Chapter 4

New Home

Abigail had just reached her full working boiler pressure; she had now started vibrating with anxiety and impatience on her siding. She was faintly aware of someone talking to her sister, Piccadilly, who was parked behind her, but she could not see to confirm this. She could also here noise coming from the engine shed, and she could see the vague shape of other engines parked therein. A man, who she recognised as the Owner, (Mr Cutler), appeared from the doorway, before making his way over to the two standing Stroudley terriers. He spoke to them both:

'Ah, my dears, nice to see you two both in steam. Now, I'm having you both do a trial run this morning, with our two original engines on separate trains. Wandle, I hear you've chosen a new name? Abigail, isn't it?' Abigail made a noise of affirmation.

'Piccadilly,' Mr Cutler went on, 'you've yet to pick yours I suppose - we'll discuss this afternoon. Now, you haven't yet got your nameplates, but you do have numbers. Abigail, you are 2B, Piccadilly, you are 2C. I shall explain the numbering system another day. Now that's confirmed – onto your duties for today. Abigail, you can go with Ashwell on the morning passenger working. It leaves at half past 9 o' clock, with a pause at Foxhill for 2 minutes, then onto Jocyspool. You should, in theory, get there by 10. Whether you actually do or not makes little difference to the passengers. Stand for 15 minutes, then return. You should get here by quarter to 11. Once, Ashwell made it back at 12, over an hour late – she'd run out of steam on Foxhill Bank! Oh well - couldn't be helped. The train is usually four smaller coaches, but that increases to six on market day, which 'round here is Wednesday and Saturday. You'll get a permanent roster before long, but this is, as I say, a test run. You'll do well. Now, Piccadilly, you'll go on the 11:15 mixed goods – it normally goes at 11:15, any-way. Pause to shunt as required, you'll get there eventually. Don't leave the colliery's coal wagons standing at Foxhill station, as happened last month. You'll reach Jocyspool Harbour eventually, in your own time, and hand the train off to the dock shunter. She's quite fierce, so don't argue if she gets abrasive. I'll speak to her about it later. Return with the up goods. Don't go into the Harbour to quickly because there's some sharp curves on the docks. Oh, do take our No.2, Foxhill, with you. Our first two engines are named after stations on the railway, Ashwell and Foxhill, it can be confusing. Speaking of which – Ashwell ought to be nearly ready by now – Abigail, be a dear, get four of the coaches from the siding over there. You'll want a brake each end, a third class and a composite. There's a good engine.' And so Abigail ran off to fetch the coaches, feeling a great amount of trepidation. She found the full six easily enough, in a stone carriage shed with a slate roof; they were all wooden and four-wheeled, painted dark red, with black ends and frames. Gold lining was applied to the panels. The nearest, the first brake coach, spoke up:

'Look, girls, there's an engine. It's new, it's not our Ashwell.' Then a coach near the middle said:

'Beware of unfamiliar locomotives – it could be dangerous.' Abigail was panicking slightly, but said;

'I'm not dangerous, I'm Abigail – I need some coaches for the morning passenger run! Now, er, I only need four of you – two brakes, a third and a composite. Who's who?'

'Right, listen dearie,' said the one behind the brake she was facing, 'you want the one you're next to, then me, then the other two on the end. Leave the two in the middle, there's my girl, go on now.' Following these kindly instructions, Abigail very carefully collected the appropriate set, and took them to the platform. She was glad to leave the one who'd called her dangerous. The four she'd collected were all talking softly amongst themselves, complementing little Abigail on her gentle handing. Abigail had in fact worked with similar coaches in London all her life, so it came easily to her. The clock said it was quarter past 9 – fifteen minutes before the correct start time of the train. She wondered where 'Ashwell' was. She was becoming more and more nervous – she didn't want to do this alone. Her temporary AFJR crew were becoming confused as well. Everyone sighed with relief when a very small, cabless tank engine – a 2-2-2 side tank with outside cylinders and a curved running board – came into view at 9:25. It was covered in immaculately polished brass and copper bits, and was altogether very aesthetically pleasing. She appeared to be appraising Abigail very carefully. She then spoke very slowly:

'So... You're Abigail, right?'

'Y-yes, I am. You're Ashwell, correct?'

'That's right – but you can call me Ash if you like' Ashwell was clearly becoming more comfortable, 'I'm told we're to double-head the passenger train- I see you've got the coaches ready, you clever engine. I'll just couple up, give me a moment.' Ashwell went forward from Platform 2, over the merging points, then back, joining Abigail on the head of the train. The 2-2-2 seemed immediately ready to pull away, but the signal remained firmly red. The engine whistled sharply and the signal dropped – much to Abigail's amazement. Ashwell started at once, and Abigail took some time to pick up in response. However, it was not long, only a few yards, before Ashwell stopped accelerating, and they pulled out at a mere 5mph. Abigail supposed that it was the station speed limit. Before long, and after passing the slightly unstable points that led down to the wharf, Ashwell again started speeding up – the gradient was downhill and they practically coasted for a clear mile. Abigail noticed the undulating trackwork, the train seemed to roll around constantly, and it gave a strong impression of being unmaintained. She refrained from comment, however, as she was brand new here. The railway was in a deepening cutting for some time, before the gradient flattened off and the track appeared into a very beautiful forest. The noise of a waterfall seemed to be echoing in the distance, as they crossed a bridge over a fast-flowing river, which explained a lot. They continued for a couple of hundred yards, before they approached a very small station, on its own passing siding parallel to the 'mainline'. A large stately home stood nearby, and a suited gentleman was waving to them from the grounds. Ashwell 'popped' her whistle as they passed, before calling to Abigail that this was Lord Foxhill's Estate and that they only stopped there on request. She said the Lord was benevolent and kind, if a little eccentric. Almost as soon as that sentence was complete, the grass-grown track began steepening sharply upward. Abigail found herself barking up the bank with some ferocity, despite the lightness of the coaches, and Ashwell was making surprisingly heavy going of the journey, although she had surely done it hundreds of times before. Abigail could see the needle of Ashwell's pressure gauge creeping back, and was very glad when they finally crested the incline, in a rock cutting. This was not before passing along a clifftop, from which Abigail could clearly view the forested banks and river below. They descended the other side at quite a rapid pace, which Abigail thought was definitely over the 25mph limit she'd seen on a post leaving Ashwell Station. Another set of points spurred off onto a line that peeled off behind them. It could only be entered heading the opposite way. 500 yards further on there was a short empty siding with nothing but buffers and a water column. Ashwell commented that it sometimes housed a banking engine. They rounded some stiff corners surrounded by flat farmland, before pulling up at a small country station with two wooden platforms. The running-in board read 'Foxhill'. It was when they stopped here that Abigail noticed something about Ashwell that had previously been unremarkable. On the rear of her bunker was a works' plate – reading 'Tulk & Ley, Engineers, Whitehaven, 1854'. Blimey, thought Abigail, this engine must be truly ancient, if she was built in 1854! It was now 1902, making little Ashwell... Approximately 48 years old. According to Abigail's quick mental maths. The appearance of a new engine on the train caused some stir, people gathered around to admire Abigail, who's face grew red under all the admiration. She'd always hated being the centre of attention. Ashwell could sense that Abigail was becoming tense, and so said, in a charming but firm fashion;

'Now, now, my friends, no gawping at little Abi here, get to your seats please or we shall be even later then normal, go on. That includes you Mr. Wilkins, even if you're Head Porter you shouldn't loiter.'

Abigail was very, very impressed. Back in London you never spoke to the passengers unless addressed!

'How on Earth do you do that?' asked the terrier, blatantly bewildered.

'Abi m'dear, it's a knack with rural passengers, you pick it up fast enough. They haven't a hurry in them, too slow to catch a cold really. I love having them at the stations just the same.' Abigail didn't get a chance to answer, for the signal dropped and the guard's whistle sounded. They pulled away well enough, but only got 500 yards before;

'Woah, Abi, pull up here – I hadn't considered this issue.' The train ground to a halt.

'What's the matter Ash, water pump broken or something?'

'No Abi, that was last month,' answered Ashwell dryly, 'Its this bridge – it needs replacing and I'm not sure it'll take both of us at once. Here - I'll go over first then you follow. Slowly.' Not waiting for an agreement, she went off. Abigail could see the bridge was very rickety – a wooden construction with rotting timbers and rusty fastenings. Ashwell made it over all right, and Abigail followed at very low speed with the train. It was very, very gently, with much trepidation that they made it over, and Abi was sure she'd felt something buckle under the weight. The coupling was fastened again, and away they started. They entered a valley fairly soon, with the river on one side and the steep meadowed side of the valley on the other – the scene was very picturesque, and for the first time Abigail appreciated just how glad she was to be away from the smog and noise of London. She couldn't resist commenting:

'Your railway truly is beautiful, I've never seen anything like this in my life...'

'Heh, thanks, it is nice – you wait till Autumn, then you're in for a treat. It's not bad in the snow, either, and we've had a bit of that lately, more's coming too, then I'm buggered. Bloody ice making life impossible! It's not so bad being a six-coupled like you, Abi, but being a single driver makes you hopeless in bad weather!'

'Hmm, I met a few 2-2-2s back on the LBSCR, the tender engines especially had trouble, and that bloody Sharpie Well Tank would refuse to leave the shed if there was a hard frost on. Useless engine she was, I never liked to fight but she and us, the terriers I mean, were like cats and dogs!' Abigail was never like to speak ill of a colleague, but the Sharp, Roberts Well Tank locomotive who she'd once worked with was incredibly provoking.

'I can sympathise with her for disliking frost – but that was no excuse for her being unpleasant. You seem a perfectly polite sort of engine, very modest and humble, just like everyone 'round here... You're prettier then most as well...' Ashwell finished there, leaving Abigail to go a very bright red that was nothing to do with the low temperature. Ashwell's crew were doubling over the controls, trying to hold back laughter! It didn't help when the fireman turned around and winked at Abi while pointing at his own engine. Ashwell then whistled briskly and shot steam into the back of his neck from some brass backhead fitting that Abigail could not identify. They continued through the stunning scenery for a couple of miles that, if Abi had her way, might've been endless. This was the life. There was a sudden break in the bucolic country scene when Ashwell sounded her whistle again and they dove into a tunnel. The barks of both engines echoed around the space – the noise was quite tremendous. Ashwell's crew were covering their faces with handkerchiefs – they were hopelessly exposed to the steam and smoke being issued from Ashwell's tall, copper-capped chimney. It was not a long tunnel, only a few tens of yards, but still evidently displeasurable. They burst out into the light and soon crossed another, more substantial stone bridge over the river. There, shimmering on the left, was a modest lake, on which was a small sailing boat. The captain paused to wave at the train. Ashwell and Abigail both whistled in response. Then Ashwell said, to the terrier behind her;

'That's Mr Aveley, he's a businessman in Jocyspool, got a finger in every pie around here and I think he's a shareholder of the railway. We'll no doubt see him later, he'll like to meet you, as will, I'm sure, half the town. Sorry in advance about that – not much goes on here so you being around is of great interest – another attractive, blue, six-wheeled engine can never be bad can it?'

'Oh, bother, I never did like being fussed over – I sometimes get anxious if too many people get on my footplate at once! With other engines I'm usually fine but with humans it fast becomes uncomfortable.'

Don't worry sweetheart - I'll see that no-one comes too close. Besides,' finished Ashwell, 'This is the morning train - there's usually only about five people coming back the other way. The passenger services don't do much for us unfortunately – That's why they keep worn-out old rubbish like me on the roster!'

'Oh, Ash - don't say those things! You certainly aren't rubbish – the passengers like you, the coaches trust you - you've got more experience working the line then anyone else, or so I'd have thought...'

'When you put it like that... I suppose I really am quite charming aren't I? I am still worn-out though, you may have heard the clanking from my valve gear – it isn't exactly brand new. It's original, actually, to when I was built. Bet you've never met a working engine with Gooch valve gear have you?'

'Erm, no, I can't say I have. Not in my memory, anyway. How d'you even oil all that with the limited frame space – I had driver complaining constantly about getting to my eccentrics without a pit, but I suppose its easier with outside cylinders?'

'Those, Abi, my dear, sweet young friend, are the kind of questions we ask in the shed, in private, not in public...' Ashwell delivered this statement so impressively that Abigail dared not argue. Either way, at that point they ran past a distant signal, and the line began again to descend gently towards - there in the distance – the sea. Ashwell's driver at this time began cranking the handbrake lever as hard as he could in a clockwise direction, whereas Abigail's applied - with simple pull of lever - her Westinghouse air brake. They passed the outer home, then inner, before swinging over a set of points and into the station limits. Ashwell's driver then pulled the evidently somewhat heavy reversing lever into back gear, before opening the regulator. Abigail felt Ashwell's buffers pushing up on hers, and immediately made a stronger application of her Westinghouse brake. The train stopped quite hurriedly. Ash was incredulous:

'What kind of magic are you using on your brakes?! Do you have superglue on them or something?'

'Umm, no, they're my original air brakes, I've always had them. Wait... Do you not have continuous brakes on this railway?'

'Not as such, love, no. Before you mention it – yes, we're technically breaking the law with unfitted passenger stock but frankly we don't have the money to do anything about it.' Abigail was stunned into silence at this. She didn't get long to think before Ashwell went forward from the train and crossed to the other platform road. On the headshunt of Platform 2 was a water column and coal staithes, and Ashwell took in supplies of both. Her fireman spent some time transferring coal from the staithes to her bunker by hand, armed only with a shovel and some fire-y language. After a few minutes, she ran back, presumably crossing over to join the other end of the train. Abigail moved up then, to have a drink, but she reckoned there was enough coal in her bunker to make it back to Ashwell on. When her tanks were full, she moved off backwards to rejoin the train at the other end. She buffered up to Ashwell as gently as possible, and they sat waiting for the off. Abigail noted that they would be making the return journey bunker-first, rather then chimney-first as they had been on the way down. Abigail was drifting off into her own thoughts again when she heard a *click* noise and a flash pierced the air. Abigail looked over sharply to see a man photographing the two tank engines. He was saying very little and seemed to be concentrating very hard on his accuracy. Once he had taken an abundance of photos (and thoroughly irritated Abigail's eyes) he walked over to speak to her:

'Hello m'dear – allow me to introduce myself – Mr. Mervyn, Public Relations Officer for the AFJR. I was just taking some pictures for local paper – and maybe one for my office! You are a most photogenic little engine, Abigail, the lighting is perfect for you. A Brighton A1, are you not?'

'Yes, sir, I am – I take it you've met some of my sisters back in London?'

'Yes, my dear, yes, I had a very pleasant conversation with an example called Poplar not so long ago.'

'Oh! Poplar – she's one of the oldest of us, actually. I didn't speak to her much – but she was a bit of an ambassador for the class apparently – along with Wapping, and Fenchurch, and, well, all six built in that batch – I'm three years younger, myself.'

'Ah, Poplar did mention that she was one of the oldest examples, when I spoke to her she still carried her original wooden brake blocks – I here that some of the younger engines were fitted with iron ones from the very beginning?'

'Yes, sir, that's right. I was built with iron brake blocks, along with Westinghouse air brakes – Poplar and her 1872 sisters were given steam brakes – for one reason or another they were abandoned.'

'Really? I was quite unaware – thank you, I shall mention these refinements in my press release – along with some words your sister, I spoke to her earlier at Ashwell, before coming down on your train. She seemed to be rather energetic – I suppose it's to be expected - you've both been out of work for some time – you must have been impatient to stretch your legs. I think that'll be all, darling – I might see you another day, farewell m'dear.' And, gathering up his camera equipment – Mr Mervyn walked away through the station entrance, evidently off seeing to his press release. Abigail was unsure what to make of the man – he seemed to understand engines better then some she'd met, but she had a rather marked distrust of Public Relations people – they were normally sleazy and conniving. No time to dwell, on it, she thought, for at this thought the guard's whistle sounded and Ashwell began accelerating backwards out the station. Abigail thought she'd better start too – after all, she was now leading the train, albeit bunker-first.

The upward journey was largely the inverse of the way down – until the began to climb the bank they had come down at great speed before. It was longer on this side and just as viciously steep. Ashwell was definitely struggling, and was losing steam faster then ever. Abigail opened her regulator into the second valve (much to her crew's consternation) and began blasting up the incline, taking the whole weight of the train (Ashwell included) upon her coupling. Ashwell's driver stood with his hands on his hips, eyebrows raised, for the whole way up the bank, looking quite speechlessly at the top of Abi's chimney, which was issuing thick clouds of smoke, steam and sparks. The noise of the barks echoed all around the foothills. Ashwell's fireman was arguing quite fiercely with the fire – it was clearly not burning right and the poker he was wielding was making little difference. They summited the incline in style, one way or the other, and once they had, Ashwell began apologising profusely:

'Oh, dear, I am sorry I couldn't be more help there, my tubes are clogged up again, it'd be nice if fireman ever stopped shovelling and let the coal burn for a change, but no, it's no wonder how I use so much of it the way he fires me.' The fireman was scowling at these remarks, but Ashwell paid no attention; 'Abi dear, I must say,' she went on, 'your bark sounded lovely climbing up there...'

'Oh, erm, thanks... I suppose?' Abigail had never been paid quite such a complement before, and at once went her signature shade of red - 'it's, kind of half the reason they call my class 'terriers'. The other half is the panting when our brake pump starts working, if you're interested.' It was not long after this, that they finally pulled up at Ashwell Station. Mr Cutler was on the platform, awaiting them. He greeted them warmly, and congratulated Abigail for a good performance ('Only five minutes late - that's very good, compared to Ashwell's average', was one remark she recalled), then he had told Ashwell's errant fireman that if he caught him using that much coal again he was sacked, and lastly, he climbed aboard Abi's footplate, and drove her up an down the station for a bit, all the while thoroughly enjoying himself. Abigail thought, that, for her first trip on her new railway, it wasn't really so bad after all... She would have to tell Piccadilly all about it, now, just where was she...