Railways were his passion.
He adored them. He spotted them. He recorded them. He photographed them.
But, of all train-oriented hobbies, he loved modelling them.
He created huge layouts, with hundreds of locomotives. Thousands of carriages. A train modellers' haven.
And now he was on his final project.
The Island of Sodor.
He will recreate Tidmouth station in it's glory. Make the enormous viaduct. Create the famous hill that was christened after Gordon.
And while his magnificent operation went underway, a frivolous thought came to him.
Could I recreate the stories?
Yes, was his answer.
So he wrote the scripts, built the engines and set up the stage for his first ever story.
Thomas is a tank engine...
...
...
The owner was leaving and a new one was taking his place.
This one was a novelist, with a fixture on morality and kindness.
She inherited the layout from her brother and decided to follow in his footsteps.
But.
She found the stories of the books too... technical. Too cold.
She was mistaken, of course.
So, she decided to create her own.
Henry's forest. Time for trouble. Thomas get bumped.
She kept the stories she liked from the books.
And started the creation of the third dynasty...
Henry loved the forest...
..
..
The third one was quite destructive.
The teenage years are not times of peace and are reflected in this ones work.
He disliked the work set before him and rebuilt the model over.
Renaming. Replacing. Redoing.
He created new engines that had nothing to do with the books.
He had deemed them to childish.
He wanted stories with action and danger.
So he wrote tails of scariness, of crashes, of anarchy.
But, to honour his mother and uncle, he kept the morality.
And so started the fifth dynasty...
At Brendam docks, there was a crane named Cranky...
..
..
The fourth was a child.
And a particularly stupid one at that.
He had no knowledge of railways, no knowledge of the engines, no knowledge of Sodor.
He refused to see his predeccesors work.
He completley remade everything.
He would pester his father for new engines, for more track for sets that would never be seen again.
His stories were rather childlike, with no sense of organisation.
Ironically, so far he was the only one to make movies.
And so begins the eight dynasty...
In the middle of the forest was a wishing tree...
..
..
..
Years after his departure from his railway, the first one returned.
And was disgusted.
His precious work was redone and redrawn, all his characters rethought, with shameful one-dimensional caricatures in their place.
But, then he read the stories.
The second one's stories were peaceful and queit. The third's gave him a good dose of adrenaline. Even the fourth made a few good ones.
However, he burnt Fiery Flynn.
Mabye, just mabye, he could make his own again.
And so he began again, writing the seventeenth.
Gordon was a proud engine, who pulled the express...
..
..
..
The End.
For now.