EVERYONE: United We Stand (Non-Poke / TTTE)

[AceTrainer14]

United We Stand

Last year, the North Western Railway turned 100 years old. It was a time of great celebration for the island: Thomas, the first engine purchased for the railway, turned 100 as well, while Skarloey and Rheneas celebrated their 150th birthdays. The year also marked 70 years since the engines had first been immortalised in the stories by the Reverend Wilbert Awdry.

With extensions being built, old lines being revitalised, and new engines joining the team, it was meant to be the biggest year in Sodor’s history. And, by the end, it was clear the centenary would definitely be remembered, though not quite in the way they had intended.

The following story is about the greatest threat the railway has ever faced. It tells of how fear is something that can affect even the bravest of souls. It tells of how friendship and teamwork can falter in the darkest of times. It tells of how, in order to defeat the cruellest of enemies, you must stand united.


- The Author​

New story time - and for once, it's not Pokemon related. I wasn't sure if I should post this here or not, as I highly doubt it will get that many views, but it's worth a shot! I'm always in the mood for different thoughts and opinions of a story, so I present this to you all and welcome any thoughts an outsider may have! Enjoy!

Contents:
Prologue (below)

Act One:
The Quiet Homecoming
Feeling Blue
Two Old Engines
A Tunnel Too Far
Ride Before a Fall
Lesser the Knowledge
The Tracks Are Always Greener

Prologue: The Promised Arrival

Vicarstown – North Western Railway Headquarters

1915 – Exact date unknown


“I hate this blasted war.”

Topham Hatt stopped his presentation and looked up. It wasn’t often that he was interrupted during his weekly run-through, and it was even rarer for his boss to change topic when discussing the railway. He saw that Gordon Norramby was not sitting behind his desk as he had at the start of the meeting; instead, the interim manager of the North Western Railway stood by his window, lit cigar perched between his lips, gazing towards the Mainland.

“I’m sorry sir, did you say something?” Topham asked tentatively, gazing back at the documents he had hoped to get through.

“The war, Hatt, it’s been a bloody shambles.” Gordon did not turn from the window as he spoke, directing his anger outwards to the world. Topham checked the door was closed; he knew it would not do his boss any good if people heard him criticising the war effort.

“It was meant to be done by now – home by Christmas, they said, remember that? Bah! They sent our men off to fight in a war we didn’t need to be involved with, and only afterwards they realised we were screwed if we lost. Now we’ve got the government breathing down our necks to finish building their railway, except they’ve taken all the able-bodied men that could have built it and left us with the scraps.”

Gordon angrily turned around and began pacing his office, drawing on his cigar and leaving a trail of ash in his wake. Topham didn’t say anything, partly because he knew it was best to let his boss calm down, and partly as he was not sure how to feel himself.

Neither man would be here if it wasn’t for the war. As part of the government’s coastal defence, they had agreed to fund the creation of the North Western Railway: a joining together of the three standard gauge railways currently operating on Sodor. For the government, it meant a strategic area of defence to protect the nation’s coastline, but for the men in charge on Sodor, it had been a welcome step forward for the island. For too long, the Sodor had been divided, multiple railway companies operating independently of each other. It had been seen as a golden opportunity to bring the island together.

Upon government approval, Gordon had been appointed to oversee the project, while Topham came over from the Tidmouth, Knapford and Elsbridge line to serve as Chief Engineer. For a while, things ran smoothly. Though it took a long time, the rolling bridge to finally connect them to the Mainland was up and running, and the station they currently sat in, their new headquarters, was nearly operational.

Unfortunately, they were running behind schedule. The lack of working age men meant they couldn’t lay tracks as quickly as they liked, while none of the new engines Topham had ordered had arrived yet. The current fleet they had to work with had not been designed for such strenuous tasks, and it was clear they could not handle the pressure.

At the end of the day, Topham was worried. If they could not get it done on time, would the government keep funding them? If they couldn’t finish the project, what would it mean for Sodor? And there was the constant, endless threat of war, a war that was meant to be over; how were they meant to build a railway with their livelihoods at stake?

“Maybe I should head to London, make the case directly for better men, more money, more engines.” Gordon was talking more to himself than Topham, simply throwing the words out into the office. “Perhaps it would be better if my cousin did it, he’d have more clout. It’s the least he owes me, after all,” he added darkly. Topham wondered when this would come up. Whenever Gordon got in a mood, his rants always led back to one thing.

A cousin to the current Earl of Sodor, Gordon had long lived the high life, living in the resort town his family had built. However, being just a cousin, he had been on the edges of that life, never quite breaching the inner sanctum. When the war had been declared, Gordon had planned on signing up, looking forward to making a name for himself.

Then, the day before registering, he and the Earl had gone hunting. It had been dark, they’d been drinking, and Gordon stumbled into the path of a deer…. The doctors had just managed to save his leg, but weeks in the hospital and a nasty limp had left him unable to serve. When the railway expansion was approved, he was put in charge as a way of apology, while his siblings and most of his cousins left to fight. Thankfully, Gordon had fallen naturally into the role, but the old resentment still crept out from time to time.

“Speaking of engines, maybe we should get back to our current problems,” Topham suggested sensitively. “I have been researching and we may have enough money to buy another tender engine.” Gordon stopped pacing and turned back around as though he had just remembered his engineer was there.

“Of course, my good man, of course! My goodness, at least we have you Topham – don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re not planning on running off to France, are you?”

“Er, never worry sir, my doctor has, um, forbidden me to serve,” Topham replied sheepishly. He looked down at his expanded gut threatening to burst out from his shirt: he had steadily packed on the weight, a hereditary trait that all men in his family seemed to suffer from. He had planned on serving, but his doctor, a kindly chap, had forbidden it, claiming Topham would be more likely to die from a heart attack than a bullet.

“Well, here we are then; the only two capable men left on this godforsaken island.” Gordon moved back to his desk and sat down with a grunt, still sucking on the cigar. “We may not be saving the Empire from the Germans, but we’re doing something worthwhile here?” It was meant to be a statement, but Topham could tell from his bosses tone and the look on his face that Gordon was seeking reassurance.

“Of course we are, sir. When the soldiers come home triumphant, they will find the island has been brought together. We may be trying to protect our country, but a rail network from east to west is what Sodor needs to become one… well, except for up north.”

“Huh, forget about them: a bunch of uncivilised swine, if you ask me,” Gordon grunted, and then he burst into laughter at his own joke. Topham chuckled with him, feeling like a weight had been lifted – if only it was that easy to calm his own nerves.

“Now, where were we…?”

There was a knock at the door. The two men fell silent once more as an attendant, a pimple-faced youth too young to serve, peered into the room.

“Sorry sir, I didn’t mean to disturb, sir, but the new engine has arrived,” the attendant squeaked.

Topham raised an eyebrow at the youth. Already? He thought, and scanned his notes: surely he would have remembered something as important as this.

“Oh, excellent!” Gordon clapped his hands and beamed. “Finally, we can start making some real progress. This would be the Furness Railway one, wouldn’t it? Didn’t it have a name?” He asked, clicking his fingers wildly at his engineer.

“Edward, sir,” Topham mumbled automatically, still trying to confirm this arrival with his notes.

“Edward, that’s it!” Gordon boomed, as though he had remembered it himself. “A tender engine to call our own, that’s what this railway needs. We’ll be flying through the construction at this rate!” He turned back towards the attendant, and Topham realised with a sinking heart that the boy looked confused.

Gordon noticed at the same time, and his face collapsed upon itself. “Why the face, boy? Come on, spit it out!”

“It’s just… well… the engine…”

“OUT WITH IT, DAMNIT!”

“It’s not a tender engine, sir. It’s a tank engine, sir. His crew says they are from the London, Brighton and –”

“BRIGHTON?!” Gordon jumped to his feet, the cigar flying from his hands. “Did this boy just say what I think he just said?” He roared at Topham.

“Yes sir, unfortunately,” the engineer replied, hurriedly searching his notes. “We did order a tank engine to help, but it wasn’t meant to arrive today, and I certainly didn’t order one from down south.”

“Well then, let’s see what’s going on!” And without another word, Gordon shoved the youth aside and marched out of his office as fast as his limp would carry him. Still trying to find his notes, Topham heaved himself up and raced after, furiously searching through his jumbled mix of papers.

The tank engine looked tiny sitting alone in the huge station. The finishing touches were still being put on the Vicarstown headquarters, but only now did Topham appreciate how big the station was. A blue speck in comparison to the high brick walls and glass ceilings around him, the engine seemed intimidated by the size, mesmerised eyes darting between the multiple platforms and the cathedral-sized ceiling.

“That’s an E2, sir,” Topham explained as he caught up with his boss. “I saw a photo in a magazine last month. I would have remembered ordering one, there are barely a dozen of them in England.”

“Then something is clearly amiss,” Gordon growled. He marched up the engine and banged his fist on its bunker.

“Morning sir!” A lean, cheery man jumped out of the cab, taking off a coal-dusted cap and grinning broadly at the two men before him. “You must be my new boss! The name’s – “

“I don’t care who you are, you and this engine are not meant to be here!” Gordon roared; inside the cavernous, empty station, his voice echoed so it sounded like there were a hundred men yelling. The fireman stuck his head out in confusion, while the driver looked perplexed, taking a cautious step backwards, but Topham was impressed to see he was not intimidated.

“This is the North Western Railway, isn’t it?”

“Yes – I mean, not yet, technically… but we didn’t order an E3, did we, Topham?”

“E2, but no, I certainly did not place an order for this engine.” Topham looked through his notes again, hoping to find the piece of paper to prove his claim, but it was nowhere to be seen. “Well, I don’t believe I did…”

“Topham?”

“I only seem to have the orders for the other engines. I must have misplaced the one ordering us a pilot engine.” Topham remained calm and looked his boss in the eye. He could see Gordon was annoyed, but he knew the manager would not take his rage out on him. Indeed, after several tense moments of silent eye contact, Gordon turned back towards the crew.

“It seems there has been some sort of mistake. Until we have this sorted, you will have to find accommodation back on the Mainland.”

“What?” The driver’s shock quickly turned to anger. “We have been travelling for three days to get here, and now you’re telling us to bugger off? This isn’t our problem, mate.”

“Excuse me; consider who you are talking to! I am the manager here; I am not to be scolded by the likes of you!”

“And what is that supposed to mean, you rich –”

“Pardon me, gentlemen, but before we get into fisticuffs, may I have a word?” Topham grabbed Gordon’s sleeve and pulled him away. Before his boss could object, Topham leaned in close. “We have a railway to build, one that isn’t going to move any faster if we don’t have the right engines. The E2 is a good shunting engine from what I’ve read; until we sort this mess out, why don’t we keep it on? If it’s the wrong engine, we would have at least gotten some use out of it first.” Gordon pondered the idea for a moment; Topham could see the cogs ticking away in his head, his annoyance at this issue being overpowered by his desire to finish the railway.

“I must apologise for my attitude,” Gordon boomed, turning back to the tank engine’s crew. “This is a shock, you must understand. If you come with me, we can arrange your accommodation and prepare plans for your engine.” The driver and fireman exchanged smiles and followed Gordon back towards the office. Topham breathed a sigh of relief. He may be the chief engineer, but half the time he felt more like a relationship manager, fixing problems Gordon’s short temper had caused.

I hope I don’t spend the rest of my life running around after other people’s mistakes. Topham left them to their arrangements and turned back towards the engine. It was the first new engine he had seen in the flesh for months, and he walked alongside it, savouring every nut and bolt: the curves of its boiler, the lines of its tanks, the slight unevenness of its buffers. This is just the engine we need.

“Um, excuse me sir, but can I ask you something?”

Taken aback, Topham turned and faced the engine, staring him in the eye. The voice, high but masculine, sounded uncertain, and the engine’s young face was twisted in unease. “Of course you can – I am the chief engineer, it is important that you feel comfortable talking to me.”

“Well, I was just wondering… you aren’t going to send me home, are you?” The engine sounded nervous, he looked positively frightened, and for the first time, Topham wondered if there was more to this mix-up than meets the eye. However, that was a worry for another time.

“Don’t worry, um… sorry, but do you have a name?”

“Thomas, sir.”

“Well then, don’t you worry, Thomas: we won’t send you home if we don’t have to.” The tank engine breathed a sigh of relief, and it looked like a weight had been taken off his buffers.

“Thank you sir, I promise you won’t regret it sir, I’ll do whatever you tell me, sir!”

“Enough with the sir’s – it’s just Mr Hatt,” Topham replied, laughing heartily. “I am sure I won’t regret this – I can tell you’re going to be a really useful part of this team.” The blue engine beamed back at him, a cheeky smile that outshone his unease, and Topham grinned widely back. Feeling the most reassured he had for weeks, he turned and followed Gordon back to the office, certain that things were going to be all right.

 

[AceTrainer14]

The Quiet Homecoming

March 2015

Despite the years he had been away, Barry had never forgotten the hustle and bustle of Barrow Central Station. When he had first arrived on Sodor, the first thing he had noticed had been how busy the station was: steam engine and diesel working side-by-side, crossing the giant drawbridge to the oasis that lay across the sea. Having spent years sitting in a siding gathering rust, the threat of scrap ever present, the lively atmosphere had been enough to convince Barry he had found a place to be welcomed, and since then he had always savoured the organised chaos that the North Western Railway ran on.

Yet this morning, the station was empty.

“Are we in the right place?” A sense of dread fell over Barry as he stopped at the platform. It was not as though he had been expecting a big welcome for his return home, but Barry was unnerved by the sheer quiet that hung over the station: had something happened while he was away? Surely they would have let him know?

“It’s before lunch time, things are never that busy at this time,” Barry’s driver replied. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure things are safe for us to cross.”

Don’t say that, Barry thought with a shudder. There could have been a crash, is that what you’re saying? It would be just my luck, arriving home to an accident.

Barry caught himself and felt ashamed at his own fear. His mind was always jumping on the worst case scenario, a habit he had long tried to break with minimal success. Years spent expecting to be scrapped changed an engine, and Barry now found it easier to find the negatives in any situation.

You are back home, the Fat Controller never lets anything bad happen. There is nothing to fear, there is nothing to get upset about. Barry puffed deeply in and out to calm his nerves, and cast his eyes around the yard: asides from the main station, there were a number of sidings and a shunting yard beyond. Barry could see that there were several lines of trucks waiting, and he could faintly see the North Western Railway logo on their side.

Someone must have been across earlier – I probably just missed them, that’s all. Feeling more relaxed, Barry cast his mind back to his tour while he waited for his driver to return. It was hard to believe that after five years travelling across Great Britain he was nearly home. He had been a long way away, but travelling through heritage railways, Barry had never felt more accepted. While most of the engines on Sodor had been purchased before dieselisation, the engines on those railways had all been like him: survivors, rescued and rebuilt, maintained through perseverance and hard work. It had been comforting to meet so many kindred spirits, engines that knew what he had gone through and had their own tales of endurance to share. Every day, Barry had felt inspired, seeing that none of those engines had given up or let their past drag them down. Every day he had been on one of the heritage lines, nothing had gotten in Barry’s way.

Well… except for that last day. Barry shuddered, feeling cold despite his roaring fire. It had been several days since the final stop on his tour, a small heritage railway a two day journey from Sodor, yet in every quiet moment he had had since then, Barry could only think of one thing: shunting coaches away, a mysterious engine had been waiting in the back of the shed, firing off a warning that made no sense, yet it still made Barry’s fire cold to think about…

Warn him – tell him I’m waiting for him, tell him I know what he did!

Suddenly, something slammed into Barry’s tender. His mind still back in the shed, Barry screamed and sounded his whistle in horror. He jerked forwards, and for a moment was convinced someone had come for him, that he was going to be taken away mere kilometres from getting home. However, breathing feverishly, Barry opened his eyes and realised he had only moved a few centimetres.

“W-w-w-whose there?” He wailed, unable to control his pitch. An embarrassed giggle sounded behind him, followed by a quiet toot.

“Just me… I’m sorry…,” a timid, female voice replied. There was a pause, and suddenly a stream of words were fired at him: “I didn’t see you there, I was racing here, a bit above the speed limit – sssh, don’t tell anyone! Anyway, I’m running late, cause it’s my first day as a replacement engine on Sodor, and I really want to make a good impression as it is such a great railway, so I sped here, and then I came into the station and suddenly there’s an engine in front of me and I just –”

“It’s alright, no harm done!” Barry interrupted, laughing gently as his breathing returned to normal. “I’m still in one piece!”

“Yes, that’s good – still, I’m sorry! I’m always causing little accidents like this!”

“Trust me, its fine! My name’s Barry, by the way.”

“I’m Delphine.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Delphine. I look forward to working with you! What brings you to Sodor anyway?” However, before Delphine could reply, a door slammed on the platform, and a few moments later Barry heard his driver’s voice.

“You must be the new diesel. The stationmaster said you’d be coming through.”

Diesel? Barry suddenly seized up and uneasily looked behind him. He couldn’t see the engine directly behind him but had assumed it was a steam engine. Delphine seemed nice, and Barry knew he shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions, but he had not prepared himself to run into any diesels – especially not one that would follow him back to Sodor.

Calm down, Barry, she isn’t here for you – you aren’t going back to the scrapyard…

“We can show you the way,” Barry’s driver said, pulling the tender engine out of his thoughts. “Stay behind us for now, but once we get across Sodor you can follow us alongside. Just heard the track’s clear for the next hour, so it should be smooth sailing until we Crovan’s Gate.”

That last comment was enough to distract Barry completely from his worries. “Really, why are there no trains coming through?”

“Beats me – some sort of event, apparently.” His driver said nothing else, and a few moments later Barry felt his brakes slip off. With a whistle, he set off, beginning the last stretch of his journey home. Yet as he left Barrow behind, Barry could not focus on his return: all he could think about was what sort of event was so important it would shut down the railway?


***

“We’re going to be late, we’re going to be late!”

“Stop saying that, Percy; we’ll get there in time!”

Even as he said it, Thomas doubted they would make it. As they raced past the Peel Godred branch, pistons pumping as hard as they possibly could, Thomas cursed himself for holding the pair up. He didn’t want to admit it to his friend, but the tank engine knew it was his fault they were running late to the biggest event of the year.

This year it was the centenary of the North Western Railway. Not only would it mark 100 years of operation, but also the culmination of years of railway extensions and re-openings that had been building up to this point. Today, the Fat Controller was going to announce the railway’s official centenary celebrations, and had shut down the railway so that all the engines could hear about the plans as well.

The event was starting at noon exactly at Crovan’s Gate. There were just five minutes to go: Thomas and Percy should have left at eleven if they wanted to make it on time. Instead, they had left at half past.

“This was mad, we’re going to miss the speeches!”

“No we won’t!”

“You don’t know that – they could have started early!” Percy huffed. “This is your fault, I knew we should have left earlier.” Thomas was too focussed to defend himself, and knew anyway that his friend was right. It had been Thomas who had suggested they wait until the other engines had gone, so they did not get caught up in a traffic jam heading into Crovan’s Gate. Percy and their drivers had agreed, and when they had finally left Knapford it was to find empty tracks with all signals showing green. They hadn’t factored in Gordon’s Hill though, which was a tough climb for small engines like them even without trains. It had taken up a great deal of time, and though they sailed down the other side, the two engines had quickly realised that they had not thought their plan through.

Trees, houses, stations, they all passed in a blur as the two tank engines sped towards the station. The valley that marked the final stretch before Crovan’s Gate was coming into view, and both engines felt a resurgence of energy, but the clock was ticking.

We can’t be late, we can’t be late! Thomas didn’t want to imagine what would happen if they arrived mid-speech. He was intrinsically linked to the centenary – not only was he the first engine to work on the railway, this year would mark his 100th birthday. Thomas knew would be heavily involved in what was coming, but he knew arriving late would not reflect kindly on him. After the chaos around the Ulfstead extension, he couldn’t let anything else get in his way.

Finally, they could see Crovan’s Gate. Even from a far Thomas could see that the yard was full: a rainbow of engines was packed in there, and he wouldn’t be surprised if there was no room left.

“We’re nearly there, we’re nearly there!” Thomas puffed, forcing himself onwards.

“Right at the back though!” Percy huffed. Thomas knew he would never hear the end of this, but had to accept his fault. The closer they got, the more Thomas could see of a big stage erected in front of the workshop, with a small group of people assembled on top. The Fat Controller stood out with his distinctive top hat, and Thomas gasped as he saw his owner was walking across the stage.

Not yet not yet not yet not yet! Thomas slammed his brakes on, the screeching of his wheels echoing in the quiet yard. The engines at the back all stared at him, but Thomas didn’t care: as the Fat Controller took his place at the podium, the tank engine finally came to a halt behind Arthur.

“We made it!” He whispered to Percy, who came to a slower stop behind Bear and next to Gordon.

“Well done, you two – right on time as always,” the big engine muttered drolly. Thomas just looked at Percy and rolled his eyes, and the two tank engines laughed, the tension disappearing under the guise of their success.

A static ‘hmmm’ boomed out of the microphone, and all eyes focussed on the Fat Controller. He smiled down at his engines as he pulled out his notes, and a pregnant pause awaited the start of his speech.

“Every time I visit friends and colleagues on the Mainland, I always find it surprising how small events at their local railways are. I am then promptly told that Sodor is likely the only place in the United Kingdom, and possibly the world, where a railway party is considered a VIP event.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Thomas wasn’t sure how many people had turned up to hear Sir Topham Hatt’s speech, but from the booming laughter that echoed around him, it looked like it was nearly a thousand.

“Was that joke meant to be funny? I didn’t find it funny,” Percy whispered beside him.

“Sssh!” The hiss spread around them, and Percy’s face flushed with embarrassment. Thomas smiled kindly at his friend, feeling awkward for him, and gave a tiny nod to let him know he hadn’t found the joke funny either.

“In saying that, Sodor is not like any other place. We are an island that was brought together by rail, and now, one hundred years later, those lines are still what keeps this great community running!”

The crowd clapped, but their applause was drowned out by the whistles and horns of the gathered engines. Thomas saw people on the platforms and on the sides jump with fright, but the noise only made him smile, and he joined in, using the full extent of his whistle.

He was sure their whistles would be heard for miles. Sir Topham Hatt had chosen mid-morning to launch the event, as it was the quiet time between the early morning rush and the lunch time bustle. While a few engines had offered to keep the many lines going, Thomas could see most engines had accepted the invitation: there were dozens of engines the timing meant nearly every other standard gauge engine could show up. They had all crammed into Crovan’s Gate, leaving just one line free for any trains that had to pass, and were packed buffer to buffer.

Despite his guests fear, The Fat Controller laughed, only signalling for quiet after several minutes. “I am not surprised my engines are proud. While the management skills of my predecessor – and, more importantly, my father – Sir Stephen guaranteed the railway maintained a steady profit into the 21st century, it is the engines and their crews who put in the hard work, and they should be rewarded.” He then began to clap, and soon the whole crowd was applauding. Thomas and Percy beamed, and the tank engine could see Gordon looking smug the next line over.

“And look how far they have brought us. The line first started running services in 1915, the tracks freshly laid, under the guidance of my great-grandfather, the original Topham Hatt, and interim manager Mr Gordon Norramby. Amongst the few engines we had, Thomas and Edward were young, spritely engines who helped build and run this line. As time went on, more engines arrived: Gordon and Henry, followed by James, Percy, Toby. And as the island’s population swelled, as our tourist numbers tripled every year thanks to the books and television shows made about us, the railway has been at the forefront of these changes, growing one step ahead of the island, always ensuring that we were ready to serve, ready to take the good people of Sodor where they needed to go – within our borders and beyond.

“And here we are: 100 years later, and the North Western Railway is proud to be the largest private commercial railway in the country. We may be a heritage railway to many, but I maintain we are truly a 21st century operation. With recent extensions completed on the Ffarquhar and Arlesburgh branch lines, new services operating on the Kirk Ronan and Norramby lines, and the reconstruction of the old Vicarstown Station, our centenary is off to a booming start. But this is just the beginning! This is a year of remembrance and celebration, and we are here today to begin the biggest party Sodor has ever seen! I hope you will enjoy all the events we have to offer, and make this year a year to remember!”

The humans and engines cheered in unison at this, a noise so thunderous Thomas could feel his frame shake. He was not surprised though: this was clearly going to be a huge year, and Thomas could not wait to see what happened next.

“I will now welcome the MP for Sodor West, the Honourable Margaret MacMillan.” The Fat Controller stepped away from the podium as the noise died down, replaced by a polite smattering that seemed ironic by comparison. Thomas watched as a tall woman in a purple suit he had seen on occasion shook the Fat Controller’s hand, excitement replaced with curiosity.

“Is that it?” He hissed to Percy. “What about all the plans?” Gordon shushed them loudly and Percy didn’t respond, looking fearfully at the big engine. Thomas frowned as he looked back at the stage, thinking of his sore wheels: he hadn’t come all this way just to listen to a politician.

Suddenly, the tank engine noticed a thin man running towards his cab. As the politician began her speech, Thomas watched as the stationmaster whispered something to his driver, who turned towards Thomas with a frown.

“Thomas, there’s been an accident.”

“Where?” Thomas gasped.

“The Mountain Railway: a boulder fell onto the line and one of them reversed into it. They need someone to go collect him from the terminus so the workers can look him over. Unfortunately, Wilson is boxed in at the moment, and since we arrived late –”

“- we’re the closest to Rocky, I know,” Thomas sighed. His first thought was annoyance, but when he looked at the stage, Thomas realised the rest of the speeches would be from people he didn’t know – this would be his only chance to escape. “Let’s go get him then!”


***

“Is it always this quiet?”

“Vicarstown? Always.”

Delphine looked up at the arched ceiling in awe. She hadn’t seen a station this big for years, and suddenly felt like she was back in London at the height of her working life. Part of her had been worried about coming to Sodor, thinking it would all be old-fashioned, but being greeted with this big, grand building made her feel right at home.

There were no other trains about, but unlike Barrow the station was a hive of activity. As the two engines passed through side-by-side, Delphine could see there were a number of builders, painters and decorators working around the station: dust and paint fumes hung in the air, and the sound of construction surrounded them. Some of the workers watched them as they passed, and Delphine playfully tooted as she slipped through the station.

“It’s a lovely station, I can’t wait to see what it’s like when it’s all done up.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what’s going on here,” Barry murmured. “This used to be the headquarters for the railway, but they moved it to Tidmouth at the other end of the railway – that’s where the big station, the sheds and the harbour are. It’s just sat here, so I’m not sure why they are doing it up.”

“I guess we will have to find out!” Delphine twittered, and she grinned broadly at her companion. Barry smiled back, but she was disappointed to see he wasn’t as excited as she was. The two carried on down the track in silence, an awkward tension hanging between them.

Was it something I said? The diesel asked herself, her eyes constantly flickering away from the beautiful scenery to stare at the quiet, reserved engine beside her. Delphine had been keen to make a good first impression on the engines of Sodor, and Barry’s silence was not what she had hoped for.

I can’t blow this, I need this, I can’t screw up on another railway. I need to a friend on my side…

The two remained silent as they roared into a tunnel, the sound of their wheels beating the track reverberating deeply around them. Delphine sounded her horn in excitement and glanced at Barry but the steam engine was looking straight ahead as if avoiding her.

Say something – if you did something wrong, he’ll tell all the other engines…

“So, you said you have been on a heri-OHHH NO, WHAT’S HAPPENING!” Delphine felt she had barely left the tunnel when she suddenly swerved, jetting off down a completely different track. She heard Barry whistle in warning, but her driver kept going, probably as confused as she was about the change in track.

“STOP, STOP!” She wailed, and finally her driver slammed on the brakes. Delphine looked around and saw she was surrounded by nothing: fields and forests stretched out for miles around her, with the odd building scattered here and there in the distance. It was unsettling, the sudden silence crushing her, and Delphine realised she was scared.

I’m on the railway for five minutes and already I’ve stuffed up – if the Fat Controller hears about this, there is no way he is going to want to keep me…

Weighed down by her embarrassment, Delphine reversed back onto the main line. Barry had carried on down to a nearby signal box, and the blue diesel waited until the points were set in her favour. When they heard the satisfactory creak and click, she quickly set off, joining Barry besides the brick building.

“Sorry about that – I missed the message from up the line, didn’t realise anyone was coming this way! Since the line’s clear up ahead, do you want some coffee?” Both crews appreciated the signalman’s gesture, and they jumped out of their respective cabs and climbed up to have their break. Barry and Delphine were left alone, the awkward tension between them more apparent than ever.

Say something, do anything, don’t just sit here like an idiot!

“So, where does that line go was that?”

“Ummm… Ballahoo, I think… maybe Norramby? The line wasn’t used much before I left, but I guess now it must be…” Barry drifted off, looking sadly into the distance. Delphine was confused by his response, and it suddenly dawned on her that she might not be a problem.

“You said earlier you had been on a rail tour, how long was that for?”

“Five years.”

“Oh my goodness, five years? That seems like a long time.”

“The Fat Controller started to buy more restored steam engines, and I think a few came from railways that couldn’t afford the upkeep anymore. He thought they could do with an extra hand, and I offered to go and maybe see some of my old friends. I didn’t realise how long five years was going to be… apparently too long, for some people…”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to sound selfish, I certainly wasn’t expecting anything, but… well, turning up to the station and no one’s there, all the engines are at some big event, even the signalman doesn’t know I’m coming…”

“You’re worried they’ve forgotten you?” Delphine asked, and Barry sighed and nodded.

“I’m sure I am just overreacting, but it just isn’t the welcome home I expected. Sorry if I seemed distant before.”

“Its fine, its fine, you don’t have to apologise to me. If I’m honest, I thought you were avoiding me because I’m a diesel.” There was a pause, and Delphine felt her engine sink as Barry turned awkward. “Oh… right…”

“Sorry! It was just a… surprise, is all. Well, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised being on the Other Railway and all.”

“Other Railway?”

“Sodor lingo – it’s what we call everything over the bridge,” Barry replied, grimacing. “I should explain – when diesels started taking over, I was sent to a scrap yard in Wales and sat there for years not knowing if I was going to be rescued or not. I was one of 298 engines sent there, all of us thinking we were for the axe. The majority of us got rescued in the end, but back then, when you went for scrap, you simply thought your days were numbered. I don’t hate diesels, and I try not to judge, but, well…”

“No, I understand completely. Not just about diesels, but about… about the scrap yard.” Delphine paused and smiled quietly. “There are only a few of my brothers and sisters left now – I know it’s nothing like what you went through, but… well…”

“The scrap yard is still the scrap yard, no matter what type of engine you are.” Silence followed Barry’s words. Neither engine knew what to say next; instead, they simply smiled, a silent understanding forming between them. It wasn’t the type of topic Delphine had hoped to bond over, but Barry seemed lighter now that it was spoken, and the diesel could not deny her new found connection.

“Shall we carry on then?” The engines jumped as their crews re-appeared, carrying plastic cups of tea.

“Definitely,” Barry replied, and a few moments later the two engines were off, jabbering away like old friends.


***

On the other side of the island, Thomas was making the most of his journey. It was rare that the tank engine had a reason to leave his branch line, and when he did get a chance to travel down the main line, there were always a few big engines roaring past and disturbing his journey. Today though, he had the entire line to himself: no big engines, no noisy trucks, just Rocky coupled quietly behind him and the birds in the sky. It was one of the most peaceful trips Thomas had had in a long time, and he couldn’t stop smiling as he looked around the once familiar sights. “It must have been a long time since you had free reign on this line!” His driver called out.

“Almost 100 years now!” Thomas replied, and sounded his whistle cheekily. Even though he had known for a while this was coming, it still felt strange to say it. 100 years, you are nearly 100 years old… His memories had faded over the years, but Thomas could faintly recall the days when the only tracks around had been beneath his wheels, flatbeds of new rail coupled behind him and swarms of workers crowded around him, slowly but surely putting together the railway.

Now though, soaring past the once open fields of green, Thomas could see a lot had changed. The towns of Kellaby, Cabalnoo and Belladrine had a few decades ago stopped far from the tracks, but new housing developments meant that buildings were edging closer and closer to the main line. The houses were interrupted by black ribbons of road that snaked between them; some so close they were nearly parallel to the railway.

The world really is changing. As he took in the different world, Thomas thought back to the Fat Controller’s speech. He did not normally stop and question how much the island had changed since he had arrived, more cars, new engines and big extensions just another fact of life, but with a year of celebration and remembrance now upon them, Thomas’ couldn’t ignore it all anymore.

It’s not 1915 anymore, is it…

All his worries vanished as he roared onto the branch line, and Thomas’ attention turned to the electric wires hanging above him. In the shadow of the mountain, with farmland still a mainstay here, Thomas felt more settled, and he was able to enjoy the long stretch in peace.

The quiet was shattered as he reached his destination. Thomas slowed to a halt as he turned into a siding at Kirk Machan Station. There were two platforms on either side of the lines, one completely empty while the one opposite was crowded with passengers, a white engine was waiting.

“I thought they weren’t going to send anyone till after that party was over,” the engine said with a London accent. “They had to move all the tourists over here so they can lift Culdee up safely but they aren’t happy at being delayed.”

“They never are,” Thomas chuckled as he was switched onto a siding. “My name’s Thomas.”

“I know – blue engine, number one, you’re famous in these parts,” the engine laughed. “My name’s Eleanor, but everyone just calls me Elle.”

“Nice to meet you!” The electric engine seemed nice, but Thomas’ attention turned to the purple engine parked next to him. As Rocky prepared himself and Thomas’ crew spoke to the mountain ones, the tank engine stared at the strange engine.

What an odd shape, the tank engine thought: the purple engine looked like he had fallen apart at some point and been poorly reassembled, with exposed pipes, sloping boiler, an awkward, boxy shape. As Rocky turned and manoeuvred the engine onto his flatbed, Thomas kept his eye on the engine: he had long wanted to meet one of the mysterious mountain engines, but now that he had, he was not sure what to make of it.

However, the engine smiled in greeting as workers milled around him, but Thomas saw his manager was speaking and decided not to interrupt. Instead, he examined the third rail running up the mountain track, and his eyes marvelled as he gazed up at the mountain, the railway snaking steeply upwards.

“You must be very brave to go up there every day…” Thomas paused and turned to the other railway, where the manager had fallen silent. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“No worries Thomas!” The manager chuckled. “You are quite right, my engines are very brave.”

“You get used to it very quickly,” the purple engine replied, and they all laughed. The workers came and whispered to the manager, and he nodded.

“Looks like they are ready for you. We’ll see you back in a few days Culdee!”

“Goodbye sir; look after Catherine for me!” Rocky’s pistons started churning, his chain clanked and rattled, and the mountain engine begin to rise up. The passengers fell silent as they watched as the operation took place, and Thomas could hear them oohing and aahing at the sight of an airborne engine. The process lasted a few minutes, but then Thomas heard the satisfying clunk as the engine was successfully lowered onto the train, and all those watching applauded.

“You must be Culdee then,” Thomas said finally.

“You must be Thomas,” the purple engine replied, and the two chuckled. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” The mountain engine sounded bright and chirpy despite his injuries, and Thomas couldn’t help but beam. Once his precious cargo was secured, the guard blew his whistle and Thomas set off, whistling farewell to Elle.

“I’ve never been on this line before,” the tank engine said as they left. “It feels exciting to discover something new after all this time.”

“I thought you had been on the island a long time?”

“Oh yes, I have, but I was the pilot at Vicarstown when they started building this,” Thomas replied.

“Ah yes, that makes sense. Sometimes I still expect to see the old electric engines at the station when I come down the mountain. Funny how things can change like that.”

“Yeah…” Thomas was reminded of his earlier worries and drifted off, not sure how to respond. Thankfully, Culdee was able to carry the conversation.

“So remind me how long you have been on the island?”

“100 years almost exactly,” Thomas replied proudly. “It will be my centenary in a few weeks. I think the Fat Controller is planning a special party around it.”

“Oh, what fun! That reminds me of my 100th – all of us engines were built at the same time, so we all got to celebrate at once.”

“Oh… oh really? All of you?”

“Yes, it was great fun! They opened a new hotel to mark the occasion, and I think they completed the new walkway that year as well. Believe me, Thomas, there will never be an occasion more special than your centenary.”

“Of course.” Culdee didn’t notice the tone in Thomas’ voice, and the mountain engine continued to chatter away as they headed back towards Crovan’s Gate. Thomas murmured every so often to show he was listening, but his mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts of centenaries, celebrations and changing worlds: how special was turning 100 if everyone else already had?


***

The speeches had finished by the time Barry and Delphine arrived. The two engines rolled into the yard as the last stream of engines departed in the opposite direction towards Tidmouth. The stage was being disassembled, and only small groups of people remained.

“Awww, I was hoping to meet all the engines,” Delphine sighed.

“You will soon.” Barry was glad they hadn’t run into the engines: he wasn’t sure he could handle meeting them all at once. The familiar site of the Works calmed his nerves, and his concerns quickly faded as he noticed a small crowd of people gathered by the workshop entrance.

“Delphine, look over, that’s the Fat Controller!” Do you want to meet him?”

“The Fat Controller? Yes, of course!” Delphine shuddered with excitement, and Barry laughed as he led the way across the yard. He and Delphine were bonding nicely and seeing everything through her eyes put a smile on his face.

However, his joy quickly faded. The group turned as the two engines approached them, and it was only then that Barry realised the man in the top hat was not who he thought it was. He went to apologise, but the suited man beamed at him.

“Why, my goodness, is that you Barry?”

“Um… yes… sir?”

“I’m so happy to see you! I had no idea you were coming today – and you, you must be my new Deltic engine. I am Sir Topham Hatt.” No you’re not, Barry thought instantly, and he felt as though all his worst fears had come true.

“Everyone calls me Delphine. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir, I am so happy to be working – whoops!” Delphine blushed as she suddenly lurched forwards, making a woman in a purple suit jump. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“No worries, I have become rather used to engines coming for me after all these years,” the woman laughed.

“Barry, Delphine, this is Margaret MacMillan, the MP for Sodor West.”

“I’ve probably met you at some point or another – I’m always around, aren’t I, Richard?”

“We never seem to be able to get rid of you,” the stout man chuckled, and they both roared with laughter. Delphine looked at Barry and rolled her eyes, but the tender engine wasn’t paying attention. He was staring beadily at this Richard, wondering how this imposter was and what he had done with his saviour. You aren’t the man who saved me from death, how dare you call yourself the Fat Controller?

“Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?” He couldn’t stop himself, the words simply slipped out. The Fat Controller fell silent, and Delphine and the politician looked at him curiously. A tense few seconds passed, but then the controller began laughing.

“Oh, of course! You don’t know – my father, he retired a year after you started your trip. His gout was getting the better of him, so he stood down which left me to fill his spot.”

“R…r…retired?” Barry mumbled.

“Yes, but don’t worry, you will see him again soon at one of the celebrations – now, whose that coming through?” Everyone looked up as a whistle echoed across the yard; Barry was struggling to process this latest bombshell, but he felt a wave of relief as he saw who was pulling in.

“Barry, is that you?”

“Thomas!” Both engines whistled in greeting, and Barry could see his old friend’s face lit up at the sight of him. Finally, something that’s still the same…

“I had no idea you were back today! It’s been so long, how have you been – and who’s this?” Thomas screeched to a halt, the purple engine on the flatbed behind him quivering forwards.

“Delphine, this is Thomas – and I believe… Alaric?”

“Close enough – Culdee,” the purple engine chortled. Everyone laughed, but Barry was still struggling to process all this information.

“I was just about to show Margaret our main project for the centenary before you all arrived, but since you’re all here, why don’t you come say hello?” The Fat Controller led Margaret inside, and Barry, at the will of his crew, reversed inside, followed by Delphine and Thomas with the breakdown train. Thankfully, the Works still looked the same: greasy tables, paint cans and spare parts scattered about, the smell of burnt coal and diesel fumes hanging in the air.

“Feeling home, Barry?” Thomas called out.

“You know it!” The tender engine had spent weeks here after he had been rescued being brought up back up to service, and the building had always held a special place in his boiler. At least this is the same, at least this is the same.

“Cyclone, are you awake?” The Fat Controller had stopped in front of a queer shape beneath a tarpaulin. Barry and Thomas exchanged looks as they too stopped, and after a few moments a murmur emerged from beneath the sheet. “Ah, excellent! Well Margaret, this is the project I have been telling you about. I hope this will be enough to quench your appetite.”

“My appetite will be thoroughly quenched once I know how much taxpayer money you will be using to pay for this whole charade,” the politician replied sternly. Barry had no idea what they were talking about, but the Fat Controller simply laughed and pulled off the tarpaulin.

It was an engine. Barry didn’t know why that surprised him – it was Sodor after all, but then he saw Thomas’ face and knew he was right to be startled. The engine blinked and stared woozily at them, and Barry noticed that the engine was missing various pieces: no tender, no side-rods, no whistle, no windows, exposed boiler. Just as it dawned on him what he was looking at, Delphine piped up.

“Are you building a new engine?”

“Yes Delphine, right on the money!” The Fat Controller boomed. “Cyclone, meet Thomas, Culdee, Rocky, Barry and Delphine – engines, meet Cyclone, soon to be the latest edition to our railway.”

“Hello,” the incomplete engine murmured, his eyes darting woozily around. The Fat Controller noticed this and frowned.

“Sorry Cyclone, I must have woken you. Maybe it would be best if you all got back to work…”

“Sir, I believe I was going to be checked over before I started work – that’s what I was told, anyway,” Delphine explained.

“Yes, yes, of course, you stay here and keep Cyclone company. Thomas, you shunt Rocky so that Culdee can be unloaded, and then you and Barry get back to work. Good day!”

Just like that, eh? Barry left the sheds without another word, simply smiling at Delphine as he passed. It was a lot to process at once, and the tender engine wasn’t sure what to focus on. No welcome back, no explanation, nothing – “Hello Barry, back to work you go.” You’d think I’ve been gone five days and everything’s still the same, but it’s not… this isn’t the same railway I left…


***

What a weird day.

Thomas was tired but it was barely after noon. As he headed down the Main Line with Barry leading the way, Thomas wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his shed and sleep: not only did his wheels and side rods ache, but he was dazed and confused by the morning’s events. The Fat Controller’s speech, Culdee, Cyclone – everything was a blur, and Thomas wasn’t sure what to think. He was still excited for the centenary, but a shadow had been cast over everything, and the tank engine needed some time to himself.

“Looks like your stop,” Barry called as they finally reached Knapford. Thomas sailed back onto his branch line and both engines came to a stop either side of the platform.

“So, tell me all about your trip – you were gone for so long, you must have tons of stories.”

“I’m not in the mood right now, sorry Thomas.” The tank engine was crestfallen, having hoped to have something to take his mind off things. However, from the look on his friends face, he knew not to push it.

“All good – we can talk once you’ve settled back in. I’m sure nothing really important happened anyway,” he teased. Thomas had hoped this would lighten the mood, but Barry’s eyes suddenly widened, and he looked fearfully at Thomas. “Is something wrong?”

“No… well, yes… maybe… this was all I could think about for days, but after everything today I completely forgot… I’m so sorry…”

“Barry, what – “

“Thomas… there’s something I have to tell you.”

“Really?” From the tone of Barry’s voice, Thomas wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it, but another side of him was deeply intrigued.

“The last heritage railway I was on, it wasn’t far from here. It was a lovely line, all coastal trips and routes through forests. It was a pleasant way to end the tour, but on my last day, there was an engine there. He had been waiting for me, apparently – knew me from … Island, it turned out, knew I worked on Sodor. Wanted me to deliver a message… to you…”

“A message? What are you on about?”

“He said he knows what you did, that he was there. He says he knows who you really are, why you came here, and that you can’t keep the secret forever. He didn’t tell me his name, and I couldn’t really see him, he was hiding in the shadows. I feel like he could have been joking, but I thought I should tell you anyway. Does it mean anything to you?”

“I have no idea who that engine is thinking of, but it’s certainly not me!” Thomas laughed, and Barry began to chuckle as well.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. I was worried there for a while. I should probably head off – got to see what else is waiting for me.”

“See you around!” Thomas replied quickly, whistling in farewell, and he took off as fast as possible. The humour disappeared from his face the second he was out of sight, and all thoughts of the day’s events faded from his mind: all Thomas could think of was the warning, cold dread rising inside of him.

100 years… it’s been one hundred years… how can this come up now?

Thomas had never told anyone why he had come to Sodor. The first Fat Controller, he had suspected something, but in the chaos of war and building a railway no one had ever questioned him or his crew. After so long, Thomas had forgotten himself – it was in the past, there was no point dwelling on things that had happened far away from here decades before his current owner had even been born.

But now… if after all this time, there was another engine out there, someone that knew his secret…

This is no coincidence. Whoever that engine is, they won’t hold back – not this year. As the realisation dawned on him, Thomas puffed quietly down his branch line, wondering just how long he had before the other engines found out… before they all turned on him…

 

[AceTrainer14]

Back by popular demand! (he said sarcastically)

Feeling Blue

There were already passengers waiting when Edward arrived. As he came to a stop, the doors of his carriages banging open, the old engine saw that a handful of people were waiting for Henry and his midday service. However, as his passengers filed past and clambered up the footbridge, one group in particular caught his eye. There were five girls, teenagers, he assumed, milling about on the edge of the platform, just centimetres away from falling to the Main Line.

Is it a school day? Edward thought as he stared at the group. I think I saw people in uniform this morning, but maybe there are on a trip? Is it even the school term? Are they even school students? He had once been so good at this: over the years, Edward had developed the ability to stare at a group of passengers and tell who they were and where they were going on any given day. Harassed mothers compared to confident businessmen, timid elderly versus rebellious youth, Edward could identify them all and know exactly why they were catching his train.

Now, the older he got, the more time seemed to pass him by. Looking at the young girls, they were nothing like what Edward had known a few decades ago. When he had been young, women would have been covered nearly head to toe in fabric – these girls seemed to be wearing as little as possible. Edward could see they had mobile phones clutched in their hands, but everyone seemed to have those these days. They had erected a large tower in the middle of the yard that lay between the station and the bridge, and his driver at the time explained it was to help with ‘reception’, but to Edward it was just a large white stick that loomed over him as he shunted.

“Is that engine staring at us?” The judgemental cry sounded across the empty rails. As multiple eyes flickered towards him, Edward embarrassedly looked away, but not before the speaker, a petite blonde girl, spoke up again. “I swear that engine was staring at us.”

“Oh my god, its totes creepy how they do that, just, like, watching you.”

“Isn’t that, like, the really old one – Ted, Ed, something, I don’t know…”

“Um, do I look like I give a damn? I’m not five; I don’t care what the engines are called, as long as they don’t BLOODY STARE AT ME!”

A whistle sounded above the shrill shout. Thank goodness, Edward thought, feeling safe to look up as Henry rolled smoothly into the station, blocking the girls from his view. That was the other thing Edward had noticed: everyone was much more confrontational these days, unashamed to speak their minds. There was none of the old admiration for engines, not when there were more impressive, modern pieces of technology. He wasn’t sure if it was his age or the world changing around him, but the old engine didn’t like it one bit.

“Hello Edward, don’t see you doing this run much these days. I thought they kept you tied up arranging the trucks.” Henry sounded puffed and agitated, as though the sudden stop was interrupting his day. “Cole busy?”

“He is, and hello to you too,” Edward replied, rolling his eyes at the green engine’s jab. “How did you find the centenary event yesterday?”

“Oh, a bit tiresome, wasn’t it? I hope we won’t have to sit through more of those. Though of course I wasn’t there at the start, was I, old boy? Must make you feel your age, one hundred years hanging around here!” The shrill ring of the guard’s whistle cut off any further conversation. “I guess that’s me – see you around!”

Henry roared away under the bridge, leaving Edward alone with his words. He knew the green engine wouldn’t have meant it, but there was a cruel sting to his jokes. Edward hadn’t given it much thought before, but the main passenger trains had been taken over solely by Cole or sometimes an engine from the Main Line. He was stuck tending to shunting for the most part, preparing trains for the other engines and taking only the occasional passenger train as far as Wellsworth. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had done the evening run from Tidmouth.

One hundred years… that really is a long time, isn’t it? Edward had been wiser than his years when he first arrived on Sodor, but that was so long ago that many of his memories of building the line had long faded. But no matter how old he got, Edward had never imagined a time when his age would stop him work working.

“Ah, Edward, you’re still here!” Suddenly, the stationmaster was at his buffers, a broad smile on his face. Edward smiled back and went to say Hello, but froze at the last second, uncertain what the grinning man’s name was. “I only got the call a short time ago, but apparently the new diesel is going to be arriving here soon. In all the chaos of the party yesterday they forgot to inform us earlier.”

“What new diesel?” We don’t need another engine, do we? Unless…

“Her name is… Delphine,” the stationmaster answered, consulting his notebook. “Just here to help out, I’m not sure if working on your line is permanent or anything but I guess you’ll find out whenever I do!” He laughed and began to walk away, just as James’ whistle sounded from the other side of the bridge. “Show her around, make her feel at home at any rate – I’m sure you’ve done this plenty of times!”

Haven’t I just. Edward wasn’t sure how to feel. Only a few minutes ago, he had been happy and relaxed, pleased to be out and enjoying his branch line. Now, as he stared across the empty yard, the cell phone tower an ugly blemish on any otherwise unchanged landscape, Edward realised just how old he had become, and wondered how many runs were left in him before his time was up.


***


“Looks like it’s time for me to go.” Though she had been preparing to leave all day, Delphine still felt a pang of sadness as she eyed her crew making their way towards her. She looked at Culdee, still resting on his flatbed, and sighed. “It’s been lovely to meet you, I truly hope I can see you again someday.”

“I hope so too,” Culdee replied, smiling kindly. Delphine smiled back, holding back the doubts she knew they both shared: with him on his mountain railway with the electric line between them, the chances of meeting again were slim. Just my luck: I make two friends on my first day, one who’s disappeared and one whom I’ll never see again.

Without anyone by her side, Delphine rolled out of Crovan’s Gate a few minutes later one giant bundle of nerves. Everywhere she’d go today and everyone she’d meet would be brand new to her: two tender engines roared past, one red and one orange, and she didn’t know who either of them were. She was excited, she was ready for this, but the diesel just had no idea where to start.

To say Delphine needed a fresh start was an understatement. Her journey was strangely tragic when she thought about it. She had started life as a replacement for steam engines, one of the first diesel classes to be sold as a proper alternative. Yet her professional life had been short-lived, as she and her brothers and sisters found themselves on the receiving end of the same axe that had seen them be created in the first place. They enjoyed barely twenty years of service before they started to get phased out, and as quickly as their work had begun, Delphine and her siblings had found themselves fearing the scrap heap.

Being preserved had been a relief, but it was not an easy road. Ever since she had been withdrawn from main service, Delphine had been bounced around between various preservation groups. Mostly she did work for private contractors, none of which lasted very long. She had spent the last few years on a heritage line doing passenger trips on weekends and occasionally special charters, but while pleasant, it had lacked the excitement of working every day, nor the joy of meeting new people and having new experiences.

Coming to Sodor was a relief. Delphine could remember how distraught she’d felt when her owner told her they didn’t have the traffic to justify keeping her, fearful as she always was that this may be her end. When he revealed she was heading for Sodor, Delphine couldn’t think of a word to describe how she had felt. She knew about Sodor – everyone did, it was the dream to go there, and even being here now Delphine didn’t think it was real.

But dreams can end, can’t they? Delphine watched as a train of coal trucks hurtled past, a large maroon tank engine heaving them at the front. Everything ran so efficiently here, it was so organised. It was like going back in time to when rail was at its prime; Delphine couldn’t remember the last time she had had to follow such a strict schedule. Slip up and there would be no place for her, not when there were countless other engines that would jump at the chance to join this exclusive club. What if I stuff up straight away? What if I have an accident, or go careering down the wrong track again, end up lost in a siding somewhere where no one will ever find me…

In her state, Delphine didn’t realise a diesel had pulled up beside her, and jumped as a deep booming voice emerged seemingly out of nowhere. “You might want to move out of the way there, love, your rather blocking the entrance.”

“Oh, sorry, my bad!” The apology stumbled out of Delphine’s mouth, and she quickly rolled further into the yard. The diesel followed her out, eyeing her curiously.

“It’s Delphine, yeah?”

“No – wait, yes, I don’t know why I said that… umm, and you are…?”

The kindly diesel laughed. “I’m Wilson. I work for the works, if you pardon the pun; if you break down or fall off the tracks, me and Rocky here will sort you out.”

“I might be seeing a lot of you then,” Delphine said, laughing nervously. Wilson raised an eyebrow, and before she could stop herself, Delphine let the floodgates open. “Well, I’m really clumsy, and I am always causing accidents, that’s why I was one of the first of my class to be retired from main service cause I was just always in trouble. And now I’m here and I don’t want to be sent home but I am so nervous I’ll stuff up and when I get nervous that’s when I tend to stuff up…”

Delphine trailed off as a smile spread across Wilson’s face. She felt hurt for a moment, but then she saw the funny side and she too began to chuckle. “I sound ridiculous, don’t I?”

“No, no, first day nerves are understandable! But you must know the Fat Controller is a kind man; he doesn’t get rid of engines for one simple mistake. You have nothing to fear, my dear, except perhaps fear itself. From all my years cleaning up accidents, one thing I’ve learnt is that if you expect things to go wrong, they generally will. Just relax, learn our ways, see where that takes you, and you should be fine.”

A voice sounded from his cab, and Wilson gave a friendly toot as he took off. “Must go, upturned trucks won’t right themselves.”

“Do you tend to accidents often? I heard Sodor engines are always crashing.”

“Not always, darling, but those stories are just the ones we like to tell!” With a booming laugh, Wilson and Rocky roared out of the yard. Delphine watched them leave with a smile on her face, and once the track was clear, she followed after, ready to take on the island.


***


As the day slipped into night, Edward’s mood didn’t improve: instead, his confusion turned into a quiet bitterness. His driver mistook his mood for tiredness and held him back from the final passenger train, leaving him to shunt trucks while Cole travelled back to Wellsworth.

“Let’s get these last few trucks in order and then I think it’s the sheds with you.”

To rot? Edward was tempted to say it, but knew blaming his driver would do no good. He only thought he was being kind; any other day, Edward might have appreciated it, but now it simply felt patronising, fussing over the foolish old engine. Still, he remained silent as he sorted trucks into place and prepared fruit trucks to be unloaded when the ship came in later that night.

How soon before I have to stay in that shed permanently? As he banged two trucks together, Edward thought of Duke and how he had been left in a shed to be claimed by nature. Is that the fate that awaits me, once I become too old and useless? It nearly happened once, there’s nothing to stop it happening again.

It had been decades since those torturous years he’d been left like scrap metal in the back of Tidmouth Sheds. Edward tried not to think about it, not when it had been so long, but occasionally, in quieter moments, his mind went back to those years. After all the hours he had put in helping make the railway operational, it had felt like the ultimate betrayal for them to turn around and lock him away, replacing him with newer, flashier engines. In his mind, Edward couldn’t even place how it had happened: one day, he had been building railways, the next; he was shivering in the back of the shed.

Nearly one hundred years on, Edward couldn’t remember how long he had spent in there – weeks, months, years, it had been long enough. It was the cold he remembered the most. He had felt his wheels rusting, he had seen cobwebs form over his buffers, but Edward remembered the cold more than anything. His fire never getting lit, the only warmth coming from the sun or the steam of the other engines, left to sit in his berth at the end of the row and freeze.

Finally he was let out again, out of pity, Edward remembered, rather than a feeling he would be of much use. It was only once Henry kicked up a fuss about paint that Edward was given regular work, and it had been the most rewarding period of his life.

Afterwards, they had offered him the chance to run his own branch line. It was supposedly to thank him for helping with the Henry-Gordon-tunnel incident, but Edward had soon learnt the real reason. The other tender engines they’d got to help out had proved troublesome, abusive and rude to the other engines. They’d been banished in disgrace, and it had been so long that Edward couldn’t even remember their names – one had been red, similar to James, the others blue but with a cruelty that made Gordon look tame by comparison. Without them, a major port line was left unattended, the infrastructure too weak to carry Henry and Gordon thanks to the rush to complete the railway on time. Despite the sourness of the offer, Edward had accepted, proud to have the option to stretch his wheels and prove he wasn’t just some silly old engine.

If it wasn’t for Henry’s hissy fit and some bad construction, would I still be in that shed, or would I have been scrapped before James had even arrived?

Edward loved his life; the past decades had been smooth sailing with only the odd wave disturbing his flow. His age had never gotten in the way once the Fat Controller had seen what he could do, and once the railway started to grow and grow, his expertise had been invaluable, something no human would ever be able to offer. But how long would he remain of value? In a few weeks it would be one hundred years since he had helped finish this railway, one hundred years since he had first been put in a shed and made to wait for a rainy day. If he had been considered a spare part back then, what was he now that the railway had more engines than it knew what to do with?

A set of lights appeared down the line, and Edward smiled, relieved that soon Cole would be beside him and he’d have someone to talk to, to distract him from the questions rattling around his funnel. But it was a horn that cut through the night instead of a whistle, and Edward was confused once more. Who could that be?

It was only once the horn’s owner was a few metres away and under the dock lights that Edward remembered the new engine. The maroon paintwork confirmed it, and Edward had to rearrange his features into something welcoming as the diesel came to a stop.

“Um, hello there.” The soft, feminine voice seemed out of place amongst the sweaty workers and towering cranes, and there was nervousness in her tone. Any other day, Edward would have been more than willing to show her around, but after the day he had had, a new engine was the last thing he needed.

You can’t take things out on her, she’s new, it’s not her fault,. Keeping the pretence up, the old engine flashed a smile. “Hello there, my name is Edward.”

“Oh, hello! I’ve heard so much about you – well, a bit, not that much, you know, only been here, what, a day! Oh, my name, yes – I’m Delphine! I am so excited to get straight into work!”

“Nice to meet you. I’m afraid you will have to wait until morning to really get started, it’s a bit too dark to show you around.”

“Yes, the stationmaster explained that. Sorry I’m late, there was some sort of accident, nothing big, only a few trucks had derailed and –”

“It’s fine. Why don’t you let me finish up here and then I’ll show you to the shed?” Delphine gave a tiny nod and awkwardly reversed out of Edward’s way. The blue engine waited till she was out of sight before sighing and returning to his trucks. It was tiring at times, always having to smile, be the mediator, never being allowed to show his true feelings. Maybe if Edward hadn’t been so obliging all those years ago, they never would have put him in the shed in the first place…


***


“Maroon, eh? My driver always told me never to trust a marooooon engine.”

“Leave off,” Cole grumbled, shooting the twins a withering look.

“I’m just saying’s all, that’s what driver told me.”

“Didn’t your driver ever tell you to be nice to new guests?”

An exaggerated pause, and then: “One of them probably did at some point, but I guess I’ve just forgotten that one.”

Cole rolled his eyes before smiling kindly at Delphine. “Ignore them, they are always like this.” Delphine knew the type and simply giggled: there was always one joker on a railway, and being teased simply made her feel welcome. It was better than being ignored.

“You don’t have to put up with this every night though, right?”

“Goodness no! They only sleep here if they have to take trucks up first thing, which thankfully isn’t very often.” Reassured, Delphine found it easier to take the jibes from the troublesome twins at the end of the shed, laughing at Cole’s jokes while her mind drifted off.

It had been dark when she finally set off down the branch line, having been held up by the very accident Wilson had left to tend to. After meeting the stationmaster and seeing the small yard, the cell phone tower a bizarre surprise, Delphine rolled down the sunset-lit line, admiring the way the trees and the ocean looked in the last light of day. It was a beautiful stretch of track, blending farmland, suburbs and the ocean all in one view, and all her fears had subsided.

That was until she reached the harbour. It wasn’t as big as the ports she knew from the Mainland, but it had a rustic charm that was made Delphine feel nice and cosy. But the cosiness disappeared after she met Edward. Culdee, when telling her about the various engines, had described Edward as courteous, knowledgeable and warm. He had warned that most of his interactions were many years old and could have been out of date, and Delphine felt that Edward must be one of them.

It wasn’t that he had been rude or anything, Delphine simply had the impression that the tender engine was a bit… distant. He hadn’t seemed very excited to meet her, and came across tired and bored as he described the harbour. As Ben started telling a long joke, Delphine turned to Edward. He was still awake, but his eyes were focused on a dirty window, silently watching the night while the others joked around him.

He is old, remember, Delphine told herself. He might just be tired, poor thing. I mean, he couldn’t have possibly taken an instant disliking to you, could he? That would be ridiculous… unless he had heard things…

“This might sound strange, but did you know anything about me before I arrived?” Delphine stared at Edward, leaving the question hanging between them, but a few minutes passed before he realised her watching him.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” He showed her a smile, but Delphine could see it was one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Never mind, it was nothing.” Edward’s eyes seemed to have glazed over and he gave a tiny nod before turning away. Delphine wasn’t sure how to respond, but she decided to remain silent, not wanting to risk anything on her first night.

“She’s ignoring us, Bill!”

“She is indeed, Ben, how rude!”

“I’m sorry, boys, I just couldn’t hear you over how loud your paint is.” Delphine flashed a wicked smile as the twins gasped and Cole roared with laughter. She felt her mood lift as another string of gentle ribbing started afresh, and she soon forgot about Edward as he remained silent while they carried on into the night.

This isn’t what I imagined, but maybe once work starts, everything will set itself right, Delphine thought to herself, and with that in mind, she was able to rest easy once she had finally bested the twins.


***


The accident happened quickly.

One moment, Edward and Delphine were arranging trucks, separating them so they could be taken to different sides of the island for other uses. The next, there was a horrible crunching sound that echoed across the harbour, and men was rushing towards the back of Delphine’s train.

Edward sighed as he too came to a stop. They had only been on the job for half an hour, but already the work day had ground to a halt. He couldn’t see much of the accident, but it was clear Delphine had pushed her trucks too hard into the buffers.

“I’m so, so, so sorry Edward!” The diesel definitely looked apologetic, but no amount of repentance would solve this quickly. Edward had to avoid looking her in the eyes: he had hoped his worries would pass with a goods night sleep, but the accident only fuelled his flames.

“Its fine, just help get it sorted: bring around some extra trucks as replacement and a spare one so they can load the wreckage into it.” Delphine timidly nodded, but before she could be uncoupled the stationmaster appeared before them.

“Cole was meant to collect Trevor and take him back to Wellsworth after his morning run but he’s had to help Arthur get up Gordon’s Hill. Delphine, can you go –”

“I’ll do it,” Edward interrupted. “She needs to sort out this mess.” The stationmaster was taken aback by the forcefulness of Edward’s words, but she nodded and left to make the arrangements. Edward avoided Delphine’s eyes once more as he was uncoupled, but from the corner of his eyes he could see her eyes were watering. The old engine held back a sigh, pained to see the effect of his words, but he left without saying anything.

I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be turned into scrap so someone who can’t even shunt properly can take my place, he thought as he left the harbour. I’ve had to fight to prove myself since the moment I left that shed, I am not giving up now.

Edward thundered down his branch line. It had been a long time since he had gone with such intensity, and he felt every judder and bump as they reverberated through his tired frame. Yet the discomfort made for a helpful distraction: finally, Edward had something else to focus on that wasn’t his age, that wasn’t his past or future. For the time being, this was still his branch line, and Edward was going to enjoy the scenery for as long as he was allowed.

He reached the vicarage orchard in record time. His wheels and side rods ached more than they should, and Edward felt out of puff and he rolled into a siding alongside the orchard. Trevor had already been loaded and was waiting with a broad smile.

“Hello Edward, I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon!”

“I know.... I didn’t want… to leave you… waiting,” Edward wheezed as he buffered up to the truck.

“You don’t sound very good. Is everything alright?” Trevor asked.

“I’m fine, I swear… just a bit puffed is all.” Trevor didn’t pry further, and once they were coupled up Edward took off without another word. The traction engine explained how he had cracked his flywheel after rolling down a hill and how Crovan’s Gate was going to repair it, and Edward enjoyed the distraction of his words.

“Slow down, Edward!” Trevor cried after he had finished his story. The vicarage was not far from the station, and they were currently on time, but Edward was roaring down the line. “You aren’t competing against anyone!”

Not that you know of, Edward thought, but the bitter thought made him sigh. “I’m getting old, Trevor.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“I’m being serious.” The words hung heavily in the air for a moment before Edward continued. “The world is changing and I don’t know if there is a place for me in it.”

“Rubbish!” Trevor scoffed. “That’s what I thought all those years ago when I was dumped in the scrapyard, but look at me now. If I can survive all these years, I don’t think there is any getting rid of you.”

“We are in two different lines of work though. The vicar doesn’t need another traction engine, not when you are around – and I doubt they’ll replace you after you saved everyone from disaster with that bridge collapse. But there are so many engines on the island now, and it’ll take one major incident for the Fat Controller to decide I’m not worth replacing. Times are different now, and I am just a relic barely keeping myself together.”

The station soon came into view. Edward sounded his whistle to let them know he was approaching. He looked to the left at the houses that had seemingly sprung up overnight: after years of knowing only fields and forests, the number of houses lining the tracks was quickly growing. Edward could remember when Wellsworth had been home to a few hundred, mostly workmen serving the line and their families. Now there were several thousand pushing against the town’s borders, and there was a rush to keep up with demand.

“I am not afraid of change, I’m not, even though BoCo leaving threw me a bit, but that was more about losing a friend. I never felt… worthless, I guess, during that time. I don’t feel very worthless now though, I suppose, just unwanted.”

“Who doesn’t want you? Has someone said something?”

“Well, not in proper words, but I can see the way the other engines look at me now. One hundred years I have been on this railway: I wasn’t wanted when we first opened, so what’s stopping the Fat Controller now that he has other options and doesn’t have to rely on the old blue engine at the end of the shed?”

Shocked by his friends words, Trevor went to reply, hoping to comfort his companion. But before he could, Edward realised they were nearly upon the station yet he was still racing along.

“We need to stop.”

“I am aware of that, but your brakes have stuck!” His driver yelled back. Edward felt his fire flicker, and he looked ahead to the open yard: a number of trucks were waiting there for Bear and his slow goods train, as well as the coaches Cole had left behind. If he couldn’t stop, it was either hit those or be let loose on the Main Line where a worse fate awaited. If I have a serious crash at this speed I will be done for…

Screams sounded from the station as Edward soared past the platform and careened into the yard. Workers scattered, and people gazing from their houses near the station rushed backwards as the sight of the runaway engine. Nearby trucks squealed in fear, and for a moment Edward thought he would hit one, but the points were changed, and he swerved violently into a siding. Momentary relief turned back to fear as Edward saw what awaited him on the other side of the buffers. There was a jolt as his brakes were finally applied, but though his wheels screeched horribly, there was no chance of stopping what came next.

The crunch of the buffers breaking was followed by a thud as Edward slammed into the cell phone tower. The sound echoed across a suddenly silent yard. Edward slowly opened his eyes and found himself staring at the base of the tower. Slowly he looked down, bracing himself for the twisted state of his buffers. The sight shocked him, but something else caught his eye: he wasn’t sure if it he was real or he was imaging, but to Edward, it appeared the tower was moving…

“CLEAR THE YARD!” The yell echoed as Bear’s horn sounded in the distance, but it was too late. With a metallic creak, the tower toppled away from Edward, jagged metal scraping his front. There was a groaning thud, a deathly crack, a carrying gasp from all sides followed by the simple hum of a diesel engine slowing to nothing. Edward couldn’t bear to watch what had happened, and simply sat there silently, waiting for help to come like the useless engine that he was.


***


Wilson and Rocky arrived promptly. Though Trevor had rolled forwards and slammed into Edward’s tender, the traction engine was unharmed and Delphine shunted him away so Bear could leave with the undamaged trucks. The cell phone tower had considerately landed so that the Main Line was not blocked, which meant that all the other engines could pass and look at Edward’s mistake.

The blue engine felt only shame. Not only did he have Delphine to contend with, who rolled past without comment as she brought flatbeds for the tower, but the Fat Controller had arrived to examine the situation. He had not yet spoken to Edward, but he could see his owner standing only a few metres away, watching as Rocky lifted the shattered tower into place.

Edward simply sat in silence, trying to hold back his tear. There can’t be any coming back from this. Why bother repairing a foolish, useless thing like me? There was little else to say, and when the Fat Controller finally approached him, Edward shut his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

“Well, well, well… You must imagine how bothersome this is, Edward. This was bound to happen eventually, I’m just sorry it had to happen to you.” Edward opened his eyes and looked down: the Fat Controller looked annoyed, but he was staring at the tower rather than the blue engine.

“I never wanted this tower here, but the council said there was no other place for it, and Mrs MacMillan stirred up the locals to make sure it didn’t go near the town. With a sturdier set of buffers it could have lasted, but I had no idea how subpar the instalment of it was – why, a strong gust of wind could have toppled this!” Muttering under his breath, the controller gazed angrily at the destroyed tower for a few moments before turning back to Edward. “Are you alright, Edward, you have the oddest look on your face.”

“I… I am just… so I’m not in trouble?”

“Goodness no, I can’t punish you for your brakes sticking. If the tower hadn’t been here there wouldn’t have been any trouble at all! You just enjoy your time at the works – your paint is looking a bit faded, now that I can see it clearly. Hmmm, should we paint you now or wait for the centenary?”

“You…you aren’t going to scrap me?” The silence that followed was unbearable. The Fat Controller’s face sank, and Edward cursed himself: the idea was out there now, he couldn’t take it back. Was he about to receive his fate, learn of it months before the Fat Controller had planned?

“What would make you think that?” For a second, Edward thought he was asking how he had heard of his plans, but after several moments the blue engine was hit with a wave of relief. After twenty-four hours of internal fretting, to have finally said it out loud to someone important, he realised how ridiculous he had been. An awkward, sad silence hung in the air, broken after several minutes only when the Fat Controller gently patted Edward’s buffers.

“There seems to be this recurring idea that I am buying new engines as replacements for the old ones, but that is not the case. The busier we become and the more lines I reopen and extend, the more engines we are going to need. Every engine has a purpose on my railway, and that includes you, Edward, don’t you ever forget that.”

The blue engine felt tears come to his eyes, but these were ones of happiness. “With the centenary coming up, it just reminded me of being put away in the shed for all those years, and I –”

“Say no more, Edward, I completely understand. But you must know that what happened to you was a reflection of Gordon Norramby’s limited viewpoint and not on your skills. You may be old, Edward, but that simply means you are more experienced.”

A few minutes later, Delphine was shunting Edward behind Rocky, Wilson ready to head back to Crovan’s Gate. The blue engine couldn’t stop smiling, and almost felt like laughing: it all seemed like a big joke now, the way his mind had escaped him like that. He looked at Delphine as she was uncoupled from him and felt a sudden guilt at how he had ignored her.

“Look after my line while I’m gone… not that you need the reminder, I am sure you will do an excellent job.” The diesel looked stunned, but as the guard sounded his whistle and the train took off, Edward was relieved to see a smile cross her face.

The journey to Crovan’s Gate was slow but peaceful: Edward looked around at all the sights that were so familiar, the stations and hills and forests he had long spent going past. The island was certainly changing, for the better he wasn’t sure, but the railway he had helped build was still there beneath the surface.

The future I fear will come someday, but not any time soon. I may not be as useful as I once was, but I’m not going anywhere. We’ve all got a purpose on this railway – it’s time I find out what mine is.

 

[AceTrainer14]

I swear I had posted this chapter already. Will probably post a few over the next fortnight to be more caught up!

Two Old Engines

Crovan’s Gate – Skarloey Railway

August 1915

“They say once they finish that railway, more passengers than ever will come to see us.”

“That’s only if the war stops, though.”

“Tch!”

Rheneas glowered at Skarloey. “What is that sound for?”

“You always have to find something to complain about, don’t you?”

“Oh shush, don’t start an argument or we’ll be at it all night.”

Skarloey opened his mouth to retort, but knew his brother was right and remained silent. Without much work to do, all they did these days was bicker out of boredom, but after several months of cyclical arguing, both engines were tired of it.

If they could not argue, the only thing to do was stare. From the front of their little shed, Skarloey and Rheneas often watched the big engines as they went about their work. They didn’t quite understand what was happening, but their drivers had said that it was a big project to join the railways together and improve the infrastructure. New tracks were being laid and soon the various branch lines would become one. A number of new engines had been brought to help with the construction, and the two little engines watched every day as they bustled to and fro down the line.

Sadly, the same couldn’t be said for the two of them. The war meant that few people wanted to spend their spare time travelling down a little railway, so passenger trains had been reserved for only every other day. One of the engines would still bring down workers and take them back at the end of the day, but with the mines closed while the men went to war, there was little else to do but watch the world go past.

A few minutes passed before either of them spoke, but finally, Skarloey succumbed to the silence and turned to his brother.

“Things will pick up again after the war, won’t they?”

Rheneas didn’t respond at first, his eyes transfixed on the empty yard beside them. After a few moments Skarloey tutted, and the well tank turned to him as though no time had passed. “If we win, I am sure they will.”

“What do you mean ‘if’?”

“Well, we might not. They thought the war would be over by now but it isn’t, so really there is no telling what will happen, but either we win or they do, that’s how these things play out.”

Skarloey was stunned. “Are you saying you think we will lose?”

“I didn’t say that at all, Skarloey,” Rheneas said, frowning. “I was answering your question honestly, and honestly, I don’t know what will happen. You never do with fights like this. They are simply unpredictable. I am sure we will be fine: whoever wins will still need trains… hopefully.”

“I still can’t believe what I’m listening to!”

“It’s not like I am saying anything other than facts!”

“When were you such an expert?”

“Remember my driver fought in that war a few years ago – the Boar War or something. He told me all about it when he came back.”

“Oh, so you hear a few stories and suddenly you know everything! You are always so serious and dull, it’s quite boring.”

“Excuse me, what is that supposed to –”

Rheneas fell silent. The yard had been quiet for hours, but suddenly, something stirred beside them. Both engines froze and watched as one of the new engines pulled up to their station and came to a halt. This wasn’t that rare, as engines regularly stopped for water, but this one simply seemed to have stopped. Neither of them recognised it: the engine was long and blue and hauling an oddly shaped coal truck painted the same colour.

“What is that thing it’s pulling?” Skarloey whispered.

“I’m not sure, but most of them seem to have one.” Rheneas stared fretfully back at the engine, wondering why it had stopped at the station with only empty trucks behind. They were both curious as to what it wanted, but neither of them had the gall to speak up. However, after a few moments of staring, the large engine seemed to notice them and looked over.

“Hello there!” He called out.

“Hello,” Skarloey replied timidly, unsure what to make of this large visitor. The new engines were nothing like the ones that had worked the lines when they had first arrived, and the brothers had spent much time wondering what they were like without ever thinking to ask. Yet as the blue engine came closer, Skarloey and Rheneas simply exchanged looks, frightened into silence.

“You two must be Skarloey and Rheneas,” the engine said, and they both nodded. “Neil and the others told me about you and I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Thank goodness I have to wait here for the next train to pass or who knows when I would have gotten the chance, we’re so busy right now!”

“I can imagine.” The engine laughed, and Skarloey smiled timidly, unaware he had made a joke.

“My name’s Edward. Could you tell me about your line please while I wait? It sounds so fascinating!” Skarloey and Rheneas looked at each other, stunned by this turn of events, but quickly looked back at their new friend with matching smiles, ready to tell all.

****

March 2015

“Skarloey, look, look!”

“Shush, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Skarloey, look, it’s Edward!”

Begrudgingly, Skarloey opened his eyes. “He was here yesterday, I saw him at the opening.”

“Yes, so did I, but look, he’s going to the works.” Skarloey followed Rheneas’ line of sight and was surprised but pleased: Edward was rolling backwards into the Works, coupled behind the breakdown crane. Skarloey went to whistle but realised quickly his fire was out.

“Should we call out?”

“If you yell I will be very annoyed.” Skarloey and Rheneas’ attention turned instantly from Edward to Duke: the tender engine sat opposite them, one tired eye angrily fixed on them. The two brothers exchanged looks and remained silent: however, a friendly whistle sounded in the distance, and they looked back to see Edward smiling at them as he disappeared inside the shed.

“I hope he’s okay.”

“I am sure he’s fine,” Rheneas replied.

“Can you two keep it down? I’m trying to sleep. Never get a bloody wink at night with those impertinent rascals tittering away about their days. The young have no respect for the old,” Duke added, looking at the two red engines pointedly.

Skarloey looked at Rheneas and scoffed. “You know we are older than you.”

“Maybe your wheels are but your funnels certainly ain’t,” Duke grumbled. Skarloey gasped and opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Rheneas gave him a knowing look: Duke had been born grouchy, they said, but always meant well. Sir Handel and Peter Sam still idolised him after all these years, and picking fights with Duke only caused disharmony across the railway. The three of them spent a lot of time together these days, and arguing only made that worse.

Skarloey sighed and looked out at the world: it was barely noon, the other engines had only been gone for a few hours, and already he was bored. Rheneas stared back sympathetically, an unspoken agreement falling between them. There was only so much to discuss, only so many engines to comment on as they roared past on the Main Line, that conversation was quickly exhausted. Besides, while they were never as vocal about their tiredness as Duke was, the lull period in the middle of the day gave both old engines the perfect chance to catch up on lost sleep.

“Sweet dreams.”

“You two.” And the brothers shut their eyes, ready and willing for a nice long nap.

Unfortunately, the world had other ideas.

“Bugger, bugger, bugger!” Barely seconds later, Skarloey and Rheneas opened their eyes to find a well-built man in the shed, wiping grease from his forehead while simultaneously wiping it on his trousers. “Look alive, you three. I completely forgot about this. Only just woke up, bugger bloody bugger!”

“Forgot about what?” Skarloey asked, but the answer came very promptly: laughter sounded nearby, and within seconds a group of people had appeared in the tiny, mouldy shed. There were never this many people around in the middle of the day unless Rusty or Fred was being repaired, and Skarloey and Rheneas looked at each other in equal shock, overwhelmed at being suddenly surrounded.

From the pack of people, a tall blonde man stepped forwards, bring the group to a hush. “Ah, here are my beautiful machines!” He clapped his hands and beamed broadly around the shed, but his smile faltered at the sight of the three tired, unenthusiastic engines before him.

To say Sir Handel Brown IV was an interesting owner was putting it mildly. Privately educated on the Mainland, he had not grown up around the engines the way his father and grandfather had. In fact, after his father died suddenly of a heart attack several years earlier, the day the railway board accepted him as the owner was the first time any of the engines had seen him for many years. Their drivers said that the railways rules stipulated that the owner must live on the Island, cutting the newly knighted Handel Brown’s burgeoning career on the Mainland short.

It meant that he always had an air of not wanting to be there whenever he did visit the railway, and when it came to Skarloey and Rheneas, the feeling was mutual. Given their age and the amount of work needed to keep them up to code, Sir Brown had insisted they be kept back for the weekends, where their presence on passenger trains would be a big draw and would allow the younger engines time to rest. The two brothers could see his reasoning, but it was dreadfully dull being cooped up inside all week with only grumpy Duke for company.

The other faces were a mixed bag. Serena Hugh, with short brown hair and tatty blue pantsuit, looked far more affectionate as she smiled down at the engines; her role as Manager meant she was much more hands on, and though she had taken over from the late Roger Sam only a few years ago, she had a kindly authority that made it feel like she had been in charge for years.

Between her and Sir Brown stood a woman Skarloey and Rheneas both mildly recognised as Margaret MacMillan: she turned up to every major event on the railway calendar to ensure her claims about getting out amongst the public were true come election time, and her distinctive blonde-grey bob and pastel suits made her difficult to ignore. Next to her was Lady Brown, a petite brunette her husband had only married in the last few months. She rarely visited the railway, normally only standing on the platform staring at the engines in revulsion. Indistinct men from the board of directors milled about, staring dispassionately at the leaking roof. Neither Skarloey nor Rheneas knew why they were all here and could only imagine the worst.

“So, here you two are; this year’s star attractions!” Sir Handel’s smile was broad and flashy and looked genuine on the surface, but the two red engines could see there was almost something manic about it, as though he was seeing only piles of money. “The big party is coming up, boys. 150 years – though you don’t look a day over 100!” His wife laughed shrilly at the joke, and Skarloey and Rheneas forced smiles.

“Lovely Sir Brown here was just bringing me up to speed on the plans for later this year,” Margaret said, stepping forwards and patting Skarloey on the buffer. “It is truly going to be a swell time! I do actually remember coming to your centenary when I was just a little girl, it is going to be hard to top it but I am sure we can manage!”

“Oh, don’t worry, we definitely will be! Hatty may have the bigger engines, but we’ve got the bigger spirit!” Sir Brown beamed as he gazed around the group, smile faltering as his eyes settled on the dozing Duke in the corner. “Isn’t that right, um…” Serena stepped forwards and whispered in his ear. “Oh, yes, of course – isn’t that right, Duke?” He said, turning and winking at Serena. The tender engine opened his eyes, a foul scowl on his face, and Skarloey saw Margaret back away as though Duke was about to pounce.

“Who’s this?” He said finally, staring grumpily at Sir Handel.

“It’s our owner,” Rheneas replied.

Duke looked at the man and shut his eyes. “He’s not our owner. Now let me get some sleep.”

Sir Handel looked appalled. “Yes I am!”

Duke opened an eye. “No you’re not.” Skarloey and Rheneas simultaneously giggled but held it in as the board of directors looked confused. “Our owner is fat, with a moustache. You don’t have a moustache.”

“You’re thinking of our old owner,” Skarloey said.

“What happened to him then?”

“He died, remember, about three years ago.”

“Did he?”

“Four.”

Skarloey glowered at Rheneas. “Three.”

“No, four. It was only a few months after you got stuck in the snow at Christmas.”

“Oh yes, of course.”

“No one told me he,” Duke huffed.

“I am sure we would have, Duke,” Rheneas said, glancing exasperatedly at Skarloey. “Remember; he had a heart attack, Peter Sam was pulling the train?”

Duke paused for a long moment before nodding. “Ah yes, I think I remember now. Not entirely surprising, though, is it, when you think of his –”

“Excuse me, but this is my father you are talking about!” Sir Handel huffed.

“We did know him longer than you.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Sir Handel looked suspiciously at Skarloey, who managed to keep a straight face and avoid Rheneas’ eye long enough for the owner to shrug it off and turn away.

“Well, at least these two remember you, and that’s what counts.” The Thin Controller stepped forwards. Serena Hugh was not fond of the nickname but endured it for the sake of tradition. However, if anyone did dare call her that to her face, they earned a steely stare that quickly ensured they would not do so again. “You’ve got to examine your collection, Handel, but I think they need some rest now, isn’t that right, Nick?”

The sweaty man leapt up from his makeshift perch on an upturned diesel can, frantically wiping his greasy bow and smiling back at his sister.

“Yes, that’s right – the old ones need a lot of rest during the week, shouldn’t keep them up too much or they won’t be rested in time for the weekend!” His smile was broad and goofy, and Sir Handel stared at him distastefully for a few moments but knew better than to argue with his chief engineer. Nick Hugh had taken on the job after his father retired last year, and unlike his boss, he had spent his whole life around the engines and knew them better than he knew himself. It made him both ideal for the role and, despite his general air of cluelessness, gave him a lot more authority than Sir Handel when it came to these matters.

“Alrighty then, I think gentlemen and ladies, we should retire to my office to finalise the plans, leave the old boys to it, eh?” The board of directors all nodded and muttered in agreement, and marched single file out behind Sir Handel. Only Serena, Nick and Margaret remained, the MP looking around the shed, eyeing the sagging corner in particular.

“Anything I can help you with, ma’am?” Serena’s voice snapped the politician out of her trance, who quickly turned and flashed a slightly yellowed smile.

“Not at the moment, my dear. Enjoy your rest,” she added, waving to the engines, before hobbling after the rest of her group. Serena peered around Duke to make sure she was gone before sighing and collapsing onto his front.

“Watch it!”

“Sorry Duke but I’ve had a long morning dealing with that lot, I need a break!” She sighed and stretched her legs, grunting irritably as she did so. “You two can remember his father, right?”

Skarloey laughed. “Of course, ma’am; if we can remember 1865, nothing would stop us forgetting him.”

“Good, we’ll undoubtedly be hearing a lot about the wonderful Brown family over the next months, so make sure you have some stories to keep him on board, ok?” The two brothers nodded and Serena beamed, leaping back to her feet. “I should get back to it, play my part. Is there anyone you want us to add to the guest list? Brown wants us to send invitations out straight away, and if it’s your party, you might as well have some friends.”

“I don’t think there’s really anyone we know that doesn’t already work on the railway,” Rheneas replied in a shrug-like tone.

“Well, there is Nancy, I’m sure she’d love to be there.” For a second, Skarloey smiled, memories rushing back to him of the old cleaner, and he quickly began thinking of what he could tease her with when they next saw her. However, when he looked back at Serena, he saw her face had fallen, the casual smile no longer present. It was unsettling, and Skarloey felt cold as it occurred to him they hadn’t had a visit from Nancy in a while…

“I’m sorry, I can’t believe no one told you two, but… well, there’s no way else to say this, but Nancy… she died last year.”

The silence that followed was unlike any they had ever experienced. Skarloey and Rheneas looked at each other, their faces mirror-images of shock and dismay. They both had questions, but neither one could bring it to say the words aloud, as though acknowledging the news would somehow make it real.

“Christ, I’m so sorry you two,” Serena said only a few moments later, but hours could have passed. “It happened right around when Dad retired, we must have forgotten to say in the changeover. It was sudden, a brain haemorrhage, so she didn’t suffer or anything. I really want to stay and talk this over more, but Sir Handel is waiting for me… I’ll come back right after, I promise.” Serena gave them one final distraught look before turning and rushing away, but the two brothers hardly noticed, still processing the information. Mr Hugh lingered awkwardly for a minute before disappearing into his workshop, leaving only the engines roaring past on the Main Line to interrupt the mournful quiet.

“Who died now?” Duke opened one eye that flickered between the two, but neither engine looked at him. They stared only into the distance, silently, taking it all in.


****
1968

“Well, that’s me done for the day.”

Skarloey looked up, just as a line of soap suds slid down his face. “Already?”

Nancy laughed as she rinsed out her cloth. “I’ve been here for two hours, how much longer do you expect me to stay?” Skarloey simply stared back, frowning.

“Did you at least get my back buffers?”

“Of course, Skarloey, how could I possibly forget?” Nancy and Rheneas both burst into laughter, and even Skarloey managed a smile. He was fond of the girl, even if he tried not to show it. He had had a few cleaners over the years, but none had shown much interest in anything other than getting the job done and going home. Nancy made a performance out of it, chatting and teasing the engines, turning it into a job more than volunteer work, and they all loved and appreciated her for it.

Nancy tipped the soapy water down the drain and threw her supplies into the bucket. “See you next week then?” Skarloey asked lazily, turning away even as he said it to watch BoCo hurtle by with a goods train.

“Of course not, silly.”

“What?” He snapped back to attention, eyeballing Nancy curiously.

“You know I’m going away, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Gosh, your memory must be failing in your old age! I’m off to university next week, remember?” The faint echoes of conversations past floated back to Skarloey, but he usually dozed off during Nancy’s visits if he wasn’t holding court, and the new information must have gone right over him.

“You might have mentioned something about it… remind me again?”

Nancy sighed dramatically but her kindly smile remained. “I’m going to university on the Mainland: Cardiff in Wales, I’m going to study politics. Rheneas remembers me telling you this, don’t you?”

“Of course – some of us pay attention,” he retorted, smirking.

“I remember you saying you were going overseas, but I didn’t realise it was going to be for so long… I thought it was just a holiday…” Skarloey couldn’t mask the sadness in his voice, and Nancy’s smile faded. She stepped forwards and wiped the suds off his face, staring right into his eyes.

“Did you really think I could survive cleaning you all for the rest of my life?” Skarloey didn’t reply, trying to avoid staring her in the eye, but there was no avoiding Nancy. “I’ll be back during holidays, and who knows, I may move back here at the end of it all. But I will always remember you, I promise you that.”

Skarloey still didn’t answer, struggling to control his emotions, and after a few minutes Nancy patted his buffers and picked her bucket up again.

“Well, I will see you both when I see you.”

“Bye Nancy,” Rheneas chirped, “we will miss you.” Skarloey looked up as Nancy waved and began to walk away, sticking to the side of the sheds as Rusty rattled in. He glanced at his brother, and Rheneas gave him a knowing look, one only he could muster, and Skarloey knew he couldn’t stay silent.

“My brother lives in Wales! You should go visit him for us.”

“Already planned a trip around it,” Nancy shouted back. “Going to tell him what an awful little engine you are!”

“I bet the cleaners at Talyllyn do a smoother job!” Nancy’s joyful cackle echoed across the yard, and Skarloey and Rheneas laughed sombrely themselves, watching her go until she had disappeared into the station.

****

The sheds were silent that night. Normally, the engines would return home at night and regale each other with stories and gossip from their days, but not tonight. The news of Nancy’s death had spread, and every engine, whether they had known her well or not, had slunk silently into the shed out of respect.

The atmosphere in the yard was that of a wake, the engines mournfully quiet as they came together, none of them quite sure what to say and to whom. Instead, they simply rested wide eyed and reflective, letting the peace of the night take hold and keep them together.

For Skarloey, he had no idea how to react. He had shed several tears earlier once the news had sunk in, but after several hours dwelling on it, he now just felt empty and lost. Nancy had not been a regular around the sheds for many years, though as soon as he thought of her, Skarloey had gone back decades, remembering the hours he had spent with the cleaner. Even after she had returned from university and became a fixture of local politics, whenever Nancy came for a visit, Skarloey always thought of her as his cleaner: they laughed, they joked, they teased each other back and forth, always acting as though not a single day had gone by since their last encounter.

“You know what the worst part is?” It was the first time he had spoken for hours, and the engines nearest – Fred directly opposite, Peter Sam and Duncan on the side track – jumped at the sound of Skarloey’s voice, the shed so quiet it was as though they were frozen in time. “I never noticed she had stopped visiting us. Not once did I ask myself ‘where’s Nancy, why hasn’t she visited us recently?’. I just carried on as normal not ever thinking about her. After all these years and I completely forgot about my friend…”

“Come on Skarloey, you can’t beat yourself up,” Peter Sam whispered. “It’s your fault in the slightest.”

“If someone had told us she was sick, we could have done something for her. Thomas told me once about how he and Toby helped a woman who lived on their line get better once. We could have done the same for her, seen her one last time.” Skarloey sniffed at this and looked at Rheneas for reassurance, but his friend was staring at the leaky ceiling, not saying a word.

“It makes you think, doesn’t it?” Duncan grunted, drawing everyone’s attention. “She used to be a wee girl, didn’t she? But she got older and we’ve stayed the same… it does your funnel in, thinking about that sort of thing.”

“We’ve gotten older as well, Duncan. We are just more… well, a bit less…” Peter Sam trialled off, unable to think of a word, but Skarloey knew what he meant.

“The world changes except for us. We’ve lived through more than any human ever has or will and we keep on going even when they are gone. I’m 150 years old soon… when I say that out loud, I can barely comprehend it. When I first arrived on this island, I had to be lifted out of a wooden ship using its derricks, then come and build this line all on my own before Rheneas got here. And everything has changed since then: the people, the island, everything except me. No one who worked on me was alive at the end of that century, and now I’m living in my third. I should have known Nancy would leave us, just as everyone else has and will, but even after all this time I like to think that things will stay the same.”

A grim silence fell again as Skarloey’s words resonated through the sheds. It was something the engines were all aware of, even Ivo Hugh the youngest of the lot: everything was constantly changing but the engines stayed the same, unaffected by time the same way the natural world was. Skarloey only had to think back to the conversation today about the late Sir Handel Brown: how many owners had he outlasted? Or managers, drivers, firemen, passengers? He had had so many friends over his 150 years, but just like Nancy, they all left him eventually.

“I don’t think I ever met her, but from what I’ve heard, she sounds like she was a really nice lady.” Fred smiled glumly at the others, and Peter Sam and Duncan nodded in agreement, but something in those few words lit a fire inside Skarloey.

“If you didn’t know her, you don’t get to say things like that!” He snapped suddenly. Fred looked shocked, and even Duke opened an eye at the burst of anger. Skarloey’s annoyance came quick and without consideration, and even if he wanted to he couldn’t hold it back. “Nancy was my friend for many years, long before you arrived here: you can’t sit there and think you can feel as bad as me, as the rest of us! It’s just plain –”

“Leave him alone, Skarloey.” Rheneas hadn’t said a word since Serena’s bombshell that afternoon, so his words were raspy but loud enough that Skarloey was instantly silent. “No one has any right to be more upset than anyone else.”

“He doesn’t understand,” Skarloey retorted, annoyed his friend was not on his side. “Nancy wasn’t even working here when Fred started: he doesn’t know her as the cleaner who used to be here nearly every day, who used to flick our noses with her rags or tease me about the good old days. It’s rude to pretend to be as sad as us.”

“I’m not pretending, though,” Fred mumbled, staring at the tracks to avoid eye contact. Skarloey glowered back at him and went to reply, but Rheneas interjected.

“I haven’t known Nancy as long as you have, does that mean I don’t get to feel the same as you or Peter Sam or Rusty? We are all in shock, Skarloey, don’t tell anyone how to grieve and just let them be.” Rheneas spoke with a sense of finality to it, as though he had closed the matter, but Skarloey was not ready to be silenced.

“Your right – I was a lot closer to Nancy than you were, so you have no right to tell me how to feel! She was my friend, not yours!” Peter Sam and Fred gasped and the sound carried throughout the year, hanging over the pregnant pause that followed Skarloey’s outburst. The tank engine had not realised what he had said until he had spoken, and now that the words had settled in, Skarloey had shocked himself. Yet it was too late to take them back: Rheneas’ mouth hung ajar for a few moments as the shock passed through him, and then he laughed. It was strained, humourless, but a laugh nonetheless.

“You know, I thought you were better than this, and that you might have grown up after all these years, but you’re still just the same engine you were when you first arrived.”

“Excuse me?” Skarloey scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?

“You would think that after all these years you would have realised to appreciate my view or anyone else’s other than your own. I admit you have become better over the years, but deep down, the engine that refused to work, that boasted about his cab, that Skarloey is still there.”

If the yard had been silent before, there was no word for how quiet it was now. Skarloey was speechless, unable to comprehend what Rheneas was saying, and the other engines, even Duke, were watching the two with bated breath.

“You’ve always undervalued me. You may not realise it, but when it comes to issues like this, I think you still see me as younger than you even after, what, 150 years!” Rheneas laughed the last two words despite the clear anger on his face. “You keep referring to yourself and your memories, trying to take control, focusing only on yourself. It’s times like this when your true colours come out, and frankly, I am sick of it!”

He clearly had more to say, but as he choked on the last few words, Rheneas simply shook his head and looked away, staring determinedly at the wall. Skarloey tried to think of a response, but a sudden sadness, something deeper and more ethereal than what he had felt before, overwhelmed him.

The sheds were silent for the rest of the night, no one so much as whispering, the mournful atmosphere now tense and uncomfortable. The change in tone meant that everyone slowly drifted off to sleep, but Skarloey stayed awake long into the night, staring at Rheneas and wondering where that outburst had come from, if there was anything he could say in the morning to make it better.

****
1962


“Well… here we are then.”

“Indeed we are.”

Skarloey and Rheneas were alone at last. For hours, the other engines had crowded around Rheneas, as though checking he really was the legendary engine they had heard so much about. Rheneas had been taken aback by the attention but savoured it, surprised that after so many years away anyone asides from Skarloey cared that he had returned.

However, it had all become disorientating after a while, and Rheneas had been relieved when the kindly diesel had suggested they leave the two old engines in peace. It was easier to adjust to returning with just his old friend by his side, the way it had always been.

Yet with so many years between goodbye and hello, neither engine knew just how to pick it up again. For about half an hour they commented only on passing engines Rheneas didn’t recognise and on what the coaches had been like in his absence, but now silence had fallen, the two staring between each other and their surroundings, as though the spark that would rekindle their friendship was hidden in the yard.

“I see they changed the shed,” Rheneas said eventually, and Skarloey smirked as they both stared upwards.

“Just a little bit. Need to fit more than just two old codgers in here now. Roof keeps leaking though…”

“How have the new engines been? They seem nice, if a little green.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t fix your eyesight,” Skarloey gasped, and Rheneas raised an eyebrow. “They are red, Rheneas, just like you.” The well tank snorted and Skarloey beamed with pride at his joke.

“Cheeky sod,” Rheneas said, rolling his eyes.

Skarloey just smiled and winked. “They are a good lot, really. Peter Sam and Rusty balance out Sir Handel and Duncan. They’ve been problems, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Rheneas retorted, and the two chuckled again. A horn sounded down the line, and Rheneas stared towards the station in the distance: the little grey diesel was talking to a tender engine on the main line, and even from afar they looked like old friends. It dawned on Rheneas that he didn’t know either of their names, and he wondered how many other new engines were out there he wouldn’t be able to recognise, how many new names he’d have to learn before he knew every engine again.

“I cannot believe how much things have changed.”

“Have they?” Skarloey looked around, his eyes gazing across the yard. “It doesn’t feel that way. I mean, still the same old shed – well, mostly…”

“You’ve been here to take it all in though. I am sure in small doses it doesn’t feel different at all. I mean, I knew new engines had come to replace me, I never forgot that, but I guess in my mind I never imagined there being anyone but us on this line, that I wouldn’t be able to recognise my home…”

Rheneas’ voice broke on the last line and he looked away. Skarloey didn’t say anything, and more than ever Rheneas was glad to have his oldest and dearest friend alongside him again. They had had their fair shares of ups and downs, from their arrival right up to the war years, but no matter how much they irked each other or got tired of the endless days and nights stuck together, Rheneas knew that in an ever changing world of new railways and different people, having one thing remain the same had been enough to get through it.

“What about you then, eh?” He teased after a few minutes, smiling once again. “Not still causing drama, are you?”

Skarloey gasped melodramatically. “I will have you know I have mellowed out in my old age.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Rheneas retorted, and both engines laughed. They carried on for a long time, the two chuckling away as the sun continued to sink into the horizon. After several minutes, it finally petered out, a warm silence falling between them again.

“I have missed you, you know, throughout all this. New engines, new ideas and all that. I have always asked myself what you would think of it all, what you would do if you had been here.

“I went away to the Works for a few years, having struggled enough to adapt to Sir Handel and Peter Sam, and then came back to find Rusty and Duncan were here. It is odd seeing other engines pulling the coaches and working at the Incline, but this is still our line: the trees are the same, the lake is still there, the tracks are new but they lead in the same direction. The people may have gone but this place will never go. Nor will we, for that matter.”

As he blinked back tears, Rheneas finally smiled. “That’s certainly true. We may be old and broken, but nothing will get rid of us, eh?”

“War, illness, mudslides, nothing can take us down.”

“Oh lord, don’t remind me of that!” Rheneas began laughing, and soon it was like old times, the two friends, brothers, caught up in their own amusement. Their crews watched from afar at the two giggling engines, but neither Skarloey nor Rheneas paid them any attention. Things may have changed, but they were together again, with nothing, in their minds, to get in their way.

****

When Skarloey woke up the next day, tired and worn out, he looked to his side and saw Rheneas wasn’t there. Duke was there as ever, eyes shut to the world, but Peter Sam was the only engine who remained, awkwardly looking up when Skarloey caught his eye.

“Rheneas insisted on going out this morning, and my crew and Mr Hugh agreed,” he explained before Skarloey could ask and then looked away. Peter Sam clearly didn’t want to bring up what had happened last night, and Skarloey was relieved, unwilling to relive it again. In hindsight, he realised how poorly he had acted, consumed by grief and confusion though that was no excuse.

I need to apologise to Fred and hope he forgives me, the old engine thought. Rheneas though… Gazing at the empty track next to him, Skarloey was not sure if fixing things with him would be as easy. It was clear that Nancy’s death and his comments had dredged up something deep for Rheneas, and a simple apology would not be enough. Yet Skarloey had no idea what he could say to even address the situation let alone apologise, and if Rheneas was avoiding him, that would only make things harder.

“Hello all!” Skarloey and Peter Sam looked up as Edward pulled up next to them, smiling widely as he gazed down at them. “How are we all?”

“Alright,” Peter Sam said, awkwardly glancing at Skarloey. “What about you Edward? Your buffers look a bit twisted.”

“Yes, I had a bit of a run in with a cell phone tower. I have to wait for some new hydraulic buffers to come in from the Mainland, so they fixed my brakes first. Just having a little test run to make sure they are working properly, and where else to visit but here.” Edward smiled down at them, and Skarloey and Peter Sam grinned back, but their smiles did not reach their eyes and the blue engine’s face sunk. “Is something wrong? You both look a bit tense.”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Edward, just some –”

“A woman called Nancy died, Skarloey was upset and insulted Fred and then Rheneas got angry with him and has left the shed.” Everyone looked at Duke, and the brown engine opened a sleepy eye to stare back. “Was I not supposed to say that?”

“Granpuff!” Peter Sam groaned, but Skarloey didn’t mind. He needed the opinion of someone he trusted, and there were few engines as wise as Edward. He looked up at his old friend and was thankful that Edward looked back with only kindness and not judgement.

“I am sorry to hear about Nancy, I remember how much she meant to you. I am sure if Rheneas is angry that most of it will be grief –”

“You didn’t hear the things he said,” Skarloey interrupted. He felt cold just thinking about it, the accusations rushing back to him. “I think what I said… it had a powerful effect on him. I don’t know if I can look him in the eye again now I know what he thinks of me.”

“If you both value your friendship, you will find a way to sort it out. You have known each other for 150 years now, that’s not a relationship that will just end overnight.” As Edward spoke, a familiar whistle sounded down the line, and Skarloey looked up to see Rheneas at the platform. Even from afar, he could see his friend stare at him for a prolonged pause before determinedly looking away.

“I want to believe you, Edward, I really do, but I don’t know how easy it will be.” The blue engine said nothing in response, silence falling between them. Skarloey was pleased for the quiet. He had a lot to think about, and, as he watched Rheneas leave a few minutes later, the old engine knew it would take more than an apology to heal these wounds.

 

[AceTrainer14]

A Tunnel Too Far

March 2015

It was fair to say that nearly everyone on Sodor was having a good day. By some miracle, the sun had broken through the clouds and cast its radiant beams across the island, basking the residents in the warm glow. The unexpected weather had had a positive effect on most of the railway: trains were running to time, coaches and trucks were behaving, and everyone was whistling to each other as they passed.

For Henry, it was an absolutely perfect day, and he wasn’t going to let anyone dampen his spirits – not even grumpy little engines.

“Are you alright? You look rather cross today.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Rheneas replied curtly, in a tone that made it perfectly clear everything was not fine. On any other day, Henry may have pushed further, but he was simply not in the mood. The problems of little engines were none of his concern, and with everything else going so well, he simply shut his eyes and waited for the guards whistle, savouring the sun’s loving warmth.

When he heard Rheneas set off a few minutes later, Henry opened his eyes, expecting to follow suit, but was dismayed to see his driver standing on the platform.

“Why are we still waiting?” The green engine yelled. “We’re going to be late?

“Calm down, Henry, we still have plenty of time,” his driver laughed. “I haven’t seen you this keen for years! You know we need to be more cautious about crossing the points here after what happened with that Mario engine. We need to wait for Donald to come through and then it’s off we go.”

Henry sighed. He knew he was being impatient, but he didn’t want anything to spoil his day. He had waited years for this opportunity, and if anything went wrong today, who knows how long it would be again.

A few years ago, if Gordon had been unwell or engaged, Henry had always been the first choice to take the Express. It had been that way for years, decades, and though the green engine was not nearly as boastful as his friends, it certainly filled Henry with pride to know he would be the first choice of replacement: not James, not BoCo or Bear – him.

That was until Pip and Emma took over. With the high speed sisters handling the job, if there was ever a need to replace them, Gordon was on standby to resume his old job. At the time, the decision had not affected Henry that much. Taking the Express had always been a treat and a privilege, but it was tiresome if done too often, and in his growing age, Henry was fine without rushing about.

Yet this morning, when they had learnt Pip and Emma were stuck in London, and then Gordon’s injector failed, Henry had felt a rush of excitement and pride to know he would be hauling the Express once again. No one liked to sit on the side lines too often, and given how long it had been between trips, Henry was ready for another go. With the island crowded with engines, any stuff ups and the task would easily fall to someone else next time: Henry knew he had the prove it, and with the weather on his side, it was all on him to make it work.

A few minutes later, Donald rattled through the yard. Henry was ready and set off as soon as he heard the guard’s whistle, slowly gaining speed as he left the station, and once Donald had passed, he tore off down the main line.

There was no wind today, but Henry felt the air batter him as he roared down the tracks. There were no stops between here and the Mainland, and with no one in his way, he had the entire line to himself.

I haven’t had a run like this for decades! I forgot how great this feels. Wearing an unstoppable grin, Henry whistled in joy, and listened to it echo around the empty fields.

“Calm down, Henry! At this rate we’ll reach Barrow before the passengers do!” Henry ignored his driver, too enamoured with the sound of his wheels hammering the tracks, savouring the speeds he never got to run at anymore.

In what felt like mere minutes after leaving Crovan’s Gate, Henry rounded the bend and saw the tunnel up ahead. We’re nearly there, he thought. For a moment he was disappointed his journey was nearly over, but then remembered he could do it all again on the way home. Smiling at the thought, Henry whistled ecstatically again as he soared into the tunnel.

The bright sun was replaced by darkness instantly: Henry was going so fast that the transition was disorienting. He blinked rapidly to adjust, and that was when he heard a crack.

“What was that?” He shouted, but his crew didn’t get a chance to respond. Something fell from the tunnel roof up ahead, and Henry winced as his brakes were instantly slammed on. The sound of screeching wheels and the coaches shouts echoed everywhere as more rocks fell to the tracks. Henry knew he was going too fast to stop; he eyed the end of the tunnel, hoping they would make it in time.

Then there was a whoosh like falling water. The light disappeared, and Henry cried out as something hit his face.

***

Barry knew there was trouble when he saw the look on the stationmaster’s face. Pushing through the swarm of people trying to get down to the beach, the grey haired man looked deeply distraught, eyes heavy with something close to terror.

I didn’t hit someone when I pulled in, did I? The platform was crowded today, with so many people scrambling to Norramby to savour the sunlight by the ocean, and now that Barry thought about it, someone easily could have been pushed off – there might have been a bump, actually, when he stopped a minute ago…

Barry waited tensely as the stationmaster conversed with his crew. The sinking feeling in his firebox got worse as he heard his fireman swear loudly. A moment later, his driver appeared sombre faced by his side, and it was as though all of Barry’s fears had come true.

“Looks like we are going to be stuck here a while. Henry’s come off the rails in the tunnel – sounds like a cave in or something. They are keeping the line clear for the next hour while they get everyone to the crash site.”

Barry breathed a sigh of relief, even though the news was nearly as bad. He hoped Henry and his passengers were alright, but he couldn’t deny it felt good to know he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Are there any injuries?”

His driver shrugged mournfully. “Not yet, the guard only just sent the call out. I am sure we will know soon. I guess the only thing to do is enjoy the view… and it was going to be such a lovely day…”

Barry felt his firebox sink again, instantly guilty at that brief moment of relief. He stared out towards the ocean unable to enjoy the view – not that he had been in the first place.

The last few days since Barry had come home had been so disorientating, and this was just another step in the wrong direction. He had tried convincing himself that it was just a readjustment period: he had been away from Sodor for five years, it was natural to be concerned about coming back, no idea what had changed while he had been away. Give it a week and everything would be back to normal, he had tried telling himself.

But Barry was beginning to think it was all too much. There were new lines being built all over the place, with new engines brought in to fill them in. The scenery had changed so much: there were more houses than ever before, in some areas they had completely replaced forests or covered once empty hills.

Even this morning, when Barry had been told he was going to Norramby, he thought his driver was having a laugh. Before he had gone, the branch line was barely thought about outside of summer, with occasional services picking up and dropping off passengers to Crovan’s Gate or Barrow. But now the fishing village had expanded, with a small shunting yard and extended pier alongside the station, and not one but two engines now serviced the line exclusively. The whole island seemed to have changed, and there was nothing for Barry to do but find a way to cope.

Yet there was no obvious job for him to fill. When Barry had first come to the island, there had been specific passenger trains and routes for him to go about, weekly goods trains and occasionally trips to the Mainland. There had been no such discussion over the last few days, and with so many new engines that he was confusing all their names, what need was there for him now.

I’ll be sent away within months, I know it, I just know it…

“Who are you and what are you doing at my station?”

Barry jumped, so startled he rammed into his coaches. He had been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed a dark green engine pull up alongside. For a moment, Barry thought it was Henry, as the engine had a remarkably similar build, but he soon saw subtle differences: a more curved front, a queer dome, an overall sleeker look.

“Are you deaf or something?” The engine sniped in a posh, crisp voice. “I asked who you are and why you are at my station?!”

“I’m Barry, I’ve just come back from a heri –”

“Oh, so your Bar-ry,” the engine interrupted. He dramatically pronounced Barry’s name, drawing out the two syllables. The engine had a thick face with a prominent brow and hooked nose, lips pursed out as his eyes gazed over Barry. “You really do look like they pulled you out of a scrapyard.”

Barry was appalled, and quickly forgot all about his worries. “And I suppose you must be Arthur then?”

“How dare you!” The green engine spat out, looking about as horrified as the station master had. “I am Norramby Hall, thank you very much, though you can call me Robert for short.”

“Norramby Hall – are you named after the –”

“After the Norrambys? Yes, yes I am,” Robert replied with a smug smile. “Sir Topham Hatt was looking to reinvigorate this line, and since the Norramby’s basically run the island, the Duke was asked to choose an engine to run the passenger services. Naturally, he picked me. I was already called Robert where I was, and since that was the name of the late Duke, it was like fate! It’s very nice here; I am thoroughly enjoying myself, though it would be a lot nicer if they hadn’t thrown a stinking fishing village in as well.” He glared at the line of vans to the left of the station and theatrically sniffed at the air. The sea breeze did blow the smell of fish back towards the station, and Barry had to admit it wasn’t that nice, but he wasn’t going to admit that to this engine.

“The village was always here, they just developed –”

“Excuse me, but which of us works this line on a daily basis?” Robert interrupted, snapping furiously at Barry. “Don’t come onto my line and try and tell me facts about the town I am named after! One of us works this line every day, and it certainly isn’t you.”

Barry opened his mouth to reply, but after a few moments he simply sighed and looked away. On any other day, staring at the ocean and the way the sun shone against the surface would be a dream, but Barry was in no mood for scenery.

This Robert may be a prick, but he’s right. How can I talk about this railway as though I still know it? I knew this would be hard, but this… this is something else… And Barry simply sat in silence, basking in the sun, waiting until he could leave and find a better distraction.

***

Henry was cold and terrified, a fear he had never experienced before.

A thunderstorm of apocalyptic proportions was raging across the island. The sky was a mass of steel, grey clouds rumbling and flashing high above the railway. There were bursts of lightning and bangs of thunder, and rain poured down so hard and fast it was as though bullets were falling from the sky. The wind blew at such an angle that even in the tunnel Henry could not avoid it, rain running down his face and into his eyes, forming a pool between his wheels and the wall.

“Make it stop, make it stop,” the green engine moaned. He was cold, his fire had not been lit for months, he could feel spiders and bugs crawling around inside his cold, useless pipes. The rain was making him shiver worse than usual. It was at least washing the grime from his face, but that consolation was so small Henry barely noticed.

“I want to come out. I’m sorry. Please let me out. Hello? Is anyone there? I’m sorry. I’M SORRY!”

The wind simply tossed his words aside, but Henry kept yelling until he was hoarse. He stared out in the world, the semi-circle of it he could see above the ever-present wall, trying to make out some saviour in the distant, but there was only more rain.

Is this part of my punishment? Am I going to drown because I didn’t want to get wait? I don’t deserve this; I don’t deserve to suffer like this. Why did the Director do this to me?

As Henry felt tears mix with the rain on his face, something sounded behind him. He paused, listening through the storm, and suddenly heard a chuffing noise.

“Is someone there? Hello? HELLO?”

The sound got closer, louder and louder. The rails began to vibrate, and Henry heard the clatter of wheels racing towards him.

“STOP, THERE’S AN ENGINE IN HERE! STOP!”

The engine was getting closer and louder, dust trickling down from the ceiling. Thunder crashed and echoed inside the tunnel. There was a white flash of lightning, and a tree near the line exploded into luminous flames. Whole bricks were raining down on Henry, crashing into his funnel and cab, and while the mysterious engine got closer and closer…

“LET ME OUT! I WANT TO GET OUT! LET ME OUT! LET ME OOOOUUUTTT!”

“Henry, are you alright?”

When Henry opened his eyes, he thought was still dreaming. There was no storm, no brick wall before him, but his world had turned upside down: his crew were standing on a wall, blood running down their faces, white light shining blaringly behind them. It was a different kind of nightmare, and Henry shut his eyes as the panic set in.

“Henry, calm down, you’re alright!”

“Why am I upside down?” The green engine wailed. “Am I still dreaming? I want to wake up, I want to wake up!”

“You aren’t dreaming, Henry. You’ve had an accident and you're on your side, but everything’s fine, we managed to stop before there was any serious damage.”

Henry cautiously opened his eyes as a flash of memories came crashing back to him: the sunny day, the Express, rushing into the tunnel, bricks falling, suddenly going to black. As his eyes adjusted, he realised the sunlight was not as bright as he had first thought, and his crew were not fully upside down, just on an awkward angle.

It was then Henry realised he was lying on the tunnel floor, sprawled across the track. He could feel the jagged pinch of rocks underneath him, and he saw he was on an angle, his body almost rammed into both sides of the tunnel. One of his coaches had derailed, its roof caved in, and Henry felt a horror he had never experienced before.

“My passengers! Are they…”

“There have been injuries, but nothing severe, just from the impact of the crash and the broken glass. Only two coaches came off the tracks, Emily took the rest away. Rocky is just lifting up the coaches and then they will come for you.”

He smiled reassuringly, but Henry was still horrified. He looked up at the tunnel roof and saw exposed earth where brick should have been: this could have been much worse, and looking at the carnage around him, Henry knew that if he had been a few seconds earlier it would have been.

“There we go.” Henry looked up as what had been the front coach began to rise up, the familiar pumping of Rocky’s pistons sounding behind. “Don’t worry Henry, you’ll be upright soon enough!”

The green engine didn’t share his driver’s enthusiasm. “Your face, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a bump, nothing too bad,” his driver said, shrugging. “I may need to rest for a few days, but hey, you’ll be at the Works anyway. It’s not as severe as it could have been, be glad of that!”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that, well, if it had been any worse…” His driver’s smile faltered finally, and he gazed pityingly down at Henry. “Well, I shouldn’t say. Just be rest assured there was no harm done!”

“No harm done,” Henry muttered, gazing between his injured driver, the collapsed roof and the upended coach. “No harm done…”

***

April 2015

They kept Henry at the Works for a fortnight, though thankfully there was no serious damage. His buffers and side-rods had to be replaced and his cab roof repaired, but a thorough inspection found no internal damage. A new buffer beam was brought over alongside Edward’s, and less than three weeks after the accident, the big engine was back on the rails again.

The bigger job was repairing the tunnel. While Henry was away, the left tunnel was closed so engineers could survey the site, forcing the other engines to slowly pass through the other side. It did not take long though for the engineers to conclude that the issue was with the rushed repairs down to the tunnels after the cave-in several years ago. The bricks were replaced and sealed with concrete to prevent it from happening again, and soon Pip and Emma were able to rattle through as normal without any worries of collapse again.

As that all happened, hopes that that glorious day of sunshine would continue were quickly dashed, as dull clouds returned to cover the sky, hanging heavily over everyone as they went about their work. It was a dull and dreary time, and the engines forced themselves through their work with thoughts of summer on the horizon.

It was a particularly dark and gloomy day that Henry found himself Barrow-bound once more. He had not gone through the tunnels once in the month since his accident, but BoCo had had an engine failure that morning and someone needed to take dairy trucks to the Mainland.

I bet it’s going to rain, Henry thought as he pounded down the Main Line. The threat of a storm hung in the air as a heavy humidity and thick, black clouds blanketed the island. The tracks will be slippery if it does rain, and then I’ll have to go into the – no, don’t think that way, Henry, everything is going to be fine. Absolutely fine.

Henry had become so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t realised they were stopping until he saw Rusty alongside. “What’s happening?” He cried, unable to stop the unease creeping into his voice.

“We are just collecting some milk tanks,” his driver replied gently, and Henry looked around as two farmers appeared with carts loaded with silver canisters. The big engine breathed a sigh of relief, though his eyes now turned back to the dark clouds above.

“Hello Henry. You off to the Mainland?” Rusty called out, and Henry looked down at the little diesel, noticing the small coach and truck coupled behind him.

“I am indeed. Looks like you’ve got some repairs to do.”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Rusty sighed. “Some sheep got lose and damaged a set of points up the track.”

Henry couldn’t help but snort with laughter. “Sheep, really? Can they really do that much damage?”

“Oh yes, it’s nothing to laugh at,” Rusty said seriously. “If you get a herd of them and they all charge at one set, that doesn’t end well.”

Henry felt the s mile fade from his face. “But our rails are made of metal, they are only sheep… surely the tracks are stronger…”

“Usually, yes, but there are other factors to take into account. We usually found that there are more likely to be problems with the track in the days after lots of slate has been moved from the quarry. A lot of things can damage the rails if they are not properly maintained.”

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of van doors slamming followed swiftly by the guard’s whistle. Rusty tooted goodbye, but Henry was too shaken to reply. As he left the yard behind, all he could think about now was the tunnel.

What if something went wrong? What if they didn’t fix the problem? It was a rushed job last time, what if this time it’s the same. No harm done, he said, but that was then, this is now…

Henry thundered down the line as fast as he could, trying to shake himself of those thoughts. His trucks all rattled violently behind him, but Henry wasn’t fussed about him. The countryside was a blur, the whole world disappeared as Henry focused only on the tracks ahead, making sure there were no cracks or rocks threatening to upend him once again.

He was not far from the tunnel when there was a boom overhead, and a second later the clouds finally gave way. Rain didn’t necessarily fall but plummet from the skies, as though a dam had burst open above Sodor. Henry blinked and everything around him was saturated: everything from the countryside to the tracks ahead disappeared behind the storm.

“We need to stop,” he whimpered, but his cry was muffled by the rain, and Henry kept racing forwards, his breathing get faster and more frantic the further down the line he went with no idea of what was to come.

Then he saw the tunnel.

It seemed to leap out at him as he rounded the bend, like a large animal lying in the wait with its deep, dark mouth leering open. As more and more details emerged from the rain, Henry realised just how close he was, yet how far the light at the end of the tunnel seemed…

Without a second thought, he slammed his brakes on. Henry grunted as the weight of the trucks slammed into him, and he skidded down the slippery tracks, edging him closer and closer towards the tunnel. Finally, Henry stopped just shy of the mouth: the tunnel was right in front of him, the thunder of rain echoing inside the passage, but he had managed to stop.

Henry sighed with relief, but that didn’t last long.

“What on earth are you playing at?” His driver appeared by his buffers, hastily thrown on raincoat already drenched.

“I’m not going in there,” Henry replied firmly. “We don’t know how safe it is!”

“For goodness sake Henry, Pip and Emma have been through here twice a day for a week now and there haven’t been any problems!”

“You can’t be too careful. I’m sorry, but you are going to have to find another engine to risk their lives in there.”

His driver stared angrily at the green engine for a moment before swearing loudly and marching back to the cab.

He’s angry now, but he will thank me later. Despite the torrential rain battering him, Henry managed to smile uneasily as he stared down the mouth of the tunnel, daring it to do its worst.

***

The rain seemed worse, if anything, by the time Barry stopped at Ballahoo. He had hoped that he would arrive and find out he could carry on to Barrow with his logging trucks, or at least be able to wait under nicer weather, but no such luck. Instead, he would have to endure the cold and wet for who knew how long.

No wonder they call it Henry’s Tunnel. He seems to be the only one having issues with it. Barry felt mean for thinking it, but given how freezing it was, he felt like his feelings were justified. Even with a warm fire roaring inside of him, the unwelcome downpour was one of the worst Barry had ever experienced – or at least it felt that way now.

Ballahoo didn’t help his mood. The station felt rural, with just two platforms either side of the track with a small brick building on one side that served as a dismal ticket office and waiting room. Most of the people that used Ballahoo were workers heading into Barrow, so in the middle of the day in the middle of a storm, it was barren. The only sign of life was a large poster of Margaret MacMillan that covered a window, her cheery eyes staring madly out at Barry as he waited.

Isn’t this just a happy little place? Barry thought sarcastically. He watched as his crew raced inside the stationmaster’s office to warm up, leaving him completely alone in the downpour. Not that that was anything new. Even after a month back, Barry still had no idea what to make of the changed island. He had met new engines and learnt their names, and had slowly been brought up to speed with all the gossip and stories he had missed, but there was still something so detaching about it all. It was as though Barry had gone down one track and all the engines down another, and they had met up at the end with entirely different experiences. He wanted to be involved instead of watching from the side lines, but every time Barry considered making an effort, he would eventually just think: why bother? Why try and force himself back into a world he didn’t recognise and didn’t belong in? If they didn’t want him, why should he try?

“Oh joy, it’s you.” Barry’s thought were interrupted by a dull groan that shattered the silence. As the sound of pistons pumping drew alongside, Barry felt a shiver pass through him that had nothing to do with the rain. “What are you doing here with… are those logs?”

A whole month just isn’t enough time between visits, is it? Barry watched coldly as Norramby Hall came to a stop alongside, but the green engine was staring back at the trucks with a look of complete revulsion.

“Well, at least it isn’t fish, I suppose,” he said after a while, and finally turned to Barry. “But still, what exactly are you doing here, cluttering up my line?”

Barry wanted to snap back with something scathingly sarcastic, but given they could be here a while, he decided to hold his tongue. “It’s Henry, he’s stopped outside the tunnel and is refusing to move. They sent me down here so the track was clear for any engines coming from the Mainland. We just have to wait for –”

“Henry, you say?” Robert snorted. “Bah, that imitation! What is he moaning about now?” He looked beadily at Barry as though expecting agreement, but when Barry said nothing, the green engine tutted even louder. “I have never been fond of him, or any of his kind. Those A4 Pacific’s are just pathetic copies of my class, you know. There wouldn’t even be a Henry if it wasn’t for me – not that that would be a significant loss.”

Barry gasped in shock, he couldn’t stop himself, and Robert smirked briefly at the reaction.

“I may not have known him very long, but that Henry sounds like a terrible nightmare, always having accidents or falling ill or doing something as dramatic and inconvenient as that. Maybe he has finally realised how useless and unnecessary he is and decided to just give up!”

“That is horrible, how can you say something so cruel?”

“Cruel? Please! I am just stating the facts, dear Barry. There are so many engines on this island now – better, fresher, more reliable engines, originals and not lesser copies – that soon Sir Topham Hatt will realise he doesn’t need any of the ones that have been clanking around here for the last 100 years. I bet Henry realised his accident the other week was just the beginning, and he might as well head off for the scrapheap of his own accord. It would almost be respectable if he wasn’t being quite so inconvenient.”

For a minute, Barry didn’t say anything. It was not out of shock or disgust though: rather, there was something in that hatred bile that Barry had never considered before. As horrible as he was, Robert’s rant had given Barry an epiphany, and suddenly he didn’t feel all alone anymore.

“You may be the single most revolting engine I have ever met in my entire life, but I guess I need to thank you.” He let out a loud, sharp whistle that interrupted Robert before he had a chance to speak. Smiling with determination, Barry waited and look over as soon as his driver appeared to investigate the noise.

“We need to get to that tunnel.”

***

“If you keep forcing your brakes on, you are going to wear them out and we’ll have to go back to the Works.”

“That’s fine with me.” Henry wasn’t sure if it was the endless rain or the tension in the air making his driver yell, but he was doing his best to keep his voice calm and quiet. He knew he was in the right, and yelling wasn’t going to change anything.

His driver let out a groan that lasted half a minute, and Henry prepared himself for another verbal thrashing. However, his driver never got a chance to start: a whistle sounded behind them, and a moment later Barry was sliding to a stop alongside.

“Oh, Barry, hello!” The tender engine had been away for so long it still was surprising whenever he appeared, and for a brief moment Henry forgot all about the rain, his angry driver, or the fact they had been sitting at the tunnel mouth for nearly an hour.

“Hello Henry. I thought when it came to you and tunnels you wanted to be out of the rain, not in it.” Barry laughed kindly, and Henry smiled briefly back.

“Yes, yes, I am sure I am going to be hearing that joke for a while now.”

“Well, I certainly won’t tell anyone, but the longer you stay here, the more engines might see.”

“I’m not worried about them, but it’s nice that you care.” Henry noticed the long line of flatbeds behind Barry. “Are you taking those logs to the Mainland?”

“I am – looks like you’re going the same way. Maybe we can go together.”

Henry’s face sunk. “If you are here to try and force me to move, it won’t work. I am not going through the tunnel. I just want to head back to Tidmouth but my driver won’t let me. If you want to take my trucks, this will all be over and I can go home.”

“I don’t want to take your trucks. That’s your job, not mine.”

“Well I’m not finishing it!”

“Why?”

“Because I might have another accident!” Henry stared down the tunnel, seeing where he had woken up weeks ago, almost in the exact same spot where he had been shut up for month, and there was nothing he could do to stop the feeling of dread that came over him.

Barry looked confused. “The tunnel is safe, Henry, you don’t need to be afraid of it –”

“I’m not scared of the tunnel, I’m scared of crashing!” Henry snapped. “Bad things always happen to me, and I am too old to keep having accidents!”

Henry hadn’t realised he had shouted the last few words until he finished talking, a sudden silence falling between him and Barry. Suddenly uncomfortable, he looked away, but the silence only stretched on, and Henry could feel Barry watching him, waiting for him to speak. The green engine wished he had been left alone, but he knew that now that he had had said it, there was no turning back now.

“Every time something bad happens to me, I think of this tunnel.” Henry only had to shut his eyes and think and he could feel the brick wall before him, the grime of months of neglect across his body. “When I started getting sick a few years after I was let out, I wondered if it was my fault for spending so long in here, if the cobwebs or dirt had damaged me somehow. When I was getting rebuilt, I would picture the tunnel to remind myself never that foolish again, that I would never get back that time I wasted.”

“That thing that hurt most about it wasn’t that I was alone or dirty or being punished, but the fact I wasn’t needed. Edward, Gordon, Thomas, the other engines, they all got on fine without me. They could afford to leave me in there and not worry until they had no other choice. And if I wasn’t needed then, then who says they need me now? So no Barry, it’s not the tunnel that scares me: it’s the thought of being that dispensable again. I think of the tunnel to remind me never to stuff up again, but it seems I just can’t help myself…”

Henry trialled off, unable to carry on. He had never said anything like that out loud before, and though it felt like a weight off his buffers, Henry didn’t feel any better for it. He looked down at his buffers and sniffed, hoping those were raindrops trickling down his face.

“Henry, you do realise you are talking to an engine that actually ended up on the scrap heap, right?”

Henry gasped. You idiot! He instantly felt guilty, and looked apologetically at Barry, but the black engine was smiling. “I know what that feels like, to think you aren’t needed anymore. I know you think that because you don’t get to pull the Express or because there are so many other engines that you’re disposable, but you aren’t. The Fat Controller isn’t buying more engines because we are useless: he needs them to fill the demand. I’ve spent weeks thinking that I have no purpose, that there is no reason for me to be here, but I realised very recently that if the Fat Controller didn’t need me, why bring me back? The fact I am back on the island and still doing jobs means that I am necessary, and so are you.”

“We’re necessary while we are in one piece, but what about when we fall apart? I’m the second replacement for the Express, and there are countless others that can fill in if I’m not available. My driver said it himself after my accident – it could have been worse, no harm done that time, but what about the next?”

Henry had forgotten his driver was standing right there, and nearly jumped as he suddenly let out a booming laugh. “I wasn’t talking about you, you big silly engine, I was talking about my head! I would never let anything happen to you, even if you can be a right pain sometimes.”

“Oh…” was all Henry could say to that. He suddenly felt ashamed, and when he looked back into the tunnel, almost like magic it didn’t seem as long and frightening as he had first thought.

“Henry, I want you to go through the tunnel with me. When we make it to the other side, you will see that everything is fine and there is nothing for you to be afraid of.”

“We both know that’s not true, not in the long run,” Henry mumbled, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“Your right, we don’t know what’s going to happen, but if you spend all your time worrying about the past or the future, you will never have time for the present.” Barry looked away, a determined smile on his face, and Henry wondered who he was trying to convince. “Things may be different, but at least we have each other, right?”

Henry stared down the tunnel. At the very end, he could see that it was lighter, that it didn’t look like there was as much rain. He may have been imagining it, but even if it wasn’t real, Henry knew what that meant to him.

His driver climbed back into his cab, and Henry and Barry smiled at each other as together they rolled into the tunnel, and a minute later made it out the other side.

 

[AceTrainer14]

Ride Before a Fall

When Richard Topham Hatt had been a young man, his father had asked him to visit him in his office. They were supposed to have lunch the previous day, but there had been an incident – something to do with Thomas and eggs, Richard couldn’t remember exactly, but he could remember the sombre look on his father’s face when he sat opposite him at his desk.

“You are going to need to be prepared for this,” he had begun. “It may feel like most days there is some major calamity happening, but accidents are rarer than they seem. However, when something does happen, you need to be there and you need to deal with it, no matter what it is and no matter what you had planned. Sodor relies on the railway. It doesn’t have to run smoothly, but it needs to look like it’s running smoothly, and that is your biggest challenge.

“In saying that, you need to find a life for yourself outside of the railway. You don’t get many days off with this job. It is a burden I am sorry to leave you with, but someone has to run this railway, and our family knows it better than anyone. Just make sure that you have something to keep you busy, otherwise this job will destroy you before you know what hit you, and that isn’t good for the railway, the engines, or the island. Now, where should we go for lunch?”

It had been a startling conversation that Richard hadn’t expected, but several decades later, he was glad for the advice. Since he had taken on the job and the title – both the formal and the informal – his days were consumed by everything that happened on the railway. At least once a day there was an incident that required his attention – sometimes it was first thing in the morning, other times it was five minutes after he had left the office. No matter if it was a weekend or he was on holiday, the railway kept on going, and there was nothing he could do about it. At the end of his first week, Richard had gone home unsure how he could go back the next week. It was as he stared in the mirror, reflecting on his new grey hairs, when he remembered that conversation and knew exactly what to do.

He had started gardening. It probably wasn’t what his father had had in mind, but Richard thought it was the perfect job. Not only did it keep him fit (unfortunately, the family curse of the unstoppable gut had not passed him by), but it was something Richard could always control. Flowers were kept in neat little rows, weeds and pests were swiftly taken care of, and all watering and maintenance was kept to a strict schedule. It didn’t matter what chaos had engulfed the railway the previous week, Richard knew that at least his garden was under his control.

Unless, of course, it rained.

“Can you please stop standing there like some gormless statue and pass me the jam, I have asked you five times already!”

Richard sighed and turned away from the window. Everything out there was grey. The rain was falling so heavily he could barely see the back fence let along his garden, but that only made him imagine the worst.

“Stop worrying about those blasted flowers,” his wife grumbled as she took the jar from his hand.

“But dear, they are drowning.”

“They’ll survive, flowers love water. This is your first weekend off in months, and you are not spending it staring mournfully out are you damned flowers!” She shot him a steely look across the table, and Richard knew there was no fighting Lady Harriet Hatt on this matter – not that he planned to anyway.

It was not often that he got time off these days. With the centenary preparations adding to his workload, there was little time during the week to get through any other paperwork, meaning that the last two months he’d spent much of his weekends catching up on admin. He enjoyed his job most weeks, but Richard never forgot his father’s words and always aimed to make the most of his time off. And now, catching his wife’s haughty expression over the toast, he knew he was not the only one that had been missing these lazy weekends.

“Why don’t we go and see a movie? We haven’t done that for ages.”

“It’ll be packed, it always is when it’s raining.”

“Not this heavily. Most people will want to avoid the roads.”

Harriet paused in the middle of jamming her bread, looking thoughtfully into the distance. “Yes, that does sound like an excellent plan. I’ll check the times and see what’s on.” She leapt up wearing a small smile, enough for Richard to know he had done well.

“Can you turn the radio on while you’re up? The paper is a soggy mess, can’t read a bleeding word.” Harriet obliged, pressing a button as she passed, crisp voices instantly filling the room.

“… and that is why I am fighting for better funding of the public services that Sodor relies on, not backing the cuts that many of my colleagues are pushing for. I am morally opposed to the underfunding of services that work, though that does not mean I will allow money to go into just any old institution – there must be a model there that works for today, not when it was first drawn up.”

“Excellent answer as always, Margaret,” Richard chuckled, shoving toast into his mouth. He and Mrs MacMillan were fond of each other even if they did not always see eye to eye. She was a firm supporter of what they did, and Richard knew from some of the issues his father went through that having a good politician on your side is important.

“Are there any institutions you specifically want to fix up, or are you going to be as generic as possible here?”

Margaret’s forced laugh echoed throughout the room, and Richard laughed as his wife sat back down. “Oh Peter, so cynical as always! There are plenty of areas I think need improvement. The health service, for one thing –”

“There’s a new superhero one on at midday, apparently it’s quite good,” Harriet murmured, and Richard nodded absentmindedly, jabbing his knife into the butter.

“What about the railways? There was another accident just last month with the tunnel collapsing.”

“Yes, that too. I do think there is a serious issue with how the railway is funded.”

There was a clang as Richard jerked forwards, flinging the knife, still wedged into the butter, across the room as he turned towards the radio. Harriet’s screams briefly cut across the radio as the plastic tub crashed into a vase, but Richard was too focused on the interview to notice.

“… money being spent on buying more and more ancient steam engines like this is all some private collection and not enough stopping our tunnels from collapsing?”

“But the North Western Railway is privately owned – is there any way the government can interfere with which engines are brought?”

“Oh, you know me, Peter. I have my ways.”

As Margaret’s laugh echoed through the room again, silence fell over the Hatt’s dining table. Richard felt like he had been punched in the stomach, and he sank into his chair, a dozen thoughts racing through his head. He clutched at his chest, his heart beating rapidly, and he stared absently at the upended vase for a few moments before he realised what he was looking at.

“Oh my… my dear, I am so… it’s just, the radio – Margaret! Margaret!” He looked at his wife and Harriet glowered back as she placed her tablet down. She watched him as she picked up the vase, and kept an eye on him as she left the room. Richard looked back to the radio but he had missed the end of the interview, the chime of the morning bulletin now filling the room. He sat in silence as he listened to the headlines, the thundering rain louder than ever, wishing just once his father’s warning hadn’t come true.

***

Ten minutes. That was all the time Gordon had left to enjoy the relative shelter of the station. In ten minutes time, he would have to head out onto the Main Line with the slow train. It would be a solid two, possibly even three, hours before he would be under shelter again, and the blue engine was trying to savour these last few minutes before he had to enter the deluge once again.

Unfortunately, ignoring the storm wasn’t as simple as he would have liked.

“This isn’t the worst storm I’ve ever seen. It isn’t even the worst storm I’ve had on this island.”

“PAH!” Douglas wheeshed, and Molly huffily looked towards him. “Lassie, I’ve from Scotland – if anyone here knows bad weather, it’s me, and this is bad weather.”

“I’m not denying it’s bad, just that it’s not the worst,” Molly said simply.

“I have to agree with her,” Bear chimed up from the far end of the station. “That winter a few years back was a nightmare; there was some pretty nasty weather there.”

“Come on, Bear,” Duck huffed besides him. “We aren’t talking about snow here – if we are, you’d be right, but this is the worst rain.”

“Thank you, Duck. This is the very definition of a storm if I have ever seen one, and I won’t hear another word –”

“Don’t you all have better things to do?” Gordon’s voice boomed like thunder throughout the station, causing the other engines to look towards him. For a moment, the blue engine felt an old sense of pride; it was not often he got to grace Platform 1, usually reserved for the Express, and to be the centre of attention here again was something that did not pass him by.

Not that the feeling was to last. “Well, well, well then, Gordon, do you have another topic of conversation in mind then?” Douglas said in his thick Scottish drawl. “What pearls of wisdom do you have locked away under that there dome of yours, eh?”

Gordon glowered at the Caledonian engine for a moment before rolling his eyes. “I’m not suggesting we talk about anything. We do not need to fill this silence – the rain is doing that enough already.”

“We’re just having a conversation,” Molly interjected quietly.

Gordon tutted. “We are civilised engines. We should not have to bellow at each other from opposite ends of the station like common shunting engines.” He spat the last few words out with a taste of finality, and looked away, trying to hide the smile in his eyes. There were no comebacks that time, and Gordon was pleased that he could relax in peace before venturing out into the storm. He had been kept awake the last few nights with the rain pounding the shed roof while the other engines tittered away about flooded tracks and washed out bridges. It had left him with a dreadful headache, and Gordon was dreading having to go out today with that weighing him down.

Yet his peace was not to last. “You know, we are only having this conversation because of Henry,” Duck called out. “The original tunnel incident – so very civilised, you must agree, Gordon – that storm must have been something, surely.”

Gordon could tell he was being mocked, and glancing tentatively over, he could see a broad grin plastered across Duck’s face. Don’t think I will take that bait, not from a silly little tank engine!

“That was a very long time ago, Duck, I have far too many things to think about, I don’t keep a catalogue of all the events of my life.”

“So you’re saying you don’t quite have the memory for this?”

Gordon’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the tank engine. “What I am saying is that much more important things have happened to me over the years that I don’t remember every little storm that has happened over the course of my life!”

“That explains things then,” Duck said with a nod.

“Explains what?”

“Why you’re so grumpy today. It’s your age.”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you not hear me properly? Your old, Gordon, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Gordon gasped as sniggers trickled through the engines. “I am not old, thank you!”

“It’s fine, Gordon, really!” Duck said, his face serious though there was laughter in his eyes. “I heard the way you were clanking and groaning as you pulled up to the station before. All this talk of past storms, it must be overwhelming for you, not being able to remember any of them anymore. No wonder you’re so cross.”

“How dare you!” Gordon spluttered, as the others cackled with laughter. “I am not old – Thomas, Toby, Edward, they are old engines, and – “

“Thomas is only a few years older than you are,” Bear interjected.

“I know it’s tough to hear, but you just need to face the facts,” Duck said, his stoic face cracking as he struggled not to laugh. “We all get old eventually, and it’s your time now. If you accept it, the sooner you can move on with your life… if a bit slower than you used to.”

Gordon’s eyes bulged with anger, and Duck began to laugh alongside everyone else. Their cackles filled the station, drowning out the rain and the chattering passengers swarming around him as it neared time for him to go.

“How dare you! I am not slow; I am still as fast as I was in my prime.”

“Do you want to test that theory, Gordon?” Douglas’ Scottish drawl broke through the laughter. “I’m leaving after you, we can always see who makes it to Crovan’s Gate first.”

“I’m taking the slow train, as you very well know.”

“How fitting,” Douglas added, and the laughter continued. Gordon spluttered as he tried to respond, but the shock had left him speechless. Before he could think straight, a sharp whistle cut through the noise followed by a distant thud as the guard’s door slammed shut.

“Don’t you have to go be Scottish somewhere else?” Gordon huffed as he felt his brakes slip off, and he slowly slid out of the station. The rain hit him like a brick wall, heavy droplets striking his face the second he had left the shelter behind, but Gordon no longer cared about the storm. The laughter followed him long after his coaches had left the platform, and he rolled bitterly towards the tunnel, like a once proud lion slinking off into the sunset.

***

The storm stretched across the whole island, and everyone was feeling the effects. Rex, Mike, Bert and the other small engines were stuck in their shed, their tracks washed away by mudslides. The Electric Lady sat cautiously at Abbey Station, watching the wires above her shake dangerously in the wind. Even at Barrow-in-Furness, Arianna had to tense her eyes against the rain as she prepared trains for the mainline engines.

Yet while everyone was wet, tired and uncomfortable, the storm was strongest along the coast. Normally when Arthur was waiting at Norramby, he could gaze across the ocean and see miles of water that stretched out to the horizon. Even on cloudy days, the sea was still majestic as it crashed against the pier, while the seaside town looked ripped from a postcard, neat houses jumbled together along the shore.

Today, that picturesque town had been swallowed whole by the relentless rage of the storm. Huge waves were smashing into the pier, exploding as they hit and sending water sloshing over the tracks. Boats bobbed violently off the shore, the waves threatening to either sink them or sending them crashing into the rocks

Arthur’s journey from the sheds at Vicarstown had been difficult enough, tree branches and leaves flying across the lines threatening to hold him up, but that was a light drizzle compared to the harbour. It was a sodden wet nightmare, everything turned to shadow by the haze and workers running heads down trying to avoid being blown away. The normally pleasant sounds of hearty sailors and cranes at work that made Arthur feel jolly had disappeared, replaced by the howl of the wind and the thud of the rain pounding the earth.

“This isn’t ideal, is it?” His driver shouted.

“No, not really,” Arthur replied timidly, watching as another wave hit the port. Storms like this never went well, and there was no record in the world clean enough to calm weather like this.

It’s just rain, I still have a job to do. He didn’t want to let anyone down, especially not the fishermen who had gone out in this weather to rescue nets and cages before the waves washed them away. He was part of a bigger system, and worrying about the storm wasn’t going to help anyone.

“Ok Arthur, the trucks are ready for us,” his driver yelled, his words nearly blown away by the wind. Trying to focus on the positives, Arthur reversed onto the right track before rolling forwards up to his train. The trucks usually leered and jeered at him at this point, but they were all silent as Arthur was coupled up. The only noise they made was involuntary, the wind making them all violently wobble, and Arthur could see he wasn’t the only one afraid.

“It’s going to be alright, there’s nothing the wind can do to hurt us,” he told the van in front.

The truck grunted. “You say that now, but wait till the tunnel collapses on us again.”

“The tunnel has been fixed, the rain isn’t going to affect it,” Arthur said with a smile. Before the van could reply, a lone figure suddenly ran past them both and up to Arthur’s cab.

“Just got a call from Ballahoo,” the harbour master yelled. “A tree has fallen across the line. They are sending Harvey to clear it but it’ll be a while. You’re going to have to go to Crovan’s Gate and switch Arthur around to the front.”

Arthur wasn’t sure how to take the news. He hadn’t been comfortable about going backwards the whole way to Barrow-in-Furness, so was glad for the opportunity to change around. But this was the first he had heard of a tree being blown over during this storm: if one could be taken down, what would stop there being anymore?

“Told you,” the van grumbled, smiling grimly. Arthur didn’t respond, deciding there and then to channel all his energy into his task at hand and not worry about the storm. But as the guard’s whistle sounded faintly in the distance, the tank engine watched an empty crate fly over the tracks and crash into the foot of a crane, and knew it was going to be a difficult road ahead.

***

The storm was as intense as Gordon had feared when he woke up that morning. Within seconds of leaving the station, he had been engulfed by all the worst things it had to offer: howling wind that sent rocks and sticks flying into him while threatening to throw him off the rails; rain that touched everything, falling so heavily that Gordon’s lamp did nothing to illuminate the tracks ahead.

It was everything Gordon had hoped to avoid, but now that he was out here in the thick of it, the weather was the last thing on his mind.

While their laughter had long ago faded into the distance, it wasn’t as easy for Gordon to forget what Duck and Douglas had said. Their insults echoed, following him down the line, and even the roar of the wind and the rattle of his coaches wasn’t enough to deafen them.

However, Gordon’s initial shock had quickly turned to anger. He wasn’t speechless anymore, and was tempted to stop the train and turn around to give them a piece of his mind. With no one around him to vent to, the rage simply burned away inside of him, fuelling him as he tore through the sheets of rain.

Old? BAH! What silly, reprehensible engines. How dare they treat me like that! Me, who brought the Queen to Sodor! Me, who hauled the Express for decades! Ingrates! I’ll show those ignorant engines whose old.

He roared into his tunnel, the bricks whizzing by in a blur. Could a tired old engine go this fast? He asked himself, and laughed confidently.

It was only when he burst back into the open world that he left the other engines behind. Gordon was jolted out of his thoughts as the rain washed over him once again, getting into his mouth and eyes. He felt himself slowing, and for a second worried something was wrong, that Douglas would come past any minute and see him blindly snaking his way down the line.

Once his eyes were clear, though, Gordon could see the familiar shape of Knapford Station emerging from the haze. The platforms were empty except for the stationmaster hovering in his office doorway, but Gordon saw Clarabel staring grumpily at him as he pulled up alongside.

“Finally! I’ve been wondering where you had gotten to,” Thomas yelled, struggling to be heard above the wind.

“Don’t you start!” Gordon screeched to a halt, his wheels skidding worryingly against the slippery tracks. The second he stopped, doors banged open and passengers sprinted between the two trains, desperate to get inside before the storm washed them away.

Thomas looked incredulously at the tender engine. “What are you on about?”

Gordon looked angrily at the tank engine, but after a few seconds he realised that Thomas hadn’t been mocking him, and with a sigh he looked away.

“Am I getting old, Thomas?”

“Well, yes, we all are.”

“I know that!” Gordon huffed defensively. “But I always thought… I’m not as old, or, you know… Edward.” He said his name like it was dirt in his mouth, and Gordon felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the rain.

Thomas pursed his lips. “Just because you aren’t the same age as us doesn’t mean you aren’t old. If you weren’t, you’d probably still be taking the Express.”

“That had nothing to do with age, that was… that was… convenience,” Gordon spluttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced. “You don’t know what you’re on about, I can still take the Express as fast as I did in my prime!”

Thomas rolled his eyes as the guard’s whistle sounded down the platform. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Gordon. You don’t normally come to me for advice.”

“Advice? Bah! Don’t be ridiculous!” Gordon said incredulously. “I am just venting!”

“Sure Gordon,” Thomas said, smirking as he pulled away. “Enjoy the weather. Maybe it will wash your bad mood away.”

Gordon snorted as the tank engine pulled away. His own guard’s whistle sounded, and he took off with an angry jerk, the coaches grumbling as they bumped into each other.

I’m nothing like Thomas, I’m not as old as Edward. I am Gordon the Express Engine. I hauled that train for over eight decades – I am as fast now as I was then, and I will prove it!

The rain battered him, the wind roared against his wheels, but Gordon shot out of the station like a rocket, his smile grim, his eyes narrowed, ready for his challenge.

***

Sitting in his car, surrounded by pools of water, his clothes soaking wet, Richard Hatt could only wonder what he was doing with his life.

He could’ve spent the day having a lovely time with his wife. After weeks of working overtime and weekends, Richard knew she had been looking forward to their weekend together. He hated how his job took up so much time, and as supportive as she was, he knew she did not like the toll it took on their marriage

However, instead of heading to the movies or spending the day cuddled up together on the couch, Richard had left her behind. He had seen her glowering at him from the front door as he drove away, and that image stuck with him as he sat in his saturated clothes, driving slowly through flooded streets and behind elderly drivers overcompensating for the weather.

He hadn’t wanted to, but he had no choice. How has it come to this, Richard thought, staring out at the storm struck street. He dreaded getting out of his car, not because the streets appeared flooded up to his shins, but because Margaret Macmillan was waiting for him in the café across the road.

Richard had never had a problem with Margaret before. She was nice enough, occasionally a little forced in her conversation like any politician trying to make a good impression, but they had never had a dispute before. Richard had even allowed the cell phone tower to be built at Wellsworth Station after she told him about the townspeople’s complaints. The fact she was now openly criticising the railway was so out of the blue he thought he had been hit by a train.

There is an election coming up. If she builds momentum on this for her campaign, this could delay the whole centenary celebrations.

His dreams of a relaxed weekend were ruined, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was fine for her to insist they meet today when he called her assistant shortly after the interview. It wasn’t her concern that Richard’s first day off in weeks had ended before it had even begun. She would get what she wanted, and he would have to sit there and grin and bear it for the sake of the railway.

“You never warned me about this part of the job, Dad.” Richard sighed and rested his head on the steering wheel, bracing himself, questioning everything in the space of a few seconds. What was she plotting? Why did it have to be today? Was this job really worth it?

Begrudgingly, he swung open his door, ready to face the music. The storm greeted him instantly, the wind trying to close the door, the rain rushing in and soaking his barely dried pants. As Richard swore and tried to step outside, he had the electric chirp of his mobile. “Bloody hell!” He cried, and collapsed back into his seat, letting the door slam shut with a deafening thud. Fumbling about in the back seat, he finally grabbed his mobile, hitting the green button just before it went to voicemail.

“Yes?” He barked, knowing that this would only be worse news. “What do you mean – Gordon’s done what?”

***

Must go faster, must go faster, can go faster, can go faster, must go faster, can go faster…

His wheels ached. As he roared down the tracks, Gordon felt a pain in his side rods: they were tight, he could feel them seizing up, complaining about the pressure he was putting on them. But that wasn’t enough to stop him. He couldn’t fail now, he wouldn’t let himself: Gordon had started this, and he was damn sure going to finish it.

Come on, come on, come on, COME ON!

The blue engine had only been able to exert himself in brief bursts of speed, the distances between stations too short for him to have a proper run. By the time he had gotten a good momentum going, he would have to stop again, coaches banging into each other as sodden passengers sprinted to the train.

Thankfully, he had just passed through Killdane and now had nothing by open track before here and Crovan’s Gate. He had set out from the station with a gleeful roar, and was rocketing down the tracks with no one and nothing to stop him. There was no sign of Douglas anywhere – there was no sign of anything, not with the rain still bucketing down – and Gordon felt on top of the world.

Who’s old and slow now? He chuckled deeply. He was enjoying himself more than he had expected. It all felt familiar, racing down the tracks with the wind blowing against him, his coaches rattling cheerfully behind him, the whole countryside a blur. When he hauled the Express, Gordon had often felt like the only engine on the island, the rest of the world disappearing so it was just him, his train and the tracks ahead, and it was like that now.

Surprisingly, he was glad for the rain now as well. It was easy to pretend things were how they had been with nothing else in sight, and Gordon kept racing, ignoring the pain in his axles and the breathless feeling he had felt since climbing his own hill. Right now, he was the fastest engine on Sodor, and there was nothing to take that away from him.

I am the fastest, I am the fastest, I am the fastest…

If only he had been going slower, than the accident could have been avoided.

When Arthur arrived at Crovan’s Gate, the yard was deserted. There were pools of water in the sidings, and the wind was blowing rubbish and sticks across the tracks, but otherwise it seemed empty. No one at the sheds, the little engines nowhere in sight. It was unsettling, ominous, but Arthur was mostly relieved.

Ever since he had left the harbour, he had not been able to block out the tiny voice worrying about something going wrong. It had been a smooth run down the branch line, but going backwards you had no idea what was waiting for you ahead, and he had expected to run straight into a busy yard thrown into chaos by the storm.

Looks like there was nothing to worry about at all, was there? Arthur felt foolish. As he came to a stop in the middle of the yard, he couldn’t help but laugh at his fears. He had learnt over the years that nothing went wrong unless you expected it to go wrong; his fears and overly cautious movements was probably the only thing threatening his train.

“Switching around to the front?” The stationmaster yelled. “Let’s get a move on then, Gordon and Douglas should be here soon.”

“Right away!” Arthur said with a short whistle. He was quickly uncoupled and he reversed onto the next line, everything set for a quick turnaround.

Suddenly, a whistle, deep and endless, echoed through the yard. The stationmaster turned, startled; it was difficult to see through the rain, but he could see something big and blue racing towards them.

“He isn’t supposed to be here yet,” the stationmaster mumbled, and he turned to a porter. “Make sure the points are set to the right track.” He watched as Gordon became clearer through the haze, wondering just why the big engine was moving so quickly.

Arthur was surprised as well, but he had his own train to deal with. Ignored his renewed concerns, he carried on with his job, rolling down the track alongside his train towards the next set of points. If everything went according to plan, he would be coupled up and ready to leave before Gordon had even arrived at the station.

Unfortunately, things didn’t go that way.

Gordon’s crew had been worried about his increasing speed, and his driver knew they would need to apply the brakes early to slow him down before they reached the station. However, as he peered out of the cab to check their progress, he was stunned to realise they were already at Crovan’s, the curtain of rain around them having confused his sense of direction.

“Bugger,” he hissed. “He’s going too fast!” He yelled to the fireman, and lunged forwards, slamming the brakes on.

Gordon winced as his wheels seized up, a sharp pain spreading across his axles. However, he wasn’t slowing down: the tracks were coated in water, and though his wheels were still, the big engine slid across the slippery tracks, momentum and the weight of his full coaches pushing him onwards.

He screeched into the yard as Arthur backed down onto his train. He froze at the sound of the commotion behind him, and was filled with a sense of dread – and this time, he knew he was right.

One second, Gordon was eyeing a clear stretch of track ahead of him, relieved to have averted disaster. The next, he was swerving suddenly, his wheels juttering over the tracks, and a stunned van was coming right for him.

With a booming crash, the big engine ploughed into Arthur’s train. The first five vans were obliterated upon impact, causing an explosion of fish to shower the platforms. Arthur grunted as he shoved forwards, the brake van breaking as it was sandwiched between the two weights. The stationmaster and porters fled as fish, ice and wood rained down on them, landing with heavy splashes in the dozens of puddles surrounding the engines.

The accident was over as quickly as it had happened. Dazed and confused, Gordon opened his eyes to find crates of fish wedged into his face. He had no idea what had happened, but he had been here enough times to know it was likely his fault. The sound of his pounding wheels had long since died away, replaced by an unnatural silence punctuated only by the howling wind, the falling fish, and the distant sound of a certain Scottish engine coming down the line…

***

The Fat Controller sighed as he made his way across the Crovan’s Gate yard. He had been drenched again within seconds of stepping out of his car, and it was made no better by the amount of puddles he had to waddle through to get to the scene of the disaster.

“I should’ve known something like this would happen,” he mumbled to himself. A porter suddenly appeared with an umbrella, but Richard just gave him a withering look and carried on: after the day he had had, a bit more rain was the least of his worries.

He had gotten here as quickly as the weather had allowed, but the clean-up operation was nearly done. Wilson and Rocky had arrived back from clearing trees and had quickly gotten to work lifting Gordon back onto the track. The blue engine sat gingerly in a siding, all alone except for a few melting kipper draped over his buffers. Arthur had taken the remaining trucks away to finish his job, while a spare diesel from the Mainland had taken the coaches.

“Leave the fish and the wood and cordon off these lines, they can be cleared up when the rain lets up,” Richard yelled at the workers. Many of them nodded formally, but he could see the relief in their eyes that they would soon be out of the rain. Smirking despite himself, the controller made his way over to Gordon.

“Unharmed, I see.” The blue engine looked up, wearing an expression of repressed embarrassment, a look made more tragic by the amount of rain pelting the tender engine.

“Thankfully so, sir,” he replied wearily.

“Very good, though I’ll leave that to the workmen to confirm.” Richard paused, his eyes flickering between Gordon and the crash site. “Is there a reason you were going so fast with the slow train? I’d expect such an experienced engine to know to take care in such treacherous conditions as this.”

Gordon looked more embarrassed and repressed than he had before, and looked away from the Fat Controller as he mumbled out his reason. “I wanted to see if I still could.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

Gordon sighed. “The other engines were calling me slow. I wanted to prove that I wasn’t, to them… and for myself.”

It took a moment for Richard to process that before sighing himself. “Gordon, that is utterly ridiculous! Of course you are still fast, everyone knows that. Is this about me taking you off the Express? You must know that was to make it a smoother trip, it had nothing to do with you or your age.”

“I know sir, I’ve accepted that, but… it’s quite a change, getting old,” the blue engine murmured, smiling sheepishly, and Richard laughed.

“Isn’t it just?” He said, shaking his head. “You must know that none of that is an excuse for what happened here today, but I do accept it. It’ll be slow trains for the rest of the month once you are back in service – hopefully the slower pace will help you adjust?”

“Yes sir, of course. I am dreadfully sorry, sir. I hope I haven’t caused much bother.” The smile disappeared from Richard’s face, Gordon’s words reigniting the worries that had harangued him all the way here. He looked over at the crash site – the broken wood piled on the platform; a torn apart truck hovering in the air as Rocky lifted it up. He surveyed the site not as a railway manager, but as someone with an axe looming over his head, clutched in the hands of one particular politician, wondering just what she would make of this.

“That’s just the thing, Gordon, I really don’t know how much bother we are in.”

***

The storm had begun to calm down when Gordon finally headed home the next day. The wind wasn’t trying as hard to blow him off the rails, but the big engine did feel immensely relieved as he rolled into the cover of the Tidmouth Station roof, able to leave the rain behind once more.

The station was empty except for Duck, sitting with a childish grin at the opposite end. “Hello old timer, back already? Would’ve thought you’d be heading to the scrap heap by now.”

“No, no, Montague, not just yet,” Gordon replied with a smirk. “How about you – enjoy the rest of the storm? Your kind enjoys splashing about in puddles, don’t they?”

Duck rolled his eyes as he sarcastically laughed. “Good one, Gordon,” he groaned. There was a tense silence for a few moments, the memories of their last meeting clear to both engines. “Look, I’m sorry for teasing you the other day. I wouldn’t have if I had known you would act like such a fool afterwards.”

“There’s no need to apologise, Duck,” Gordon replied. “You and Douglas only put into words the thoughts I’ve been dwelling on for some time.” He paused, thinking back on his night alone at the Works, all the things he had dwelled on as the rain echoed around him.

“I’ve spent so many years teasing Edward for being old; it was just a bit shocking to imagine myself in the same position. I had to prove that I’m not there yet, not just to you all but for myself as well.”

“Ah, I see. Well, it probably serves you right then, doesn’t it?”

“Probably so. I’ll have to act my age now.”

Duck smirked. “I’m glad the crash knocked some sense into you. Ploughing into fish vans will do that to anyone, let me tell you.”

“That’s the thing. It wasn’t the crash that hurt; it was my axles after going so fast!” Gordon laughed, his booming chuckle echoing around the station. “If I hadn’t crashed, I probably would’ve fallen apart before I reached Vicarstown!”

Duck snorted and joined in with the laughter, almost drowning out the sound of his guard’s whistle. “You really are becoming a silly old fool, aren’t you? We’ll have to lock you up if you keep up like that.”

“Don’t worry, there’s no chance of that happening again. Farewell,” Gordon boomed, and he carried on back to the sheds as Duck set off with his train. He could see BoCo coupling up to a line of tankers in the yard, and didn’t envy them having to go out in this weather. You never know what’s waiting for you around the corner in these sorts of storms…

He wasn’t ready for old age yet, but Gordon wanted to remain in one piece if he was to have any enjoyment in his final days. He was the last Doncaster around, he couldn’t end the legacy of his brothers by upending himself in a ditch going too fast. It was slow and steady from here on out, and that was fine by Gordon – just as long as everyone remembered how fast he had gone.

A slow engine would never have caused that much chaos, Gordon thought as he rolled into the sheds, a smug smile crossing his face. That might not exactly glamorous, but those silly little engines can’t deny I went out with a bang.

 

[AceTrainer14]

Lesser the Knowledge

April 2015

James couldn’t help but look smug. The broad, knowing smile he wore as he sat at Wellsworth Station was both natural and superficial at the same time, almost a performance for the other engines that passed. He generally looked smug most days, but today, he hoped his smugness would stand out so someone would ask him about it.

It was a look Edward knew all too well. As he pulled into the station with his own passengers, he caught James looking eagerly at him, and struggled not to laugh: his desire for attention was so obvious it was as bright as his paint.

Might as well throw the poor thing a bone, I guess, he thought, smiling. “Something up, James?”

“Oh, hello Edward, didn’t notice you there,” James replied airily, glancing away in such a way that everyone noticed. “How are you today?”

Edward caught Delphine shunting in the yard and rolled his eyes at her, earning a smirk back. “I’m fine James, how about you?”

“Well, I did just get some very exciting news,” the red engine replied, beaming. “I am off to the Mainland tomorrow if you can believe it! I’ve been asked to take a train of enthusiasts down the old Lancashire and York Railway with another engine.”

“That is very exciting James, congratulations. Are you doing it alone, or –”

“Yes, it is very exciting. I will probably be the most glamorous engine those enthusiasts have ever seen!” James interrupted, his eyes glistening as he spoke. “I don’t think they will have ever been pulled by an engine with as shiny paint as myself. I can imagine them talking about this for years to come!”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Edward replied wearily.

His tone did not go unnoticed, and James’ smile suddenly turned sour. “What about you, Edward, have you pulled an enthusiasts train at all lately?”

“Not recently, no.”

“I didn’t think so. On these sorts of trips, they tend to prefer engines that aren’t going to fall apart before they reach their destination!” James huffed before smiling at his own joke. Edward was used to jibes like that and simply ignored him, even though the words stung a little: why hadn’t he taken a heritage train for so long?

Almost simultaneously, both guards sounded their whistles – one for James to carry on to Crovan’s, while Edward was taking passengers on to Tidmouth.

“See you later, Edward – I’ll make sure to tell you all about it when I’m back!”

“Have fun with all the diesels, James,” Edward replied. He caught a glimpse of James’ sour face as he pulled away, and Edward felt better as he rolled down the Main Line, though the question still lingered long after he had forgotten about James.

***

There was a commotion as James arrived at Crovan’s Gate the next morning. A grey-haired woman was standing on one of the platforms, surrounded by people with cameras and large placards. The woman was gesturing angrily towards the middle of the yard, vaguely where Gordon had crashed into the goods train last week. James couldn’t hear what she was saying over the roar of those around her, but the people in the crowd all seemed to be in agreement with whatever was going on.

“Who is that woman? She looks familiar.”

“That’s our local politician,” James’ driver replied unenthusiastically.

James knew how he felt: he really didn’t care about politicians either, unless they wanted to take a photo with him. He ignored the crowd as he crossed the yard, his mind on far more important things than moody politicians. He was expected on the Mainland in a few hours, and James needed to look spic and span for when he took the first of his enthusiast trains that evening.

The works were always bustling and noisy, but as James came to a stop near the entrance, it seemed crazier than normal. Workers were rushing around frenetically, paying James no attention as they rushed by with toolkits and various engine parts. Sparks flew from behind a boiler hanging from the ceiling, one of the assortment of engine parts scattered around the place. James frowned as he saw patches of oil and green paint pooling together near the tracks.

After a few minutes of going ignored, the foreman suddenly appeared. “Hello James, how are you today?” He said, wiping his hands as he approached the red engine.

James looked at him with disdain, hoping he didn’t plan on touching him with those greasy fingers. “Fine thank you, sir. I have just come for my wash down – got to be on the Mainland soon!” He added, hoping it would encourage them to start before something ruined his paint.

“Wash down? What are you on about?”

“What are you on about?” James replied, smirking. What sort of silly workman didn’t know what a wash down was?

His driver appeared beside him, looking confused as well. “Is there something wrong? I left a message at Tidmouth to alert you guys.”

“We must not have gotten it,” the foreman replied, shrugging. “Scheduling isn’t the problem though. Haven’t you been paying attention to the news?”

“I live alone, mate!” James’ driver laughed. “When I get home, I want to relax, not depress myself with whatever dreadful things happening around the world.”

“Well, if you had been, you’d know that there is a water shortage on at the moment. There was a landslide at the reservoir on Culdee Fell during the storm, there’s too much silt in the water supply. We have to preserve water so the system can cope with the excess dirt.”

James looked between the two men, reality slowing dawning on him. “Are you saying… that I have to go to the Mainland… I have to pull enthusiasts… without a wash down?”

“Yes James, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

James fell silent. He couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing. This was his worst nightmare come true. He down at his buffer beam, the specks of coal dust and a drop of fitter’s oil shining to him as brightly as neon lights.

“B-b-b-but I need a wash down. Look at me, I’m filthy! I can’t pull coaches looking like this!”

“I am sorry James, but wouldn’t you rather there be enough clean water so you can fill your tanks without getting sick?”

“Of course not! I’d rather have clogged pipes then have to face enthusiasts looking like some common shunting engine!” James couldn’t believe how inconsiderate the foreman was behaving. “Can’t they just use some of the dirty water to clean me?”

“That’s not how it works!” The foreman said, eyes narrowing. “If you don’t mind Steve, we really need to get back to working on the new engine.”

“Of course – sorry about this Arnie.” James’ driver shook hands with the foreman and turned back towards the cab.

“What are you doing? Don’t just give up!” James screeched, his voice raising several octaves higher than normal. “I need to be clean!”

“James, you are making a scene. I know this is disappointing, but there is nothing we can do.”

James wheeshed steam furiously. “Making a scene? I’ll show you a scene!” And without hesitation, he began to whistle. The workmen all stopped what they were doing to cover their eyes as a high pitched shriek resonated around them. James’ face was beginning to match his paint under the strain of maintaining the amount of pressure needed, but he didn’t care: he had a point to prove, and he would not stop until he got what he wanted.

After several minutes, during which time both his driver and fireman tried to reason with him while attempting to stop the whistle, they gave up, time slipping away. They reversed James out of the shed, his whistling briefly silencing Margaret MacMillan’s protest, and a disgruntled porter switched the points so they could take him down the main line.

James tried to fight back, but couldn’t maintain his whistling and apply his brakes at the same time. Dejectedly, he gave up, settling instead with pulling the grumpiest face he could manage, and joylessly made his way to the Mainland.

***

James had known that as soon as he got back to Sodor, the Fat Controller would want to speak with him, he had prepared himself for that fate. However, he had expected to at least have the journey to Tidmouth to think about how he would defend himself.

What he hadn’t expected was to arrive at Vicarstown, his wheels barely back on Sudrian soil, and find his owner standing on the platform, withering look visible from metres down the line. James was stunned, but tried not to let his surprise show. Instead, he tried to look natural as he pulled into the station, as though this was an innocent surprise.

“Hello sir, is something wrong?” James asked cautiously, and knew right away that it was the wrong thing to say.

“Don’t try and pull that nonsense with me!” The Fat Controller boomed, his voice echoing throughout the empty station. “You have arrived home from an enthusiast’s job two days early, of course something is wrong! Would you care to explain your side of things, or shall we skip the excuses and jump straight to the punishment?”

James winced under the verbal assault, but he was ready enough and knew his version of events stacked up. Ignoring the clear exasperation on the Fat Controller’s face, James began his story.

In his opinion, James did not think it was his fault that he had been in a bad mood. He could not be blamed for the water shortage and the worker’s refusal to give him a wash down. His mood had come from a place of concern for how it would reflect on the railway, sending a dirty engine to pull such a special enthusiasts train.

Admittedly, James couldn’t say for certain that the coaches had been talking about him, but he felt strongly that was the case; why else would have they all been staring at him, twittering quietly as he went past? And why else would the other engine on the train have mentioned James’ paint if not to make fun of him? It may not have been the strongest of evidence, and perhaps James shouldn’t have bumped the coaches in revenge or refused to pull his weight when going up the hill, but what would it have said about Sodor if the Mainland engines thought they could mock them and get away with it?

“- obviously, this all could have been avoided if I had had a proper wash down, but really sir, what can we do about it now?”

“ENOUGH!”

James fell silent. It had been a long time since he had seen the Fat Controller this angry: his face had gone so red that if he had taken off the top hat he could have blended in with James’ paintwork. The tender engine knew his defence hadn’t worked, and with a sigh he braced himself for his punishment.

The Fat Controller paused momentarily, taking a deep breath and regaining his cool before carrying on. “Your excuses won’t work on me, James. I heard about the stunt you pulled at the works, right outside Margaret’s protest; you were in a foul mood well before you got to the railway. I don’t see how you are ‘defending Sodor’ when you go over there and glower at the passengers and treat the coaches like common coal trucks! There are passengers demanding refunds, for goodness sake!

“You acted selfishly because you value your appearance more than the importance of a hard day’s work. It may surprise you to learn this, James, but no one cares what an engine looks like as long as it shows up on time and gets the passengers there in one piece. If you don’t value your passengers, then maybe you shouldn’t take any coaches for the next few days.”

James gasped. “Are you sending me to the shed?”

“No, James, that isn’t really a punishment, is it? You don’t need a rest but I think BoCo and Bear might like one, so for the next few days you can relieve them of their goods trains. Perhaps the long runs between Tidmouth Harbour and Barrow will give you plenty of time to think about what type of engine you really want to be. Do you have anything else to say?”

The idea of pulling trucks revolted James, but if he said anything now, it would only make matters worse. Instead, he stared sheepishly down at his buffers in total silence.

“Excellent, you can get to work tonight.” The Fat Controller smiled and tipped his hat at James’ crew before turning to go, but paused at the last moment. “Oh, and James – don’t think you’ll be getting a wash down any time soon. I am sure all the coal dust and fuel will look wonderful with your paint.”

***

James had never spent the night in Barrow before, and after a few hours waiting there, he hoped he would never have to again.

“How do you live here?” He said with a shiver as another burst of sea wind blew through the yard.

Arianna glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow. “Comfortably, actually. Why, is there something wrong?”

“It smells like ocean for one thing.” Arianna laughed at this, and James glowered back at her. “Plus it is so dirty. Is it always like this on the Mainland?”

“Well, the siding I sat in for nearly a decade waiting to be restored was a bit grubby, but hey, that’s just one experience.”

James felt a moment of shame, but the feeling passed as the wind tickled his axles, making him jolt backwards in discomfort. “Good lord, when is that diesel getting here?”

“Will you be quiet?” Arianna snapped. “BoCo is never this noisy.”

“BoCo’s too boring to make any noise,” James fired back. The purple tank engine sighed and looked away, and James grinned triumphantly.

It was a minor win, but it was the only one he’d had today. After his crew had taken a few minutes to freshen up, James had to head back the way he’d come and park himself in a siding at Barrow, waiting for the Mainland diesel to arrive with the tankers he’d have to take back to Sodor.

A half-hour wait quickly stretched out to hours. James wasn’t sure what the delay was, and he didn’t care: he was more concerned about all the diesels coming past with passenger trains, staring at him as if he was a particularly interesting museum exhibit. The red engine was more aware than ever how filthy he was, and he had to look away as they passed, not wanting them to see his shame.

It didn’t help that he was next to a long line of empty tankers that the diesel was picking up when he arrived. James could see congealed streaks of fuel running down the sides of the trucks, and every time he felt a gust of wind, he expected splotches to blow onto him, tainting his paint further.

James took some relief in the fact it was now night and his filthy paint would be hidden in the dark, but it had brought on a new range of problems. He was parked with his tender to the station so he had no light to see by, only the crescent moon’s weak glow reflected off the ocean and the small yellow pool created by Arianna’s lamp. Every clang and bang in the distance sounded strange and unfamiliar, and James wished he was still with the enthusiasts; giggling coaches and condescending engines were far better than this torture.

His fear must have shown on his face, as he could see Arianna watching him with a superior smirk. “What do you want?”

“Scared of the dark, are you?” The tank engine purred. “Funny, from what I’ve heard of you, I would’ve thought you were far too proud for that.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark! I just don’t like being on the Mainland.”

“Why, do you think they still have diesels hunting for steam engines? That hasn’t happened for decades, if it even happened at all.”

“What do you mean, of course it happened!” James said incredulously. “We have an engine, Oliver, who escaped from scrap and had to hide –”

James fell silent. At the exact moment, the roar of a diesel sounded somewhere in the dark. His eyes flickered all around, trying to see where the noise was coming from, aware only that it was getting closer and closer.

“Careful James, the engine snatchers are coming for you!”

“That’s not funny,” James huffed as Arianna cackled. Suddenly, he saw a pinprick of light appear in the distance, and James tensed up. It could be the diesel he was waiting for, but there were no trucks rattling behind, only the unhealthy grumble of their engine, a guttural and pained sound that clearly didn’t belong to a diesel in the proper condition.

Beside him, Arianna fell silent, her face scrunching up in confusion. “That can’t be the right diesel – whatever it is, it should not be on the tracks let alone pulling fuel tankers.”

“I told you!” James hissed. He didn’t want to speak up in case the diesel heard and decided to come for him. However, as the headlights got clearer and closer, James realised the engine wasn’t coming towards him at all. “It’s heading to Sodor!”

“Maybe it’s a new engine?”

“Does that sound like a new engine to you?” James watched the diesel’s headlights until they had moved out of sight, leaving only the sound of their spluttering engine echoing throughout the yard. He and Arianna looked at each other, but neither of said anything, lost in curiosity and confusion to put it into words. James forgot about his paint and the long wait; by the time the tanker train finally arrived, he obediently followed his driver in silence, wondering what exactly he had just witnessed.

***

“My, my James, you look filthy. Looks like you could really use a wash down.”

Henry’s laugh resonated from every corner of the station, but James was too tired to care. He slinked slowly into Tidmouth, his wheels protesting with every metre he moved. He glowered at the green engine as he came to a stop alongside, but sighed and let the jibe slide, too tired and distracted to care.

“Have you seen the Fat Controller?”

“No, not recently,” Henry said with a slight huff, clearly disappointed by James’ reaction. “I am sure he is here but I imagine he is avoiding them.” The two engines looked to the back of the station, where a crowd was gathered around the bust of the famous author.

James wasn’t sure why they were there, but he was pleased they were the only people around. He knew his paint really was dirty, the smell of fish hanging over him after delivering the trucks to the harbour, and the fewer people who saw him the better. Thankfully, the crowd seemed far too focused on chanting something to notice James, and all eyes in the station were focused on them.

“I think I saw that group at the Works the other day.”

“They’ve been going around the railway protesting,” Henry explained. “I saw them at Wellsworth yesterday; they shouted at me when I pulled up and they blocked my passengers from getting on.”

James frowned, not sure what to make of the situation. It would have to wait though, as he had more important matters on his mind.

“You haven’t seen any new diesels around lately, have you?” He asked Henry.

The green engine raised an eyebrow in response. “You mean Delphine?”

“No, no, not her, I mean new as in arrived today.”

“Today? I left the sheds twenty minutes ago – unless they were disguised as Donald, then no, I’ve seen no one.” A smile appeared on Henry’s face again. “Why, did a diesel spook you on the Other Railway? I thought you got over this irrational fear of them years ago.”

“I’m not afraid!” James hissed, but Henry only laughed harder. A guard’s whistle sounded, the sharp sound briefly cutting over the protestors chant, and James spluttered as Henry blew steam in his face.

“There you go, that might clean some dirt off for you!” And Henry chortled all the way out of the station, leaving James to seethe. He was so frustrated he didn’t notice Emily pulling up on the other side of the platform, ignoring her friendly whistle.

I am not being irrational; I heard it, Arianna heard it, we saw it coming here. There is a diesel here, and the Fat Controller needs to know!

James was about to ask his crew to take him back to the shed when a groan sounded nearby. He looked around and saw The Fat Controller hovering in the doorway leading to his office, mumbling to his assistants.

“Sir, sir!” James cried. His shout echoed and he heard the chant quieten down, but he was too energised to notice. “Sir, I have something important to tell you! Last night I heard this spluttering diesel and –”

“I don’t have time for your nonsense, James; can’t you see I’m busy?” The Fat Controller snapped. He turned and walked away before James could say another word, the placard-waving crowd hot on his heels.

James was crushed. He was filthy, he was tired, and now he couldn’t even get the Fat Controller to pay attention to him for five minutes. He could try telling the other engines, but he could easily guess how they would react after the way Henry had laughed. He was a joke, a paint obsessed clown, and no matter how serious, anything he said or did in the next week would be held alongside that.

Dejected, James was about to head back to the sheds when a soft Scottish accent piped up over the buzz of the protestors. “A sputtering diesel, you say? We must have heard the same one.”

James jumped; he hadn’t noticed Emily pull up, and for a moment his eyes darted around before settling on her, wondering if he was imagining voices in his fatigued state. “You heard the diesel as well?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I did,” Emily said, her face quizzical. “Something woke me up last night at any rate. A lot of trains come past our shed and normally I can sleep through anything, but this diesel made such a racket, it sounded unhealthy like something was –”

“Something wrong with it, yes, yes!” James was so excited he whistled with glee. “I knew I was right – Arianna heard it as well, and we thought it was heading to Sodor but we weren’t sure.”

“I can’t be certain it was the same noise, but something definitely came past my shed last night, that’s for certain.” Emily paused there, frowning. “I don’t know where it went afterwards, though.”

“But Vicarstown was deserted before they reopened the station – there are so many sidings around there it could have hidden.”

“Are you suggesting we go looking for it?”

James laughed and flashed his widest grin at Emily. “Yes, Emily, that’s exactly what we need to do.”

***

All was quiet as dusk settled over the Vicarstown yard. Construction work on the station had ended for the day, and while some passenger trains would carry on into the night, none would disturb the peace of the yard. James could remember how busy it had been when he had started on Sodor, the hub around which the whole island seemed to spin; now, unwanted trucks rotted in sidings while the turntable creaked as it battled rust and grime to operate.

The darker it got the more abandoned and disturbed the yard became, but James was too excited to pay much attention to twisted shadows covering the tracks. He felt like he was on a grand adventure, and all the worry he had felt that morning had melted away: he had a job to do now, one that would the others take him seriously again, and he wasn’t going to rest until it was done.

“I don’t know what you think you’ll find here.”

James glanced grumpily at Arthur. “The diesel, that’s what I am going to find!”

“That is not what I meant,” Arthur replied as he rolled backward into the shed. “I mean, yes, there are some sidings that haven’t been cleared yet, but I think we would have all heard the diesel if they came cluttering through the yard.”

“Emily heard it though,” James replied defensively, looking across at his comrade, and was dismayed by her enthusiasm.

“I said I heard it, I didn’t say how close. It could have gone through the station or come completely past the yard. It might be hiding on the Norramby line?”

“I would have seen it,” Murdoch interjected quietly, as though unwilling to get involved in the discussion.

James huffed and glowered between the various engines. This wasn’t what he needed. It had been hard enough convincing his crew to come here, and they might not stay on board if the other engines didn’t help out.

Emily seemed to see his frustration and smiled gently at him. “I am still going to help you, don’t worry, it’s just… Arthur could be right; we have no idea where the engine is, we might be looking in the entirely wrong spot.”

The words had barely left her mouth when something suddenly rumbled behind them. The four engines all jumped and looked at each other. James was terrified for a moment before he began smiling. This could be easier than expected, he thought, and started down the line, waiting for the diesel to emerge and admit defeat.

His joy passed the second the rumbling figure moved into the light of the sheds. “What are you doing here?”

Arianna raised an eyebrow as she slid to a stop. “A diesel broke down at Barrow so I offered to bring the trucks over rather than wait for one of you lazy lot to get there.”

“That’s not one of your jobs,” James grunted, but then the truth dawned on him. “You want to find the diesel as well, don’t you?”

“Pretty much,” Arianna replied with a cheeky grin. “As much as it pains me to admit it, you were right last night; it is bloody boring being stuck in that yard all day. That diesel is all I could think about today, and I’m not going to sit and wait for someone to bring the gossip to me. So, have you had any luck?” She added as she shunted the trucks away.

“None. We were just about to start looking through the sidings.”

Arianna shook her buffers. “No point. I kept my eyes peeled as I came past and I couldn’t see anything that resembled a diesel. Sorry gang, but you’ll need to look somewhere else.”

James didn’t respond, letting that sink in. What were they meant to do now? There was no way they could search the whole island on their own. If they couldn’t find the diesel, he would be nothing but the foolish engine that let dirty paint get in the way of a special train. The Fat Controller would stay mad at him, the other engines would continue to laugh at him, and his paint would only get dirtier and dirtier.

James could feel the other engines watching him, but he refused to meet their eyes, disappointment weighing on him once again. If he could he would simply roll out of the yard and forget about it all, he would.

“What are all these engines doing here? I am not sharing my shed with them!”

James looked up as a green tender engine appeared, reversing towards the shed. Norramby Hall was glowering at him and Arianna with great suspicion.

“Don’t you start, Robert,” Emily sighed. “We are trying to find that diesel we heard last night and we’ve hit… we’ve hit a setback.”

James perked up. “You heard it too?”

“Of course, who wouldn’t have?” Robert scoffed. “There I was sleeping peacefully, and suddenly some diesel comes clanking and clanging past the shed with the most dreadful engine I have ever heard. If you find the engine, drag them off to the works and tell them to put a silencer on that thing!”

“I’ll make sure to do that if we do actually find it,” James responded bitterly, “but we don’t really have that many places to look.”

“What about the new line?” Murdoch offered.

“Which one, there are a dozen!” Emily sighed.

“The new northern branch line, it could have gone there. I was meant to take trucks there today but they still haven’t cleared a landslide that happened during the storm last week. They’ve had to stop work while the engineers inspect it.”

“Murdoch, that’s brilliant, why didn’t you say anything before?” Emily said.

Murdoch looked away sheepishly. “Oh, I didn’t want to cause a fuss, it’s a silly idea, really, I’m sure I’m wrong –”

“Nonsense, this is the break we’ve been looking for! Shall we head there now, James – James?” Emily looked down the track, the red engine’s tender already disappearing into the distance, Arianna in close pursuit. With a joyous sigh, Emily set off after him.

James raced through the yard with such speed you’d think he was being chased. The sound of his wheels pounding the rails echoed through the empty sidings, but James didn’t notice the racket he was making, his attention focused on getting to the new line, on proving himself.

Within a minute he had left the yard and was roaring past the station. The new line jutted off of the main line, a sharp turn heading along the previously untapped coastline. If it was any other situation, James might have stopped to savour the new sights; the untapped fields, the clusters of houses dotting the seaside, the shimmering darkness of the ocean stretched out alongside him. Yet this was no ordinary situation, and there was no time to acknowledge Sodor’s beauty.

“How far until we hit the landslide?” He yelled into the dark.

“How would I know?” Arianna shouted back, and James tutted. “Just pay attention and try not to drive into it.”

“Helpful!” James huffed. He stared at the track ahead, but the beam of his lamp only went so far, and everything outside of its glow was indistinguishable in the rapidly fading light. James didn’t let it stop him but kept his mind on his brakes, ready to apply them when needed.

Suddenly, something bright and unnatural leapt out from the darkness. James gasped as he smacked into an orange warning sign, the reflective metal hitting him on the nose before being flung off into the night. He looked at the track and saw dirt was starting to pile up on the outskirts of the yellow glow guiding him onwards. Without a moment’s hesitation, James slammed his brakes on, just as a face began to emerge in the distance.

“STOP, PLEASE!”

James screeched to a stop, hitting his brakes with such force his tender slammed into him, sending a metallic shudder through his body. As he skidded to a long, painful stop, he felt a second, larger thump as Arianna hit his buffers, pushing him further down the line. A boxy shape was caught in the light of his lamp, and James tensed, preparing himself for impact.

He opened his eyes a few seconds later, finally at a stop, and found a frightened, grime-covered face staring nervously back at him mere centimetres from his own.

James struggled to contain his excitement. He had found the diesel! The feeling didn’t last long though: as he stared at the perplexed engine, the more confused James felt. What was he meant to do now?

“Hello,” he said finally, looking around as though the words would come to him in the night.

“Hello,” the diesel replied, his voice soft and quiet but with a touch of weariness behind it. While his crew approached the diesel’s, James tried to get a better look at the engine. From this distance, he could only see a hint of his maroon paintwork, but it was clear this definitely was the right engine; his buffers were coated in rust and oil splotches, there were black marks that covered his face and windows, and the pungent smell of fuel hung in the air.

“I must say, you are quite filthy,” James said before he could stop himself.

“Speak for yourself!” The diesel fired back. James was taken aback by the insult, but almost instantly he began giggling. The diesel’s surprise turned into a smirk, and soon both engines were laughing loudly and shamelessly into the night.

***

Word reached the Fat Controller about the discovery just in time for him to catch the 6:17 train. It was a long wait for James, Emily, Arianna and the diesel, but finally, they saw the distant gleam of headlights, and a few minutes later BoCo was sliding into the station, an amused glint in his eyes.

“What have you three got up to?” He chuckled as he came to a stop. The engines were too nervous to reply and instead watched as the carriage doors banged open. James tensed as the Fat Controller emerged and strolled purposefully towards the diesel’s crew. No one said a word, all watching as the Fat Controller exchanged words with the driver before casting his eyes over the diesel. Silence filled Vicarstown, the tension disturbed only by BoCo humming out of the station a minute later.

James held his breath. He hadn’t spoken at all, not since his driver had told him he would be pulling the diesel back to the station. The maroon engine had clammed up at that, seemingly terrified by what would happen to him. James had pulled him in silence, forgetting all about his paint and showing up to the other engines, wondering instead if he had done something horribly wrong. Why is he here? Has he fled here, does he need our help? He must have been hiding in that siding for a reason?

In the station light, James could see more of the diesel. He was the same length as BoCo, possibly longer, and was dirty from buffer to buffer. Rust, grease, oil, it was all there, with scorch marks around his engine cover the most notable stain, maroon paint burnt black. James didn’t know what he could do, but he just wanted to help the diesel however possible.

After what felt like hours of gazing at the diesel, the Fat Controller looked briefly at James, a smirk across his face, and the red engine tensed, but when the bald man spoke, it wasn’t to him. “What is your name?” The controller said finally, eyes flickering back to the diesel.

The diesel gulped. “I was named after a baron, sir, but I was not fond of his name – it was Maurice, you see – so everyone just calls me Baron, sir.”

“A much more suitable name.” The Fat Controller turned to James, his face neutral, but the red engine nearly whistled in glee as he caught a familiar shine in his eyes. “James, would you please escort Baron to the Workshop? The men can give him a proper examination in the morning.”

“Does this mean… can I stay here?” Baron wheezed.

“Perhaps; I will need to talk to your crew further and find out the facts, but if you are in a good condition, you might just solve a political issue I am having at the moment.” The Fat Controller paused there and turned back to his own engines, eyes suddenly serious.

“I am not sure what possessed you three decided to go racing down a dangerous and unfished branch line. It would be remiss of me not to warn you three against doing something so reckless, idiotic and dangerous again in the future.” The Fat Controller stepped back, a smile betraying the harshness of his words. “Yet Baron here may never have been found if not for you three, so I must thank you – you especially, James, as I hear this was all your idea.”

“It – it – it was nothing, sir,” the red engine replied quietly. He looked back at the Fat Controller, saw the pride across his face, and suddenly James couldn’t take it any longer. “Sir, I didn’t seek out to save Baron. When I heard an engine sneaking here last night, I thought that, if I found the diesel, you might forgive me for what happened the other day. I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t deserve your praise.”

The Fat Controller didn’t say anything, he simply nodded, gazing up at the ceiling. James gazed down at his buffers, unable to meet Baron’s eyes.

“James, while you are at the Works, make sure your crew arranges a time tomorrow for you to head back and get a proper wash down.”

James looked up, confused. “Sorry sir, what did you say?”

“I think you heard me, James,” the Fat Controller replied, smiling kindly. “You may think you were acting selfishly, and perhaps you were, just a little bit, but by trying to redeem yourself, no matter your justifications, you are behaving like the type of engine I want to see on my railway: one who wants to be accepted as part of a team, not a lone individual only thinking of themselves. And really, James, you can’t be part of my team looking like that – whatever will the engines on the Other Railway think?”

It took a moment for James to realise what the Fat Controller had said, and then he laughed along with him. He was relieved to see Baron was smiling again, clearly holding no ill feelings, and James felt as though a weight had been lifted off of him.

This is better than taking twenty enthusiasts trains, he thought as he joined in on the chorus of whistles. The Fat Controller was right – it doesn’t matter how clean my paint is, what matters is doing good, there is no feeling better than that!

“It’s pity you’re getting cleaned,” Arianna whispered behind him. “All that soot was starting to grow on you.”

James glowered back at her. Okay, maybe not… still… And as James set off back into the night, Baron clanking and spluttering in front of him, he couldn’t help smiling. It may not be orthodox what had happened, but they had got there in the end. It felt corny for James to admit it, but as he looked at Baron’s happy, relieved face, he knew the type of engine he wanted to be: supportive, cooperative, really useful – and most of all, clean.

 

[lucarioknight56]

Awards review time!

Plot: Over the course of five chapters, we see things gradually escalating into the centenary celebration of Sodor and the trains on it. There are many subplots happening in the midst of this, and while they may be somewhat disconnected, it all comes together through the theme of entering old age and how to deal with it. This, along with foreshadowing for the future, makes me intrigued to see where it goes--even if it might take a while to get there, what with the focus on the side characters' stories.

Setting: I am not terribly familiar with the setting of Sodor, but I was able to call on my childhood memories of watching the series. I honestly didn't care for watching it so much, but I did like the English setting. And AceTrainer14 makes it beautiful. The location description, along with the narrator that, in my mind, sounds remarkably like who narrates the actual series, does wonders in helping readers understand what is happening in the world in the time period.

Characterization: I am not familiar with the characters, but thanks to them having their time to shine, they receive the development they deserve in order to help ground the island of Sodor into reality. The stories of the characters--the tank engines in particular--all focus around the growing age of the island and the beloved trains on it. While each train has their own take on this fact of life, when most of the subplots focus on accidents due to the insecurities of the trains, it comes off as repetitive, despite the different reactions. Still, all feel distinct despite it..

Writing Style: It reads as if the gentle narrator of the series is coming back and telling an expansion of the story, and it works wonderfully well. I have no qualms with it, as it brings in new details without losing the pacing of the core story, and describes characters in their environments perfectly.

Technical: There are mistakes throughout, particularly homonym errors, but it didn't usually interrupt my reading.

 

[diamondpearl876]

Post awards review time! Congrats on the win! tldr; this was overall a treat to read, and I was glad to finally be able to sink my teeth into it, so to speak. xD

Plot

I'm not sure if this was your intention, but this strikes me as a slice-of-life fic, so I don't have much to say in terms of what happens. Judging by what's already here, the plot lays a solid foundation for the character cast through everyday events: what the day-to-day looks like for the railway in contrast/comparison to what changes have happened at the railway over the course of 100+ years, then how all of this has affected the characters (human or otherwise)... all the while setting up the details for the upcoming centenary. The pacing feels kind of slow in terms of things that happen, but it's also perfect pacing for delving deep into the large character cast. No single character gets too much or too little spotlight; the scenes rotate characters flawlessly so that you don't necessarily forget about a character despite the large cast; and character-specific subplots alternate in an order that leaves the story feeling extremely well rounded.

I will say each chapter on the surface feels kind of like an isolated one-shot, and that's because all the characters share one common theme: the fear of getting old and becoming useless. Yet when you get down to the details, all the characters and their subplots tie in to set up for the upcoming centenary, serving as obstacles for the characters as they decide if they're looking forward to it or not, what's going to happen to them in the future, what's going to happen to the railway in the future, and so on. My criticism here would boil down to making the aforementioned fear more nuanced among each character, which I'll get into in Characterization.

There's hints at things looming on the horizon, such as a secret Thomas is keeping from the other characters and is at risk of having it be revealed at the centenary that'll celebrate his 100th birthday. There's also a fair amount of incidents the train characters get into as a result of external factors (ie., environmental failings and the railway not being taken care of properly over the years) and internal factors (ie., characters wanting to prove they're capable of doing something) that are all going to be addressed at the upcoming centenary. These aspects do make your story feel like an actual story with a plot that stretches out across chapters rather than a series of one-shots, however loose the connection felt to me when I was actually reading.

Setting

As per the fandom, trains are sentient in this setting. They're portrayed as and treated as humans, for the most part. The thing that confuses me the most is why trains are so afraid of being discarded in the scrap heap? It seems they're left there to be alone and be in disrepair for years and years on end if they're totally useless. Which is fine on the surface. But drivers and the Fat Controller all treat the trains humanely otherwise - considering their opinions on what carts to pull and locations they like to travel through, allowing them to control their own brakes, having full conversations as friends, and so on. Basically, trains are accepted in everyday society in this world, and it's to the point where they've got a little society of their own (ie., diesels are frowned upon compared to other types of trains due to being outdated). So is the fear of the scrap heap irrational, or is there some other basis I'm missing?

Also, maybe a dumb question, but can the trains die? Some are nearing 150 years of life, and there's talk of them surviving human deaths, but I'm not sure how death works for the trains. That sounds morbid, but with the recurrent theme of getting old, there's a surprising lack of reflection on the concept of true death from every single train character.

The main location is Sodor, although the characters reminisce and travel to adjacent areas often, as trains are wont to do. Disclaimer: I don't know anything specific about railways in the fandom or the real world. But I do know that the setting is described beautifully and vividly throughout each chapter. And there's a lot of detail pertaining to how the railway works and how important it is to the world. So basically, while I can't tell if what you wrote is from the canon or if there's original stuff in here, I can tell you that the writing paints a very good portrait of what the world is like from a variety of perspectives.

Characterization

I mentioned a fair amount of this in Plot, since this feels rather like character driven fic. But basically, each character feels distinct from one another, even the minor characters who don't show up often. Barry is a paranoid wreck who's always questioning everything; Delphine is shy and sensitive, and her main goal is to try to make new connections with people in a new place; James has a thing about keeping his appearance well maintained at all times and is extremely assertive to try to get what he wants; and so on.

Again, there's a common theme running through most of the characters, if not all of them. They're all afraid of getting old and what that means for them, plus what's going to happen to them in the future. The theme is handled well overall, but all the characters start to feel the same when they all try to act recklessly to prove they're capable. This results in numerous accidents which cause property damage, minor injuries to train passengers, and so on. By the third or fourth accident like this, it gets tiring. To be fair, there's some variation, such as with Barry throwing a fit to avoid a location he was in an accident before, but I'd suggest branching out to events and subplots that don't involve accidents.

Writing Style

The story is character driven, but third person limited works well here. The switches in point of view are flawless, and the quality of the fic is fantastic all the way through. The dialogue is also distinct across characters, even for minor characters; they've got a little bit of an old-fashioned accent to them. I could actually hear their voices in my head as I was reading.

Technical

There's actually quite a few scattered throughout. Mostly, there's words missing or an extra word added that shouldn't be there, and there's a fair amount of mixing up of "there/their/they're" and "your/you're" and the like. It was distracting, but it probably wouldn't have been if I weren't judging awards with a technical category to think of as I was reading.

 

[AceTrainer14]

Thanks @lucarioknight56 and @diamondpearl876 for the feedback, it was much appreciated. One thing I would argue is that, of the three accidents displayed in this story to this point, each one has been caused by different things; Edward attempting to prove his age, Henry's was due to structural failings outside of his control, and Gordon's was a combination of his speed, the weather and outside factors. I do accept that the theme is a little repetitive, but things diversify more when we get to the next act.

Speaking of, about time I updated this story here!

**

The Tracks are Always Greener

April 2015

It hadn’t been a very good day, even before the cow appeared.

Though that was not what Percy had expected when his shed doors had been flung open that morning. As he breathed in the crisp morning air and peered out into the Ffarquhar yard, he had been pleasantly surprised to see the sun shining through a haze of steely clouds.

A sunny day, that’s always a good sign. Percy had felt hopeful at that point; good weather meant good travels, and a day without any fuss or bother was what the engines needed.

Percy had been looking for positive signs wherever he could lately. They all were. It wasn’t that things were bad; it was simply that they were not as good as they could be. The centenary was fast approaching, but no one could focus on it long enough to be excited. With accident after accident plaguing the railway, and the vendetta it had sparked in the local MP, a dark cloud hovered over the railway, and everyone was too uncertain to think about the future.

Thankfully, there was one thing to distract them. “Any news?” Rosie asked excitably when her driver arrived. She was the keenest to hear about this mysterious Baron who had arrived on the island two days earlier under a cloud of secrecy. She, alongside nearly every engine on the railway, had latched onto the news, a welcome distraction they so desperately craved.

“I only just arrived at work, what would I know?” Rosie’s driver chuckled and strolled into the shed, not noticing the crestfallen look that every engine was wearing.

“Cheer up, Rosie,” Percy said. “You shouldn’t be frowning when it’s such a beautiful day!”

Rosie looked at him and looked at the clouds. “It looks like it’s going to rain,” she said mournfully.

Percy’s firebox sank. Dismayed, he looked to his left and saw Thomas was staring at the clouds. “Nice to see someone is appreciating the weather.”

“Hmm?” Thomas looked around, eyebrow raised. “Sorry Percy, I was a million miles away. Did you say something?”

“Nothing important,” Percy replied, trying to keep his smile up. Silence hung between them for a moment as the saddle tank tried to find a new topic. “Can you believe James of all engines tracked down the diesel? A bit ironic, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“I... I think so…”

Thomas made a ‘hmm’ sound again. “I’m not sure that is irony. When my driver explained it to me once –”

“I just meant it’s funny that James found a diesel, given how he always used to be so testy around them,” Percy interrupted quickly. “Strange, isn’t it, a diesel running away from the Mainland. I wonder why they did it.”

Suddenly, Thomas was cross. “Look, Percy, I don’t want to keep talking about this diesel. You spent all night twittering on about it, and I don’t want to be barraged with the same topic again first thing in the morning!”

“Well… excuse me for trying to make conversation!” Percy huffed. “If I had known you were in a bad mood, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“I’m only in a bad mood because you bothered me!”

Thomas had set off on that note, leaving in a furious cloud of steam. It took a few minutes to clear, and when it did, Percy saw Toby watching him from the other side, smiling sympathetically before following after the blue engine.

It had all been downhill from there. Annoyingly, despite the early summer sun, Thomas’ bad mood proved contagious. When Percy left the sheds a few minutes later, he was still fuming. Thomas had acting strangely for weeks now, and Percy had borne the brunt of it, as he had for years. Why was it always him on the receiving end? Why did Thomas never snap at Toby or Rosie or even Titan – he was new, let him have it for a change!

When Percy had reached the yard, his mood had darkened. The trucks had been scattered all over the sidings, which meant more time would have to be spent shunting them together. Percy had known it was not the trucks fault, but being in the mood he had been in, it was therapeutic to take it out on them; with the vigour of a much younger engine, he banged into every truck he came across, hitting some with such force they went hurtling down the tracks. “No need for that nonsense!” One huffed.

“Be quiet!” Percy snapped back, and gave it another push.

The regret did not come until later. When Percy had finally shunted the trucks he needed into order, he had rolled around to the front of the train and coupled up. Not contemplating his treatment of the trucks, he had tried to push them out of the yard straight away.

The trucks saw things a little differently. “You push us, we push you! You push us, we push you!” They chanted, their shrill laughs filling the yard. Percy groaned and pushed with all his might, but the trucks had slipped their breaks on and refused to budge.

It took fifteen minutes for his crew and the guards to go down the line and manually release them, costing everyone valuable times. As they were running late, they had to wait for Flora to head down the line first, leaving Percy to stew at the station, the trucks chattering and chanting away behind him, pushing his temper up even further.

Now Percy was finally starting his work proper, almost an hour after leaving the sheds. Leaving the yards and the delays behind him, the tank engine let his emotions flow into his side-rods; he pounded down the rails with renewed strength, the wind blasting against his face. His quarrel with Thomas lingered on his mind, but when Percy left the Hackenbeck Tunnel and saw the sun shining above, he smiled. It’s still early, he thought to himself, there’s still a chance this day could go well.

Then the cow appeared.

It all happened at once. Percy was so busy trying not to think about Thomas and the trucks that he wasn’t paying attention to the track ahead. He turned a corner and registered only as his brakes were applied that there was a large cow standing in his path. His wheels screeched, his side-rods seized, the trucks slammed into him, and Percy shut his eyes, preparing for the worst.

His wheels hit something, and Percy cried out as a sharp pain spread across his left side. He waited a moment to see if it would pass, and when it didn’t, he opened his eyes and found the cow staring right at him. It appeared unharmed, and actually seemed quite cute, except for her warm breath that made Percy recoil. There was a crunch beside him, and he looked down to see his driver and fireman investigating his side.

“Something hit me,” Percy wailed. “I thought it was the cow.”

“It’s not the cow, but it’s certainly her fault.” His driver appeared beside the animal, holding up a large plank of wood. “Looks like she broke through the fence and dragged part of it with her. Your side-rod is broken, we aren’t going anywhere.”

Percy looked between his driver and the cow. He had a sudden urge to wheesh steam like Thomas and disappear, but he was too beaten to do anything. He simply had to sit there, waiting for help to arrive with only the cow for company. The trucks chittered away, and his crew talked about what to do about the cow, but Percy said nothing, simply accepting the defeat for what it was.

After a period – it could have been a few minutes, it could have been an hour, Percy had no idea – a horn sounded nearby, and there was a rattle as Daisy pulled up on the other line.

“Oh, Percy! What have you done now?”

Percy looked indignantly up at the diesel, matching her glower as she stared narrowly at him. “Don’t look at me like that! It’s not like I planned this.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Daisy replied sardonically with a roll of her eyes. “Is this cow a friend of yours? It seems quite attached to you.”

“No, she’s not,” Percy huffed, and stared angrily at the cow as it continued to stand near him, watching him with a kind of infatuated curiosity.

Daisy chuckled and rolled her eyes again. “Oh, Percy, you really are a character.”

Percy didn’t know what Daisy meant by that, but he had a feeling it wasn’t a compliment. He didn’t say another word to her as they waited for the farmer to retrieve his cow. A moody, heavy silence hung in the air. Percy looked back at the sky and saw that clouds have moved to cover the sun, and he could only sigh.


***


“Well, well, well, what have you done now?”

“Would you all stop asking me that?” Percy huffed, and Henry merely laughed.

It had been only half an hour since he had broken down, but to Percy, it felt like much longer. After the cow had been taken away, Titan arrived and pushed Percy and his train down to Knapford. The stationmaster had arranged for an engine on the main line to push Percy to the Works; when Percy had been told of the plan, he had hoped it wouldn’t be one of the big engines. Henry’s greeting confirmed why.

“So, you had a run-in with a cow?” The tender engine chuckled as Titan shunted Percy onto the main line. “Who’d have thought a cow would prove the best of you?”

“That’s a bit rich,” Percy snorted. “At least I didn’t run away from it. I mean, what sort of engine is afraid of a cow?”

“Watch it, you!” Henry grunted, giving Percy a little push as he buffered up to him. “I don’t have to shove you to the Works, I could just leave you here – or maybe take you all the way to the Mainland; you can meet whatever it is that scared the new engine here.”

Percy knew better than to get into an argument with Henry. There really was no winning when it came to him, Gordon and James – it had been that way for years, ever since he had been their pilot engine. No matter how many tricks he played or how many ways he teased them, they always got the last laugh, and Percy was in no mood to try and change that now.

They set off as soon as the two engines were coupled together. It was not often that Percy got out on the main line, and he felt his tension slacken as he passed towns and stations he never got a chance to see. The people waiting on the platforms seemed surprised to see two engines pulling their train, and phones flashed as they snapped a picture of the rare sight. Murdoch and Bear passed on the other track and whistled and honked in greeting, and Percy began to cheer up.

He was surprised by how many sights stirred up memories within him. The siding he had crashed into, only a few weeks after arriving on the island, was still there, though the landscape had changed a lot over the decades. As they approached Gordon’s Hill and Henry began to gather his strength, Percy remembered what a struggle it had been when he, Thomas and Duck had taken the Express. The coupling between him and Henry tightened as gravity pulled the coaches back, and Percy smiled reflectively.

The joy was short-lived. As they sailed down the other side of the hill, Wellsworth waiting for them in the distance, Percy saw James was climbing up on the other line.

“Had another accident, has he?” The red engine called.

“What do you think?” Henry was breathless from the climb but his smirk still shone through in his voice.

“Typical!” James snorted, and the big engines laughter echoed across the hill.

Percy sank back into his mood for the rest of the journey, barely even acknowledging Delphine when she tried to introduce herself at Wellsworth. He just wanted to get his side-rod fixed and put this behind him as the terrible day that it was.

Finally, the big yard appeared, and Percy smiled with relief. It was bustling and busy as always; Arthur waiting with trucks, Emily pulling in with her green coaches. They both smiled at him, and Percy returned the gesture, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“How funny. I don’t think I’ve ever been greeted by two engines before.”

Percy looked around, wondering where the voice had come from, before remembering the little railway that terminated at Crovan’s Gate. He relaxed when spotted the boxy red engine smiling up at him.

“Hello there,” the engine said. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Ivo Hugh.”

“Percy, nice to meet you.” He rarely thought about the other railways on the island, but it was always a nice reminder of how much bigger the world was than just Thomas’ branch line.

“Oh yes, I think I’ve heard of you,” Ivo Hugh replied, nodding as he cast his mind back. “Henry and the others always tell me stories about your railway. I like hearing about all you big engines.”

Percy laughed. “I’m not that big.”

“Compared to me you are,” Ivo Hugh chuckled. “These things are all a matter of perspective in the end, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, I suppose your right.”

“You may be big to him, but you’re still smaller than me,” Henry sniggered. He jolted forwards, making Percy’s wheels judder. “Come on, I can’t hang around all day while you chat to everybody!”

Percy scowled but said nothing, not wanting to start an argument. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too – have fun at the Works!” Ivo Hugh whistled in farewell, and Percy sounded his in reply, pleased that at least one engine wasn’t looking down at him.

It was a short trip across the yard before Percy finally reached the works. The tank engine had expected it to be busy, it always was, but he was surprised by how crowded it was. There were four other engines in there, each one surrounded by more people than Percy had ever seen inside the Works before. Most of them were far too well dressed to be workmen, and they seemed disgruntled to move as Percy was slowly pushed in behind them.

It was only when Percy came to a stop alongside Wilson that he was able to see why they were all here. Near the middle of the shed, the Fat Controller was standing next to an engine Percy had never seen before. A woman and the foreman stood on the other side, while a semicircle of flashing cameras enclosed them.

“Is that Baron?” Percy whispered, and Wilson nodded, a serious look in his eyes.

“Of course I am pleased!” The Fat Controller suddenly boomed, and Percy realised that he was being interviewed, that these non-workers were journalists. “With the railway continuing to grow every day, it is important that we have enough engines to work the lines and deliver the level of service our customers expect. So yes, I expect Baron will make a fine addition to our fleet.”

“You must be relieved, though,” one of the camera bearers called out. “To have a diesel turn up out of the blue like that, right when the public pressure to modernise was hitting fever pitch?”

The Fat Controller looked sheepish, but before he could reply, the woman leant forwards. “Oh, now Peter, I am sure that Sir Topham would have purchased a new diesel anyway. Our little campaign, if you will, was just there to move things along a little bit, and, well, Baron’s arrival definitely moved things along!”

There was a ripple of laughter through the crowd, but Percy frowned. What was this talk of modernisation? Where had that come from?

“Are you satisfied than, thenMacMillan?” The same reporter asked. “Now that there is another diesel on the railway, is this the end of your campaign?”

The politician chuckled at the question, and she reached out with her thin hands, putting them on the Fat Controller’s shoulders. “For now,” she said, beaming broadly, and the camera flashes intensified.

“That will be all,” a woman in a black suit said, and the swarm around Baron broke apart. The Fat Controller and Mrs MacMillan remained locked in conversation, their smiles fading, and Percy felt dreadfully confused. What exactly was going on?

Before he could dwell on it any further, the foreman emerged from the crowd. “Ah, Percy, we’ve been expecting you. Broken side-rod, was it?”

“Yes sir, a cow strayed onto the line.”

“Oh dear, I bet that hurt!” The worker said, peering at the affected area and shaking his head. “We’ll try and get you fixed up as soon as possible, but as you can probably imagine, we are a bit stretched at the moment. Cole’s got a leak somewhere we need to find, and there’s an engine to be a restored and an engine to be entirely built.”

“That’s alright, I don’t mind waiting,” Percy replied, thinking of the tense atmosphere he’d left behind. A few hours spent at the Works might just be the thing to clear his mind.

As the workers returned to their jobs and the scrum of journalists dispersed, the Works began to feel normal again: busy, but busy with a purpose. The sounds of machines whirring, hammers hitting metal, and grunting workers replaced the flashing of cameras and hum of a crowd, and Percy began to relax again. He could see Baron a bit clearer now, Cole blocking his view, but the diesel looked relaxed as his maroon paint was retouched by a trio of bustling workers. In a far corner, the new engine, Cyclone, was resting, seemingly oblivious as pipes were welded into place. This was the centenary atmosphere Percy had been missing; new things happening, old things being recognised, none of the worries and doubts that seemed to be plaguing the rest of the island. There’s still hope, he thought with a smile.

Yet, once again, the mood didn’t last long.

“Out of the way, out of the way!” A booming voice thundered behind him, and Percy looked around as Gordon rumbled to a stop.

“You could just use your whistle, you know.”

Gordon tutted. “I am here because of my whistle, thank you very much! A paint can fell from the scaffolding at Vicarstown and dislodged it, I need it fixed immediately.”

“Well, you might have to wait – there is a line.”

“Ha!” Gordon snorted. “You may not know this, little Percy, but when you are an important engine doing important work that actually matters, there is no such thing as waiting; the matter gets addressed immediately so you can go back to being important. Maybe one day you will know what that feels like.”

Percy huffed. “I am important, what I do matters!”

“It’s nice that you tell yourself that,” Gordon said derisively.

Percy went to reply, but a pair of footsteps silenced him. He looked up in time to see the Fat Controller was walking past, deep in conversation with the politician. Percy put on his widest smile, hoping to attract his manager’s attention, and was pleased when the bald man looked up.

“Ah, hello there Percy!” He said, his own frown quickly turning into a smile, and he stopped. Mrs MacMillan looked up as well and made no effort to change her face, casting her eyes sternly over the tank engine.

“My, my, Richard; three engines here at once, is this a record or merely the start of a regular day for your railway?” She laughed coldly and carried on, leaving the Fat Controller red-faced and fuming in her wake.

“Hello sir, how are –” Percy began, but the Fat Controller walked off without another word, waving almost dismissively as he disappeared from view.

“Point proved.” Gordon chuckled as if in triumph and looked knowingly at Percy. The tank engine said nothing in response. He couldn’t argue back when there was nothing for him to say. He simply sat there in silence, no longer looking forward to the long wait.


***


The interruption of the press conference and Gordon’s faulty whistle had delayed the workers, and by the time evening had fallen, Percy was still waiting. His initial relief at the unexpected break had long evaporated; he was cold and stiff, and the bustling workshop meant he couldn’t get any sleep, leaving him to drift in and out of consciousness. Percy wanted to be back in his own shed, surrounded by engines that didn’t rush to point out how useless he was. It was only when he thought of that that Percy remembered his argument with Thomas, and realised he was probably better off here.

Thankfully for him, Wilson had noticed his plight. After Gordon had left, the diesel had offered Percy his spot next to Cole. The green engine had leapt at the offer for company, and Wilson acted quickly, shunting Percy into his spot so he was closer to the other engines. Baron had looked up when Percy appeared, but had simply smiled sheepishly and looked away, removing himself from any possible conversations.

Cole, on the other hand, had been pleased to see a fellow saddle tank. Percy had only met the grey-blue engine on a few occasions, never long enough for a proper conversation, and was pleased to have someone new and unbiased to talk to.

The workers had gone home for the day shortly after the switch, with only a small team staying behind to work on Cyclone. The shed should have been silent, but Percy and Cole had not stopped talking for over an hour, the two regaling each other with stories from their youth.

“… and it took two cranes to lift me out of the water. By then I was freezing cold, I could feel all this dirt and slime gathered on me, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find barnacles there. But, of course, none of that compared to just how embarrassed I felt!”

Their laughter echoed, Percy harder than his comrade. He hadn’t felt this good in weeks, and all the drama that had occurred, all the insults and snipes and accidents, were worth it for this moment. He even caught Baron smiling quietly in his corner.

“I shouldn’t laugh, but that’s just too funny.” Cole chuckled and sighed, shaking his head.

“That’s barely scratching the surface,” Percy said, smirking. “I’ve probably had more accidents than you’ve had hot fires.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised!” Cole grinned at Percy as their laughter died down. “I’m amazed it has taken us this long to talk like this. We’re two of, what, three saddle tank engines on the railway; somehow, we should have had this chat a year ago.”

“Your forgetting Bill and Ben,” Percy pointed out.

“Not by accident,” Cole muttered, and the two laughed. “Their fine, I suppose, some of the time, but you and I have more in common than those two. You’re from Avonside as well for one thing, right?”

“Oh yes, I was built there.”

“I thought so. I must say, though, you don’t look like many of the other Avonside engines I’ve met.”

“That’s because I was partially rebuilt,” Percy explained.

“Oh really? So you’re an experimental engine, eh?”

Percy laughed. “Don’t say that! It makes me think I should bolts sticking out of my side.”

“True, true,” Cole laughed. “So how did you end up there?”

“I can’t really remember, it was so long ago.” Percy paused, trying to cast his mind back through the decades. “Honestly, it’s quite a blur. I did the sort of work I do now – shunting trucks and coaches, working at harbours. I remember that the harbour I first worked at was busier and bigger than Knapford. We had huge ships come in every day, the sort that stop at Tidmouth now, and I was constantly working, moving trucks all over the place. It was madness!”

“So what happened – Beeching close your line down?” Cole asked grimly.

“Oh, this was before steam engines were being pulled from service,” Percy said. “I don’t remember seeing many diesels about. I don’t remember how I got to the workshop. It just… happened, I suppose. One day I was working at a harbour, the next I was having parts replace. I don’t know what came in between.”

“That must have been tough, going straight from one place to the other like that. When my old line was closed, we were at least given some warning about it.”

“I don’t think it was as sudden as I’m making it sound,” Percy said with a sheepish smile. “It was so long ago I honestly can’t remember it properly!”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’ve met engines older than you who can recall their early years quite vividly. Do you at least remember the workshop?”

“Of course! It would be hard to forget,” Percy laughed. “I was in the same siding for a few months or a few years, it’s hard to tell, but long enough to remember it all. There was a lot of turnover, engines came and went, but it was always the same. We were all tank engines there, I know that for certain. I think some of them had been rebuilt as well. But it was more than just physical similarities. Everyone acted the same. Some were really sad about not working, others were worried they’d never be purchased, a few were happy and smiling and trying to be positive, others were very dismissive and snobbish about the whole thing. We’d talk to each other, swap stories and that, but it was mostly just quiet.”

“I was at a few places like that, I know what you mean,” Cole said. “So that was your life until you came here?”

“Yes!” Percy smiled again, thinking back to that faithful day. It had happened so long ago, but he would never forget how happy he had felt to be chosen, to know he would be starting a new life and a new job, on Sodor of all places. “I don’t need to tell you what it’s like to know you are going to work again, but it really is a great feeling, isn’t it?”

“The best,” Cole said fondly.

“When he looked at me and asked if I wanted to work for him, I was so happy I thought I might burst – but, of course, you have to look calm, don’t you? Don’t want to scare them!” Percy chuckled. “When he said he’d call me Percy, I knew everything was going to be perfect.”

“Oh, so you haven’t always been called Percy?”

“No.” Percy paused, a sudden sadness striking him. What had been his name before then? He must have had one, he was sure of that – or did he just have a number? He hadn’t always been number six, he knew that, but surely there must have been another name or number.

“How about that then,” Cole said wistfully. “Imagine if he hadn’t chosen you that day – you’d not only be working somewhere else, you’d have a different name as well!”

“I… I’ve never really thought about that,” Percy mumbled, staring blankly into space.

Cole didn’t notice the sense of loss that had appeared in his fellow tank engine’s voice. “Really? I’d never think about anything else if that was me! Though I guess everyone’s so nice here, you wouldn’t really want to work anywhere else, would you?”

Percy didn’t reply with words, merely made an agreeable noise, the only lie he could muster.

“Now see, when I found out I was coming here, I was over the moon like you wouldn’t believe!”

Cole carried on recalling his life story for another half an hour. Percy tried to follow along, smiling and laughing in all the right places, but his heart was no longer in the conversation. He was lost in thought, thinking back decades, back to the workshop, to the time before Sodor. Percy’s thoughts drifted away into the past, and they remained there long after Cole had finished his story, and lingered well after Percy had fallen asleep.


***


The next morning, Percy woke to find that the day was already well underway at Crovan’s Gate. He cast a weary eye across the shed and saw that workers were already bustling away with Baron and Cole. The rhythmic chorus of hammers and blow torches and metal on metal filled the shed, and Percy knew he would not be getting back to sleep any time soon.

“Did we wake you?” Cole asked as he caught Percy’s eye, flashing a chipper smile.

“Just a bit,” the tank engine replied, trying not to sound too fatigued but was betrayed by a wide-mouthed yawn that made the workers around him laugh.

“That doesn’t look good,” Cole chuckled. “Bad sleep?”

“It was fine,” Percy said, trying to look happy, and was pleased when it worked; the workers carried on with their repairs, and Cole returned his attention to his crew. Percy silently breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have not been pressed further. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts.

While he had had a long sleep, it had been restless and strained. His dreams had been plagued by an endless sea of questions that followed him at every turn, punctuated by flashes of maniacal workmen, sombre sheds and dozens of round faces watching him from the darkness, every single one crying or hissing at him.

It wasn’t hard for Percy to work out the hidden message. His conversation with Cole had raised questions, questions the tank engine had never considered before, yet now that they had been raised they refused to leave him alone, demanding answers he couldn’t possibly come up with. They were questions he had asked himself before he went to sleep, and they had lingered on his mind, punctuating his dreams and memories and refusing to let go. Percy wanted to ignore them, he didn’t want to think about this anymore, yet sitting there with nothing to do and nowhere to go, that was easier said than done.

What if he hadn’t been chosen by the Fat Controller that day? What if he had chosen a different engine, or never come to the Mainland at all? What would have happened to Percy then? He wouldn’t even be called Percy for a start. He’d be someone else, probably named after some nobleman or a lake somewhere. Would he have led a meaningful life? Would he have survived the scrap man’s axe and ended up on a heritage line, or would he have never even had made it out of the workshop?

The possibilities were endless, and it was that which terrified him. Percy had come so close to living a completely different life, working in a different place, surrounded by different sights, different engines.

And it was that one question that sounded above the rest: what if things could have been better? Percy felt ungrateful even considering it, but he couldn’t help himself, not after the last few weeks. There had been about thousand, maybe more, branch lines back in the day, and he could have ended up on any one of them.

He may have never met Thomas and Toby and Mavis and Harold and all his other friends, but there would have been other engines, different friends, different enemies. Not that Percy thought of the big engines as enemies, more… difficulties.

The work would be different, especially if he had ended up on a heritage line. No trucks, little opportunity to be by the sea, but maybe Percy would have preferred being in the mountains or driving alongside meadows? Wilbert and Stepney had raved about their lines. They were shorter, yes, but that wouldn’t have bothered Percy much.

Would it have been a bad thing working on another railway? Never meeting Gordon or James, never being teased and tricked and mocked. I could have been respected, valued, not dismissed like some silly little tank engine. Not dismissed in the way Thomas always does; always has, always will. I’ll always be the fool, the stupid one, the accident prone, nothing is going to change that.

“Something bothering you, mate?”

Percy looked up. He had drifted off so completely that he hadn’t noticed that workers were busying away by his wheels; he felt a pinch and knew they were repairing his side rod. The tank engine had no idea how much time had passed since he’d spoken to Cole, and felt a touch embarrassed to have zoned out in such a way.

“I said, is something bothering you?” The voice called again. It was one Percy didn’t recognise, and he looked around, trying to find the source, before realising it was right in front of him. Baron smirked as Percy’s eyes finally settled on him. “Haven’t exactly been very chatty, have I?”

“It’s not your fault, my mind was… elsewhere,” Percy said, smiling awkwardly.

“I gathered as much. Thinking about what was said last night, eh?” Baron asked.

Percy nodded, seeing no point in hiding it. “I’ve never really thought before how different things could have been. I was so excited and happy and busy when I first arrived here that I never really looked back.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I was close to being scrapped, and before my crew decided to try and come here, I always thought about what would have happened if I had gone to work on a different line.”

Percy suddenly felt incredibly selfish. “I am so sorry, I had no idea!”

“I haven’t exactly been advertising the fact,” Baron said with a dark smirk. “Not trying to make you feel guilty, just saying we’re in the same boat – or, on the same track, I guess,” he added, laughing.

Percy smiled, but he was still lost in thought. The scrap issue would have been a problem on any railway, but it was one that hadn’t escaped them here on Sodor. The Fat Controller may have reaffirmed how important everyone was at the Ulfstead opening, but looking around at Cyclone and Baron, thinking about the talk around modernisation yesterday, there didn’t seem to be as much weight behind that claim as Percy had first thought.

“Yeah, waiting to be scrapped is certainly no fun at all. You just feel useless, like you don’t really matter much to anyone. It’s not a great feeling to have. You are working hard the one day, and the next, it’s like none of that meant anything. Do you know what I mean?”

Before Percy could reply to Baron, he saw his crew walking towards them, smiles across their faces.

“Looks like we’re ready to get back to work,” Percy’s driver said with a broad smile across her face. “And just in time – it sounds like we’re needed back at Ffarquhar.”

Percy glanced down and saw the workers had disappeared. His broken side-rod had been fixed, just like that, yet he had been here nearly twenty four hours. Gordon was right. I’m not that important, not important enough to do a small job quickly. And if I’m not important…

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Percy said. Baron didn’t say anything, merely cast the tank engine a knowing look, one that stuck with Percy long after he had left the works behind.


***


The sun was shining again by the time they made it back to the branch line, but Percy felt none of its warmth. His mind was elsewhere, so far away from his physical self that nothing else mattered to him. He ignored the trees, he ignored the fields, he passed through the stations without any acknowledgement of the waiting passengers. None of it mattered to Percy anymore.

He had worked this line for so many years he had lost count, and what did Percy have to show for it? The big engines thought him silly and unimportant, his best friend was always cross with him, there were more engines now then there was work needed, so many that it didn’t really matter that he’d spent the day at the Works. Percy had never really imagined a life for himself, he had always been content with what came his way, but what if he had could have had something else? Talking to Cole and Ivo Hugh showed that he wasn't one thing to everyone, that everyone could be open-minded. He could have had important jobs, he could have been valued, he could have been the star attraction. Instead, he had nothing but a reputation he didn’t want and friends that looked down at him.

I might as well be scrap rusting away in a siding. Percy sighed sadly at the thought and trudged slowly to the yard, wondering what he was meant to do now.

As he got closer to the yard, Percy began to notice a strange noise. It was a sort of buzzing sound crossed with a low hum, the sort of noise he usually associated with a busy platform overflowing with passengers. The sound only got louder and louder, and Percy pushed his thoughts aside for the moment as he tried to work out what was going on.

The answer became apparent very quickly. Chugging slowly past the sidings, Percy saw they were full to bursting, rows and rows of trucks that covered every inch of track. The sound was that of nearly a hundred trucks muttering and giggling to each other, the collective hum it caused reverberating across the yard in an almost deafening whine.

Looking closer, Percy could see none of the trucks were shunted together, while some were loaded and others weren’t. This is chaos, Percy thought, and knew that was really an understatement.

As he pulled into the station, the yard master ran out of the stationmaster’s office to greet him. “Oh Percy, thank goodness you’re here!” He cried, wearing the expression of someone that had lost all hope.

“What’s going on?” Percy asked as he slid to a stop.

“The other engines didn’t realise you were gone for a few hours, and by the time the word had gotten around, Mavis, Rosie and Titan had already shunted their trucks,” the master explained. “They were all in the wrong order, and Titan tried to sort it out, but the trucks told them to put them in the wrong places, and now things are in a real mess. There were enough trucks at the quarry to tide them over, but if we don’t sort this mess out soon, we’ll have to cancel trains.”

The man looked frantic and stressed out, and it was clear that Percy had arrived just in the nick of time. He could hear the trucks from here, and could see the passengers staring in their direction, all muttering to each other, questioning what was going on.

“Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

It took a minute for Percy to cross over to the sidings; the points were all set for him, as though they had been waiting for his return all night. The hum was even louder up close, but the trucks in front fell silent as the tank engine approached.

“Ooooh, look who they’ve sent!” A coal truck cackled.

“Did they drag you back from the works because the other puffers were too scared?” A milk tanker asked, causing an eruption of laughter to consume the waiting trucks.

“Enough of that nonsense!” Percy huffed. “You trucks are holding everyone up, pull yourselves together!”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you pushed us!” The coal truck snapped, and there was an echo of agreement from its neighbours.

Percy frowned. “Are you still upset about that?”

“Of course!” Several trucks cried in unison, and suddenly a familiar chant began to carry from siding to siding: “You push us, we push you! You push us, we push you!”

“We get bumped by everyone else, but we expect you to handle us properly!” The first coal truck shouted over the roar.

“You’re just like the rest of them!” A van added. The trucks yelled in unison, and the chant got louder and louder.

It was an overwhelming, angry wall of noise, nothing Percy had ever experienced before. He sat there in stunned silence for a few minutes, looking between the trucks and wondering what was going on.

“And here I thought you didn’t like any engine,” he said finally.

“We don’t,” one truck said quickly, taking any inference at a softening of emotions as an insult. “We just dislike you the least.”

“Well… I don’t know what to say,” Percy said genuinely. “Is this why you tricked the other engines?”

“We thought if they did a bad job, you might come…” A van began speaking but trialled off, clearly embarrassed, but said enough for Percy to know what it wanted, and like that he knew what to do.

“I’m sorry I bumped you all. I didn’t have a good morning yesterday, but bumping you was uncalled for. I promise I won’t do it again… unless you deserve it, of course,” he added quickly.

The trucks paused for a moment, eyes flickering furtively between one another in a silent conference. Then, somehow, they all looked back to him and smiled. Percy raised an eyebrow and waited, expecting something else, but it never came; the trucks had accepted his terms, but they weren’t going to discuss it any further.

“Alright then,” the tank engine laughed, and he rolled forwards and buffered up to the first truck. It was an odd moment, but as Percy got stuck into sorting out the problem, he suddenly felt as though a weight had been lifted off his boiler. As the trucks slowly became untangled, Percy began to smile, and by the time the first train had been re-ordered, he looked up at the sky, saw the sun peeking out from behind a cloud, and began to laugh.


***


“Will you hurry up, I don’t have all day?”

Percy rolled his eyes as he chugged past Thomas towards the western end of Knapford Station where a set of points led onto the Main Line. There was just enough room behind Henry’s train for Percy to squeeze past and shunt the milk wagons onto the back of the long line of trucks.

“Finally!” Henry grunted. “I’ve been waiting ages for that.”

“Barely,” Thomas huffed as Percy reversed back alongside him. “Five minutes, maybe.”

“Five minutes for you is about an hour for us Main Line engines! We don’t have the luxury to dilly-daddle like you branch line engines do.” Henry’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at Percy. “I expect those trucks to be ready the next time I take this train! I don’t know why you were so late, but don’t let it happen again!”

Percy just blinked blankly at the big engine and smiled. “You know, I don’t think I have ever thanked you, Henry.”

The green engine looked stunned. “Thanked me? For what? Pushing your heavy frame up the hill yesterday?”

“Oh no, not for that. I meant for you bringing me to this island.”

“What are you on about?” Henry huffed.

“When you went on strike; that was when the Fat Controller purchased me. If you, Gordon and James hadn’t been such immature, silly engines, I’d never have come here. So thank you, Henry, I really appreciate your past stupidity.”

The guard’s whistle was drowned out by Thomas’ snort of laughter. Henry said nothing, his mouth hanging open in a perfectly comical ‘o’, and he drifted out of the station in stunned silence. Percy whistled as he left, struggling not to smile himself.

“Wow. That was something else.” Thomas struggled to talk through his laughter, shaking his smokebox in disbelief and smirking every time he looked at Henry’s retreating train. “What brought that on?”

“Henry was quite rude to me yesterday, I couldn’t let him get away with it,” Percy explained. His smile faltered as he considered the next thing he wanted to say; it was going to be tough, but it was now or never. “As were you.”

“What do you mean?” Thomas said, still laughing, but he caught the serious look in Percy’s eyes and it began to drift off.

“You haven’t been very nice to me lately. I don’t know if I did something or if something is going on with you, but I’d like it if you stopped taking it out on me.” Percy spoke quickly but with determination, trying to get it out before he became too afraid to continue. “I have worked on your branch line with you for a long time now, and I think we should be beyond the point where you blame me for everything. I’m not a truck you can just bump around whenever you feel like it, I’m your friend and I want to feel that way.”

It was Thomas’ turn to look shocked. It was a painful expression, and for a moment Percy felt guilty, but he shut down that voice in the back of his mind as quickly as it spoke up; this was about him, not Thomas, and he couldn’t falter now.

There were a few minutes of silence, punctuated only by Pip and Emma zipping past with the Express, but finally, Thomas looked up at Percy. “Your right, I have been treating you badly. I’ve been dealing with a few things lately, stuff I’m not ready to talk about, but because I’m keeping it to myself I’m not really coping. You’re utterly, completely right about everything though, and I am so sorry I have made you feel this way. Can you forgive me?”

Percy looked crestfallen for a moment, and he heard Thomas gasp, but then he looked back up and smiled widely and winked. “Of course! You and me running this line, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You are so terrible with your jokes!” Thomas said, laughing as he breathed a sigh of relief, and the two friends laughed.

“Speaking of…” There was a rumble and a rattle, and the two engines glanced down the line as Gordon shot out of the tunnel like a rocket, slowing only as he approached the station. Percy watched him arrive, staring out at this station he called home, out towards the harbour he’d helped to build, at the ocean he’d had the privilege of watching for most of his life; the view was perfect, and the only thing that made it better was having a new target pulling up in front of it, someone else who had to learn what it meant to be disrespectful.

“Ah, Gordon, just the engine I wanted to see. I have something I want to tell you…”

 

[Deleted member 72389]

Wow, it's such a pleasant surprise to find a Thomas the tank engine fanfic over here. It was one of my favorite shows as a kid. This fanfic brought back so much nostalgia.

I loved reading the interactions between all the characters. It's been a long time since I've watched it, plus I watched it in a different language, but still they feel pretty in-character to me. Henry particularly is just how I remember him. Although my favorite one was Percy.

The story is definitely interesting and you have described everything beautifully. Looking forward to reading more!