Traintober 2024: Day 28 - Plot Twist

That’s not Philip:

Of all the engines who worked at the Big Station, Philip the boxcab was possibly the one who had the biggest personality. He was young, eager and entirely on the wrong side of too overconfident, much to the consternation of the big engines. The little engine had been brought in to help shunt coaches and trucks around the station, but unfortunately, he was distracted very easily.

“Gordon! Gordon! Race me!” “No Philip, I have to prepare for the express,” reminded Gordon, trying to stay calm. “But whyyyyyyyyy,” whined Philip loudly. Gordon’s eye twitched. The big engine moved to head to be refuelled, hoping Philip would get the hint. Philip did not. The little boxcab trailed after Gordon, whinging and whining about how unfair it was that Gordon wouldn’t indulge him in a race, especially cause they were the two fastest on the railway, surely! Philip could beat Gordon in a race, why wouldn’t Gordon race him?  

“I’m not busy, after all,” Philip added, trying his best to annoy the big engine into cooperating. Gordon wondered absently if he’d been too harsh on Thomas for being cheeky, all the way back in the early days. After all, even Thomas wasn’t this bad. “Don’t you have to arrange the express?” retorted Gordon. Philip snorted, his eyes lighting up with mischief.

“Nah! It’s not that important anyway – let’s go, let’s go let’sgolet’sgolet’sgo!” Gordon reached his boiling point, his safety valves popping as he erupted furiously.

“GO AND ARRANGE MY EXPRESS, NOW!” roared Gordon. Philip shook, stunned, before glaring defiantly back. “You’re a big meanie,” he snapped, sticking his tongue out petulantly before zipping away. Gordon sighed, and set about either finding another engine to fetch his coaches or getting them himself.

As Gordon left, he muttered under his breath. “I do wish Philip would learn some competency for his work.” And then he was gone, speeding down the line with headlamps swaying in the cool evening breeze.

Back at the Big Station, something was very wrong. Paxton, the other station pilot, couldn’t find Philip. The Class 08 checked everywhere, from the sidings to the harbour to the station and the sheds – but there was no sign of the little diesel boxcab. Duck joined in the search when he finished his last passenger run of the day, followed by Oliver, Stafford and finally Charlie, who told so many awful jokes that Duck very nearly shoved him off the end of the quay.

But still nothing. All five had to concede defeat and head back to the sheds, where they told the others about the missing engine. “Let him stay missing!” huffed James. “The yards ran smoother when he wasn’t here.” “That’s an awful thing to say,” snapped Duck. “Philip is just young – I’m sure he’s doing his best.” “Duck, please,” sighed Henry. “We keep trying to get along with him, but he just doesn’t care about doing his work. The smallest thing distracts him! You know where I found him last week?” “Where?” “On the mainline! He’d chased a butterfly half the way to the Junction and I very nearly turned him into a sardine can!”

Duck winced – he had to admit, Philip had done similar on his branchline, though that had been because he was following a sailboat as it made its way along the coast. He’d bumped right into Douglas, who’d torn the poor little boxcab a new one about railway safety.

It was not comforting to know he was not learning.

Duck was about to retort when the engines all heard Philip’s horn. The little engine rumbled into the sheds, looking very different. His paint was scratched all over, his number having been altered so it looked much closer to sixty-six as opposed to sixty-eight. His headlamp had been shattered by something, though what none of the engines could tell. And then there was Philip himself – his eyes were entirely the wrong colour, their former dark brown now a weird, almost red tinge. His almost always present smile had fallen flat, and they had a slow, calculating look about them.

None of the engines spoke for a long moment. “Philip, there you are,” James finally said. “You’ve ruined your paint. You need to go get it cleaned up at once.” “It should be fine,” ‘Philip’ replied, his words slow and halting, as if trying to predict what the other engines would do or say. Again, the engines all just stared, not sure what to say.

“Are you… sure?” checked Duck. Stafford and Charlie both cowered a little more behind the Pannier, a little spooked and afraid. ‘Philip’ considered. “Yes,” he replied, a little quicker this time. Duck hummed in consideration. “Well, you shouldn’t have run off like that. You made everyone worry for you. Now go get off the main road, Paxton needs to collect Gordon’s coaches when he returns.”

‘Philip’ smiled; it wasn’t quite the huge beaming grin that the engines were used to seeing on the little boxcab. It was smaller, less natural and more calculated. “I can do that,” he said. “They go in the… coach sheds, right?” “Carriage sheds,” sniffed James. “What did they even try to teach you young engines?!” The little boxcab hummed lowly, and slunk away to wait for Gordon. The moment he was out of earshot, the shed erupted in chatter.

“That’s not Philip, it’s an imposter!” exclaimed Duck. “We need to do something!” “Like what?” “An exorcism maybe? I don’t know!” Duck wracked his brain for an idea, but none were forthcoming. “If only Edward wasn’t being overhauled, he’d know what to do!” There was a long pause, before finally Henry spoke up.

“What if we… did nothing?” “Did nothing?!” “Think about it,” Henry went on, ignoring Paxton’s outburst, “Philip is completely clueless and causes us so much trouble – but this new engine, whoever it is, seems like they’ll do their work. All we need to do is keep an eye on him and try our best to steer him into being a really useful engine so that we don’t have to deal with Philip being an idiot and nearly causing us yet another accident.” “Edward wouldn’t agree to that,” Duck reminded Henry sternly. “Well then it’s a good thing Edward isn’t here,” Henry retorted. “If anyone asks, he had a long think about his future on this railway – we might just make a good station pilot out of him yet!”

“This seems immoral,” Paxton said quietly. “That’s because it is,” came the blunt addition from Duck. “You’re suggesting we do nothing while the real Philip is… is… what is even going on anyway?” “He might be… uh… possessed,” said Stafford quietly, the other engines straining to even hear him. “Trevor told me about it – it’s when evil spirits sneak into a person or engine and take them over. They’re supposed to want something… but I don’t know why they’d want Philip.”

The engines all shared a long look, none of them really wanting to admit it…

… but they all wanted to wait and see what happened.

‘Philip’ seemed to change overnight. After a few days’ worth of slightly painful adjustment, he seemed to click into what was needed. Trains ran smoother than they had in months. ‘Philip’ was a natural at shunting, zipping through the sidings and doing the work asked of him with ease. Even Sir Topham Hatt was impressed!

“I don’t know what happened,” he said. “But you’ve really smartened up, Philip. I’m rewarding you with a new coat of paint.” ‘Philip’ just smiled his weird, slightly stilted smile. “Thank you, sir,” he replied. He was repainted the next day, getting a very smart new livery that he barely cared for at all, instead focusing on his work. James could have wept for joy when he realised his train was arranged and prepared before he’d even gotten to the platform for an entire week.

But none of the engines at the Big Station told anyone about what had happened on that odd night, keeping it a closely guarded secret. The weeks passed, and the engines kept up the charade. It was clear to them that this engine was not Philip – he had the wrong accent and his horn sounded vaguely like the screams of the damned – but they had grown fond of him, of having their trains on time and of having an orderly yard.

‘Philip’ was good at his job, kind, quiet, and when he did speak he had an absolutely brutal dry wit that had even Gordon howling with laughter.

“I still don’t like it,” muttered Duck one evening, nearly three months after ‘Philip’ had shown up at the sheds. “We don’t know why he’s here at all.” “Oh shush,” huffed James, his eyes focused on the TV the crews had left in the corner of the sheds for the engines. “The big plot twist is coming – I bet he’s been sleeping with her sister.”

Duck rolled his eyes – James was way too invested in a recent Mexican telenovela which a local channel had been playing. “Aye, it is a devil in my husband’s skin!” Duck and James both stared at the television as the major plot twist turned out to be that the husband was secretly possessed, and had been engaged with the maids, the sister and a weirdly attractive uncle of the wife.

“No,” Duck snapped. “You are not going to suggest Philip should act like that.” James just chuckled. The two looked over to the shed doors as they heard a familiar rumble.

The little boxcab rounded the last bend and raced into the sheds, much too fast.

“Hi guys! It’s been weird – I was lost! But I’m back now – the vicar told me that he ‘helped’ me but I didn’t understand. Who wants to race?”

James and Duck shared a look; Philip was back.

For a few days, all was quiet. The engines once again were forced to carefully navigate this unfamiliar engine in Philip’s body, only this time it was the original once more. And Philip hadn’t learnt a thing despite having spent six months possessed. He still raced about far more than he ought to, not really focusing on his work but rather the first thing that intrigued him. He ended up in all sorts of crazy positions, including somehow getting shunted onto the middle of the Midnight Goods and going halfway across the island behind a slightly peeved BoCo.

But… Philip wasn’t stupid. Naïve, perhaps. But not stupid. And in those few days, he began to notice something; he began to see it in the corners of his eyes when the other engines thought he wasn’t around.

They sighed more, when they saw him. They pursed their lips at the sound of his horn, as if hoping or expecting a different noise to come out. They scowled at his perfectly polished paint that he loved, having made his driver repaint over the smart livery with his own preferred, zanier one.

Engines like Gordon and James had infinitely less patience for his antics than before, as if their slight fondness for him had been replaced by disdain, barely masked behind a veneer of indifference. Engines like BoCo, Bear, Charlie or Oliver who had been supportive of his attempts at learning the yard before now just watched on silently, as if what they saw in front of them didn’t quite line up with what they had in their minds.

Something was wrong.

The worst thing for Philip was seeing the shift in Duck and Paxton. The two had gone from being perhaps the only two in the entire yard who genuinely liked him to being little more than distant colleagues. Whatever had happened during the time he’d been lost, wandering through an infinite woodland with a million different places to explore, it had given the others a reason to just… watch him.

Always watching, always judging. None of them seemed to like the outcome of these judgements, always pretending to be looking elsewhere whenever Philip caught them. All of the others would attempt a smile, but it felt weak. Lacking.

Philip felt rather alone, and it hurt.

It didn’t take him too long to find out why. Philip had been heading back to the sheds after another disheartening day, rumbling quietly alongside the sheds, when he overheard the engines inside.

“It’s not the same,” hissed Gordon. “He’s not the same!” “Why did the vicar have to fix it,” agreed James. “The yard was finally running so smoothly!” “Well, it’s done,” snapped Duck. “And we have to live with it. The other Philip is gone, and we need to get used to this Philip again.” “I wish we didn’t have to,” admitted Charlie, almost silently. “He doesn’t even try and learn, he just flutters about. I miss the other Philip.”

Philip fled from the sheds before he could hear any more. He couldn’t take it – all his friends had said they preferred another Philip, that they weren’t happy with him. They didn’t want Philip, they wanted a different engine. They wanted a different engine wearing his face, working with his engine. They wanted a version of Philip that he wasn’t. They didn’t want him.

His friends didn’t want him.

His friends didn’t even like him, they just dealt with him while missing a ‘Philip’ only they had met.

Philip ran to see the Fat Controller. Surely he would be able to do something! But when Philip entered the Big Station, all he saw with Sir Topham Hatt shaking his head as he poured over a spreadsheet.

“And he was doing so well the last six months,” the Fat Controller sighed. “I’d hoped Philip was finally being really useful – perhaps I was too hasty.”

Philip hid in the carriage siding, his mind whirling. None of his friends wanted him. His owner preferred a different version of him. They spoke of a him that had existed when he was lost as if he was better, more reliable. More useful.

The Fat Controller wasn’t sure if he was really useful or not.

Philip went to the yard foreman the next morning, before any of the other engines awoke. He was in tears, barely able to speak around the painful lump in his throat. He was transferred that same day, grabbing some empty trucks and vanishing out of the yards.

Philip would end up working in the diesel yards at the far end of the line, where Douglas had found Oliver so many years ago. The diesels here just snarled and growled at him every time he tried to introduce himself, snapping orders and glaring at Philip until he completed them. In time, a different engine passed by, heading for Sodor. He looked like a truly ancient steam engine, his paint rough but showing signs of recently being touched up. He had a stern look on his face, though it lightened some as he vanished out the other end of the yard.

Philip had been entirely replaced now; his friends and his controller had even bought a new engine to take over from him, to finally give the Big Station the care and attention Philip hadn’t had the capability to give before.

He gave his new yard far too much attention, scuttling between rusting hulks, constantly forced to keep his cab down and moving. If he even considered trying any of the many fun activities he’d enjoyed back at the Big Station, he was verbally ripped to shreds, the other diesels sneering and rolling their eyes whenever they caught sight of him.

Philip should have stayed in that infinite woodland, chasing butterflies and enjoying his life. Why had he ever left? 

Philip cried himself to sleep, and never stopped sobbing.

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Traintober 2024: Day 19 - Admire

Douglas Couldn't Help It!

Douglas smiled softly as he watched the station. It had been only a couple of years since his dramatic escape from British Rail and arrival on Sodor, but Oliver was already fitting in like a natural. The Great Western engine was an absolute social butterfly, able to charm the big engines with ease even as he made Duck laugh with all his in-jokes that only the two truly understood. He was admittedly still a little wary of the diesels - especially Bear and Daisy whose classes had worked around where Oliver had lived and replaced him and his siblings - but even then he was growing more confident around them with each passing day. 

“It’s nice being on Sodor,” Oliver had confided in Douglas. “Diesel and steam engines can live in harmony here without fear of one replacing the other.” Douglas couldn’t agree more, he himself feeling more at peace with the diesels on Sodor with each passing year. But the way Oliver seemed so relaxed and confident in himself, it made Douglas feel all sorts of things. Douglas couldn't help it! Oliver was so suave and witty and brave - how could he not admire him? 

As if on cue, a cheerful whistle blasted in the distance, and Oliver steamed in. Douglas puffed over, a broad smile already growing on his lips. “Hullo Oliver, how was yer run?” “Oh, hi Douglas,” grinned Oliver. Douglas felt like his fire was about to melt right through his firebars and fall all over the line. “The run was good - I don’t think I’ll ever get over how beautiful this line is!” “Aye, it is a fabulous little line, though I’m sure yer old line was also nice.” “Oh it was!” Oliver began, “but… then the diesels began to arrive, and we didn’t get to use the line as much. And that was after they replaced most of the Autocoaches with their Mark 1s… nasty, heavy things!” Douglas just hummed, a little dopily. Oliver chuckled, shooting Douglas a megawatt smile that went straight to the poor Scot’s boiler.

“I’ve got to go, and I think you do too,” grinned Oliver, already beginning back down the line with his train. Douglas blinked, and looked back. His guard was tapping his foot impatiently, and when he spotted Douglas finally paying him some attention, gestured to the trucks. Douglas went red with embarrassment and hurried to get back to work.

As he back down onto his trucks, Douglas looked over and spotted Mike sitting on the Arlesdale Railway’s tracks next to him. Mike was shooting Douglas the most disgusted look an engine could, his face scrunched up comically. “What?” “You’re besotted,” sneered Mike. “It’s pathetic to watch – just talk to him like a normal engine, ask him out if you have to! But stop gazing after him like he’s some damsel in a Hollywood film!” Douglas just sighed. “Ye'll understand ane day.” “No I won’t! Who would I even look at like that? Frank?! You’ve lost it, Douglas!” Douglas ignored the little pillarbox of an engine and steamed away.

Douglas worked hard all day, trying his best to find another time when his schedule matched up with Oliver’s so they could chat – only much to his dismay, it just didn’t happen. Poor Douglas was never in the right spot, and all he could do was watch as the cute Autotank vanished out of view with his passengers.

“Ah canae tak it anymore! Hou is it thon A keep missin Oliver by mere seconds?!” burst out Douglas to his twin that night. Donald snorted. “Ye're juist unlucky. Iver considerit playin cards - ye'd have more luck thare than i love!” Douglas rolled his eyes at his twin and went unhappily to sleep.

An entire week went by in this manner, with Douglas managing one or two short conversations each day where Oliver would leave him absolutely flustered and whining to his twin about the Western engine he had rescued. Donald indulged his twin with a wry grin, remembering similar conversations he’d had to listen to back in Scotland and back at Tidmouth.

Finally, Douglas managed to strike good fortune. On Saturday, he finished up his duties near Tidmouth, and convinced his driver to let him sleep there the night, so he could try strike up a conversation with Oliver again. But as he neared the shed, he heard voices – it was Oliver! And… Gordon?

“I mean, he’s just so strong,” sighed Oliver wistfully. “I suppose, though I don’t see the appeal personally,” came the reply. Douglas felt his boiler pressure drop. Who was Oliver talking about?

“I mean, have you seen him?” went on Oliver. “Especially at night! Watching him go by is a true sight.” Gordon snorted. “You talk like he’s me! Please, just because we—” Douglas reversed back down the line as fast as his wheels could carry him. Oliver liked another engine. Oh.

Oh no.

And Douglas knew who it was too – a strong engine who ran at night and Gordon could relate to? It had to be Henry! Gordon and Henry had shared a shape, and Henry hauled the Flying Kipper. It made so much sense, didn’t it? Of course Oliver would want someone like Henry, who was strong and caring and determined! And the two shared a shed too, so of course they had gotten to know each other well; and to think Douglas thought he had a chance.

Douglas managed to get James to agree to trade his late evening coal train – which was not that difficult, all things considered – and got as far away from Tidmouth as quickly as possible. He delivered the coal, then slept unhappily at Vicarstown.

Douglas didn’t say much for the next few days. He did his work, sighing quietly but still treasuring every smile Oliver sent his way. The Fat Controller had listened to his rather sudden request to help out on Edward’s branchline and agreed – for a few days at least, but all too soon Douglas was back on the Little Western.

Donald had noticed Douglas’ change of mood almost instantly, but waited a few days before confronting his twin.

“Richt, ye've been mopin aw week. Whit's wrong wi ye?” snapped Donald at the sheds. Douglas jumped, and looked at Donald for all of three seconds before gazing down at his buffers, a defeated look gracing the Caledonian’s features. “Oliver likes a different engine. A dinnae want tae get i the way thouch - A'm no some insane jealous idiot wha refuses tae see him happy without me thouch – e'en gin it's wi Henry. A'll juist admire him from afar an wait for these feelings tae gae away.”

Donald stared at his twin for a long, silent minute. He didn’t know what to say – Douglas believed, of all things, that Oliver liked a different engine. “Are ye sure?” he asked delicately. Douglas sniffled a little. “Ay, A overheard him at the sheds. He wis talkin tae Gordon aboot his crush. A'll be ok, juist... give me some time, aw richt?”

Donald agreed, and watched as his twin fell asleep. Then, he groaned aloud. “These twa idiots,” he grumbled. “A'm gaun'ae have tae talk tae Duck aboot this.”

Duck agreed with Donald. “Oliver’s been moping about Tidmouth too,” he huffed. “These two are as dumb as each other, I swear. We need to do something about it.” “Douggie wonae dae anythin - he's committit tae "just admirin him from afar" like some sort o chivalrous knicht.” “So it’ll have to be Oliver,” Duck realised. Donald agreed grimly.

These two would definitely need a push in the right direction – and thankfully, Duck knew exactly what to say…

“You’re an idiot and now Douglas thinks you like Henry.”

…Or maybe not.

“He thinks what? How?!” “He overheard you talking to Gordon about him and somehow misunderstood everything. The only reason I know is cause he told Donald, and I put ten and eleven together and figured out how dim-witted the pair of you are. Go ask that dumb Scot out already or I will dump you with Thomas.” “I get along fine with Thomas,” huffed Oliver. “He’s having another spat with Percy,” Duck replied with a groan. Oliver shuddered. The two still remembered the screaming match the pair had had in the middle of the Big Harbour a month back – it had been so bad that Gordon had to drag Thomas away while Henry held Percy back from chasing after the blue tank engine.

“Those two fight like cats and dogs,” sighed Oliver. “inconsistently and whenever it suits their fancy.” Duck couldn’t help but laugh, before pausing. “Don’t try and distract me – go ask Douglas out!” Oliver groaned, and puffed away to go do just that.

He found the Caledonian dozing in his shed up at Arlesburgh. Thinking quickly, Oliver convinced the signalman to let him roll onto the same line as Douglas, puffing right up to the Caledonian’s bufferbeam. Douglas opened a sleepy eye – and then bolted right awake.

“Oliver?!” “Hi Douglas. You know, I heard a very interesting thing today.” Douglas gulped, feeling his fire go cold. “O-oh?” Oliver grinned at the nervous engine, and smiled cheekily. “Oh yes – a birdie told me that you liked someone. And imagine my delight when I found out who.” Douglas listened intently – and then it sunk in. “Delichted? Are ye…”

Oliver smiled at the Caledonian, and rolled forwards until he buffered up to him.

“You’re an idiot, you know that? I like you, not some other engine. Strong, runs at night, saved me, blue like Gordon? It’s you.” Douglas just blinked dumbly, then groaned. “O course Gordon wad compare our paint juist sae he coud talk aboot himself!” “Of course,” agreed Oliver. “But I’d rather not hear you talk about other engines when we’re talking about us.”

Needless to say, Douglas was flushed bright red for the rest of the day and Oliver scored himself a Caledonian boyfriend.

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Traintober 2024: Day 15 - Star

Duck once had a Friend...

Once upon a time, Duck the Great Western Pannier Tank had worked at Paddington Station in London as a station pilot. Paddington was a huge station with several engines just like Duck who rattled about shunting trains for the big engines to take on long journeys all across the West of England and into Wales. Some of these engines were pompous and rude, while others were old and wizened. Duck’s favourite engine at Paddington however was an old, old friend of his.  

Her name was Princess Margaret, and she was a member of the Star Class of GWR express engines. They were old and wise engines, who though displaced from the top link express services by their younger successors the Castles and Kings, still performed admirably.

Duck didn’t get to see his friend much. She worked trains that went right the way out to Wales and back, and so she would often spend the night at her destination before returning. But when Princess Margaret was there, she would always take time out to talk to Duck. The two were as close as engines could be – Margie, as Duck called her, had taught the Pannier everything there was to know about coaches when he’d first arrived, back when she still headed important expresses like the ‘Cornishman’ and the ‘Cambrian Coast Express’. As she’d been displaced first by the Castles, then the Kings, she’d begun running longer-distances, on lighter-laid lines that the two bigger classes just couldn’t travel on.  

“Margie was still in service when I left,” Duck explained to the sheds one evening. The engines at the Big Sheds had been discussing their lives pre-Sodor – the Scottish Twins had spent several long minutes purely explaining why the Thistle was the prettiest flower in the world, while Percy had spent almost an hour going through all the various parts of the country he’d seen. “I feel like she had a good chance of being preserved too. She even got to cameo in that one movie – the Titfield Thunderbolt!”

All throughout this, Bear had been unusually quiet. The former Western-region diesel had had his own stories he wanted to tell, but now he was slightly afraid of speaking up. Oliver noticed. The Great Western autotank was still new to the railway, and didn’t trust Bear yet.

“Well, Bear – you look troubled. Is something the matter?” he asked. Bear winced, his engine making an odd rumbling sound. All the engines looked over, and Bear shrunk back under their attention.

“When I was being built,” he began slowly, “we… uh… I…” Henry smiled sympathetically.

“It’s alright Bear, we won’t hate you for what you have to say,” he offered. Duck, Percy and the other big engines agreed. Bear sighed.

“Princess Margaret was the last Star Class in service,” he said quietly. “And when I was built… she was… being… taken apart at Swindon.” Bear cut off, looking down at his buffers in shame. Duck’s eyes widened.

“She… she was cut up?” he asked slowly. Bear didn’t look Duck in the eye, staring down at the rails instead.

“Yeah. At Swindon. The men claimed they’d waited four years to see if they could find a buyer… and none came for her. I’m sorry Duck – she seemed like such a nice engine. She just told them it wasn’t their fault, and she’d lived a good life…” Bear rumbled out of the sheds to pull the Midnight Goods before any of the engines could say anything. Oliver looked horrified.

“I… I didn’t think he would be so… torn up about it,” he admitted quietly into the night air. “Oliver, I understand you went through something traumatic,” Percy replied darkly, “but you need to learn that not all diesels are evil. Duck… I’m sorry too. It’s hard learning a friend is gone.” Duck didn’t reply, instead staring silently out of the sheds.

His friend had been a real shining star on the Great Western, who’d served them through two World Wars and kept on going even as her class was torn up. And all she got for it was a cold siding at her own birthplace and a cutter’s torch.

Duck wasn’t sure what that said about Swindon’s legacy, but it wasn’t positive.

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Traintober 2024: Day 8 - Impact

The Impact of Duck Leaving Tidmouth:

This was meant to be serious, but then immediately became a shitpost...

Quite famously, the Big Engines did not react well to Thomas getting his own branchline, going on strike and nearly closing the railway because they did not want to shunt their own trains. Equally famously, the Big Engines did not react well when Duck arrived, being difficult for both engines until Duck and Percy forcibly blocked them from entering the sheds.

Less well known is how the Big Engines reacted to Duck gained his own branchline and left them once again without a shunter. Admittedly, the entire incident was more subdued than when Thomas left – there was no strike this time – but it was still certainly memorable!

The first impact of Duck leaving was of course the fact that the engines had to shunt their own trains. Still hating the notion of shunting, the Big Engines all tried to come up with a new idea for how the Fat Controller could shunt the trains at Tidmouth without forcing them to enter the sidings. These ranged from the outdated (Gordon suggested getting some horses to do it) to the ridiculous (Henry thought a pulley system with a stationary boiler could shunt the trains) to the outright insane (James actually once suggested giving the trucks their own engines to shunt themselves!)

Naturally, the Fat Controller was not impressed with any of these ideas – not to mention Douglas quite tactlessly reminding James of an incident an engine had with some tar wagons – which led to the Big Engines being forced to think of a new idea. Percy chipped in to suggest using Terence the tractor as a temporary solution one time and was laughed out of the yards… only for Sir Charles to overhear the idea and decide to implement it! As such, two days later the Big Engines awoke to Terence the tractor trundling about the yard putting together freight trains. This was not received well by the Big Engines, however it was the passengers who eventually forced Sir Charles to send Terence home, as one day a little boy jumped onto Terence while he was trying to shunt the express. The number of complaints that incident got were astronomical!

Donald made a sly remark about converting the Fat Controller’s car into a small shunter – but that just got him put shunting duties himself. Donald thankfully was used to shunting and did not treat it like he was being forced to carry the weight of the world on his back like Atlas. James thought Donald was being petty because he’d made the comparison the week before.

In the end, Sir Charles was left with no other option but to find a new engine – thankfully, he managed to get a transfer from the Southern Railway named Rosie, as well as a Class 07 named Salty. The pair would prove themselves to be capable engines, although that’s a story for another day.

The slightly less obvious impact was how it changed the dynamics in the yard. Duck had very much been in charge of the yards and had kept it in order with a set of iron buffers – removing him opened the yard up to a new pecking order, one which made Tidmouth very interesting for a long while. It is no coincidence that its in the mid-to-late sixties that Henry, James and Gordon all take interest in new engines. Henry was the first to move, advocating for Bear and finding himself an ally in the process. Gordon responded by trying to get BoCo on his side – and by association hopefully Edward – though he was beaten by Donald and Douglas. All three Big Engines did their best to sway Oliver to their side by absolutely burying him in flattery – but in the end, none of it really mattered, much to Henry, Gordon and James’ surprise.

Of all the engines, it was Flying Scotsman who orchestrated the new yard order, doing so very quietly in the background while he was on the island. The world-famous engine had read all about his brother’s various exploits, and had not been overly pleased with Gordon’s behaviour. He arrived with Rosie and Salty in tow, and was met with a yard that was full of chaos.

Now, most yards in the steam era had a pecking order which revolved around express engines and shunting engines – but Tidmouth had no solid order due to both Thomas and Percy having no clue how to establish such a hierarchy and Duck being too late to pull the engines in line. So Flying Scotsman did instead, helping Duck, Donald and Douglas to assert themselves with the trucks, coaches and staff. By the time any of the Big Engines had a clue that Scott had had a buffer in reforming the trucks and curbing their influence, the world-famous engine was in the USA and couldn’t be yelled at.

Edward was rather pleased with Scott’s work – he had managed to finally instil some discipline in the trucks and get one over on Henry, James and Gordon! Bear and BoCo enjoyed the easier trains and the connections Scott had given the railway to get some of the diesels off their collective backs. And Duck managed to somehow keep his spot as head of the yards until he happily passed the position off to Rosie when she had settled in.

In the end, Duck leaving the Big Station had a pretty notable impact on Sodor, even if only indirectly. Almost every engine took note of what was happening at the Big Station – mostly to laugh at the ‘power plays’ the Big Engines thought they were making but also because it was basically a railway-themed Soap Opera. The only engine who really didn’t care was Thomas - who was convinced that the entire railway reacted to how his branchline ran - and Daisy, who was too busy trying to be noticed by the Flying Scotsman to care.

Back to the Master Post

Traintober 2024: Day 3 - Trust

Gordon Puts a Lot of Emphasis on Trusting his Crew:

There is one fact of life on the North Western Railway that really sets it apart from its mainland counterparts: the engines have set crews. Edward had Charlie and Sidney for decades, Henry’s crew from the 1920s and 30s still visited their engine even after the accident that took their ability to stand on the footplate and the driver and fireman that had brought Thomas to Sodor way back during the Great War had both married families from the island and had children who worked on the railway themselves.

But it was Gordon who was, surprisingly, closest to his crew. This was less due to Gordon necessarily liking or confiding in his crew – not that he didn’t, but he wasn’t quite like Edward in that regard – but rather the result of Gordon being the express engine. At the speeds Gordon went, trusting his crew was paramount, and the big blue engine hated any day when one or the other was ill.

“Relief fireman just doesn’t know how to fire a big engine like me!” Gordon had once claimed to the other engines. “They can fire Henry just fine,” commented Duck. “And besides, it isn’t normal to be so reliant on one crew. What will you do if both are sick?” “My driver is never sick,” Gordon replied grandly. “And if he was, then I would have to stay in the shed.” “I’d be careful if I were you,” Duck said. “Humans aren’t as resilient as us engines – I would get ready for the day they both are out sick.”

Gordon thought Duck was being very silly, though he really ought to have known better. Unlike all of the other engines on the island, Duck had worked with many crews back at Paddington and was used to having different drivers at the controls. But not even Duck could have predicted what would happen when Duck’s premonition came to pass…

It was a cold, damp Sunday when the shed foreman strode in to give the engines their jobs. During the late autumn, the railway scaled their timetable right back, using the dip in traffic to repair the engines and maintain the track. Henry had been cooled the night before so the workers could do some repairs on his regulator and was dozing in the corner. Duck was preparing to head out to begin shunting the trains, muttering grumpily under his breath at the timetable his driver had shown him.

“Gordon,” the foreman began, “your driver and fireman have both had to call in sick today, a temporary crew will be taking their place.” Gordon went red in the face, his steam pressure shooting right up. “They will not!” spluttered Gordon. “Get Henry to take the train!” “Henry is being repaired,” the foreman replied evenly. Gordon scowled. “Then how about James?” “James is already busy,” retorted the foreman. “Then Edward shall take it; he just got back from his overhaul; he should be fine!” The foreman rolled his eyes. He was used to the engines getting antsy over new crews, but Gordon was being downright hostile!

Duck sighed, rolling up alongside the big engine. “You know, this sort of fuss isn’t normal,” Duck began. “And not just on the Great Western! All of the big railways swapped crews between their engines.” Gordon sniffed. “Little Duck, you don’t understand because you’re so new to this railway… and also a common tank engine, but there is a level of trust needed between an important express engine like me and his crew. I simply cannot allow just any duo step into my cab, they need to be experts!”

Duck let off steam indignantly. “Now you listen here, Gordon!” he snapped. “A crew is a crew, and no matter what we need them to be useful. So stop your boileraching and deal with it. I have coaches to shunt, and I can’t run my yard to time if you leave the express marooned at the platform!” Duck snorted away, muttering under his breath about ‘no-good Nor Easters’ and how ‘this railway needs more engines’.

Gordon just huffed.

His mood hadn’t improved by the time his temporary crew arrived. “Well, looks like we get you today!” chirped the driver, swinging up into Gordon’s cab. Gordon sneered, and glared down at the fireman. “Are you going to do your checks or not,” hissed Gordon. The fireman jumped! “I’m on it! I’m on it! Don’t blow a valve,” he exclaimed, and hurried away to oil and check all of Gordon’s motion.

Gordon spent the entire time critiquing the poor fireman, finding every little issue possible to make a fuss over. By the time they set out for the platform, both driver and fireman were sick of their temporary engine!

Things only got worse at the station. The temporary crew were more used to goods engines than express engines and were stiff with the controls. Gordon bumped the coaches, and that was enough to set him off again.

“I cannot do this!” he thundered, loud enough to startle the entire station into staring at him. “I need a crew I can trust, and clearly you are not capable of handling coaches! They require care, care you hear me!”

Duck quietly shunted Edward’s goods into the furthest platform, before sidling up alongside. “We could swap crews, if that’d help,” the Great Western engine offered. “My driver has to be quick-witted to shunt in the yards, you can trust ‘im.” Gordon glared down at Duck, then sighed. “I suppose you are right, Duck. At the very least your crew will know how to treat coaches correctly.” The foreman agreed readily, excited to placate Gordon and get him gone already. The two crews switched over, and Gordon huffed grandly out with the express. He was very impressed with Duck’s crew! They knew exactly how to handle an engine, and he couldn’t even find one complaint!

Duck on the other hand, wasn’t as pleased. The temporary crew were not used to shunting either, and Duck spent most of his day trying to teach them how to be careful. The poor engine was exhausted when he finally slunk back to the sheds.

“You might be right about one thing Gordon,” Duck admitted. “What’s that?” asked Gordon. “An engine really does need to be able to trust in their crew!”

Back to the Master Post

Thank you for your ask! (and I'm really sorry for the long wait). This is actually going to be really fun to potentially answer, so let's see...

Officially, the NWR regards privatisation as: "an important milestone in Britain's railway history and the beginning of cooperation between the NWR and our partner railways throughout Great Britain." It's a very prim and proper way of saying "the only thing that changed was the name of the idiot company that keeps delaying our trains." In private however, reactions were very, very different.

For a few engines, it meant very little: Thomas in particular barely cared at all. "What'll change? Not my branchline, that's for sure!" he once snapped at Duck when the Western engine tried to goad him into ranting with him about privatisation. Duncan said something very similar to a visiting diesel, only his version was far too inappropriate to be put in writing. Ever.

In stark contrast, a lot of the engines had very loud opinions about the entire thing. Duck spent most of one night trying to tell anyone who would listen that it was "disgraceful, disgusting and despicable" that the GWR hadn't been reformed after privatisation. (Henry, James and Gordon had to be physically restrained by BoCo and Bear before they tore Duck a new funnel for stealing their catchphrases). Donald and Douglas both tried to convince the Fat Controller to send them to London to 'politely make a case for a fully independent Scottish network'... multiple times. They also managed to say such inappropriate things that Oliver had to double-head all of Douglas' trains for a month to act as a censor for his language!

Gordon decided to offer the press his own solution to the privatisation issue, which went something like this: "What we need, is four companies to look after trains in different parts of the country - like we used to." "Like the Big 4?" "Indeed!" "We can't do that, such a system is considered to be a monopoly, and the government won't allow it." "Alright then, how about this: we have one railway that runs in the North and the East... and down to London perhaps. Then we can also have one railway that runs in the Midlands, and in Scotland... and also down to London perhaps, so you have your competition. Then we could have a railway that is in the West, and one in the South-" "Like the Big 4?" "No! These companies would be completely different!" "Look, Gordon, the government has made it very clear that the Big 4 will not return." "Well then FUCK JOHN MAJOR AND ALL THE TORY PARTY! [...] There would be competition anyway, with the roads, don't those blithering idiots understand?! [...] If any of them took a train for once, they'd realise just how bloody stupid the whole thing is, the bunch of------" (About twenty minutes worth of ranting has been omitted, due to various constraints...)

It was no surprise to anyone that Gordon personally campaigned for the Labour Party in 1997.

Meanwhile, behind the scenes, Sir Stephen Hatt and his sister Bridget were frantically pouring over the old charters of the NWR, hoping to be able to keep the new companies off Sodor - and indeed they found they could, as a 1925 Government deal originally intended to keep the NWR independent of the LMS also (entirely by accident) meant that no private, standard-gauge railway company other than the NWR could operate on the Isle of Sodor. Sir Stephen happily shoved that document in parliament's face when they tried to privatise the NWR's various assets, and then got his deal for the Furness Line from a different parliament committee before anyone could cross-reference him. By the time anyone managed to question why exactly they were selling an entirely railway line to a man who had very loudly told them to 'shove off and leave my railway alone', Sir Stephen had already taken control.

Their opinion: "Why treat a railway like its an airline? Honestly, it'll just wind up causing more problems in the end. A railway is a public good - yes, it makes us a lot of money, but we still run it for the people of Sodor, not for - no, we don't know why they divided British Rail like that, it makes no sense to us either - please stop asking more questions before we can finish our thoughts."

Also, a small rather large side note - Britain's railway privatisation is a complex and very unique affair that really showcases how exactly not to privatise a railway network. For example: for around seven years, the railway infrastructure was owned by a private company called RailTrack... which was terrible at doing its job and caused a number of major railway accidents (See Hatfield, 2000; Southall, 1997; Ladbroke Grove, 1999) and then panicked after the Hatfield crash and basically shut the network down, leading to questions over its competence and the finally its re-nationalisation because - surprise surprise - a private company trying to produce profits really shouldn't be in charge of the safety of millions of people with almost no proper accountability. Worse yet, the monopolies that the Tories wanted to avoid by breaking up the system happened anyway - see EWS, which bought up almost all the freight franchises and created a monopoly, only to be bought by Deutsche Bahn, which created an even bigger monopoly as it also owned (at the time) Arriva (they sold Arriva in 2024). To worsen the spaghetti, the system was divided into three basic sections: the infrastructure (RailTrack), Train Operating Companies (who owned the trains) and Franchises (who ran the trains and hired staff). In other words: a ticket in the UK is so expensive because you are paying for: the train crew, renting the train, renting the track, renting the platforms and producing profits for shareholders.

Oh, and suddenly freight and passenger trains owned by different companies are all competing to have priority at every. single. signalbox. in the country.

Now, I am not an expert in fixing extremely broken railway systems, but even still, I feel like I could probably do better than this mess!

Thank you for reading!

A Quick Aside from Traintober 2023 Day 23

Please go read my Big World instalment here - I put a lot of effort into this one - almost 4000 words worth - and I suffered through the BWBA movie for it.

Putting aside the geographical impossibilities of the movie, the issue of loading gauge and the track gauge... it's an iffy movie. The pacing is way off in my opinion - which is not an expert one, but all the same - the climax was legit less than 8 minutes before the credits rolled. And the climax was also annoyingly short. They were really building up to something, and then... well, it was a let down.

And I think the idea - crazily enough - had potential! But it needed some more flavour and a little more two-way conflict. Or just... a better written conflict in general.

Duck always did want to go and see the world beyond the horizon...

Traintober 2023: Day 23 - Big World

The blue tank engine pulled into the Big Station with his coaches, spotting the Fat Controller standing on the platform. “Ah, Thomas! Thank you for sorting out those vans earlier – I can’t believe they missed those on this morning’s Kipper.” “Not a problem sir!” Thomas said, an idea bubbling in his boiler. Surely he’d be able to convince the Fat Controller that a grand trip around the world was a perfect marketing strategy! Sir Topham Hatt was always looking for new ways to bring tourists to the railway after all.

“I’ve had an idea! How would you like it, sir, if one of your engines could be the very first to go right the way around the world?”

As Thomas prodded the Fat Controller for an affirmation, he didn’t notice a certain Great Western engine at the other platform, listening in closely.

Thomas thought he’d made a safe getaway, right up until he heard a pointed cough from behind him. “Well, Thomas, what’re we doing now?” “Duck?!” The Great Western Pannier tank sat in the hold behind the blue tank engine, with a pointed eyebrow raised. “What’re you doing here?!”

Duck coughed pointedly. “I came to stop you. You can’t go galivanting off across the planet! You need to let Carly lift you back onto the dockside this instant!” “Um… Duck…” “What?” “The boat’s moving.”

Duck went a very interesting shade of red, and said nothing for a little while. Then…

“We’re going back as soon as we reach Dakar.”

Duck raised an eyebrow at Thomas as he was rather coldly rejected by Ace. As much as he wanted to go home… or maybe hop on that ship bound for Italy… he knew rather well that if someone didn’t chase after the idiot they called a Number One tank engine, Thomas would inevitably end up down a mine, white water rafting his way towards certain doom.

And once was enough.

“Thomas, how about we just… go to Dar-es-Salaam. We can maybe catch a boat back to Sodor from there.” “No Duck, we’re not going back now! We’re going a trip around the world – or at least, I am. You can go back to boring old Sodor and you’re little forgetful branchline.” Duck hissed crossly. “Forgetful! Says the engine that forgets his passenger trains every day and needs Stanley to pull Annie and Clarabel. At least I remember to do my work, instead of wandering off to freaking Africa!”

Thomas raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Oh? So why’re you here?” “Stopping you from doing something stupid. Again.” In lieu of a reply, Thomas puffed away, asking aloud whether or not it was possible to reach Dar-es-Salaam from Senegal. Duck wondered if Thomas had ever seen a map – there were no railway lines across the Sahara! And yet, the blue tank engine seemed to believe that if he just asked loudly enough, some random shunter would couple them up to a line of trucks and send them across the continent!

“Dar-es-Salaam? Are you going to Dar-es-Salaam?” Duck looked over, and saw several trucks all beam at the tank engine. “Oh no… oh no, Thomas—” “We’ve been waiting for you!” The trucks were hooked up to Thomas by a little shunter with side tanks and a stove pipe funnel. Duck watched on with interest. These trucks didn’t seem like the ones on Sodor.

“So you are the new engine?” asked the foreman, striding over from his office. “Well… I…” “We, are the new engines – sir,” Duck interjected. “But only for this run. We’re being transferred down to Dar-es-Salaam, so the railway thought it best we take the trucks with us.” “Two of you?” he asked slowly. “You are both so small though!” “Little engines can—” Duck cut off Thomas again.

“We are small, sir. But I’ve got plenty of water, and Thomas here is full of plenty of hot air.” “Hot air?!” “Oh! Like steam,” said the foreman. “It is… one of your…” “English jokes, sir,” Duck replied sweetly. Thomas went red in the face, and let out a great cloud of steam. Duck just sidled away to couple on behind.

The two quickly discovered just why the foreman had been so sceptical. They had been put on a slow pick-up goods, being halted at nearly every station between Dakar and Abuja to pick up and put down trucks. Thomas continued to watch in shock as five trucks became eight, then thirteen, then thirty!

Duck quietly uncoupled when the last lot were shunted onto the back of the train, and sidled up alongside.

“We’ll not make it across the rest of the continent with just the two of us.” “Yes we will!” spluttered Thomas. “I don’t even need you back there! All you’re doing is slowing me down!” Duck rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll find a brakevan for you, and you can continue alone.” “A brakevan? We haven’t needed one yet! The land is flat, Duck – the trucks can’t roll away!” Duck rolled his eyes. Every wise engine knows that brakevans aren’t just for runaway trains.

Nonetheless, Thomas did wait for the Great Western Pannier to find a brakevan, before heaving and groaning loudly as he tried his best to drag the heavy train away. Duck’s driver just shook his head in disbelief.

“First I let you talk me into this, then I let you talk me into not helping that struggling fool – I’m so losing my job.”

To his credit, Thomas did make it to the next shunting yard – but there, a large orange tank engine shunted ten more wagons onto the back of his train. Thomas winced as he felt them being coupled up.

“Um…” “Your face!” cackled the orange engine joyfully. “You really shouldn’t look so surprised – there are always a lot of trucks for Dar-es-Salaam, you know,” she added. Duck chuckled. “Oh, he knows,” he said with a smirk. “He’s just stubborn.” “I don’t need any help!” “See?” Thomas hissed steam at Duck, who puffed backwards to avoid it. “Well, I can help you,” offered the orange engine. Thomas glared. “No! I just said I don’t need your help - just watch me! I can do this… by myself!” The orange engine looked rather hurt. Duck sighed.

“Come on, he’ll wind up in a mess in a moment, and then he’ll change his tune. He always does.”

And Duck was – inevitably – right.

The orange engine’s name was Nia. And having saved Thomas from derailing (and then horrifying Duck by suddenly rushing backwards down a hill), she was easily accepted by the Pannier into the little group. Thomas, meanwhile, just sniffed.

“Couple up while you can,” Duck advised. “He’s a loose cannon, this one – he’ll have run off on you in a puff if could. Trust me.” Nia took the Pannier tank’s advice, and the pair helped push the heavy train up the rest of the hill – and then along the beautiful scenery of the Sahel region. Duck was enamoured with everything.

“I’ve always wanted to sail away and see the world,” he admitted to Nia quietly. “Just… to see what it’s like for myself.” “Oh, me too!” grinned Nia. “There’s one place I’ve heard of in China, called the Rainbow Mountains.” “Wow…” murmured Duck. “That would be incredible to see… Personally, I’ve always wanted to see Greece, or Italy. They say the views over the ocean are some of the best in the world.” The two smiled – perhaps, their journey wouldn’t be so bad after all…

And then Thomas spoke up.

“Will you two shut up! I’m going to be the first engine to travel around the world!” “Circumnavigate is the right word,” muttered Duck. “Well, you’ll need our help to get to Dar-es-Salaam at least,” smirked Nia. “Cause it’s 5000 miles away.”

Thomas spluttered and coughed for several minutes. “5000 miles?!” “Well, at least the trucks will help you,” hummed Nia. “Trucks? Helpful?! When pigs fly!” “The trucks back on the Great Western used to be helpful,” said Duck. “But that was because they knew the importance of being really useful.”

Thomas just rolled his eyes, and let the pair – and their ‘useful trucks’ start a sing-along.

Duck chuckled as he and Nia greeted Kwaku warmly. Behind them, Thomas tried to butt in and ask about Ace – but instead, Duck decided to indulge in the local greeting himself. “And how are you, Kwaku? How are your wheels, how is your boiler, how are your pistons? Have the tracks been taking you where you wish to run, and have the other engines been good to you?” Kwaku beamed.

“Now you! You understand the importance of knowing your fellow engines.” Duck chuckled. “Oh thank you. It’s similar to a greeting we had back on the Great Western – though, we just liked to ask: has all been well with you and your shedmates?” Kwaku and Nia both looked intrigued; Thomas blew his whistle loudly to get their attention.

“Excuse me! Have you seen a yellow rally car named Ace?!” “So rude!” sniffed Duck. “Interrupting a conversation like that.” Nia and Kwaku agreed. “Most disrespectful,” muttered Nia. “His designer would be ashamed,” agreed Kwaku. “Ashamed of every insult he makes against both his class and his home.” Duck sighed.

“Our railway is normally much nicer than the blue puffball makes out – he’s normally too. But recently… he’s been foisting off his duties on other engines so he can go galivanting off to my branchline to mess with the little engines.” “Little engines?” asked Nia. “They cannot be much smaller than Thomas, right?” Duck laughed; Thomas glowered.

Amazingly enough, Nia joined the pair on their next ship – this one bound for Rio de Janeiro. “Hopefully we’ll catch up with Ace there…” murmured Thomas. Duck grimaced. “I don’t like this Ace,” he said. “He seems like a bad influence. If such a car had come round Paddington…” “Then he’d have been the most interesting vehicle there,” snapped Thomas. Duck glared. “How dare you—” “I didn’t want to bring you, Montague. I wanted to be the first, I wanted to see the world! But you just had to come and ruin it.” Duck went silent, and both he and Nia went unhappily to sleep.

Pulling coffee from Rio de Janeiro in Brazil to San Francisco in the USA was yet another job that seemed impossible. “There can’t be a railway line through the Darien Gap!” huffed Duck. “It’s impossible! Not even the road goes through there.” And yet, they were loaded up with coal and water and shown the entrance to the Pan-American railway (which Duck had rather… mixed feelings about).

Nia, on the other hand, was excited!

“We’re going to be able to see monkeys, and panthers, and—” “Snakes.” “Thomas, seriously? Snakes? Are you just wanting to frighten poor Nia?” Thomas didn’t reply, just chortled up front.

It took all three engines several moments to heave the heavy train into motion. Most of the train was made of covered vans filled with sacks of coffee, however a couple flatbeds had been coupled up between Thomas and Duck, to hold the coffee beans that didn’t fit into the vans.

With Thomas in front, it wasn’t long until both Duck and Nia grew bored. The blue tank engine was off in his own world again, fantasising about racing Ace. “Hey, look!” exclaimed Nia excitedly. “It’s a toucan!” Duck gazed over and gasped in amazement. “I’ve never seen a toucan before!” he said. “Oh, I wish I had a camera.” “My fireman has one!” Nia replied. Her fireman leaned out of the cab to photograph the toucan; and then he was taking photos of the parrots, of the capybaras, of monkeys and even a panther that stalked by the lineside.

“How incredible!” murmured Duck. “The scenery here is just…” He and Nia both gazed up at the tall trees that swayed in the breeze above them, practically dripping with vines and vibrant flowers in almost every colour of the rainbow. There were also hundreds of insects, and it wasn’t long before all three crews were putting up fly nets.

They’d just started off again when a certain blue pain-in-Duck’s-bunker spotted his new best friend Ace, and they were speeding off suddenly without stopping for water.

Once again, it was Nia who saved them, when Thomas ran dry, and they almost had to dump his fire. Had their crews not used the giant leaves from some nearby shrubs to create water funnels for all three engines – which was Nia’s idea – then he may have had to have his fire dumped.

Rain fell hard in the Amazon jungle – though Duck wasn’t quite sure where they were. “Perhaps we’re nearly in Colombia?” suggested Nia. “It is getting warmer.” “We might even be on the equator right now!” exclaimed Duck excitedly. “No we’re not!” snorted Thomas. “If we were on the equator, we’d see a big dotted line!” “Thomas, you dim-witted blue puffball! That’s a marking on a map, not a real thing!” spluttered Duck.

Thomas sniffed. “Oh please! You just want to stare at the trees. We need to get moving to get Ace to his next rally!” Ah, yes. Ace. They’d found him upside down on the side of the line some miles back, and already Duck wanted to shove him back into the undergrowth.

“You tell him Thomas!” cheered Ace. “We’ve gotta go fast – there’s no time for this sightseeing. I might be out of this race, but I can still make it to North America – continent number three!” “We have coffee to deliver,” Duck reminded sternly. “Which means we’re going to San Francisco. Unless your race starts from there, you’re out of luck. It’s a miracle we’re even helping you in the first place! It’s not the Great Western—” “Oh shut up!” groaned Thomas. “Don’t you have anything else to justify your ridiculous rants, Duck? Great Western this, Great Western that – the Great Western Railway is gone!”

Duck didn’t reply – instead, he went silent, and just glared at Thomas’ bunker.

Which was of course the exact moment that the tracks began to sink into the mud and ooze beneath them.

Both Nia and Duck were all too happy to split the train and ‘race’ through Mexico and Arizona. The two took one track (and the majority of the trucks), while Thomas got Ace, the flatbeds, two vans and the brakevan.

“On your marks!” called Ace. “Get set! Go!”

And with that, the three were thundering along, Nia and Duck working in tandem to draw ahead of the blue tank engine. “This is better!” cheered Duck. “No Thomas, no Ace, no worries!” “You shouldn’t talk about your friend like that,” Nia huffed. “Friend?!” spluttered Duck with a laugh. “Please! You heard him – we’ve never been friends, Nia. Mister Number One doesn’t like me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. At least with him gone, we can finally go see those Rainbow Mountains you were talking about, instead of being dragged after the Blue Puffball.”

“Why do you call him that?” quizzed Nia. Duck laughed. “Oh, it’s a nickname a diesel with a giant claw gave him a while back,” he said offhandedly. Nia gaped at Duck in shock. “What?!” “Ah, now this is a fun story…”

And so, even though they were still racing Thomas through the Arizonan desert, Duck and Nia took the time to share stories about their home railways, as well as marvel at the sublime scenery that surrounded them, including the Grand Canyon itself.

Thomas didn’t come. He had ditched them to play ‘rally car’ with Ace. So, Duck and Nia didn’t wait. Instead, the pair boarded the next ship bound for China, excited to go and see the famous Rainbow Mountains in China. They were located at the Zhangye National Park in the north of the country, so the pair had plenty of time to see some of the other wonders of the ancient nation on their way, from the bustling city of Shanghai to the Grand Canal to Jiuzhai Valley National Park. It was gorgeous!

Better yet, they met Yong Bao on their way. Duck had previously met the gentle giant back when Britain had hosted the Great Railway Show, and the Chinese engine had spent some time at the Big Station helping out Henry, Murdoch and Hiro on the heavy goods trains.

“The Rainbow Mountains are beautiful this time of year,” Yong Bao grinned. “It is such an honour to be able to share them with you. Thank you both for finding the time to come all this way to see our sights.” “I’ve always wanted to see the world,” said Duck with a smile. “I remember once talking to Percy about it back on Sodor, during a regatta. He said it was impossible because engines can’t float…” “Really?” hummed Nia. “I used to stare at the sunset and wonder what the world looked like!” “Me too!”

Yong Bao chuckled.

“Well, we can go see the Rainbow Mountains together – and then is there anywhere else you want to go?” “Italy,” Nia replied. Duck’s eyes widened. “You said you wanted to go there, right?” “I… you remembered?” “Of course I did! We’re friends,” said Nia. “And you remembered that I wanted to come here.” Duck beamed. “Oh yes!” Yong Bao chuckled at the pair. “Come on, we had best get moving – you need to see the Rainbow Mountains, then head towards the Himalayas so you can start on your journey to Italy.” Yong Bao coupled the pair up to a passenger train he was pulling in that direction, and the three set off.

“I… I don’t have many friends,” Duck admitted quietly to Nia after a few minutes. “Most of the other engines think I’m a bit… too uptight.” “Being proud of your work and heritage is important,” said Nia. “You should not be ashamed of it. You just prefer to get all your jobs finished before relaxing – it is honourable.” “Agreed,” chimed in Yong Bao. “You have a friend in me, Duck.” Duck smiled a watery smile – he felt close to tears.

“Thank you. Thank you both.”

Yong Bao left them at the base of the ‘railway through the clouds’, and the two continued onwards up the highest railway in the world on their own. It wasn’t easy going. The lack of oxygen made their fires burn cooler, and each puff was a pant – but still they kept on going, spurred on by the scenery that they were seeing. They could see the Himalayas stretched out in front of them, the roof of the world covered in ice and snow.

Both engines talked in hushed voices, both so not to disturb the animals dozing by the line in certain areas – and to not trigger a landslide in others.

That was when they heard a loud, shrill whistle. Duck and Nia both looked back – there was Thomas, speeding up the side of the mountain and whistling fit to burst, calling out their names. Both of them sped up, eyes turned upwards. They were wary of triggering an avalanche.

A tunnel loomed ahead. Nia and Duck puffed in just as there was a deep, dangerous rumble above them. The two slammed on their brakes as a giant avalanche came roaring down the mountainside. The whistles cut out – then started again, only this time alarmed.

“Help! Help!” Duck’s eyes were wide. “Come on, we have to rescue him!” he exclaimed. The two raced back out the tunnel, to find snow everywhere. They charged down the line, and found Thomas off the rails near a sharp bend. He was tilting over the edge of a cliff face, his front buffers hanging over nothing.

“You secure him,” Duck said to Nia. “I’m going to find help further down the mountain.” “Got it. But hurry!” Chains were secured between Thomas and Nia, while Duck sprinted back down the mountain.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said after a moment. “I was stupid to listen to Ace – he just seemed so cool… and it made me lose sight of who my real friends were.” “I think,” said Nia, “that you need to save your apology for Duck.”

The two sat there for several moments – and then Nia felt herself slipping. Snow was shifting under Thomas, dragging him further over the cliff edge. Nia strained against the weight of the blue tank engine – but it was a losing battle. Just as she felt her trailing wheels lift up off the rails however, Yong Bao and Duck steamed up behind her, buffering up and pushing forwards with all their might!

“Yong Bao!” cheered Nia. “Duck, you found him!” “I heard the avalanche and came right away,” Yong Bao replied. “Whoever was dumb enough to whistle so loudly in an avalanche zone put everyone in danger.”

Thomas blushed, and looked at his buffers in disgrace. “I… I’m sorry Duck,” he said eventually. “I shouldn’t have been so mean. I… I don’t know why you’ve put up with me so far.” “Well, it wouldn’t be very good if you went and rolled down a mountainside,” smirked Duck. “It’s just not the Great Western Way.”

Yong Bao smiled, listening to Duck’s roundabout forgiveness of his friend.

“Here, I will guide you the rest of the way,” he offered. “It is safer.” “Thank you,” said Duck. “We’d really appreciate that. And… maybe our drivers could exchange email addresses?” “Sounds wonderful,” grinned Yong Bao.

There was just one last place to go before returning to Sodor.

Duck gasped in astonishment, gazing out over the city of Venice. Thomas and Nia sat on either side of the Pannier tank, all three staring out across the lagoon to where the ancient island city lay, great buildings made of limestone rising up out of the sea.

“It’s incredible,” Duck managed to say, tears in his eyes. He’d actually fulfilled his dream. “I… I never thought I’d ever come here.” “And I never thought I’d leave Africa,” Nia added. “But I got to see the Rainbow Mountains.” “And I never thought I’d leave the yard,” Thomas finished. “But I got to see the world, and I’m glad I got to see it with you both.” “Thank you,” murmured Duck. “It… wasn’t too bad seeing the world with you either.”

They still had a long way to go to get back home to Sodor – a route filled with gorgeous scenery, incredible cities and a trip through the Channel Tunnel – but they weren’t in a hurry. Perhaps there was something to leaving for a little while to see the world, mused Duck.

And as the sun set over the water, the three friends stood on the pier and let the world pass them by, content to spend time together.

Back to Master Post

The Importance of Names in the Railway Series

It's been a hot minute since my last take on the world of Thomas & Friends - so here's one that has sort of been wandering about in the back of my mind for a while.

How important is a name to an engine? Cause we know the engines do put a lot of value into a name. Stepney and Edward say as such:

"[...] I think our Controller was right. All engines ought to have names." "Yes," agreed Edward, "it's most important."

And it's further reinforced by Bear later in the series:

"It's nicer than just having a number," he (Bear) says. "Having a name means that you really belong."

Donald and Douglas echo this by giving themselves names (partially to fool the Fat Controller) and the interesting thing is that Sir Charles actually uses their names almost exclusively from that moment on - unless referring to them by their new numbers.

Even BoCo gives himself a name! And it feels pretty on-the-spot too, seeing as he just goes "but you can call me BoCo".

But in contrast, every single rail-based 'villain' or 'antagonist' in the Railway Series only has a number, or is Diesel, who doesn't really have a name either. Check me! There's:

None of them have names - not even 'the Big City Engine'. They're given nicknames by the engines, but otherwise they are just numbers. And I think it runs a bit deeper than that. A little while back I did a post on the 'railway rulebook' - and something I said was that managers did everything in their power to both dehumanise the engines and make the engines loyal to them. What better way of doing that than only giving certain engines names? 'Flying Scotsman' gets a name because he's a prestigious express engine, but the engine who shunts his coaches? The goods engine who brought his coal? Why would management give them names - to do that is to undermine the class system they've built to keep the engines fighting amongst themselves. If the engines are on equal footing, then they'd want equal rights.

You know... this sounds a lot like the Communist Manifesto. I don't think the Rev. W. Awdry intended it that way, but it does.

But that's beside my point. Certain railways either don't want their engines to have names. In particular, I would point at the LMS and the LNER, which both had a massive roster of engines. Not only is recording all their names a pain, but it would also add a sense of individuality to them and muck up their spreadsheets. In most countries, people have an ID number for identification - and that's what these companies needed. Not names; numbers.

The GWR is a notable exception to this, and I think people have noticed that. Both Duck and Oliver arrive with names, and Sir Topham I was a Swindon-apprentice who would have grown up with GWR ideology. Edward got his name because he was built as an express engine, Henry and Gordon for the same reasons - and everyone else either gives themselves names or have names given to them.

Toby probably got his from his crew and the locals after decades of being in the same area - I mean, he literally runs into their town, of course they have a name for him. Percy is given his by Sir Topham, and we can infer Thomas and James got similar treatment. Donald and Douglas gave themselves names, and so did BoCo.

Another possibility is that a preservation society would give engines names, though that was more the engines on said heritage line - like in Stepney the Bluebell Engine, where Stepney refers to all his friends on the Bluebell by name, and says his controller gave out some names, like Bluebell and Primrose - but Adams and Cromford got their names from the other engines and they don't want the controller finding out. And again, Stepney and Edward both explicitly say that they believe engines ought to have names - and that they believe it really makes an engine feel like family.

This almost exclusively applies to engines in a steam-dominated society, and once again I have to return to my old nemesis: early British Railways. British Railways inherited a massive network that spanned a continent and had thousands of engines - not to mention the fact they were going to scrap all their steam engines and replace them with new diesel engines. Names were never ever going to be viable. But moreover, they were going to kill all the steam engines - if these engines were seen by the public to be very sentient and intelligent, then there would be an outcry. Dehumanising these engines was extremely important to their business model.

So almost every new engine built under BR got no name. And that includes steam and diesel engines. And this sort of environment, where engines referred to each other by number, became standard.

Names have a lot of meaning behind them. We give names to things we believe are very valuable to us, things we really bond with, like a teddy bear or a beloved family car. Names confer a level of love and care, as opposed to numbers, which have a level of 'repetitive factory conveyor belt' to them, for lack of a better term. These engines, referring to each other by number, didn't sound as human as those referring to each other by name.

For a good example, as mentioned above, the GWR gave all its engines names - and the GWR has the most engines from its company preserved. The fact that people knew these engines had names, and possibly by name, really contributed to how many were saved.

But what makes it even more interesting is the fact that often engines give each other names. Bear is given his name by the other engines, Duck is a nickname given to 'Montague' because he waddles. And I think the reason that none of these diesels have names is because no steam engine ever gave them a name, and company policy means no diesel has the mindset for giving out names either. Steam engines give each other names, but it becomes exclusive to them and friendly diesels, and thus dies out over the generations.

Engines today don't have names. They don't even really have a proper visible number. They have a serial number somewhere, but that's about it. And I think that says a lot about what happened to the tradition of names for engines.

To sum up a very long, winding ramble, I think names came from several places:

And these names were very common in the steam era as engines gave each other names and communities knew specific engines and gave them names. As everything became more commercial and bureaucratic, naming was lost. Numbers reinforced company identity and dehumanised the engines to make them less sympathetic to the public. Look at Donald and Douglas, who probably had their names for decades - given by their friends - but never learnt by management.

Wow, that took a bit of a dark turn. Thanks for reading, and as usual, none of the above pictures are mine.

How Did the Big 4 Affect Ideas About Scrap for the Steam Engines:

Alright, so in the Railway Series, we know that scrap and the idea of scrap is horrifying to the engines. But the real question is: was this a universal thing? Were all the engines equally horrified, or were there differences.

I mean, from that one infamous illustration in the Railway Series, it seems pretty universal...

But I think that if we dive a little deeper, there may be a few other factors at play, which collectively create very different views on scrap - and they all have to do with the Big 4. I'm going to explain them by size, so let's start giant and get smaller.

LMS:

The LMS engines would not be as surprised to hear they're being replaced and scrapped as other companies. Why? Well, we have to look back a bit. In the 1920's, the LMS was a bit of a hodgepodge of constituent railways and their engines. The Midland 'small-engine' policy did mean that a lot of the bigger engines were frowned upon, but in general the engines were just... there.

This changed with Stanier. When Stanier came along, he began building larger, faster, more powerful engines - and thus a lot of the older, smaller classes were axed. Engines classes like the Black Fives, Coronations and 8F's could do the work of these older engines much better!

There was only one class of engine built by the Furness that survived into BR ownership, and they weren't the only company with this happening. The engines of the LMS would've been accustomed to these ideas. And where does D261 come from? Well, the Class 40 diesels were used on the West Coast Mainline - D261 would be very used to the steam engines being very accepting of the idea that this was 'their time', and therefore stunned at how the Sodor engines acted.

The opposite end of this was that smaller engine classes were very afraid of being withdrawn. Edward's a great example of this - he watched his entire railway be taken over and all his friends and family replaced - and he fears he might be next. It drives him to extreme lengths to prove his worth, just to try and gain a few more years. Donald and Douglas are another example of this; as Caledonian Railway engines, they were generally under the threat of being scrapped all through their careers, and this created a desire to prove themselves and survive.

The LMS as a company committed to this 'purge' of smaller, older classes, and thus the engines of the LMS would have been far more used to and accepting of the idea of being scrapped as compared to others. It was part of the company culture! It wasn't universal by any means, but it had an impact, especially in the English part of the LMS.

LNER:

The exact opposite of the LMS. The LNER was a railway that was throughout its existence very, very poor. And while it did build some stunning-looking express engines...

... in actuality, many of the engines running on the LNER were constituent engines that were just kept going. A good example of this would be the C1 Atlantics, which were introduced in 1902, and weren't completely withdrawn until 1950!

The LNER just didn't have the money or the ability to commit to a drastic newbuild scheme like the LMS did. That isn't to say that old engines weren't scrapped, but it did mean a lot more of the older classes weren't. And when a large body of engines survive for 50 odd years, the culture of elongated existence survives with them. Gordon is so badly affected by the Modernisation Plan personally because his company culture was one of preservation and extended service. His brothers would have quite happily told him that even when they were supplanted by the A4's that they'd be around for a long time yet, because that's how the LNER worked. And then they weren't and Gordon was stunned.

And remember, the LNER is the railway that preserved City of Truro alongside a bunch of its elderly engines at York. This railway had a culture that was built around a sort of trickle-down duties. As express engines were supplanted, they simply moved down the chain.

Speaking of City of Truro...

GWR:

This is another railway whose engines are stunned by the Modernisation Plan, but for a very different reason. Both the GWR and the LMS scrapped a large number of engines in the 1930's, but unlike the LMS, the GWR focused on engines who were at the end of their useful lifespan.

City of Truro was around 30 when withdrawn. For an engine introduced at the same time as the C1 Atlantics, this seems short - but its about average for the GWR at the time. The shock to the GWR engines is not the fact they're being scrapped - it's the fact that engines not at the end of their useful lifespans are being scrapped.

The King class was built in 1927 and nearing the end of their lifespan, but the Modified Halls weren't, and neither were the 9400's. Their withdrawal and subsequent scrapping was what really shocked Western engines.

Oliver's class was built in the 1930's, and would have expected to survive into the late 1960's and 1970's. The sudden withdrawal of them all would have been a great shock, and one of the driving factors behind his escape.

And then in the Railway Series, Duck doesn't act all that surprised to hear steam engines are being cut up - but he is hostile to diesel engines. The reason? Because diesel engines aren't just replacing the old engines in the natural GWR order of things, but supplanting the entire lot. He's relatively fine with Bear though because unlike many of the other diesels, Bear's class could be very easily perceived as being a natural progression of GWR engines. They took over the jobs of Castles and Kings - engines built in the 1920's and nearing the end of their GWR lives. There is of course also his outburst, which gives off a very GWR vibe - telling an engine off for insulting another railway? I wonder which of our Famous Eight has also done that...

Southern:

Right, so the Southern is possibly the most interesting case of them all. And the reason for that is this:

The Southern Railway was both the smallest of the Big 4 and the most passenger orientated. As such, they naturally gravitated towards a program of electrification, which they saw as the best way to maximise their profits. Engines on the Southern would have been invariably told that they would be withdrawn someday when the electrification reached their part of the line. That is a level of certainty that would have a massive impact on how the engines viewed their fate.

It also meant that the Southern Railway was not focused on replacing the steam engines they already had with new ones. This allowed some truly ancient engines to make it to British Railways.

This is Fenchurch, and when withdrawn in 1963 he was the oldest engine working on British Rail. He was built in 1872 - so that's a career of 91 years. And another class that was hitting pensioner years in British Rail was the Adams Radial Class, built in 1882. Both Southern Railway engines that found a niche duty that wasn't going to be electrified or upgraded anytime soon.

Even the E2's had their own niche at Southampton docks! They were a failure of a class when built, and yet were still in service in the 1960's. Thomas the tank engine himself has remarkably little to say about modernisation in the books - his job is threatened by a diesel, and while he's horrified that it's a diesel, he's not shocked he's being replaced. Even though he spent a tiny amount of time in the south, its culture managed to penetrate his smokebox.

But there is one other railway that has a central role in this, and it is of course British Railways.

British Railways:

Right, so this is the one company that is the cause of much of the above commentary to become obsolete. When amalgamated, British Rail was meant to electrify the country's railways slowly and steadily, with steam engines making up the difference. And at the onset, they withdrew and scrapped many of the older, smaller classes of engines and replaced them with the Standards - something very similar to LMS and GWR practice, and also not unfamiliar to the LNER. The really problem comes with the Modernisation Plan in 1955.

The Standard Five class were built until 1957 - two years after the publication of the Modernisation Plan which explicitly stated that BR would scrap all steam. The 9F's were being built until 1960. At the longest, these engines got less than twenty years. At the youngest, some were withdrawn after only five years.

And that's what shocked all the older engines. It's not the fact they're being scrapped - ever since the conception of the railways, engines have been being scrapped. It's the magnitude of the scrapping and the wanton destruction of young, healthy engines. It's not that they're being replaced - that was always going to happen, all the engines knew that. It's the speed of the Modernisation Plan, the scrapping of brand new engines and the fact that steam engines were replaced with Pilot scheme diesels who were mostly failures.

That's what caused the engines to fear scrap and hate diesels.

And while I would love to delve into the diesels and what happened to them, that's its own massive thing.

I would like to note that this does not really take into account specific incidents, but rather general trends that would have led to more widespread knowledge. The single incident involving one engine in Aberdeen doesn't really permeate railway gossip and ideology, but an entire class being withdrawn does.

I would also like to acknowledge the fact none of the above pictures are mine.