon her hip with his arms hugging around her neck was, without doubt, one of her most favourite in the world, and she intended to make the most of it for as long as she was able to do so.

A proper bathtime would be saved for later – always the momentous event – but a wash and tidy-up was certainly required, as was a change of clothes. Mother and son made a choice together, and Anna was thankful for relative little fuss; usually, her darling boy became quite mischievous when it came to dressing, but the prospect of dinner followed by cake for dessert had a desired effect. She tugged a little on both trouser legs but to not much avail; they were further evidence of his growing like a weed.

The soft-bristled brush sweeping over his sandy hair was the finishing touch, along with her fingers flattening down his collar.

“Well, well,” she cooed, her hands gentle upon his shoulders, “I would say that you look fit for a visit from the king and queen themselves.”

They were expecting someone far greater.

The sun was lowering its rays through the front window when the familiar sound echoed through the hall; they’d hadn’t been downstairs for more than a couple of minutes, and Anna broke into a smile, unable to stop their boy from toddling off into the hall, full of excitement to see his Da again after several hours.

John’s voice could be heard, talking to their son in a low and loving voice, and her heart was full before she even happened upon the scene. She couldn’t bear to tell him to climb down, and indeed, John was content to carry him through, still able to lean down to brush a kiss against her lips while his arms were full with their little boy.

“We made your favourite,” she said, sharing a conspiratory look with Johnny, who answered by grinning.

John smiled, his eyes bright. He hugged their son closer to him, before asking “what’s the occasion?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just to make sure that you know you’re the best Da in the whole world.”

“Yes!”

They both laughed at their boy’s hearty approval.

“Well, that’s a very good thing to know.”

She beamed at the pair of them, the best friends that there could be and the most precious ones in her life.

He had always known that she was a force of nature, as persistent and strong as the sun rising through the heaviest of clouds. Such forces could not be stopped, despite the most fervent of attempts. He had always been so immensely proud of the fact. Even with shoulders set as straight as they could go and head raised to the sky he was not able to measure up to her elevation, and he would never wish to.

What he did wish, however, was that the whirlwind of action that was Mrs Anna May Bates would come to a standstill, for a few hours at a time at least, if not the few months that he would prefer.

It was a delight to see her beaming smiles as she went about the house, and even more than usual he found himself entranced by her when they were sharing the same space. Thomas made the odd remark, which were softened by those which came from Miss Baxter and Mrs Hughes. Since they had last returned from London it had become impractical to keep their cherished secret just that any longer, especially given how much Anna was showing. It was wonderful to have the rest of the staff so pleased about the happy news, including Thomas despite his comments. Mrs Patmore couldn’t go a day without mentioning the ‘glow’ that Anna had about her, and though she was quick to dismiss it herself, he knew that his eyes weren’t deceiving him in recognising the ethereal glow that shone, brighter than it had ever before.

Her mind had been made up to continue on working, a matter that he was not especially thrilled about but not something he would argue. Lady Mary continued to look out for Anna, reducing her duties and employing Miss Baxter to help her with the more arduous tasks. She had already asked him whether he’d had words with Lady Mary without her knowing, and he did not lie when he assured her that he had not.

Yet she seemed to be exchanging the energy she would usually be using while at work to tasks in the cottage instead. Even on half days she rose earlier, and was already about something after taking the last sip of tea from her cup and finishing her porridge and toast. She tutted and shrugged at his gentle pleas for her to slow down, throwing in the occasional ‘silly beggar’ while fitting a palm over her expanding stomach.

It was on a baking hot midday when they had the luck to both be on a half-day that his frustrations came to a head. She had been out in the garden for what seemed to be far too long, and when he ventured outside, quite giving up on reading for the day, he was horrified to find her wrestling with a tangle of linen and stretching upwards on the tips of her toes.

“Anna!” he called out, his voice pitched with alarm, “please, don’t do that, love.”

She turned to him with rose colour high in her cheeks, and one arm jutting out at her hip.

“For heavens’ sake, John. I’m only putting the washing out. Would you rather go wearing clothes that could stand up by themselves for the next few months?”

“I would, gladly, if it meant that you would get off your feet.”

A familiar look fell upon her face, one which rivalled his own for feverish sensation. The sharpness in her expression faded as the seconds passed, and she placed a hand against his arm. “Everything is fine. Doctor Ryder said that it would be a good thing for me to keep active, that it would help with the ligament pain.”

He felt the frown that had been etched onto his brow began to relax the longer her eyes rested upon him.

“I know. I just want you to be careful, that’s all.”

She smiled wide at him, the sunlight catching the curve of her mouth and illuminating her profile perfectly.

“Anyone would think you didn’t know me from Adam, Mr Bates.” Her lips pursed, one hand remaining planted on her hip and the other rubbing over the bump of her stomach. “What do you think to that as a name?”

He felt the frown resurface. “I knew several Adams in the army, none of them especially remarkable.”

“Oh, well,” she replied, looking down at the bump, “back to the drawing board, then.”

He remained outside while between them they hung out the laundry to dry, the sun so hot that he was certain that he had scorched the back of his neck. Given the heat of the day he was keen to get the job done as soon as possible, and set himself to work on making a pot of tea when they were back inside, Anna safely positioned on the settee.

Or so he believed, until he heard her shouting his name before the pot had come to brew.

He rushed into the front room to find her coming towards him, one hand over her stomach and the other held out.

“Anna,” he uttered, beside himself with panic, “what is it? What’s wrong?”

Her expression was a little surprised, but he could discern the smile in her eyes.

“It’s not a flutter anymore,” she said, her face brightening further when she saw him comprehend her meaning. “Come here.”

One minute at a time. A day, even an hour, was too much to ask for. They would focus on what was possible. Emotion came as in waves, and as the sea, it had ways that could not be defined. There was no use in trying to reason; you simply had to let yourself drift.

She got frustrated with herself. He was quick to stop himself from saying that it was fine.

Nothing about this was fine. It was what it was; something that they would work through together. He didn’t think about an end. There was no stopping point. Instead, there was a journey, and it did not matter how many times they stopped to gather themselves, or for how long they stopped.

It did not matter if they went back several miles.

They had the rest of their lives together to traverse the way ahead.

There were rare, hesitant smiles. There were many more tears. He longed to hold her, feel like he could be of some real comfort, but he knew that she was not ready. Instead he stayed by her side, reassuring her with his words and his presence that he would not leave, not ever.

Some days, the sun hardly rose in the sky. When he prayed, it was for her sake alone.

The trees were turning to gold and red, appearing to shine as they left the cottage in the morning for another day at the Abbey. He led the way as he did every morning, knowing that she would not be far behind. This morning, however, he could sense that something was wrong.

He was very slow and careful with his movements, turning around to see that she was shivering slightly.

“Is everything alright, my love?”

She nodded, not meeting his eyes for a few seconds. It broke his heart to see how vulnerable she looked, although he knew that she was stronger than steel itself.

“Can I…” her voice faltered, eyes looking tentatively from underneath the brim of her hat, and he wished that he could say the words for her, if he knew what they were. “Can I hold your hand?”

He answered with a soft smile, heart bursting with pride within his chest.

“Of course, my darling.”

He offered his hand towards her, and after a few moments, her palm slipped against his. Her grasp was not tight at first, but with the more steps they took, the more confident she became.

She smiled up at him, the autumn sunlight caressing her face; it was the biggest smile he had seen from her in months.

Arete reborn, he was certain.

It was late when he ventured back downstairs, past any reasonable hour for bed. He had given the excuse that he was weary from the journey and felt that sleeping earlier than usual would be the best remedy, when in truth he hadn’t rested at all. He had gone to his room, and cursed himself in every possible way for what had happened. He knew well enough that Vera would not be civil and would take immediately against all that he had to say, yet he had not prepared himself for her fury, and he had many years worth of familiarity with it.

It had been a different kind, palpable as soon as he had set foot in the room.

He was ashamed, stupid to think that he could have any way pinned his hopes on a halfway amicable solution. Defeated. It had broken what was left of his soul and spirit to have to walk back into the house that welcomed him, for a reason once again completely unknown to him, and to see her, the light that could not cancel out his dark no matter how brightly and eternally she shone, waiting for him. Soft searching eyes that he did not deserve the balm of soothing him, tender hand reaching towards him to try and salve the angry cut that stung his cheek.

He knew that she would be worrying still, and yet he had skulked away, leaving her with only a few words, the most important shamefully not being amongst them.

She was at the table, half shielded by the dark of the hour, but resplendent. He felt more shame for beholding her in her nightgown, hair cascading her shoulder in a braid.

“It’s okay,” she said before he could move to speak, not even able to offer that courtesy, “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

She sat down after she had pulled out another chair, the one directly next to her. He felt himself too weak and worn down to refuse, trying not to think of how it would look if Mr Carson for some reason was also suffering insomnia and descended to find them both, too close for any real comfort.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

The choked words emerged from his throat painfully slowly, everything aching within him.

“Hush.”

Her hand was upon his on the table, he had not the energy or forethought to move it away before she could reach.

He could offer her these crumbs, at least. Selfishly, he also craved the salvation she gave to him without question, even in the light of his failure.

“Let me get some warm water.”

He shook his head, his palm covering hers.

“It’s fine. Only a scratch.”

His knee was what had come off the worst, pulsing with pain where Vera had aimed her foot, knowing well it was his weak spot.

He knew that Anna had seen him hobbling towards the stairs, was aware of the other, greater injury caused. He hissed, flinching when she put both her hands over his knee, and then fought to stop the tears from falling as she moved them slowly, with the kind of care known only by angels.

He didn’t need to tell her how awful it had been, how pathetic he had been in not putting up a better fight. They were words for another day, when with any hope there would be something else to prevent her heart from breaking. He wished that he could have done more to save it.

“Is that any better?” she said after a good few minutes of issuing careful yet effective touches.

He nodded and then answered, “thank you.”

Lifting his head, he could see the sliver of a smile upon her face. She touched one hand to his cheek, warmer than usual, and he allowed himself to drift for a moment.

“I’ll wait.”

His heart was halfway between hope and despair on hearing her, the conviction in her tone that never tired, even when he failed, time after time after time.

“Months. Years. However long it takes.”

He wanted to take her in his arms. Embrace her, kiss her. He couldn’t give a fig if the entire household descended upon them.

He had done everything he could think of, but it still wasn’t enough. Yet she still believed that it could be possible.

He took her hand from where it had fallen into her lap, pressing a small kiss into the centre of her palm.

If only it was over. How he longed to begin their life together with the rise of the sun.

As things stood, a million suns would set without being any fraction closer.

“I thought they would be back by now. Heavens, there’s not long until dinner.”

“That weather is terrible.”

“They never should have gone in the first place.”

“His Lordship was quite insistent.”

Anna refrained from adding to the chatter in the hall, bending her head to focus on the blouse she was working upon in the failing light, not wanting to hold a candle too close to the sleeve lest it should catch flame. She was worried, of course. His Lordship, Mr Bates and Mr Branson had been gone since the early afternoon. Even with the pouring rain, a trip into Ripon would not have taken more than a couple of hours all round.

Her head was beginning to fill with all terrible kinds of notions, which were not helped by Thomas and Miss O’Brien’s sly looks and snickers. She was ready to jump from her seat and give the pair of them what for, while Mr Carson was distracted by the impending crisis of dinner having to be delayed, when a series of echoing sounds travelled swiftly towards the gathered staff.

Mr Branson entered first, his uniform soaked through, followed by Mr Bates, who had been saved somewhat by his hat and overcoat.

“What on earth happened?” Mrs Hughes questioned, as Gwen and Lily scurried off to fetch some towels and Mrs Patmore set Daisy to work with the teapot.

She felt ridiculous, not to mention incredibly rude, in not going to help, but she found herself fixed to where she had risen from her seat, immobile.

“A spot of trouble with the car,” Mr Branson supplied, “broke down not two miles back from Ripon. It was my own fault for not checking.”

From the other side of the table Mr Bates’s eyes found hers, and he wore a gentle smile, his hands held behind his back. She felt her cheeks starting to flush, and inwardly chided herself for it.

Both dried themselves the best they could with the help of the towels and a fire William hastily stoked in the grate. Mr Carson was beyond relieved that dinner could go ahead as usual, if delayed by half an hour or so.

“Well, nobody was hurt, and that’s the blessing,” Mrs Hughes said, bringing the matter to a conclusion, and signalling a return to the normal order.

Anna caught up to Mr Bates, and they shared a little conversation – not enough until they had to go their separate ways on the landing.

Once the family were ready and had gone down to dinner, they met again, Anna somewhat surprised to find him in no hurry to go back to his quarters and change.

“You must be uncomfortable,” she said, fretting that the incessant rain would cause him to catch a cold.

“I’ve put up with much worse,” he replied, with that same warm, subtle smile.

It would be much easier if he were cold or distant with her, but that was not Mr Bates at all. Even after she had made a fool of herself, telling him as plain as day that she loved him, he had took it all with unbelievably good grace and not changed his attitude towards her at all. Of course, that was part of the reason why she felt the way she did towards him. He was a good man. The word was too little for his immense dignity.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he began, his feet shuffling slightly, “but I got you something from Ripon.”

She was rather taken aback, momentarily forgetting her manners as he handed the token over, wrapped in tissue which had gone somewhat damp.

She gasped a little on seeing it, a beautiful woven bookmark, threaded with cotton in different colours, displaying various flowers.

“It reminded me of you.”

His voice sounded a little different, and she lifted her head to find his gaze upon her, before he diverted it, which was just as well.

“It’s lovely. I usually use a scrap of paper, this is far nicer.”

“So long as you don’t fold the pages.”

She looked at him with mock horror. “Never.”

He chuckled. “Good, because then we would have trouble.”

“And there’s quite enough of that around here.” It was a poor joke to make, what with the scheming of the dastardly duo, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Thank you ever so much, Mr Bates. You didn’t have to.”

“You’ve done so much for me, it seemed only fair.”

“I’m afraid I can’t repay you with anything.”

“I wouldn’t ask.”

She smiled, glad that there was no awkwardness or ill-feeling between them.

“I tell you what, I can make you a cup of tea. You must be parched.”

“In one manner of speaking, yes.”

She found herself laughing, the sound reverberating on the quiet gallery.

“A cup of tea it is, then. But not before you’ve changed. You’ve put up with that long enough.”

The smile in his eyes caused her heart to leap, far too hopeful for its own good.