~1959~
"The new engine has arrived sir!" called an inspector as he walked into the office.
The Fat Controller looked up from his papers. He smiled brightly, relieved from all the stress he was getting lately. "That is good news," he said, "where did you take them?"
"I ordered him to go to the depot sir," replied the inspector, "so to fuel on water and coal. Is that alright sir?"
"Ah yes, that's splendid!" he beamed. The Fat Controller got up from his chair and walked to the hangers where he picked up his hat, and placed it on his almost-bold head. "I'll go and meet him immediately."
"But I must warn you sir," said the inspector, "you might need to prepare for what you'll see."
"Oh and what's that?"
The inspector gave a thin smile and tapped his finger on the side of his nose. "Wait and see."
The Fat Controller shook his head and left his office, chuckling quietly to himself.
*
It had been three years since the death of Sir Topham Hatt I. Many things had changed then, less steam engines from the mainland were coming and these things called diesels were coming into the stations and yards.
But in 1957, a diesel had came for a trial. But he said terrible things about the three big engines to the trucks and said that I did it. After much investigation and sorting things out, the diesel was sent packing, but left a huge impact on our views on diesels.
I'm afraid to say, that most diesels were rude and threatening to us, and they made our views on them more stronger, we despised them. Seeing them as cowards, oily and devious. Not meant for this world and only brought badness to them.
The entire fleet that worked on the Norramby branch had to be reallocated by order of control, a month after we went to the mainland. So the Fat Controller had to get some new engines to work on the line. He managed to get that Walter folk on, since the Southern region had no interest in bringing him back to his original shed. He also got another engine to do the passenger work and the occasional shunting work at the yards.
Gordon, Henry and James were over-the-moon when they heard the original Vicarstown's pilot left with the original Norramby engines. They pretty much made the other engine a god of some sort.
Lina and Pug were also still around. Shunting carriages and trucks in the yards of Barrow-In-Furness. Sometimes taking trains from there to Sodor.
But most of Sodor hadn't changed, and now here we are, in 1959. The year that would end a decade, and start another. Only this one, we wouldn't be prepared for as we expected...
It was lucky that the Fat Controller was in a good mood that day. Because when he saw the new engine, he was surprised to see he was in perfect condition, but had no number on the side of his cab.
"Hello," said the Fat Controller, "you must be the engine I ordered to arrive."
"Aye sirr," replied the engine, he was from the Caledonian Railway, a Class 812. He spoke in a strong Scottish accent with his face mixed with nervousness and excitement.
"I must ask," said the Fat Controller, "but where is your number No.57646? You should have it on the sides of your cab."
"Och, I didne have 57646!" replied the Scottish engine, "I'm 57647."
The Fat Controller raised an eyebrow. "That's improbable," he said, "I'm certain that control told me I was to get 57646."
"Must've gootten mix within peapers," replied 57647, "ya knoew hoow control ar' these deays."
"Indeed," said the Fat Controller, his brow furrowed suspiciously, "I'm still curious on how you don't have a number though."
"Ach, they might've slipped oaff whilst co'ming 'ere."
The Fat Controller looker unconvinced, numbers were usually painted on up in the Scottish region and them having 'slipped off' wasn't true. But he carried on anyways like he didn't take any note of what the new engine had said. "Do you have a name?"
"Douglas sirr."
"Good," said the Fat Controller, "then I can ask your shedmanager whether you are the right engine!"
"Theair may be soeme problem with that sirr," replied Douglas nervously.
"Why?"
"I only gave meself a name right after I loost my number sirr," Douglas explained, he sounded quite apologetic.
The Fat Controller sighed, this was all very confusing to him. "Fine," he said, "If you're here and 57646 isn't, then I'll have to keep you. Will you work hard if I do?"
"Aye sirr!"
"That's a good engine," the Fat Controller said, "now stay here and we'll replace that BR logo with the number nine an-"
"Pardon my intrudi'n sirr," interrupted Douglas, "but cean I make an request?"
"...Go on."
"I'd like ta have tha number ten please sirr."
The Fat Controller was a bit startled by this bizarre type of request from the Scottish engine. "You do realise that the number nine hasn't been given to any other engine in my fleet," he said, "and why do you want the number ten instead?"
"I'd like ta be tha first engine with two digits sirr," replied Douglas, "and I feel like a intrudor sirr, so I'd prefor it tha' the next engine coupd hav' it."
"Fine! Fine!" said the Fat Controller, hands up in defence, "you shall have the number ten if you want to. But the next engine will have no choice but to be given the number nine."
"Underrstood sirr," grinned Douglas.
The Fat Controller nodded and walked quietly away back to his office. He was more confused than ever.
*
Douglas' request was accepted with a bit of fuse and confusion from the painters and cleaners when they dusted and washed the dirty Scottish engine and gave him the number ten, painting brightly on the sides of his tender.
Douglas was glad to have the wash down. He hadn't had one in months, and the wind blew around his funnel, wrapping itself to it. He looked around the yards, some steam engines were coming out of the yards with goods trains, ready to be taken to the mainland, and industrial buildings and houses laid about in the background.
A peep of the whistle caught Douglas' attention. He saw me arriving into the yards. His number had now been fully dried up and he was waiting for orders. The inspector came down from my cab and walked up to Douglas.
"Number ten," he barked, "Sir Topham Hatt wants you to learn how the North Western region runs a railway. Number eight, Montague here will teach you, and hopefully, won't do it the Great Western way."
I blushed a bright red and we watched as the inspector walked away.
"Well then," I said, "let's get to work."
We began to shunt trucks and coaches. The trucks played tricks at first but after seeing the wrath of a Scottish engine, they thought it would be wise to stop at once.
Douglas didn't mind shunting, much to my relief. He was very hardworking and helped me run the yards and station like clockwork.
"I like it 'ere," he said pleasingly, "Don-I would like ta steay here."
"What were you going to say then?" I asked suspiciously, "you cut away when you were about to say something with Don!"
"Umm-n-n'thang!" replied Douglas quickly, "probably hearing thangs."
I narrowed my eyes. Then blew my whistle to shunt the trucks into the right sidings. Douglas listened to the sound intently.
"Ya came here in 1955 right?"
"That's right," I replied.
"Then why dan't ya hav' the normul Weestern whistle? Apparently, ya not suppose to hav' that sort of whistle unless necessary aroond 'ere."
I chuckled lightly. "I had an accident two years ago," I said, "crashed into a barber's shop. Made a big riffed between us and the public with them being a bit afraid with trains running into their own homes!"
"Aye," agreed Douglas, he cringed at the thought of having his own face smash into a wooden house.
"But anyways," I continued, "after that, I was given a new whistle after my old one broke from the accident. Oh! And I got a North Western numberplate too."
Douglas looked towards my cab where my new number plates were.
"Whut happened to ya ol' ones?" asked Douglas.
"Ones in the shed," I grinned, "the other is on the new wall of the barber's shop!"
Douglas laughed at that. "Me and one of my brothers hav' different pairs of whistles too!" he said, "they were given ta us as a test ta see if yon whistles could help railway staff know a different tone."
"Did it work?"
"Nah," scoffed Douglas, "but they decided to let us keep that whistles anyways! Couldn'e be bothered to replace them in my opinion."
Then the yard foreman arrived. "Number eight, Montague," he said, "Number four Gordon has just arrived with the Wild Nor' Wester. It's time for you to get to the station and shunt the coaches away!"
"Yes sir!" I replied.
"Wild Nor' Wester?" said Douglas.
"A special service which runs from Tidmouth to London," I explained, "Gordon has just arrived with the return train which brings people from the other direction. Really important it is. Thomas likes it especially."
"Ah, ya mean that wee tank engine that is in those famous books?"
"Yes," I said, "he usually picks up a special coach that is on Gordon's return service. He's quite proud of it."
"Aye, speical cooch does make a feel high an' mighty."
I had to excuse myself then and leave Douglas by himself to shunt the coaches.
That night, Douglas spent the night with us. By then, we were chatting like old friends, and I got use to hearing Douglas' strong accent. Still trying to get the hang with what he was saying sometimes.
Henry seemed keen enough. He had been to Glasgow a few years ago and had spoken with a lot of Scottish engines. James and Gordon were obviously not pleased.
"I was expecting an engine from my old railway to come," said Gordon quietly, "not some rough engine with a tug boat whistle."
"Yes indeed," put in James, who secretly just wanted a smaller tender engine than he was. "I can't even understand him with that weird accent of his."
"Och, ya wouldn't be talkin' about me now would you?"
Gordon and James jumped and saw Douglas glaring at them both crossly.
"Yes indeed," grunted Gordon, "you must understand that you feel kind of an... intruder on our island an-"
"Ya thinkin' I'm an intrudor now ay?"
"Yes I-"
"Whose said that ya aren't 'ither? I mean, ya came from London no doubt, and see red engine there sounds like he's from Yorkshire!"
Gordon and James looked at each other, baffled by Douglas response.
"Pah," said Gordon regaining himself, secretly loosing some confidence with Douglas' glare going straight through his smokebox. "We've been here longer than you have, you need to earn our trust if you want to be apart of this railway."
"It's a region Goordon," scoffed Douglas, "but I accept this... trust thingy."
"Good," said Gordon, "let's hope you don't fail then."
I wheeshed steam crossly, about to retort. But Douglas whispered next to me. "Do ya mind if I shunt Gordon's cooches for the day for ya?"
"Well-um..." I pondered, "if you want to do that then... I'm not gonna stop you!"
"Thank ya Duck," grinned Douglas.
Now I know Douglas a lot now, and I know that it took everything in his boiler to not loose himself with what Gordon and James were saying.
The next morning, Douglas shunted Gordon's coaches and helped him out of the station, on time too. The passengers were pleased for good start and Gordon secretly was too.
Douglas took his first train to Wellsworth, where he met Edward both had a quick and polite greeting and chat and Douglas rushes back to the big station with his return goods.
He soon arrived and shunted them all into the places I asked to put and as soon as Gordon came back, he rushed to him.
He was enjoying himself. Gordon gave him the sceptical stare as he puffed past him on the middle track whilst backing out the station. Douglas didn't pay any attention and allowed his driver to couple up him up to the emptying coaches.
Just when he was about to shunt the coaches. He heard the Fat Controller and an inspector on the platform which made his cheeriness drain away.
"What do you mean there's another engine coming?"
"Another engine is coming to the big station sir. And is the exact same class to number ten."
Douglas thought it was best to leave the station quickly and began to shunt the coaches. Mixed feelings spreading across him. Relief and fear took him over, making him forget some things. One of those things he should've remembered at that moment.
He pushed the coaches into the the coach shed and went to the water tower nearby to fill up.
Just then, he heard a whistle, and Thomas then appeared from around the bend and headed across the junction. He tooted a "hullo!" and carried on towards the station.
Douglas began to try to calm himself down. But then a few minutes later, he heard a yell from the station.
"WHHHHY?!!"
Thomas stormed out of the station and looked around the area. Then looked over to Douglas, who stood innocently at the water tower near the station.
"Oi!" he called, "have you seen Duck?"
"No," Douglas replied blankly, "why?"
"My special coach isn't at the station," gritted Thomas, "I bet that Duck wanted to play a trick on me. I swear, when I get him..."
He stormed away, only mumbling and grumbling to himself. Just then, passengers came out of the carriage shed, doors opened at the front one, all of them furious and walking towards the station platform where the Fat Controller and the inspector were.
"Oh sakes!" gasped Douglas, "the special cooch!"
Gordon then came back to the station, hearing Thomas' roar made him intrigued to see what was happening and came alongside Douglas. Taking in what was happening, he looked at the Scottish engine with a neutral glance.
"Thought you could handle it," he all but said.
Then a whistle was heard. Gordon glanced down the mainline, eyes squinting. The whistle sounded like Douglas', only a tone higher.
Then another engine came rushing round the corner, the same class as Douglas with a mere identical face.
He puffed up next to Douglas and Gordon with a curious glance at the station.
"Hey Dougie," he said, "never thought that ya get into this much trooble already!"
Gordon's jaw dropped, Douglas' face went bright red. The Fat Controller then came walking up to the twin engines. With thunder in his steps...
*
"So what you're both saying, is that Douglas was sent here, but this... Donald was sent here because they got it all wrong at the sheds you were once allocated?"
"Aye sirr," replied the Scottish engines in unison.
"Well this is going to be rough," he said, "both of you will have to stay here then!
"Pardon sirr?" asked Douglas.
"You Douglas have been working hard... apart from earlier today."
Douglas blushed. "Sorry sirr," he apologised, "I might've got distracted."
"You certainly did," said the Fat Controller sternly, "but at the meantime, you have a few days here together until I've decided which engine is to stay."
"Seems fair ya me sirr."
"Aye!" agreed Douglas.
The Fat Controller nodded solemnly. "57646, what did you say you name was?"
"Donald sirr."
"Donald and Douglas, I've gotten into a call with your shed master, saying you both are twins, correct."
Donald and Douglas looked at each other, then back at the controller. "Aye sirr."
The Fat Controller said no more. Just bowed his head and walked away.
The twins looked at each other and smiled.
"See ya got "ere fine then!" said Donald.
Douglas chuckled. "Was a wee nerve racking, but got here on time," he said, "the trick worked by the way!"
"I figured," smirked Donald, "let's hope he'll buy that ya came here on porpose."
"Shhh," hushed Douglas, "shouldn't really be sayin' it out lood."
Donald agreed. "He said he'll send one of us back though."
"Then what is ta do?" asked Douglas.
"We'll work just as good as the other," replied his twin, "then he'll hav' to keep us both."
Douglas smiled at the plan and both set to work. The plan would've worked well, but that chat didn't go unheard.
A spiteful brake van, stood alone in a siding. A grin crossing his face. "This will be fun," he said with a mixed accent of posh and cockney.
The spiteful brake van wasn't really the most loyal brake van in the yards. The engines knew this, but Donald and Douglas didn't. At first trains ran smoothly for the both of them.
Then Douglas began to be late. He tried his best, but every time he would take it out, there would always be a problem. The inspectors would be impatiently at the destination where Douglas would be. When he got there, he would be instantly blamed, not even getting a chance to give out a reason.
Douglas was beginning to worry. So was Donald, but even more so as he shunted some coaches into the platform. This time, it was his turn to listen to an inspector talking about his brother, this time with the stationmaster.
"There are plans for one of the engines to be sent back to Scotland," informed the inspector.
"Really?" said the stationmaster, "which one?"
"Number ten I believe," replied the inspector, "number 57646 will stay and be numbered nine"
Donald was mortified. "That spiteful brake van van can't keep his ugly boffers off my twin!" he said to himself. He then looked over to the station pilot's siding, it was right in front of a signal box, and was located in the middle of the station lines before going into the junction. Donald knew he had to go into the siding so to let Henry get to his train.
That was when he had an idea come into his smokebox.
"Lord hav' mercy," he said quietly. He began to back towards the siding. But as he was about to stop, he braked quicker than he usually would, the autumn morning had made the tracks slippery and Donald's wheels locked and the Scottish engine slid right into the siding and his tender smashed right into the side of the signal box.
No one was hurt. But Donald, his crew and the signalman - who had fell from the platform on Donald's tender - were all shaken up.
The signalman was furious. "You stupid engine!" he yelled, "you've jammed the points! Now you'll have to stay there, it'll serve you right for damaging my new signal box!"
The Fat Controller was cross too and went to see the operation.
He had some stern words with Donald. The Scottish engine said he was sorry, but did say what for.
"I was originally going to keep you and send Douglas packing!" he said, "now I'm not so sure."
This made Donald secretly a little better, but didn't show it.
Donald was sent to get his tender mended, whilst the Fat Controller ordered James to help Douglas with the workload.
James was originally doing passenger work, for he had been low on steam for a while, Donald coming in to help made things much easier. so when he heard he would be doing some odd jobs and shunting work. He grumbled endlessly.
A few days after the accident. James was returning to the sheds. His paintwork dirty and grimy. Douglas was talking to Henry.
Gordon was sitting near the end and Peter and Ava on the other.
"Anyone would'a think that Donal' had his accident on porpose! I heard tell," Douglas went on, "aboot an engine an' some tar wagons!"
Henry laughed, even Gordon was heard sniggering in the corner.
"Shut up!" snapped James, "it's not funny!"
He didn't like being recalled by his own accidents.
"Well well well Jeames," said Douglas, "surely it wasn't you. Ya didne say!"
James didn't say and went to the back of the shed in a pout. He wasn't as good the next day either and he still couldn't steam properly.
He soon arrived at the yards to pick up his trucks he needed to take along the mainline. Unfortunately, the spiteful brake van was on the train.
James bumped the trucks hard enough for the break van to feel the force of it too. "Don't waste my time here!" he called to the trucks, "now come on!"
"He's cross," sniggered the break van, "we'll make him crosser still."
The trucks giggled as the van held his breaks on as they went past Thomas' junction. The trucks held back before reaching Crosby station. Their brakes would slip on, and James, still low on steam didn't have the energy to pull them along like he usually would.
By the time they reached Wellsworth, James was exhausted. He was expecting Edward would be there, but only Douglas was quietly dozing on the banker's siding.
James came to a holt right next to him, breathing heavily and red in the face. "Help... me up... th-the hill... please," he panted, "these... trucks... are... playing... their tricks!"
Douglas looked back at the line of trucks, some were given innocent looks whilst others only giggled menacingly.
Douglas winked at James. "We'll show them!" he said confidently.
The red engine was grateful, and Douglas went around the train and buffered up at the back. He then saw the spiteful brake van.
"Ahhh," said Douglas, "so you're the lil' wee pesk that's been taunting Jeames."
"What are you talking about?" scoffed the break van, "I wouldn't dare do that!"
"But ya do it ta me," fumed Douglas.
The break van glared at the Scottish engine and said no more. Both still glaring at each other, James gave the whistle that the line was cleared and with steam being taken into the pistons. Groaning of metal, the snorting engines began to pick the speed up towards Gordon's hill. Unaware of what would happen next...
"Come on! Come on! Come on!" cried James from the front.
"Get movin' you! Get movin' you!" groaned Douglas from behind.
The two engines began to climb the hill. The trucks began to play their trucks again.
"Hold back! Hold back! Hold back!" they screamed.
James and Douglas' momentum was beginning to weaken as the trucks tugged at James. The red engine's wheels slipped on the rails.
"Come on!" he said, "I need more steam!"
The driver looked at the charts. "You're losing steam James!" he yelled.
James groaned and pulled even harder at the trucks. "I can do it!" he said willingly.
His wheels began to slip as the train became heavier and heavier.
"I can't do it! I can't do it!" he cried, "DOUGLAS!!"
"Lay it ya me!" came the response from the Scottish engine.
Douglas wasn't going to stop without a fight. His wheels spun on the rails, sparks coming out at the bottom with some flying from his funnel too.
The trucks felt James' tug lessen, but felt Douglas' shoving grew stronger. They weren't going to back down from a Caledonian.
"COME ON LADS!!" yelled a wagon and they began to tug back even harder.
Both engines felt it, James knew something bad was going to happen. "Douglas! It's best we stop!"
But Douglas didn't stop, he kept pushing and pushing.
"Oooo er!" cried the van. He was begin to be squished between Douglas and the trucks. "I don't like this!"
Trucks laughed and laughed, Douglas grunted and gritted his teeth as he began to use more of his steam.
"Go on! Go on!" pleaded the van, the pain he was receiving was getting more painful every second.
The trucks ignored his pleads and only laughed, as the train began to stick on the hill. Douglas knew this, but wouldn't stop.
"Com' on," he said.
"PLEASE DOUGLAS!!" begged the break van, "YOU'VE PROVEN YOUR POINT!! NOW STOP PUSHING!!! PLEASSE!!"
Just like the trucks, Douglas paid no attention. The groaning and creaking of wood and metal began to be heard, the wailing and screaming was heard next.
"DOUGLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"
Wood cracking and caving in. The guard jumped out of the van. The middle of the van crunched in.
Douglas closed his eyes and black liquid poured out of the break van's mouth. The face teared apart and the spiteful brake van fell to pieces.
James braked the train whilst Douglas wheels skidded to a stop on top of the break van's pieces. Silence echoed across the hill...
Mickey and Harvey were brought in to clear the mess, whilst James and his train was taken to Maron by Mickey. Harvey began to clear up the mess. The Fat Controller also arrived to the scene and surveyed the deformed remains of the brake van's face.
"I might've known it would be Douglas," he said.
"Douglas was grand sirr," said Harvey, "the brake van was a spiteful one and Douglas tried his best ta make sure it didn't get the best of him!"
"I see," replied the Fat Controller, even though he didn't. "This is a serious accident Douglas," he informed, "did you purposely try to squish the brake van?"
"No sirr," said Douglas, "but I wouldn't let yon trisky van get tha better of me!"
The Fat Controller nodded. "Winter is coming Douglas," he said, "and your manager will need to know whether his engines will come back to help out for the workload at Christmas. Or needing to arrange a new engine to take over your jobs in Scotland."
"Donal' and I want to stay here though!" burst out Douglas, "this part of British railway is beautaful and Scotland isn't our proper home anymore!"
The Fat Controller sighed. "Douglas," he said, "I thought this might've been the case. You sneaking here with Donald and making act like a mistake."
Douglas' face went pale, realising what he had said had made him and his twin be caught right on the red buffer.
"I want to be fair Douglas," continued the Fat Controller, "but... I don't know. I really don't know."
Douglas' eyes went to look at his buffers in shame. Harvey looked at him sympathetically, whilst the Fat Controller walked thoughtfully away...