Cue the theme!
...
It was a special holiday on the Island of Sodor. The local village idiots had even printed out a banner to commemorate it. Though many believed that they had taken it far too literally, and it was frequently pointed out that it was a Bank Holiday and not, in fact, just 'Special Holiday'.
The actual title was probably something closer to 'Yet Another Sodding Bank Holiday' but that was a little much for the printers to get onto the banner. There was a ink crisis on the Island at the moment.
Bertie the Bus was working harder than ever before, which was saying something. He didn't even make sassy comments to Thomas about races, which Thomas found both amusing and rather alarming. But mostly amusing. All the engines were busy too, so he soon stopped laughing. James was sweating so hard that one could swear that he was going to be boiled alive from the sheer amount of perspiration. BoCo did better, though that may have been because he was generally placed in charge of truck pulling duty. It was something he enjoyed, mostly because he was competent at it, unlike other engines.
Duck seemed to breeze through with barely a worry in the world, and Oliver stood up well at the same time. Sarcastic comments were made that the Great Western engines were clearly aliens from another planet. Duck had responded to this by remarking "Nanu nanu" and had laughed in private at the angry expressions on their faces. He had even returned to taking the express while Gordon had suffered from a combination of his usual high nerves and heat exhaustion.
...
Now when the events of the story take place, Duck was waiting for his next train to be filled up by Tidmouth. It was a very comfortable position, not least because he got to see Henry's attempt at coaxing the trucks to be good for him fail badly.
Near him stood a red double decker bus with a expression like someone had fed him five lemons at the same time. He did not look friendly like Bertie, even when Bertie was at his worse. He was covered in what could charitably be called political signs. On his front, there was a rather in your face sign that read 'Free the Roads' and Duck could just about make out several other signs that read such charming things as 'Britain First' or 'Make Britain Great Again' or 'We Will Not Be Silenced'. You know, the typical things that buses tended to wear.
The bus growled as the happy passengers milled around the coaches.
"Stupid nonsense!" He remarked at last, and Duck decided to immediately begin preparing the 'Great Western Patience Defense' in his own head. He turned and tried to look somewhat interested. The bus continued. "I wouldn't have brought them to this filthy place if I'd known! I'd had had a breakdown or summat!"
Duck could not really disagree with the comment about Tidmouth Station being filthy. Standards were constantly being let go, and the summer sun had only managed to increase the smell of weed that arose. The second step of the defense, after the attempt to look politely curious, was to grin naturally and attempt to get the arse you were talking to to shut up out of sheer force of personality. "I'm glad you didn't! You would have spoiled their fun!"
Stage three, crack a joke. "Besides-" Duck continued "-I've heard Mrs Kyndley gets quite rowdy once she's had a few in her!"
The bus scoffed. It was then that Duck realized that his usual charm wasn't going to be able to budge the wall of self-righteousness that was beside him. "Pah! Enjoyment? That's all you hedonistic engines live for, am I right? Sitting up there in your ivory towers, looking down at the world and laughing at us roadies! One day, your railways will be ripped up and you won't be smiling then!" The bus snarled and spat at the tracks. "Probably built by some bloody immigrant."
Duck decided to abandon said tactics completely in favor of bluntly stating his gut reaction. "Oh, you want to got there, do you? We've got a friend called Bertie. You know what? He's a bus too, and he actually gives a crap about the railway! Sometimes he mocks the living hell out of us, but the things you are suggesting are...well they'd horrify him!"
"Oh, Bertie! Bertie the bloody Bus." Bulgy scowled. "He's one of you. A little shite who's a disgrace to the word 'bus'. When the revolution comes, he'll be the first to go! Too small and too happy! Life here isn't worth a damn jot if you're not one of the capitalistic, little, smiling, bourgeois engines! I'm going to do some bloody work! People'll start realizing just how pathetic you engines really are!"
Duck took no notice.
Or at least, he told himself he didn't.
"Silly prat." he muttered.
...
Duck met Oliver at the junction of one of the newer stations near the coast, Haultraugh. He told Oliver all about the bus. He was surprised to see Oliver laughing, mostly because he assumed that as someone who had, until recently, been under threat from scrap, he might take things a little seriously.
"Oh him!" Oliver said after finishing laughing. "Oh I know him of old! I call him Bulgy!"
"Why?"
"Because it's his name."
"A fair reason."
"No, he's one of those buses who tended to frequent the Other Railway during the Cold War. Went AWOL a few years back though, apparently he was beginning to get on everyone's nerves. He sells newspapers. All of them the Daily Mail."
"Ah. That wretched hive of scum and villainy." Duck rolled his eyes at Oliver's shocked expression. "Yes Oliver. I do, on occasion, soak up a bit of pop culture."
Oliver laughed once more and headed off.
...
That afternoon, Duck patiently waited by the junction once again. He was in a happy mood, not least because he got to see Percy cheerfully enjoying the good weather at the harbor.
He was aware of a sudden hullabaloo behind him, and Thomas shouting "OI! SLOW DOWN!" as Oliver skidded into the station. He wasn't laughing any more.
"Blood and stomach pills, Oliver! This is a station, you know."
"You would NOT believe what I've just heard!" Oliver panted and suddenly began coughing. Once he had recovered from his rush to reach Haultraugh, he looked Duck dead in the eye and remarked "Bulgy's got a friend with him."
"Oh?" Duck perked up.
"Yep. He's a even bigger racist than Bulgy, if you can believe it. He's taking Bulgy's passengers home first, so that Bulgy has plenty of time to nick ours!" Duck stared in shock at Oliver's words. "You're right to look shocked! I heard them cackling away! Something about how this was their Island before us, and that Doctor Beeching had a point about us!"
Duck swallowed down this invocation of the name of the infamous culler of railways and scoffed, though a little unsure. "He can't do that!"
"He says that he can get them to the big station on time faster than we can!"
"Rabbish!" Duck said, invoking James's pronunciation of the word to show his contempt. "It's much further by road, and the summer sun's probably caused the tarmac to get quite messy. He'll never get to Knapford before us!"
"Normally I'd agree. But Bulgy says he knows a shortcut! We need to be on our guard!"
"Right!" growled Duck. "Meet me at Tidmouth later. I'll bring the Scots for back up! He's not getting away with this!"
...
The homeward rush usually was one of the biggest money makers of any train journey. As the engines sat and waited for it to start, Duck's eyes drifted over to Donald and Douglas, both waiting on another line and waiting to spot any double decker bus. Percy gave a shrill 'peep peep' as he passed, startling Duck out his contemplative mood.
His driver and fireman were chatting. "So this driver of Bulgy's? What'd you learn?"
"Name of Adrian Gotch. One of those students who were charmed by all that claptrap the USSR was spouting out, headed over there before the Wall went up. Then he joined the Communist party over here in Britain, or whatever was left of it, before he was shoved out for being too much of a git."
"God, no wonder the bus is so screwed up."
"Well part of that has nothing to do with Gotch. Bulgy's been accused of rough-housing some of the younger buses, harassment in the workplace, that sort of thing."
"Where is everyone?" remarked Duck aloud.
"LOOK!" Oliver shouted. "Over there! That bloody bus is a mean scarlet deceiver!"
Bulgy was sitting there, bold as brass, grinning with fake sweetness and brimming with glee over his cleverness. A sign had been posted on his side, reading 'Railway Bus', and on the other side, another which read 'No Seriously, I'm Really A Railway Bus'.
The four engines were speechless for a few seconds, before Bulgy stuck out his tongue.
"Ya boo snobs!" He cackled as he pulled away. "Let the revolution begin!"
Duck snarled. "Come on, girls! Let's see what he's up to!"
"Ooooh!" twittered the coaches. Duck was a very good catch in the coach world.
"Evil commie Nazi!" spat Oliver.
"Oliver, I'm fairly sure that the terms 'commie' and 'Nazi' are mutually exclusive, but what the hell do I know about politics?" said Duck, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Hey, cut me some slack, I was-"
"On the run from scrap?! I never would have guessed!"
...
The passengers were beginning to regret their decision. Bulgy's driver insisted that the only music they were allowed to listen to on the long drive were spoken word records by Margaret Thatcher. Mostly about the Falklands and how right she had been. In actuality it was just Gotch doing a very good impression, but Bulgy didn't know this.
"Er, do you think we may have made a mistake?" remarked Jem Cole at last.
"-And another thing! Where the hell do these immigrants think they're going? They're after our benefits, I tell you!"
"Probably." remarked Farmer Trotter. "There's enough bilge coming out of his mouth to feed my pigs for a week!"
There was a very harsh bump that jolted most of the passengers out of their seats. Jerimiah Jobling glanced down and let out a shocked gasp. "We're on the bloody rails!"
The others looked down. Sure enough, Bulgy was now riding the rails. He didn't know the meaning of the word 'hypocrisy'. Or how to spell it. He suddenly felt very angry at seeing Duck rush under the bridge upon another one.
"YOU CHEAT!"
"Ha! You little cowards'll be given a nice place at the bottom of the scrapheap!" Bulgy took off once more, shaking his passengers around like Mexican Jumping Beans. Duck let out a harsh whistle that indicated what Bulgy could do with that bridge. He wanted to pay him out, but he didn't know how.
"And don't get me started on those little-" The horn blared as Bulgy ranted on about the homosexuals "-I mean really! Do they know how much of a prat they make themselves look? Prancing around like a bunch of bloody fairies."
They had to hold Cole back at this remark.
Bulgy's other sign had fallen off, revealing the words 'Join the Anti-Rail League' written on it. From out of the top window, a loudspeaker admitted his thoughts "Stop the rails! Close the borders! Vote for the Conservatives! Down with Liberals!"
Many people just looked frankly baffled at this.
...
Duck had just reached a stretch of line where only one engine could pass, when he saw a man waving a red flag urgently. "Oh balls!" he remarked. "Again!? That's the seventh bush fire in three days!"
The narrow road crossed a narrow bridge. And there, jammed under the bridge, was Bulgy. He looked weakly around for help, but none seemed to be forth coming. His loudspeaker still blared on.
"And don't even think about asking about those bloody femnazi's! What the hell do they think they're doing? Bunch of bloody queers, the lot of them! Probably out there eating away at-"
A number of handbags and one brick sailed at Bulgy's head. All targets hit. Mrs Kyndley and Lady Hatt nodded to each other in mutual respect.
"So that was your shortcut?" Duck chuckled. "You idiot!"
"Enough of that, you PIG!" Bulgy would have stuck out his chest proudly, had he a chest. So instead he settled for rattling his grill "I shall be a martyr for the cause!"
"What cause?"
"The cause of FREEDOM from oppression!"
"No one's oppressing you. How many buses are dedicated to this cause?"
"..."
"Well?"
"...One."
"One. You, I suppose? Naturally. Seems to me like we're not the problem. Also, for the record, you are officially the worse martyr ever if that's the case. Right now, you like a right dozy pillock. It's not exactly Les Mis, is it? Pinned under a bridge because you wanted to get to a stop a little quicker than me."
Bulgy had nawt to say to that. Dust promptly smacked into his face and caused him to have a coughing fit.
"He tricked us!" howled the passengers.
"He wouldn't accept our return tickets, the cheeky sod!" Farmer Trotter looked as though any minute now he would magic a pitchfock out of nowhere and start beating the silly bus to death.
"He wanted us to think railways are no good!" Jobling scowled. "And me best suit as well!"
The crew examined the bridge as the passengers were helped up by the guard into the carriages. The guard had just enough time to see Adrian Gotch leap over the nearest fence in escape. He didn't follow him though.
The screams of "OH GOD THE THORNS, WHY?" was reason enough.
"Well it's risky." remarked the driver. "But we should help the passengers!"
"They are urgent!" agreed Duck, in a way that made every passenger happier than they had been all day, and also made Lady Hatt resolve to give Duck a raise. Duck was a winner in this situation. Slowly and carefully, he set across the bridge.
He was aware of a great many bricks shifting in clear agony, and aware even further of Bulgy wailing as each brick smacked down onto his roof and face. "CAREFUL!"
"Great martyr you are." muttered Duck. The bridge quivered and he hissed audibly.
"STOP! It might fall on me!"
"Serves you right, you miserable old trout, for telling lies and being a colossal-" Duck took a deep breath, and focused on crossing the bridge in one piece.
Which he did. The bridge did not collapse.
...
Duck made good time, and all the passengers caught their trains home as well. He told the tale to the others, and all agreed that they were lucky to be rid of Bulgy. They began working harder than ever before.
Gotch vanished, later to turn up at the Other Railway, responding to a message from the Fat Director regarding the missing Great Western scrap engine. The Director was livid at the news, but thanked Gotch for his loyalty, and rewarded him by offering him a job working for him.
Rumors about this 'friend' Bulgy had never really died down. He was never seen following Bulgy's fall from grace, though rumors that he underwent a transformation and became a rather cantankerous steam roller were very, very popular indeed. But his story is due for another time.
As for Bulgy, in a nice bit of irony, he was promptly disowned by every bus on the Island and was ignored by them deliberately. Bulgy and his ways never learnt, even as the bridge was mended he kept on insulting the women workman who were helping him out. They promptly took out his engine, headed home and left him sitting on the field opposite the bridge.
As a hen house, his lies can do no harm. The hens don't take any notice.
Because they're hens.