Chapter 4: The Sad Story of Henry
It was the absence of the trucks which first made James aware that something extraordinary had occurred. One moment they were there, subdued after the rapid descent of Gordon's Hill and the strange turn of events which prevented the train from crashing. The next moment they had vanished and James cried out in shock as he realised that Clarence was suddenly coupled immediately behind him. This attracted the attention of his crew, who stared incredulously at the impossible sight before them.
"The trucks were right here!" James wailed in disbelief. "I haven't moved anywhere. How can all those trucks just disappear?"
"You have no trucks," Clarence said patiently. "They were never here."
"I must be out of my smokebox," muttered the bewildered engine. The bizarre situation was too much for him to fully take in, especially given the emotionally draining events he had already experienced that morning. He wanted nothing more than to roll back into his berth at the sheds and wait there until the world started making sense again.
"Trust me, you're not," Clarence comforted him. "You haven't a care in the world. You were never built. You don't exist. No worries. No obligations. No punishments from the Fat Controller."
The guard patted James's driver on the shoulder in a reassuring fashion. "Don't worry, lad, Clarence knows what he's doing," he said. "Just go along for the ride. It'll all work out in the end."
The driver glared at him. "Seriously, Joseph? My engine just actively tried to derail himself at speed, I narrowly escaped death thanks to some kind of divine brake van, an entire goods train has disappeared into thin air and you're proposing that I simply accept it and carry on as usual? Either I'm off my nut or you are!"
The guard shrugged and grinned broadly as he started to amble back to his van. "I'm just doing my job, mate."
The fireman sighed thoughtfully and intervened before the spluttering driver could respond. "Look, we can't sit around here all day. Another engine will come down the line before too long and we'll be slap-bang in the way. Let's head off towards Vicarstown and try to work out what to do."
It took a great deal of persuasion before the driver was convinced to return to his engine but eventually what remained of the train began to move again. James felt horribly disorientated as the journey progressed. He had worked on the main line consistently since his move to Sodor and the route should have been as familiar to him as his own buffers, but somehow the landscape appeared to have changed. For one thing, there seemed to be far more roads than there should have been and unfamiliar buses kept trundling past. For another, he didn't see the junction to the Ulfstead branch line, although James felt certain that he must have simply failed to notice it. Branch lines couldn't just disappear and he had had a stressful morning, after all. However, as he approached Kellsthorpe, the evidence that the Kirk Ronan branch had also vanished was unavoidable.
"That's strange," he murmured worriedly.
"You'll see a lot of strange things from now on," remarked Clarence.
Frowning, James ignored the brake van and resumed his examination of his surroundings as he slowed to pull into the station at Kellsthorpe Road. An unmistakeable green figure was waiting at one of the platforms and James whistled a greeting, fervently hoping that the earlier argument had been forgotten. Perhaps he would feel less unsettled after a chat with Henry.
"He won't recognise you," warned Clarence.
"It's all right. Henry's a good friend of mine."
As James pulled up on the adjacent line, it became clear that Henry was struggling. His face was a picture of abject misery, his boiler shuddered violently and his crew, their expressions grave, were holding an urgent conversation with the stationmaster on the platform.
James was alarmed. "Henry, what happened?"
Henry winced as a wave of pain coursed through him and gave James an enquiring look. "How do you know my name?"
"Don't mess about, Henry. It's me, James!"
"Have we met?"
James stared at him in amazement. "We've known each other for years! Red James, splendid James! You spoke to me this morning at the sheds!" Something was niggling at the back of James's mind, a vague sense that a crucial piece of information was eluding him but he ignored it, more troubled by the serious memory lapse afflicting his friend.
"I certainly did not!" Henry looked offended. "Look here, I may have some physical difficulties but my mind is fully functional! You'll get nowhere if you try to play silly tricks on me."
"I crashed into the sheds! I was trapped on a spinning turntable in high winds! A bee stung me on the nose!" In desperation, James surrendered his pride. "Bootlaces! Surely you remember the bootlaces incident?"
"I haven't the faintest idea what that is supposed to mean. I think you may have mistaken me for another engine, although I can't think who that might be." Henry closed his eyes and groaned as his boiler shook again.
James looked at him in concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Shortage of Welsh coal," the green engine hissed through gritted teeth. "Firebox can't cope with this inferior stuff."
"Welsh coal?" James laughed. "But you haven't needed Welsh coal for years!"
Henry scowled. "Would you stop making those strange jokes? It isn't amusing in the slightest. I'm in a considerable amount of pain!"
"Stop teasing me, Henry! You haven't needed special coal since they rebuilt you at Crewe after you crashed pulling the Kipper!"
"How dare you?!" snapped Henry indignantly. "I'll have you know that I have never crashed while pulling the Flying Kipper, never! Where did you hear that outrageous lie?"
But James was no longer listening. The worrying thought at the back of his mind had finally crystallised into the realisation that although the green shape before him might be unmistakeable, it certainly wasn't as familiar as he had initially thought. Glancing over his boiler, it suddenly struck James that this was not Henry the Black Five, resurrected after his devastating accident by the skilled engineers at Crewe. This was Henry as he had been when James had first joined the North Western Railway, the failing prototype with the inadequate firebox, in constant need of repair. Dazed, James tried and failed to identify a rational explanation for this sudden regression and stared in astonishment at his friend.
Henry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why are you looking at me like that? And what are you doing anyway, pulling a brake van around with no freight?"
"I'm his guardian angel," said Clarence cheerfully.
Henry snorted in derision. "Are you really? I could do with a guardian angel myself. I suffer dreadfully and no one cares!"
"I care," said James, surprising himself with his vehemence. Guilt was seeping into his system once again. He had often mocked Henry's illnesses in the old days; they all had, Edward excepted, convinced that Henry was simply too lazy to complete the work assigned to him. Reassessing the situation with the knowledge he now had of his friend's work ethic, James could plainly see how much the green engine was struggling. This was no act. His suffering was genuine, and James felt awful at having previously misjudged him so badly. "I could help you to the Steamworks if you'd like?" he offered, eager to assist somehow in order to atone for his previous insensitivity.
"There wouldn't be much point," grunted Henry. "They can't do anything for me."
"Hold on, old chap," Henry's driver chipped in. "If this fellow here could give you a push, the movement might shake up your fire and get it burning properly. I don't suppose you could get us to Vicarstown, could you?"
James and his crew acquiesced and he began to reverse to allow the points to be changed. As he slowly moved away from Henry, James murmured to Clarence, "I don't understand. Are you a hypnotist?"
"Oh no, nothing of the sort," said Clarence earnestly.
"Then how is any of this possible? How could Henry's accident have suddenly not happened?"
"You see, James, on that night you were not there on the siding with your train. There was no obstruction on the track for Henry to crash into."
"What do you mean, I wasn't there? I remember it distinctly!" The recollection of that terrible night was something James knew he could never rid himself of, no matter how fiercely he wished that he could. The image of Henry lying broken in the snow had haunted his dreams for weeks while the other engine was at Crewe. Even now, so many years later, he couldn't tolerate the smell of fish. The others thought his aversion highly amusing, assuming that he thought the odour would damage his ostensible reputation as the most impressive engine on Sodor. He had never admitted to anyone that it brought back horrific memories and lingering guilt at having been the one who emerged unscathed.
The points were switched and as James advanced towards Henry, he attempted to pull his focus back to the present once more. "Your explanation is ridiculous, Clarence. I was there, I must have been because I remember it clearly. How could I remember something which didn't happen? Anyway, the goods train would have gone even I hadn't been there. The Fat Controller would have given the job to another engine."
"He couldn't."
"What do you mean, 'couldn't'? Why not?"
"For the same reason Henry doesn't have the Welsh coal that he needs. The financial position of the North Western Railway is… precarious. There was no engine available to take that train because without you, the workforce was reduced."
James frowned thoughtfully as he was coupled behind Henry's tender.
"Don't you understand, James?" said Clarence softly. "It's because you were never built."
"Then if I wasn't built, who am I?" James had an odd sensation of dizziness, similar to that he had experienced after escaping from his imprisonment on the aforementioned turntable. He had never been one for philosophical thinking and trying to align the evidence of his senses with contradictory facts which he knew to be true was entirely baffling him.
"You're nobody. You have no identity."
"Nobody?!" James exclaimed furiously, and in front of him, Henry flinched at the sudden sound. "I'm James, the Splendid Red Engine! Nobody on this railway is more of a somebody than me!"
"Completely delusional," muttered Henry to no one in particular. "'James the Obviously Mad Engine', if you ask me."
"There is no James," reiterated Clarence. "You have no timetable, no paperwork. Even the number on your tender belongs to another engine. You've been given a great gift, James. A chance to see what Sodor would be like without you."
"You know what, Clarence?" fumed James, sore at the perceived insult. "You're crazy! And you're driving me crazy too. This is some sort of funny dream I'm having here. When we get to Vicarstown, I'm leaving you there, do you hear me? I'm leaving you in the yard and I'm going back to Tidmouth on my own!"
Unperturbed, Clarence smiled placidly and the odd train began accelerating out of the station, attracting curious looks from the waiting passengers as it trundled past. James, for once, didn't appreciate the attention.
