A small blue car drove up to the imposing entrance of a large yard, stopping with a screech. A short and stout man wearing a top hat and tails stepped out of the car; it was unmistakably Stephen Topham Hatt, the Fat Controller. A man swiftly scurried out of the entrance to greet the important visitor.
"Good day, Mr Hatt, and welcome to Barry Island! We are honoured to welcome you here." The man sad as he firmly shook the Fat Controller's hand. "I've read about the exploits of your engines, they're very fascinating."
"The honour is mine, Mr Woodham I presume. Now, would you mind taking me to see your engines?" Mr Woodham lead the Fat Controller into the yard. As they entered, the Fat Controller's eyes glanced towards a sign - "WOODHAM BROTHERS SCRAPYARD".
Every engine has heard of Woodham Brothers, the infamous Barry Scrapyard, for it was here the Other Railway sent many steam engines to be scrapped. It haunts their nightmares like a bogeyman, and the very mention of its name makes an engine's wheels go weak and their boiler curl. Tales speak about unspeakable cruelty and misery there, and some owners even threaten to send badly behaved engines there. In truth, however, most engines sent to Barry were saved by preservation societies like the Bluebell Railway and were restored to be Really Useful again. Which was why the Fat Controller was here; to save an engine for his railway.
As he walked around the lot with Mr Woodham, he saw a depressing sight. Rows upon rows of cold steam locomotives slowly rusting away to nothing, with what was once sparkling paint being replaced by a hideous orange-green colour. What were once spotless and grand machines, were now sickly and withered, the salty sea air corroding them, with few having reached their prime. Worse were the helpless faces, miscoloured, full of despair and misery, consigned to whatever fate shall befall them. And those were the lucky ones. Many looked lifeless and dead, their bodies slowly collapsing and breaking. The only sounds that could be heard was quiet whimpering and crying. The Fat Controller shed a tear for them. It was all he could do, for as much as he wanted to, he could not save them all. Just one. He hoped that others would save the rest. A few already had the good fortune to be marked by societies.
Just then, he heard a sound. A weak cough, that drew his attention. He walked to the source of the noise, and there he found it. The engine he needed. It was in no better condition than the others, perhaps even worse, but there was something about it that assured the Fat Controller this was the engine. Looking at its face, he could see that it was alert and lifeful, and most intriguingly appeared to be sizing him up! After a moment, a nervous, perhaps even slightly scared, smile appeared on its face and it spoke.
"G-g-ood day, s-sir." It stuttered in a weak voice that sounded male. "What c-can I for yo-u?"
The Fat Controller smiled back and gently placed his hand on the engine's right buffer. "My name is Stephen Hatt, I am the Controller of the North Western Railway on the Island of Sodor. I'm in need of an engine. Would you like to..."
"Y-y-yes please sir, I'd love to work again! I'll do anything you ask, sir, anything! I'll pull coaches, trucks, balloons, cranes! I'll be the most useful engine ever!" He stopped for a moment. "T-Thank you, Stephen."
"We have an arrangement then! Take me to sign the paperwork please, Mr Woodham." The two men turned to leave, but the Fat Controller quickly turned back. "I almost forgot to ask, what is your name?"
The Engine's smile went away "I... I don't have one, sir. My old railway didn't give most engines names..."
"I see... Well, we'll soon sort that out!" The Engine perked up again as the men walked away to the office. Inside, Mr Woodham gave the Fat Controller some papers to sign. Transportation arrangements were made and Mr Woodham handed over all documentation he had on the Engine. As the Engine said, no name.
"An engine needs a name to really belong..." He muttered as be left. A few days later, a lorry came to the yard to pick the Engine up. He was carefully loaded on to the flatbed and was waved off by Mr Woodham. As the Scrapyard faded in to the distance, his mind turned towards the future and his new life. A fresh start, and he'd make sure to make the best of it. At the same time, he was anxious. Would these engines like him? Will he truly be safe or will he just end up in another scrapyard.
"Life is an adventure..." He muttered to himself. "I just hope there's treasure at the end this time."