1:00 a.m., Wednesday, October 4th, 1967
Douglas had taken the midnight goods to a station on the "Other Railway". He was just shunting, ready for his return journey when….
Hisssssssss.
That sounds like a steam engine, he thought.
The "hiss" came again.
"Who's there?"
A whisper came.
"Are you a Fat Controller's engine?"
"Aye, and proud of it."
"Thank goodness! Well, I'm Oliver and I'm with my coach Isabel and brakevan Toad. We're escaping to your railway, but we have run out of coal and water and have no more steam."
"Is it from scrap ye're escaping?"
"Yes."
"Then it's glad I'll be to help ye; but we maun wurrk fast."
Both crews joined in. They took off Oliver's side-rods, placed a brown canvas sack on his funnel, wrote out transit labels, and chalked "SCRAP" everywhere they could.
Douglas marshalled Oliver in front of his train.
"No time to turn round," he panted. "I maun run tender furrst."
And off they went.
"Yoohoo! Yoohoo!" yelled a passing Deltic. "A steamer's escaping! Yoohoo!"
Douglas puffed firmly on.
"Take no notice," he counselled; but they were stopped before they could clear the station throat.
The foreman's lamp shone on Oliver.
"Aha!" he exclaimed. "A 'Western' engine!" His light flickered back. "A 'Western' auto-coach and a goods-brake van too! You can't take these!"
"Can we no!" said Douglas' driver. "They're all fer uz. See fer yeself."
Douglas' guard showed him the labels and papers. Oliver's crew, hiding in Isabel, hardly dared to breathe. Nobody even bothered to check Toad.
"Seems in order," said the foreman grudgingly. "But it's queer."
"Sure, and it is," began the guard. "But I could tell you queerer . . . "
"So could I!" interrupted the foreman. "Right away, guard."
"A near thing," puffed Douglas with relief.
"We've had worse," smiled Oliver as they forged ahead. "We ran at night, away from our old line which was being dieselised. Friendly signalmen would pass us from box to box when no trains were about. We got on well till 'control' heard about a 'mystery train'. Then, they tried to hunt us down."
"What did you do?"
"A signalman let us hide on an old quarry branch. Driver, fireman, and guard blocked the cutting with branches, leaves and rubbish, and levered one of the approach rails away. We stayed there for days, with diesels baying and growling like hounds outside. I was very frightened then."
"Small blame to you," said Douglas feelingly.
Presently, they rumbled over the Vicarstown Rolling Bridge and on to the Fat Controller's Railway.
"We're home! They can't catch ye noo."
"Tell Isabel and Toad please."
Douglas called out the news, and heard a joyful "Tingalingaling! Tingalingaling!" He was surprised.
Oliver chuckled. "That must be Isabel," he said. "There is a bell on her you see. She's clever. When we go out together, I pull one way, and push the other. When I pull, I can see ahead. When I push, I can't; so Isabel keeps a good look-out, and rings her bell to talk to me."
"Ye dinna say!" Douglas was impressed.
"About Toad," he continued. "Is he really yer breakvan . . .? "
"Haud yer wheest," said his driver. "Yon's the wurrks. We maun slip in unbeknowst, and find a place for Oliver."
It was daybreak when the journey had finally come to an end. Douglas tried hard to be quiet, but the night foreman heard them, and had to be told their secret.
"I know just the place," he said, and showed them an empty siding nicely hidden away.
Oliver said "goodbye" and "thank you", and Douglas puffed away.
But no sooner had he left with his train when he heard a sound like the yawn of a young man. Oliver's guard, checking the white sheets inside of Toad, nearly jumped back and fell over when he saw...
That it was indeed a young man in a brown suit. He had blonde hair and was no more than fifteen. The young man yawned and stretched his arms.
Seeing the guard, he asked.
"Excuse me, sir, but is this your private train?"
"I suppose it is," said the guard, crossing his arms. "But can't you tell the difference between a private train and a runaway?"
"Runaway?"
"We helped this one escape from being scrapped just hours ago."
The boy climbed out of Toad and the guard walked him over to Oliver. The boy was startled when he saw his face, no matter how friendly it had seemed to be.
"I'm Oliver, and this is Isabel and Toad. Who might you be?"
"Richard Awdry and I must be dreaming," the boy waved his right hand nervously.
"Is he a curious sort?" asked Isabel for the first time since they left the siding.
"He's not a curious sort, Miss Isabel," Toad spoke from behind her. "He's a stowaway."
"Actually," Richard said. "I was running away from my family to be more independent."
"Well, I ran away too," replied Oliver.
And he told Richard the whole story.
"As much as I am anti-Dr. Beeching, I refuse to believe that trains can talk."
"They can, Richard. That's part of the reason why I ran away to here."
Then Richard became curious, inciting the authenticity behind his grandfather's stories.
"Where do you suppose are the others?"
"Probably on the other side of the island," said Oliver. "Douglas just left down the main line in that direction."
His eyes indicated to the left, yet the station was nearby, and without looking back, Richard retrieved his suitcase from Toad and walked his way to the station.
He did not have to wait long, when Percy, a small green engine with four wheels, came alongside with a pair of mail wagons carrying parcels for the Skarloey Railway. Richard was even more distraught.
"Oh hello," he said. "What are you doing at this hour?"
"Well, my name is Richard, my father is Christopher Awdry-"
But Percy somehow, did not appear to have heard the young man properly. He thought he was someone else.
"Come along in my cab," he said to the teen. "I've got a surprise for the other engines."
"What sort of surprise?"
"Wait and see."
Richard walked into Percy's cab and after leaving the empty mail vans on a siding not too far from Oliver, he raced back to the big station of Tidmouth as the teen watched the beautiful sights of Sodor pass him by, but he was reluctant to believe that any of this existed.
"This cannot be a dream, can it?" he asked the driver.
"A dream come true is more like it," said the fireman.
Richard watched the countryside turn into an urban city as Percy came rushing into the yard, whistling.
"Everyone! Christopher's back! Christopher's back!"
The other engines in the shed were just about waking up to hear the whistle.
"Christopher?" asked an engine named Gordon.
"Christopher?" repeated a green one named Henry.
"Christopher!" exclaimed a blue one called Edward.
"Who?" questioned a Great Western engine named Duck. "Is Christopher?"
"A young man who came to help us during the war," yawned a red engine named James. "Didn't we ever tell you about him?"
"No...was he that important?"
"As important as anybody ever cared for us steam engines."
His eyes peered over to the diesel BoCo.
"What?" he asked as his driver was starting up his motor.
"You'll know him when you see him, BoCo," said the brown tram engine named Toby. "I know I met Christopher before he even came to Sodor."
Douglas, having heard the shouts, came into the shed alongside his twin brother Donald and waited for Percy to present the mysterious visitor. But Richard was shy, and with some coaxing from Percy's crew, he gained the momentum to walk out from the cab to meet the disappointed faces of the engines.
"That's not Christopher!" spluttered Gordon.
"This is an impostor!" added Henry.
"Last time I checked," put in James. "The Christopher I knew had brown hair."
"He does look awful," sympathized Edward. "But I think he's the wrong Christopher."
Richard, having had enough, stomped his feet in response.
"I'm not Christopher! I'm his son, Richard!"
The engines shrunk back, surprised.
"His son?!"
"That's even worse!" called a pair of twin tank engines named Bill and Ben. "Kids are no good round here!"
"Says the duo who nearly popped my eyes out," BoCo added sternly.
"Answers to the one who made our trucks magically vanish!" Bill cried angrily.
"Please!" protested Edward. "That incident's water under the bridge."
Before anyone else could strike up an argument, Donald, Douglas' twin, had formatted an idea.
"Why not we ask Thomas? Is obvious the wee engine noos a lot more than any of uz."
Donald's driver phoned the crew at Ffarquhar and when Thomas heard the news, he rushed out of his shed, telling everyone else.
"Sorry, can't talk. Got to see Percy about a boy. Daisy, you take care of my passengers until I get back!"
Daisy, the diesel rail-car who came to help the branch line after Thomas had crashed into the stationmaster's house, was at a loss for words, but she eventually agreed.
Thomas puffed to Tidmouth as fast as he could, panting and thinking about all the many things he wanted to say to Christopher once they had reunited.
When he approached the shed, Richard turned from the engines to Thomas. Both the engine and the teen were completely surprised and a little disappointed with their expectations. Thomas instantly knew that the boy standing before him was not Christopher when Gordon spoke.
"You know better than us, little Thomas. Do you even know for certain that this imposter is his son?"
Thomas faced the other engines in a strong manner, pleading to his cause.
"It's time I confessed the truth. Something that only myself, Percy and Toby knew as I didn't have the time to bother telling you or anyone else about it. He married my driver's daughter. He has a family, a house and a few extra pounds to his name, but I can tell you for certainty that this is son Richard. He told me all about him in his letters and sent me a photograph of what he looked like."
"M-m-married?" stuttered James. "And with kids?"
"And perhaps," Thomas added. "He could help us prepare for The Great Railway Show that will prove to the world that steam engines are just about as good as diesels."
"All right," smiled Henry. "Let's see if he has his father's skills as a mechanic."
"Actually," Richard confessed. "I've mostly done some patching on the family motorcar."
Bill and Ben laughed derisively.
"So what if I'm out of practice?" snapped Richard. "I can learn. I even had to leave my family just so I could be independent...but I'd never thought I'd end up in the setting of my grandfather's books."
An epiphany flew into the engine's funnels.
"You mean?" asked Edward. "That your grandfather is the Author?"
"Yes," answered Richard. "I have figured that my skepticism would lead to this consequence. Would you mind proving to me that this isn't a dream?"
With a shrugged face, Edward blew steam at him, nearly soaking his suit. Everything, it had finally come to him, was real. Thomas countered this by inviting Richard to his cab and he puffed back to the branch line. This left the other engines to start work.
Daisy had already left the top station with the milk van when Thomas took Richard there.
"I suppose the reason you have brought me here was so we could speak in private?"
"Yes, but do you even know what you said back there? About being the Author's son?"
"I did say that 'I'd never thought I'd end up in the setting of my grandfather's books.' Is that proof enough for you? Because I cannot believe that any of this is possible."
"Your father's thoughts were pretty similar the first time I met him…all the way back to 1940."
Richard's eyes widened by two inches, asking.
"1940? That wouldn't be the same time in which he took the wrong train from Euston to Barrow?"
"Yes," said Thomas. "And I met him there while picking up some evacuees. When he stayed here for the duration of the war, he spent more than enough of his spare time fixing us and helping engines with their problems….in spite of his own problems like missing your grandfather for one thing."
Richard could not imagine his own father in that position. He had seen photographs of him as a child many times, but they mostly looked happy.
"Listen," he tried to reason to the tank engine. "Whatever you want me for, I'm only good at patching up cars."
"It's for the Railway Show in case you hadn't heard me before. The Railway Show is an international event that they just recently made up to prove that steam and diesel engines are just as good as one another."
"And for that, I deserve to help you?"
"Well, yes. You are your father's son after all."
Richard sat down on a nearby bench to ponder over this while Thomas went to work.
Meanwhile in another part of Barrow where only the diesels performed their duties, a nasty renegade of a diesel served as the jewel of the scrapyard's machinery…Diesel 10, simply numbered that way by his constructors for his devious deeds and brutal strength. In person, he was rough, coarse and a brilliant thinker. His eyes had some profound superiority upon his fellow diesels, save for when he saw a steam engine within his field of vision, at which time they flashed with anger and saw the poor victim as nothing more than an object of scorn and disease.
For the purpose of "cleansing" British Railways of it's steam power, Dr. Beeching personally suggested adding a claw that would be hidden inside his midsection so as not to go against the British loading gauge. He gained his reputation by working from scrapyard to scrapyard, and this year, he was stationed at Barrow. Of course, Diesel 10 was not alone, for his travels had earned him multitudes of loyal followers, including eight Class 08 diesel shunters known as the "Gronks": "Devious" Diesel, who had been to Sodor before and was outsmarted by Duck the Great Western Engine, twin brothers Splatter and Dodge, another pair of twins named Iron Arry and Iron Bert, the well-meaning Paxton, the forgetful Sidney who bore the color of the forget-me-not and Ulli an official "Gronk" owned by a cargo company. Other followers included Dennis, a Bulleid prototype, Den and Dart, a pair of diesel shunters who seemed to be smarter than the other and Derek a jolly Clayton Diesel electric Type 1, who had that nasty habit of breaking down.
By the late afternoon, Diesel 10 was pacing backwards and forward through sidings, keeping a close eye on any candidates that were perfect for scrapping. Peering left and right, he was silent for a moment before he shouted:
"Splatter, Dodge, Double D!"
The three 'Gronks' came in front of him.
"Yes, boss?"
"What is it this time?"
"I've just had an idea pop into my vents. Remember that Great Railway show that I've been hearing much about?"
"Of course we have," Devious Diesel smiled in an oily voice.
"The passengers from the island on the other side of the river have been chatting about it for weeks!" added Dodge.
"I thought it was months," questioned Splatter with a puzzled look on his face. "The way, I heard it, they starting talking about it back in July."
"Months, weeks, who cares?!" Diesel 10 snapped. "We have to prepare before the big day arrives!"
"We're listening," came the voices of Arry, Bert, Sidney and Paxton from behind him.
"My plan is to make one of you look like a truck, one of my 'personal' trucks, so that I look like I am pulling a very heavy train…in front of thousands of people. If that fat guy they call controller thinks that I am stronger than those heaps of rubbish on wheels, why, I could be the winner."
"You mean 'cheat'?" asked Paxton.
"Cheating is a bad way to accomplish success," oiled Sidney.
"I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!" shouted the leader. "And we'll do it by sneaking our way onto Sodor. There's a new dieselworks being built just outside the station on the other side and we'll tell the workers there that we are offering to help…with this!"
His giant, snagged claw lifted upwards, snapping thrice…then fell back down again with a slam. This caused the other diesels to laugh before Diesel 10's glare spoke otherwise.
"And keep a lookout for any steamies in need of scrapping…of them escaped my grasp last night and I don't wish to conduct a disservice to Dr. Beeching's wishes, is that clear?"
The diesels agreed and kept a silent vigil for any steam engines that were foolish enough to enter their yard.