After two hours the train arrived at Barrow-in-Furness in Cumbria, about 52 miles away from Oxenholme. When Christopher opened his eyes, he didn't know that the journey had passed and he was surprised to find himself in a station by the sea, its air blowing into the vents of the carriage. Groggily, he stood up and walked out of the carriage…about to enter a world he had never seen before.

The other evacuees were heading to a much smaller train, consisting of two brown colored bogie coaches. Christopher could see that the coaches had the names "Annie" and "Clarabel" written in a white Kunstler Script font. He was perplexed and it did not suit his druthers.

"What kind of railway names their coaches?"

He walked up, his interests turning to the little blue tank engine with six wheels. Curiously, he observed the number 1 on its side tanks, followed by a voice that said.

"Peep! Peep! If anyone's travelling with me, make it quick. I'll be leaving in about ten minutes."

Christopher looked around.

"Who said that?" he asked, jumped by the voice.

"I did."

Then he looked at the crew of the engine who shook their heads "no" and looked behind him, then he turned to the engine.

This is silly, he thought. Trains don't talk.

Even more curious, he checked the front of the engine, ignoring the fronts of the coaches who would have proved him wrong.

To his surprise, the engine had a smiling face that seemed to have been carved very well from the work of a master sculptor…and it moved!

"Hello...are you one of the evacuees?"

Christopher looked startled, then his face became puzzled. None of the engines back home ever had a face that could smile and speak directly from it, they had smokebox doors. But he held up his right hand, tried to strengthen up a friendly wave and said.

"Yes, I'm Christopher. I'm from London."

"I'm Thomas. I'm from Sodor. Have you heard of it?"

"I haven't and I'm supposed to wait for my sisters, Hilary and Veronica. Have you seen them?"

"No," said Thomas truthfully. "Are they coming here on the next one? Gordon will be taking the next batch once I've returned."

"Who," asked Christopher. "Is Gordon?"

"He's a big blue express engine who likes to boast about his speed," explained Thomas. "Goes from Tidmouth to Barrow, which is the station where we are now."

"Barrow?!"

Christopher was so upset, he nearly fainted.

"First, I'm speaking to a talking tank engine and now I've gotten myself on the wrong train?" he muttered, holding his head as hard as he could.

Then he looked up at Thomas, still smiling and asked.

"I'm not dreaming, aren't I?"

"No," said Thomas. "It's a fact of life. No engine within a mile of Barrow can show their face unless it is some sort of exception, like me for example. I get your reaction loads of times whenever I meet someone who hasn't been to our island."

"Island?" asked the boy in wonder.

"Didn't I tell you already? It's Sodor! And if you want to come with me like all the other children, I suggest you climb on board."

Christopher obeyed and walked towards Annie. It surprised him even further when he saw that even the coaches had faces of their own. Carefully, he got into the first compartment and sat his belongings down on the floor. A second later the train jerked and he was out of the station, watching the pillars of a bascule bridge moving past him followed by trees and finally stopping at a large station. The station, called Vicarstown, was large with eight tracks going into it, the far east side used for goods trains. In addition, Vicarstown had a shed for engines, coaches and a turntable near an embankment where a ditch lay.

The guard opened the doors, the children got off and only Christopher stayed aboard. He walked out once the last child had parted onto the platform and moved to Thomas.

"So," Christopher asked, hands on hips. "Maybe now I can tell you how I was supposed to meet up with my sisters?"

"You are an evacuee like every other child and the law requires that you'd be taken to the country for safekeeping," Thomas estimated. "Is there a problem with that?"

Christopher looked back at the hosts greeting the children. Among their answers of "I'll take that one", some of the children seemed reluctant to fit in with an adult stranger. Turning back to Thomas, Christopher said.

"Yes there is. I'm not sure if I can fit in with all those strangers. I don't even know where Hilary and Veronica are as of late and I have nowhere else to go."

"What does your name tag say?" asked Thomas. "It will specify the host you are going to."

Christopher read the label.

"Reginald and Iris Dalby in Oxenholme. Dad's friends. I think they work for Edmund Ward."

"The publisher of children's books?" Thomas inquired. "If you ask me, they should do stories about our railway."

"Is it that interesting?"

"Yes. There are many stories here on Sodor that could fill a book."

They were quiet for about five seconds before Thomas spoke back.

"Is there anything else you'd like to tell me? If not, I can take you to the sheds where I live and we can talk some more."

Christopher chose the latter, uncertain of what to say. He climbed aboard Annie again and Thomas set off once more, humming to himself. Stations, tunnels and bridges went by as the day passed into the late afternoon. Christopher enjoyed watching the scenery that changed rapidly before his eyes peering out the window, a wonderful sight of color that he had missed out on the journey to Barrow. Bluebells and leaves were giving way to the autumn colors and even the sky was clearing up. The sounds of ship horns could be heard all the way from the sea as they got closer to it and for the first time in months, Christopher smiled. His mind being away from his father brought peace and a focus of attention on something more interesting than relying on his family.

At last he reached the nearest end of the line known to inhabitants as Tidmouth. Thomas left the coaches in the carriage shed and went off to notify his fellow engines about his new friend. He told Christopher to stay behind while he searched. The station ahead of the yard had four terminal lines and platforms sheltered by a glass roof and an extra line of track that headed past the station to the local dockyards and a branch line going north. The sheds in front of the station had six rails leading into it and a turntable located to the left side on a track connecting to the main line.

Thomas found behind two suburban coaches his friend Percy, who had been bought by the railway when the big engines went on a labour strike. Percy was a smart little green tank engine with four wheels and carried the number 6 on his cab sides.

"Good day, Thomas," he greeted. "Back from the mainland?"

"If you mean by the entirety of it, Percy. I only went as far as Barrow."

"Well, it would be nice to see the rest of the world one of these days. Anything interesting over there?"

"Some, but I think I've made a new friend with one of the evacuees."

"And where is this evacuee?"

"I left him with Annie and Clarabel by the carriage shed."

So they puffed over to the carriage shed, only to find Christopher walking to another shed—one where the engines went to rest whenever they were not working. In the shed was a blue engine with four wheels and most notably had a tender with the number "2" on the tender's sides. It slept so peacefully that Christopher did not want to wake him up, so he walked quietly over by the wall closest to the engine and waited for Thomas.

The smaller blue engine came with Percy about a minute later, whispering quietly to prevent the tired engine from waking up.

"I see you met Edward," Thomas said.

Christopher stammered at both Edward and Percy, seeing their faces.

"He's—he's—"

"Alive?" asked Percy.

And thanks to his loud reply, Edward opened one eye.

"Oh," he yawned, seeing Christopher. "A new arrival?"

"A new personal friend of mine," explained Thomas. "I just picked him up from Barrow with the other evacuees, but didn't want to go with them."

"I didn't even want to have anything to do with them," Christopher added, crossing his arms. "But at least Thomas here was grateful to let me stay here, even though I never expected myself to sleep in a shed."

"So it would seem," chuckled Edward. "But I think Thomas forgot to mention your name."

"Christopher. Christopher Awdry."

The name seemed to ring some distant bells into Edward's memory. Thomas was too busy looking out for the other engines to overhear.

"I seem to remember another person by the name of Awdry during the last war. Are you two related?"

Christopher did not wish to talk about his distant father.

"Who wants to know?"

Then without another word, he pushed the thought aside and thought about how he was going to live in this strange new world of talking steam engines.

A little later, he decided to set up a hammock on the right side wall of the shed that was close to where Thomas usually slept. Assisted by Edward's crew who had the day off, he made sure that one side of the hammock was close to where he could speak to any of the engines face to face. Soon, while relaxing there, he met the other tender engines as they returned from work: First came Gordon, the big blue engine that Thomas mentioned earlier, followed by a big green engine named Henry, two red engines named James and Eagle and two more blue engines, one a B12 numbered 98462, the other a B17 numbered 87546 from the LNER. They were bemused to see a young boy sleeping in their shed and that was when Thomas, after shunting three coal trucks on a siding out of the way, came to tell them before their curiosity turned into impatient anger.

"I can tell you all about the boy," Thomas said quickly. "His name is Christopher and he is an evacuee."

"He looks like an evacuee," said Gordon, frowning. "Or he could be a runaway."

"He looks so peaceful resting there," said Henry, softly.

"Do you think anyone would want a young boy playing in our yard?" asked 98462 bitterly.

"No?" 87546 was nowhere near as intelligent as his colleague, but he was underestimated by his fellow engines for his strength.

"He cannot live here!" protested James. "What if he's a naughty sort of boy who likes to tease an engine more than a truck?"

"The only reason he's here is because of the war," Eagle reasoned. "Which, if I recall has driven many people out of their homes."

A moaning sound filled the shed as he finished.

"Mum?"

Christopher woke up and nearly fell from his hammock to see the engines staring at him.

"This is impossible," he muttered before accepting the living engines as fact.

"It may seem that way to many people," responded Thomas. "But that's life."

"I can see that."

Christopher cleared his throat, stood up and walked over to the green engine.

"I know who you two are," Christopher pointed to Thomas and Edward. "So what's your name?"

"Henry."

Christopher moved to the next engine and deduced his identity by his size.

"You must be Gordon, Thomas told me about you."

Gordon was flattered, his cheeks turning a slight tinge of red that could have rivalled the red twins to his left. Christopher pointed them out.

"Brothers?" he asked them.

"Very much," James smiled to Eagle.

Eagle was silent, but smiled.

Skipping Percy, Christopher walked to the two blue engines next to him.

"98462 and this is my associate 87546," the B12 answered for him.

With the number of engines completed, Christopher returned to Thomas when a blue car pulled up on the other end of the shed. Out of it stepped Sir Topham Hatt, the man in charge of all the engines on Sodor. For obvious reasons, they called him "The Fat Director". He stood in front of James and Eagle, right in the very middle where the engines could hear him.

"Well, another day has come and gone and with London facing attacks as we speak, I hope you have all been really useful enough to support the war effort and providing need for those leaving the mainland."

His eyes noticed Christopher, standing by Thomas.

"Including some…"

He walked over to Christopher, curious, but professional in his own way of handling children.

"And who might you be, young one?"

"Christopher," the boy said straight and strong. "Christopher Awdry."

This time, Thomas heard the last name and his eyes went wide, but he kept his mouth shut for the time being.

"And I reckon you are one of the new arrivals?" asked the Fat Director. "We have not had too many evacuees since before the bombing."

Christopher took this in with one breath and replied.

"I'm supposed to be in Oxenholme with my sisters, but anywhere is better than being bombed."

The truth was, Christopher missed his home as much as he was starting to miss his family.

Before the Fat Director left, he instructed Gordon to take the 5:00 evening train from the station ahead of the sheds, while the others, save for Thomas and Percy, also went on with their early evening duties. Now alone, Thomas spoke to Christopher.

"You should consider yourself fortunate, Christopher. Our railway, whilst connected to the mainland railways, is not very well known and if we cannot provide a major effort that will help the war…we're useless."

"Isn't this enough?" asked Christopher.

"All I wanted was to see the world, and I haven't had it since I first came here twenty-five years ago. I mean, what part of being really useful does the Fat Director not understand?"

"I'm sure he does. You just don't know it yet."

"It's not so hard for one engine to make a difference and my friends count as well."

"So let me get this straight, you want to get every engine on this island to fight for England at the same time?"

"Well…yes."

Christopher sat down on the hammock and tried to reason with Thomas.

"Is it because you and the others are all more…alive than most engines?"

"To tell you the truth," Thomas confessed. "Business hasn't been going well since the Great Slump that started in America."

But Christopher had to disagree.

"I'm sure the railway will get its money from evacuees. Business often blooms during wartime, or so my grandparents told me."

Mentioning his late relatives caused Christopher to lie back down on the hammock. He turned his face away from Thomas, not letting him see the tears he was yet to sprout, but he managed to prevent them. Then he turned back and asked.

"When exactly did you say you were in England the last time?"

"May 12th, 1915," said Thomas, remembering. "They picked me and Edward for the completion of the railway and I had to go all the way from Brighton with a long and heavy train full of supplies and passengers, among them a young Wilbert Awdry."

Then it was Christopher's turn to gape.

"That's my father's name!"

"I thought that name sounded familiar."

Christopher leaned closer to Thomas and asked.

"What was he like?"

"He was five years old and travelling with his half-brother Carol-Edward who enlisted for the Sodor Regiment, that's our army by the way and the only reason he did so was to get away from the zeppelin bombings. Prior to that, he was the first person I ever saw when I was built at Brighton Works, for it was his father who worked for the company that constructed me. He missed his—your family when he got there and after one thing led to another, he and his father, your grandfather, were reunited and went back to the mainland with his half-brother."

"Why didn't he tell me all of this?" asked Christopher.

"He probably doesn't remember what it was like to be five years old," explained Thomas. "And Vere must be around ninety by now."

"Grandfather and Grandmother are dead," admitted Christopher in a sad voice. "Bombs got them. And now I fear for whatever's left of my family. We all have families somewhere, but when war comes, it can tear them apart."

"Those words sound very strong for a child your age," said Thomas, mystified.

"Don't mention it," Christopher said before turning his back to him.

"I am sorry about your grandparents," Thomas said after three seconds.

But the boy did not stir for another bit.

Later that night, in order to ensure that Christopher's first night on Sodor was as comfortable as possible, the engines decided to tell stories of their previous lives before Sodor. As soon as the lights from the Fat Director's office had been turned off, Gordon was the first to tell his tale.

"When I was young and green, I dreamed of pulling the legendary Orient Express from London to Istanbul in just two days. But I came down from that cloud real quickly when the Fat Director bought me straight out of Doncaster. Now I pull the express and for that I am very proud of it."

Edward was the next to tell his story about the time Gordon got stuck on a hill with a dirty goods train.

"He forgot all about me and didn't even say so much as a thank you. I was left out of breath and far behind, but I was pleased with myself and so were my driver and fireman. And that is how I became the smartest engine in the shed."

Then Henry spoke about the time he was bricked up in a tunnel for being afraid of the rain.

"My fire had gone out, soot and dirt from the tunnel roof spoiled my green paint, I was cold, unhappy and I wondered if I would ever pull trains again. But I guess I deserved it, didn't I?"

"You didn't need to," sympathized Christopher.

After a while, Henry finished the story.

"And that is how Edward, Gordon and I became great friends. Now how about we go to sleep?"

Christopher was not ready for bed just yet.

"Can I at least hear one more story?"

"Three stories is enough for one night, Christopher," Henry said kindly.

"What about James?"

"I am not telling any more stories about bootlaces!" fumed James. "Any more and my reputation could be ruined."

Percy didn't think that any of his former tales at the workshop would be that interesting and none of the remaining engines were willing to tell anymore stories so Christopher gave up. He removed his shoes, shirt, socks and used his blazer as a blanket, curling up in the hammock as he said quietly.

"Good night."

But he stayed awake long enough to hear Gordon boast about another detail of his early life.

"Did I mention about the time I was in a trial?"

"You mean like a competition?" asked Percy.

"A trial," corrected Gordon. "Is like a test of strength done by the board of directors of a railway to see if you are fit for being really useful. I'm sure you remember all of yours, but mine was just about as interesting, seeing how my brother Great Northern and I did passenger runs from King's Cross to Edinburgh Waverley. They called it the Flying Scotsman after a race course in Doncaster. In fact, nearly all of my brothers and sisters were named after race horses like Solario, Pretty Polly, Lemberg and Flying Fox."

"You can't be serious about that," said James with his eyes drooping. "Who ever heard of engines being named after horses with such colorful titles?"

"Colorful as they may be, Sir Frederick Banbury had an engine named after him because he was chairman of the Great Northern Railway before it was even grouped."

James seemed to recognize the name with great respect, as the late Sir Banbury was also a conservative member of parliament with a very diligent reception.

"Now count your blessings and go to sleep, good night!" finished Gordon.

Soon they were all asleep, but Christopher could only stare at the bright white moon shining through the shutters and the roof windows. He began to murmur and shiver from the cold that struck his exposed skin with tiny needles.

"I can't believe I'm so far away….might as well get used to it."

Then he fell asleep and began to dream.

In his dream, where everything was monochrome, he was back in his house where his father hugged him very tightly after returning home from a long crusade. Dreams as he had put them were so great…but not so great as the loud knock on the door that followed.

"Don't go," he pleaded.

"I have to...I will be right back, I promise."

He reached for the door and pulled it open. Then everything went into a bright white light….and everything was gone.

Christopher woke up very shocked to find himself back in the engine shed. His shout startled Thomas, who also woke up in time to hear the boy holding his head in distress.

"What's going on with me?" he wondered out loud for the first time since his father left. "Am I starting to…break down?"

"You're probably still scared of the dark," Thomas yawned slightly.

"I'm not!" Christopher replied angrily before calming. "I'm sorry, this is all just happening so fast."

"Is it something else?" asked Thomas.

"Yes," Christopher sobbed quietly. "I'm going to miss my dad so much."

Then Thomas had an idea.

"If you want a happy dream, why not I tell you my story. This one is likely to lift your spirits. It's about how I got my own branch line."

"What did you do then? Were you a shunter?"

"Yes, I was a shunter, a station pilot if you may, who wanted to see the world beyond my yard outside the island. It all started when Henry got ill. So, I volunteered to take his train and set off, only to find out that I left the coaches behind."

"How did that happen?"

"The shunter forgot to couple them. Anyway, after that little mishap, Edward offered me to take some trucks to his station, they pushed me down the hill and I nearly crashed into the buffers. The Fat Director told me to shunt trucks around Edward's yard for a few days so I could learn more about them. Eventually, when James came to the island and had an accident on his first day, I took the breakdown train to help clear up the mess and the Fat Director gave me a branch line all to myself with Annie and Clarabel as my personal coaches."

"Is that all?"

"Nope, I had many other adventures on my branch line after that. First, I left Clarabel's guard behind, then I met a tractor named Terence who helped me out of a snowdrift and had a race with a bus named Bertie who thought that roads were better than rails. I won the race and we have been best friends ever since. We could do another race again, but that seems very unlikely."

Christopher was silent, thinking about it before Thomas asked him.

"So, did you like the story?"

"Yes," replied Christopher. "But I'm tired. I think I'm ready to go to sleep now. Good night, Thomas."

As Christopher cuddled himself in the blanket and blazer, Thomas whispered.

"Good night, Christopher."

Thomas fell fast asleep and Christopher began to dream again. True to Thomas' word, his dreams were peaceful ones, memories actually about their time before the war started. Memories of school dance, fishing, playing chess, cards and even trainspotting all reminded the boy that some things would never leave him. He was certain that his equally lonely father, far away from the island was thinking about his son as well.

"Good night, Daddy…wherever you are."