Now while this episode is probably the weakest Edward-centric episode of the classic series, I definitely had fun watching this. If only because it's nice to see Edward get his dues one last time, even if Edward the Really Useful Engine was a far better finale for the character.
Now, quick thing here. We're going to be moving the Zero segment up to being the first thing you see in story once we finish answering the questions in the reviews. So, that being the case, I'd advise any of you who would prefer to just get straight on with the story to skip the bit in Italics. The reason for this? Well, remember Season 8 and that thing I am REALLY excited for? Well, this is going to be continuing a running theme with Volume 2 in setting up for that, so hopefully this should give you a rough idea of where I'm going with that. Also this one is a bit of a downer. In content, I mean. It's following on from the end of Edward the Really Useful Engine, so that should give you some idea of what's going on.
AaronCottrell97: Yep.
Reality Rejection Service: Heh. He be plotting. I've not decided what the official nickname is this time around, but we'll just have to see.
Bronze Shield: You've pretty much hit the nail on the head with that one.
Game-Watch: It's funny you say that...we'll get there soon enough.
MattPrice01: That is the plan! The bit with the narration at the beginning was my favourite part of writing this.
JD145: Pretty much, yeah.
UGX7: Hope you enjoy this!
Radical Sandwiches: Yeah, I suppose.
Australian Guest: Thanks very much! And yes! Someone else who got the Specsavers reference! I'm really flattered that you binge read all the stuff, it's quite the ego boost. Heh!
CUE THE THEME!
1935.
"So, what does Sodor have that could possibly interest us?"
Zero took a long sip from the glass. "Well quite frankly, Mr...sorry, dinnae catch yer name?"
"Hargreaves."
"Hargreaves...first name?"
"None of your business. Keep talking, Pugwash."
Zero felt that this was an insult somehow. But he pressed on nonetheless. "I see...well then, the Island of Sodor is located in a unique position. If war were to come, then it would almost certainly be the first stomping grounds for any...invading forces. I've contacts who state that a lot of yon munitions are going to have to be stored in case of such an emergency. Now, if yer looking for a location, surely the Ministry of Defence would be insane to miss this place."
"...I admit, this has been on our radar for some time."
"And it's not even that technologically advanced. The Island itself is thriving, but for the most part the people merely use small towns and ports, connected by the railway, to live in. Think about how much space ye'd be saving if ye were to store all of yer lovely explosives here. A regular cache of weapons should the jackboot ever encroach upon these hallowed lands."
"Ah. And the Beetle-" The small train quivered in outrage at this, but Hargreaves took no notice. "-what is it about him that intrigues you so?"
"He would make quite the wee guard dog."
"That the case?" Hargreaves thought for a minute. "I shall relate this back to my superiors. You have given me something to think about, Captain." But even as he hurried off, Zero could see the wheels turning in quite the wrong direction for the errant Hargreaves, or whatever his real name was. He was high on the feeling of being in one of those two fisted tales, and was not thinking about just who this Pugwash character was.
That overconfidence was going to be the death of him, one day.
"And now, mate." said Zero, his eye gleaming. "Ye and I have a little thing we need to discuss."
"Like?"
"Like information on-"
And the band began to play. And as a plot was hatched between Davidson and Captain Zero, a few miles away, a small tender engine with blue paint and red stripes was listening, entranced, by the music.
If both man and engine had turned their heads just a little bit, they would have noticed each other, and quite a fair bit of what would transpire next could have been avoided.
But that's the way it is with hindsight.
...
So guys, I've been here for about a month now, and I figure it's time I started spilling the beans about my 'co-stars' as it were! Bit of a weird order, I know, but we're going to start with the Number 2 (Ha!), Edward.
He is...interesting. He's probably the closest thing to a voice of reason these engines have got. And yet he's sort of...off. Apparently he never used to be like this, but things have happened. He's never been anything but polite to me, unless I insult him, in which case he just sort of gets huffy and sarcastic with me. It's fun, in it's own way, but he's actually been making sure I've been settling in all right.
I mean, the others keep going on and on about some sort of Oil Wagon story that I should ask him about. He seems edgy about it for some reason, I do wonder...
He's really excited recently, about some concert coming up. It's weird, but nice, to see him this happy.
Apparently he used to be a lot happier once upon a time.
I wonder what happened.
...
It's summer time (But when isn't it?) on the Island of Sodor and that means two things.
One, Gordon drunkenly rambling the lyrics to 'In the Summertime' at a very confused Henry.
And two, BUSINESS IS AT AN ALL TIME MAXIMUM. As writ upon a banner hung in Knapford station. There is so much for the holiday makers to see and do, if they don't mind the secret police looking cameramen hovering menacingly over them with orders of "SMILE!" and "BE FULL OF CHEER!" every hour or so, while the original camera men just stood off to the side wondering when it was they had somehow become competent at their job.
At the seaside, Thomas was forced to take more and more passengers every day. He didn't understand why, he'd gone off the beach a long time ago. The Old Bridge was constantly a target for people to throw their rubbish at, whilst taking a ride in the one true saviour, The Big Red Balloon.
And Trevor usually had to take the Sudrian Brass Band around to play at the fetes.
On this day, Edward had woken up bright and early. "Morning!" he said, slurring his words only a little bit. "Great day, isn't it? Tomorrow's set to be EVEN better, if you can believe that!"
"...What's so special about today?" moaned Henry.
"Ahhhh, very funny, Henry." Edward winked. "Right, of course, nothing special here."
"...Well no."
"Excellent! Wink wink, say no more!"
Edward was in fine fettle that morning. He was grimly determined that he was going to be happy all day long. As he approached the station, he bumped into Stepney. "SORRY-STEPNEY-CAN'T-STOP!" And off he ran, laughing. Stepney was very confused.
Edward was happy.
He was.
He kept telling himself that over and over again.
...
"So, what's the big deal?"
"Hmm?"
Stepney glanced at Duck. "Oh, you know. Edward's been acting...cheerful again. It's weird seeing him like that after the last four years of mostly just being moodily polite." He did the engine equivalent of a shrug and sipped on his drink. "It's welcome, don't get me wrong, but...what's the deal?"
Duck shrugged. No one really knew.
...
"Soooo...how are you doing, Edward?"
"Excellent! ...You?"
"Fine. Fine. ...You're in a good mood. Smile's as broad as your smokebox."
"Is that an insult?"
"It...could be, depending on how you take it." offered Thomas. "So what's up?"
"I'm on my way to pick up the Brass Band!" Edward beamed. "They're not as good as they used to be, which given that most of them died during the RollingStock concert in the seventies, explains a lot, but still!" He was practically bouncing up and down. Thomas was amazed. "The concert's tomorrow night!"
"Don't crack your smokebox!"
"Don't you go running into a mine!"
"Touche, good sir. Touche."
Edward couldn't wait to see the brass band. He had it all in his head. The music, his friends jamming along to it, those little pieces of food that had small sticks stuck into them for no reason, the Fat Controller attempting to scat along and failing awfully...it was going to be great.
Just like last time.
Last time had been...
An experience.
So busy was he in his memories that he failed to notice the dock yard crane operator fail UTTERLY at his job, as one of the large cranes (Nicknamed Big Mickey and one who sort of flip-flopped between being sentient and...not being that, it was very weird indeed), swung round a little too fast.
This would not have been a problem if it wasn't for the huge ship's boiler attached to the hook.
Edward frowned. Death had come in many forms in his dream, but never in the shape of Big Mickey.
This unusual calm suddenly deserted him as the boiler smacked him. Right in the side of his face. And somewhere, the Phantom Slide Whistle Blower of the Island of Sodor continued their devious work. Edward wondered for a moment if he had been chewing gum recently. And then he realised that that was probably part of his cheek bone in his mouth. That...probably wasn't hygienic.
"Aw yesch." said he, trying to speak despite the pain and the blood. "I havth thorgotten the law of the univerth. Don't let Edward be happy."
And just to make things even better, Cranky caught sight of this and decided to pour salt on Edward's wounds both figuratively and very literally. "You silly little engine! You're always in the way!"
"IF I WERE ON MY WHEELS RIGHT NOW, YOU'D BE SOOOOOOOOOOO SORR-Ow ow ow ow, why do you even HAVE that much salt in that bucket?!"
"From all the fans."
"Huh?"
"Nothing."
...
The Fat Controller came immediately. ...Look, just...mind out of gutter, please. It's dirty enough as it is.
Unfortunately, immediately wasn't as precise as you would believe. He had to eat his jam doughnuts after all. And a few chickens. Roast or otherwise alive. And then he had to put his suit on, because going casual was not done. By this point, Edward was so cold that he was practically a corpse anyway.
"We're going to have to take you to the works! ...Sooner or later, I guess. Bertie's going to have to take the Brass Band. I called NOT IT on telling him, though. He's a wordy son of a bitch."
Edward was disappointed. And also in intense pain. It took the incompetent Norris's at least five attempts to lift the engine up onto the breakdown train, and a further three hours to work out where the Works was. To make matters even worse, it was one of the worst versions of the Works that had been set up.
"Ah well!" said Charlie Sand philosophically. "It could always be raining!"
...
In the midst of the rain pounding down, the lightning throwing down and the thunder...thundering down, Edward wondered if the entire Island had somehow managed to piss off some great deity above.
"You know, I've forgotten the rule of the Island. The universe hates you. Yes. You in particular." He remarked, his cheekbone now being held in place by a bit of sellotape and a lot of prayers.
"POOP POOP!"
"Blow it up your smokebox, Gordon." grunted Edward. The rain pelting down was making hard for the workman to do their jobs, and even harder for Edward to cope with the sudden emotional turmoil he was going through. He was both sad and wet. Not a good state to be in.
He had to be there to see the band.
He just had to be.
Morning came, and Edward quickly accosted the Fat Controller. "Please sir! Look, I'm fine. When the fitters are finished-"
"They won't be finished soon enough! ...The band can't wait. Especially for an engine. Sorry Edward. But Bertie's taking them. Ta for taking the fall, Simpkins! And stop sniffling, I'm sure Bertie's driver didn't mean to punch you in the nose, it was just the excitement and the copious amount of crack he had taken getting to him!" And off he walked.
Edward's wound was now being covered in a whole salt wagon's worth of salt. And no one had even removed the coal dust from his boiler.
...
Elsewhere, at Smelly-by-the-sea, Bertie was gleefully doing wheelies and donuts, all the while Percy watched on in some confusion. He wasn't the only one. The Brass Band were wondering if it was too late to head back to Barrow. Or the Fulton Ferry. It was likely to sink any day now, and they could always do a 'Nearer My God to Thee' moment as they sank to their probable deaths.
But off they went on the hyperactive bus. And for the first part of the journey, all went reasonably well.
But there was trouble ahead. The storm had sent the banks of the various canals and rivers overflowing, big time. The roads were completely flooded. For some reason, a car had come to a stop in the middle of the road, and the ducks appeared to be chewing at something suspiciously corpse like.
Bertie had been here so long that such strange stuff no longer confused or even intrigued him. "Right! Detour time!" And he backed off and turned down a by-lane. He was at least ninety percent certain that whatever happened, it wouldn't have been as bad as what had happened with all those molotov cocktails a few years back. He didn't realise until he was halfway across how muddy it was.
As in it was literally a field.
Bertie needed to go to Specsavers soon.
Soon, the inevitable happened. Bertie's wheels and the mud did not like each other. They dug in and scattered and slipped and staggered all over the place, until Bertie was quite stuck.
On the plus side, the mud once again looked like chocolate. So cannibalism was not an option, much to the relief of the rather rotund tuba player. And every time Bertie revved his wheels, they got deeper and deeper into the cake-I mean mud. But nonetheless, the band was worried. Because of course, one of the members was diabetic. So they would have to eat him.
Also, a fete or something.
"Tune up your tuba!"
"I beg your pardon, Postgate?!"
"You heard me!"
...
By now, Edward was mended (Meaning that Sir Topham was really just a really overanxious kid), and hooked up to two coaches for no real reason other than it was a thing that they had decided to do. Then they heard a sound like a squashed badger dancing across a air raid siren.
"Huh. Must be boozing night at the Badgerium." said Charlie.
"We have one of those!? And I know those sounds! That's an alarm! Super-Edward to the rescue!" And off he went. Thank goodness, then, that Bertie had broken down right by a railway line. How very convenient.
The musicians were very happy to see Edward. Not least because the tuba player was now in intense pain, but also because they recognized him, based on stories their fathers had told them. Of a concert long ago, which Edward remembered as clear as day.
Bertie was also there, but he was basically forgotten about. Which is rather par for the course for him, let us not deny it.
"I'll get you there! Come rain or come shine!"
"Ta!" said the bandmen.
And off they set, leaving Bertie to freeze for three days until someone remembered that he existed.
That night, the concert was a great success. Everyone loved the music, especially Edward. But he was most surprised when the band said they had one stop left to make. At Tidmouth, of all places.
And then it all made sense.
Edward laughed as he spotted the banner. "They did remember!" He smiled, and for the first time in quite a while it felt completely and utterly natural. They hadn't forgotten! Of course they hadn't.
They could be bad, but not...that bad.
And as he rounded the corner, he got exactly the response that he had wanted.
"Ladies, gentlemen, engines and coaches, welcome to the sheds, a blue engine we all love!"
Edward's heart began to swell, almost as much as the music was at this moment.
"He is probably one of the best people I know. When he's happy, that is!"
He was already welling up! He was impressed, he hadn't thought he had any tears left in him.
"You know him! We know him! We take him for granted so often, it's not fair to him!"
Oh Henry. This was a really nice speech.
"So now, enough of me, let's get this party started and welcome everyone's favourite!"
Edward opened his mouth to give thanks-
"GORDON!"
Practically no one noticed as the small blue engine stood, statue-like in his stillness, and just slowly closed his eyes and his mouth, as Gordon rushed past with promises of booze and strippers for all of his pals. And Edward, of course, he added after a minute.
By this point, the open wound had become a shark bite. The amount of salt was so great that it was practically bankrupting several mines in the area.
The brass band, meanwhile, had sodded off to play 'Happy Birthday' to Gordon, as well as partake in the massive cake that the Fat Controller had personally baked for him. It was about a mile in both height, width and length, and featured several well wishes from all of Gordon's friends, and even enemies. There was also a full choir joining the brass band in sending wishes to the birthday engine.
Oh, and an offer of knighthood from the Queen.
All the while this sunk in, Edward just sat on the siding, all away from the rest of the group, and looked on in complete silence.
One might have expected him to lose it at this point.
Emily and Duck were late. "Hi, Edward! Yer looking...well."
"Yep." said Edward, smiling.
"...Edward?"
"Hmm?"
"Ye okay?"
"Course I am. I'm always fine." And still Edward smiled. "...Wish Gordon a happy birthday for me, will you?"
"Ye're not staying?"
"Ah. No. I've got some...work to do back at Wellsworth. Still, should be fun for you! See you tomorrow, have a good one for me." Edward quietly backed away, despite Duck's calls for him to at least wait for a moment.
"...When's Edward's birthday?" asked Emily, out of curiosity.
"Oh, er...12th of May."
"...What day is it today?"
"The...twelfth of May." said Duck with a dawning horror.
...
Edward turned around soon enough. Both Charlie and Sidney had long since left, but he could make his way back on his own. He was fine. He always had been.
And so he puffed along the Island, listening to the sound of the Brass Band getting quieter and quieter, until not even the fireworks could penetrate the quiet night. He turned a corner, and for a moment he thought he saw a familiar shadow on the line besides him. But no. No, he was long gone, that one.
He pulled into the shed so late that the trucks weren't even up any more. He backed down quietly, and mumbled something under his breath. Answering to his suggestion, one of the spare Pinchers reached out and pulled out a single cupcake, plopped it down on his bufferbeam, shoved a candle in it and lit it up. As it did so, it accidentally knocked an old record player on.
And the music suddenly swept him away to another time completely.
Edward was there. He was...alive! It was so wonderful and bright, it was almost painful. The light of the Works had been turned down quite a bit when they weren't working off the natural sunlight, but being here, out from under the gleam of it all, it was...new and exciting.
And the guy next to him, what was his name, Gordon! They had been constructed together, and now, as they made their way out for the first time in their lives, they trundled along towards the field where the band played.
And as the music came rushing towards their lack of ears, Edward stood still, in complete astonishment. He had never, in his life, heard music, and at that moment, he realised that he had missed out greatly on that account. The brass band played and played and played, like no one else in the world was here but them and Edward, and the blue engine was moved beyond words.
This was real. He was here. He was going to be really useful. He was alive.
But now others were moving forward, and with excitement now, they looked over the new engines and began to introduce themselves. And they sounded so...interested in what he had to say, what did he think of their railway so far, how did he find the trip, had the workmen treated him well? And drinks were passed around, and ribald jokes were made, and Edward found himself at the centre of all the attention And all this time, the music kept on playing.
All the while, he told stories and sang songs, and everyone laughed along, perhaps because of the novelty of it, or perhaps merely because the atmosphere was such fun to be in. And for the first, and last time in his life, Edward had been truly happy.
But then, as he paused to fill his drink....he looked around.
And the reality of everything set in.
He had been carried away by it. The recording of that night, that configuration of the band, that selection of the music, and he had been so sure that everyone had remembered...but of course they hadn't. All of his friends from back then were either dead or couldn't care less what happened to him now. Even Gordon and Henry had forgotten that wonderful day.
And here he was, alone, in a damp and dingy shed that he wouldn't even keep past the end of the year, on an Island where he was the centre of mockery. The night had set in, and the cold, and the sudden realisation that this was going to be his life now.
But that was all right.
He didn't need it anyway. Any of it. Who even cared?
And so for the rest of the night, he just sat there, staring at the candle and listening to the dying record player, and wished he could be the engine he had once been, so long ago.