Falcon the Goods Engine

High up in the mountains of Sodor, from Arlesburgh to King Orry's Bridge at Peel Godred, was another railway. A 25-mile long narrow gauge railway known as the Mid Sodor. This railway mainly dealt with tourists as well as lead from their own mines. Many tourists came by a steamship from the Isle of Man, which would dock at the port of Arlesburgh.

This railway had eight locomotives: Duke, the first and oldest, a George England 0-4-0 saddle tank with a tender, was painted brown and named after his grace, the Duke of Sodor. Their number 2, Carys, was a 2-6-2 tank engine similar to those on the Vale of Rheidol. Falcon, a blue 0-4-2 saddle tank built by Falcon Works in Loughborough, was their number 3, with his brother Albert being maroon and number 5. Number 4 was an American 0-4-0ST named Alfred, while their number six, John, was another blue 0-4-0 saddle tank, built by Bagnall. Tim, their number 7, was a tram engine with four wheels, and Atlas, the number 8, was another American loco, this one an 0-6-0 saddle tank.

All eight engines were happy together and, while aware of the war, didn't think they'd really be affected that much: sure, the mines were being run more than usual, but other than that, things were peaceful. But on this day, they would be proven wrong.

It all began when Falcon was at Arlesdale with his boat train waiting to depart: the boat trains consisted of four coaches, six at peak times, and ran at an express-like timetable, only stopping at Ulfstead Road and Arlesdale and taking priority over other trains. However, this morning, he was waiting longer than usual.

"Why hasn't the guard blown his whistle yet?" he asked. "We're due to meet the steamer by 9:45, it's now 9:24, we should've departed 8 minutes ago!" His answer was given out by the whistle of another engine, and Albert raced past him with a mine train to the port. "What?! That's not fair! I should be going first: I'm an express!"

"Sorry, Falcon," said his driver. "New regulations as a result of the war: goods trains need to take priority now."

"This is absurd!" Falcon complained. "Stupid war shouldn't change things up." He grumbled dreadfully about this, even after the guard had blown his whistle.

He was still grumbling when he arrived at the Port: he was held up by more goods trains and ended up arriving by the time 10:00 struck, very late indeed. He left his coaches at the port for Carys to take over and went to the sheds at Arlesburgh Bridge Street.

Carys was at the sheds, waiting for Falcon to arrive. As was Duke. They could both see he was in a bad mood.

"What's got you so upset, youngster?" Duke asked.

"You normally like pulling the boat trains," Carys pointed out.

"Well there's nothing to like about them when they're being held up by goods trains!" Falcon answered.

"Held up by goods?! By God, that certainly is unusual!" exclaimed Duke.

"But why would that happen?" asked Carys.

"Driver says it's something to do with war. Personally, I don't buy it: war shouldn't be an excuse. Thanks to being held up, I arrived at 10 instead of 9:45 like I'm supposed to! Granted, the passengers didn't complain, but come on!"

"This war is important, youngster," said Duke, sternly.

"That doesn't explain why my boat trains need to be held up for the slower goods trains!" Falcon snapped.

"Then maybe I can explain!" a voice called out. It was the manager of the Mid Sodor. "The reason why passenger trains are held up for goods traffic during the war is because of munitions, food, and supplies: transporting them commits more to the war effort than passengers do."

"Well what about the steamer?!" Falcon pointed out. "I missed it by a quarter of an hour!"

"This is a war, passenger trains will be delayed," the Manager replied. "The Isle of Man Steam Packet Company knows this too, as do the passengers: this was announced to the stationmasters earlier and they made sure to inform them all. Passenger trains will run slower, even the boat trains: not many people want to travel during wartime, and most that do travel are soldiers, injured, and evacuees; they don't really have a say in the matter. Now I don't want to hear anymore complaining about this from you: war is serious, not something to complain about."

"Yes sir," said Falcon meekly.

"Good!"

And with that, the manager walked away.

"Well youngun," said Duke, "I'd consider you lucky, all along of the fact he could've punished you. But he didn't."

"I guess that's fair, Granpuff," Falcon replied.

"If you're still upset about being delayed," Carys suggested innocently, "maybe you should volunteer to take goods trains."

"You make a good point there, Carys," Falcon admitted. "As much as I hate pulling trucks, I hate being behind schedule even more: war or not, I'm too important to be held up. Next time I see Albert, I'll ask him…"

"Absolutely fucking not!"

Albert pulled into the sheds next to Falcon.

"You know full well I don't take passenger trains, especially since my last attempt resulted in them complaining about me being late when it wasn't my fault."

"Oh come on, brother," said Falcon. "You could easily give it another chance."

"And risk them being hypocrites? I'd rather not," Albert huffed. "Goods don't complain about anything. If you want to share goods duties with me, I have no problem. But know this: never in my life will I touch another passenger train."

"Sharing's better than nothing," Falcon decided. "Keeps me ahead of everyone else too. Alright, Albert, you got a deal!"

Falcon's driver went to talk to the manager about this.

"Never thought I'd see the day when Falcon would ask to be put on goods trains," the manager quipped.

"Neither did I!" laughed his driver. "In all honesty, I'm surprised he'd rather stay ahead of everyone else than stick to boat trains."

"I guess he feels something when he's able to overtake the others," the Manager said. "Whatever the reason, I'll have John take his place with helping Carys on the boat trains and Falcon can take over goods duties."

Meanwhile, Albert and his brother were having a peculiar conversation.

"Have you asked Carys out already?"

"I'm right here!" she shouted, blushing.

"Great job, Falcon. You've spoiled the moment!"

"Considering you'll be spending a lot of time with her, I don't see the problem," chuckled Falcon.

"S-shut up!"

"What are you saying? That you would take Carys to a seaside villa if you could?"

"That's enough, Falcon," scolded Duke. At that moment, Falcon's driver returned.

"You're in luck, Falcon," he said. "Manager's agreed to put you on goods and give John the boat train."

Falcon beamed with excitement!

"All's well that ends well," Duke said with a smile. "C'mon, Falcon, let's leave the lovebirds be."

"Shut up, Grandpuff!" snapped Albert and Carys.

When John heard the news, he couldn't help feeling nervous.

"Been a long time since I last pulled a boat train," he said to his driver. "Not since Jennings was sold off in 1895. I can't help but feel I've lost my touch with them."

"I'm sure you'll do fine, John," his driver comforted. "The boat trains are running slower as a result of the war. And besides, Carys will be there to help you should you need it. She'll be coming up with the next one."

John felt a little better, but was still nervous.

After Carys arrived, he backed up to the 4 first class saloons he was to take to the harbour.

"John?" one exclaimed. "I thought you were done with boat trains!"

"You mean Carys didn't tell you back at the Port?" John asked.

"Just slipped my mind, John," Carys pointed out.

"Like everything else," John said dryly. He then turned back to the saloon. "Falcon decided to switch to goods trains: apparently, he dislikes the fact goods trains now take priority over passengers."

"I'm sure you'll do fine as you always have," the saloon said with reassurance.

"Thank you."

At Ulfstead Road, John had to wait while Falcon left Cas-ny-Hawin with a mine train. Falcon had been enjoying himself: with the goods taking priority, he rushed along the line!

"Goods coming through!" he would shout at any passenger trains waiting for him to pass.

"You could go slower!" Alfred called out with his Parliamentary train at Marthwaite. Falcon just laughed and continued on. The trucks were annoyed with Falcon too: he was going way too fast for their liking!

"Slow down! Slow down!" they pleaded.

"We can't go slow: our boys need us!" declared Falcon.

"We'll be no good if we arrive in pieces!"

Falcon ignored them, too focused on staying ahead of everyone else to worry about that.

Duke certainly wasn't rushing around: he had received rather distressing news from the Manager soon after Falcon left to return the empty trucks to Cas-ny-Hawin.

"Will this be permanent?" Duke asked.

"Most certainly not!" the Manager replied. "Service will resume after the war ends, but as for when that will be…I'm afraid I don't know."

"That's alright sir," said Duke. "You're only doing what you have to do."

The Manager nodded and returned to his office.

"What was all that about Granpuff?" Tim asked.

"The Picnic's been cancelled," Duke answered. "Not many tourists want to travel during wartime."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Duke," said Tim sadly.

"It's not all bad," Duke replied with a smile. "I'm still in steam, aren't I? There are other trains I can pull. I'll probably be asked to pull regular passenger trains, or maybe to assist Falcon with goods trains."

"Falcon? Goods trains? How exactly do those two come together?"

"Seems you haven't heard: Falcon's upset about the Boat Trains now having to wait for goods trains instead of the other way around. Thus, he decided to switch to goods trains. Like the Picnic's cancellation, I assume this will last until the end of the War, whenever that is."

"I'm not sure how I feel about that, Grandpuff," said Tim. "You know what Falcon's like, always trying to rush his work."

"He's young, and learning," said Duke. "I'm sure Falcon's handling the trucks just fine."

As if on cue, Falcon rolled into the port with his mineral train.

"Bang on time and ahead of schedule!" Falcon boasted. Tim and Duke looked at the trucks, who were heavily panting.

"By George! These trucks look like they're out of breath!" Duke exclaimed.

"Nonsense!" scoffed Falcon. "They're fine, right?""

"Help…"

"Those trucks look like they're about to fall apart!" Tim exclaimed. "Falcon, you need to be more careful with trucks: slow down with them and be more gentle."

"Gentle? Trucks?! PAH!" snapped Falcon, running around the train as he spoke. "Trucks aren't gentle, they're vile creatures who don't deserve any respect!"

"I fail to see why," said Tim. "Trucks carry the goods that people need to live. They deserve as much respect as you give coaches."

"Your funnel is stuck in the clouds," said Falcon. "If these troublesome trucks deserved as much respect as coaches, they wouldn't be causing us trouble. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to return these trucks to Cas-ny-Hawin."

And with that, Falcon sped off once more. The guard didn't even have time to blow his whistle!

"What exactly is his hurry?" Tim asked Duke.

"Like I said, he's young," Duke answered. "All the same, I can't help but wonder where he gets the idea trucks are troublesome: they do cause trouble, true, but only if the engine angers them first."

"At least our trucks do," Tim replied. "I've heard trucks behave differently depending on what railway they work on."

"Different behaviour or not, I'll tell you one thing: leaving without waiting for the guard to blow his whistle would never suit his grace."

Tim couldn't agree more!

It was lucky for Falcon that the guard was still in the brake van. He found himself falling onto the floor when Falcon raced off without waiting for his whistle! Recovering, he quickly went to the brake handle and applied the brakes. Falcon came to a stop outside Bridge Street.

"What's going on?" he asked. "We're not a passenger train, we don't have passengers!"

"What's going on is you left without my whistle!" the guard answered, storming over to him. "You know that's against regulations, what were you thinking?!"

"Like hell you don't know!" Falcon scoffed. "I was thinking of staying ahead of everybody! Now that there's a war, I get top priority over everybody else!"

"Getting top priority isn't an excuse to go gallivanting off before I give the order to move!" the guard scolded. "For crying out loud, we could've crashed into another train!"

"Well we didn't, so there!" said Falcon indignantly.

"No, not "so there"," said the guard firmly. "I'll be having a word with the Manager about this. Wait in the north platform until I return!"

Reluctantly, Falcon did so while the guard went to speak with the Manager. The Manager and Guard came out a few minutes later.

"When I agreed to put you on goods trains, Falcon," said the Manager sternly, "I didn't expect you to leave before your guard gave the all clear. If I hear about this happening again, I'm putting you on the Parliamentary. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir," said Falcon meekly.

"Good," said the Manager. "After you return these trucks, collect some repaired trucks from Arlesdale and report back to King Orry's Bridge for a turn on the Horse and Cart. Perhaps stopping at every station will calm your mind."

"Of course, sir," said Falcon.

"Hey, what about us?!" screamed the trucks.

"You'll be needed back at Cas-ny-Hawin to be loaded up with more lead," the manager answered.

Falcon set off once more, but this time, he waited for the guard to give the all-clear first. The trucks, however, were not pleased.

"How dare that Manager simply tell us we're needed back at Cas-ny-Hawin!" one of them grumbled.

"It's like he doesn't even care we're gonna fall to pieces at this speed!" another snapped. "He didn't even act like he noticed!"

"What right does he have to ignore our problems and focus only on this blue barrel not waiting for the guard's signal?" the last truck asked. "We have rights too!"

"Alright, enough backchat!" ordered Falcon, and he bumped them hard. "I want no nonsense!"

The trucks were furious!

"What right have you to bump our conversation into silence?!" the first truck asked.

"The right to stop you trucks from causing me trouble," snorted Falcon. "I know what you're like, always trying to give us engines trouble, be it by holding back or pushing us down hills."

"How dare you!" the trucks shouted. "We're nothing like that! We can't even push engines!"

"All trucks are the same," said Falcon. "You're nothing but worthless troublemakers. Now shut up and stay in line, or else!"

The trucks glared at Falcon, but nonetheless, they continued the journey in silence.

Unlike the other mines on the Mid Sodor, Cas-ny-Hawin owned its own engine. A cabless Decauville Type 1 0-4-0 Pannier Tank, he was painted in light brown with bronze domes. This engine didn't have a name, nor a number. Consequently, he was always referred to as the Mine Engine. The Mine Engine was busy shunting another train full of lead, when Falcon raced in!

"Whoa, Falcon! You needn't come here so fast!" the Mine Engine shouted.

"Cool your pistons, Miney!" snorted Falcon. "I'm merely staying ahead. Anyway, here are your rotten trucks, I've got to return some repaired trucks to King Orry's Bridge."

And with that, Falcon left the trucks. He didn't even wait for the Mine Engine to reply!

"You trucks ok?" the Mine Engine asked the trucks. "You look like you've been on the front line!"

"Don't remind me!" growled the lead truck. "That blue barrel races about and bumps us without reason. He even had the nerve to say we were troublemakers!"

"I'm sorry to hear that," said the Mine Engine sympathetically. "I don't know why Falcon thinks that. Nevermind: you'll be travelling behind Atlas on your next trip, at least he's gentle with you."

The trucks felt better hearing this, but were still mad at Falcon.

The repaired trucks suffered no better: Falcon was just as rough and speedy with them as he was with the mine trucks. At Ulfstead Road, he even nearly crashed into Carys at the speed he went!

"Be careful!" she shrieked.

"Stand aside, slowpoke!" laughed Falcon. "Trucks coming through!"

"I swear to god, that engine's gonna get himself into trouble," she huffed.

Falcon arrived at King Orry's Bridge in due time, but the trucks he brought didn't think so.

"My axles are hurting me again!" one of them complained.

"Ah, quit whining," said Falcon. "Enjoy your rest, I got a Horse and Cart to collect."

He left the trucks he brought in a siding and began shunting other trucks around the yard. Falcon was rough with these too, bumping them hard.

"Ouch! OOF! Watch your speed!" they complained.

"Come along, come along!" urged Falcon. At last, the train was finished and Falcon moved it to the station to get loaded. The Horse and Cart was the train used on the Mid Sodor to transport goods that didn't come from the mines. Run in the morning and afternoon, this train got its name from the slow pace it travelled at. This train was given ample provision to pick up and set down trucks where required. Occasionally, passengers were allowed to ride in the brake van at half of a third class fare, but wisely, arrival times at stations were never guaranteed.

Falcon waited impatiently as the trucks were loaded, eager to get going. All the same, he knew better than to leave without a signal. When at last, the clock struck 1:48 PM, the guard blew his whistle and waved his green flag.

"Come along, come along!" urged Falcon, pulling out roughly.

"Be careful, be careful!" the trucks complained.

"Easy there, Falcon," warned his driver. "Some of these goods are fragile: they could be damaged if you go too fast."

"The same could be said for passengers," snorted Falcon. "But they never complain about me going too fast."

"Is he in one of those moods again?" asked the fireman.

"I'm afraid so," sighed the driver. "And I fear he may push the trucks to their limit with his roughness."

The driver wasn't wrong: as discreetly as they could, the trucks whispered amongst each other about Falcon's treatment. It seemed Falcon hadn't heeded his driver's words: he still bumped the trucks each time they stopped. At Ulfstead Road, they had enough.

"We're sick of you bumping us!" they shouted, as the train stopped in the station platform. "Start being gentle!"

"You trucks don't deserve gentleness!" Falcon snapped. "You always give us engines trouble, you're nothing but trouble-making delinquents! Now shut up and stop complaining, you dirty, smelly scrap lorries!"

For the trucks, that was the final straw: no truck likes being told that they're lorries.

"I don't know about you," whispered the lead truck, "but I'm sick of this blue barrel."

"Me too!" agreed the truck behind him.

"If he thinks we're troublesome trucks, he'll get troublesome trucks," said the rear-most truck, and they all giggled in agreement.

"No nonsense!" ordered Falcon, bumping the trucks again.

"We'll give him nonsense," giggled the trucks. "We'll do it on the Mountain Road." Falcon heard none of this, too distracted with getting ahead.

The Mountain Road lay between Cas-ny-Hawin and Ulfstead Road and was, by all accounts, the most difficult part of the line. It winded through several tunnels that looped through the mountain. Some areas were level, but it was still a steep part of the line. Falcon knew this all too well: he had nearly derailed on the Mountain Road when he was new to the line and would've fallen down had Duke not been there to rescue him.

Today, however, Falcon was too conceited to think about being careful. When he reached the top of the slope before descending down the Mountain Road, the trucks made their move.

"On! On! On!" they shouted, and using gravity, they surged forward! Falcon's driver applied the brakes, but it was powerless against the trucks! Falcon fought hard, but it was proving to be difficult! His brakes screeched as he skid along, disaster lay ahead! Falcon managed to travel through the tunnel without trouble, but the minute he exited, he hit a snag and derailed!

Luckily, his crew had jumped clear before the crash, but Falcon lay battered and bruised on his side. The brake van and last three trucks stayed on the rails, but the other trucks were not so lucky. Some had even been broken to pieces! But the trucks didn't seem to care.

"That'll teach you for being rude to us!" they called out, and they all giggled in their silly way. Falcon was too dazed to reply.

Duke brought the breakdown gang to clear up the mess. The Manager travelled in his cab.

"You never seem to have much luck with the Mountain Road, do you Falcon?" Duke remarked. Falcon just growled in pain. The Manager walked over.

"Mind explaining this, Falcon?" the Manager asked.

"Wasn't my fault," groaned Falcon, "the trucks pushed me!"

"Did you push him?" the Manager asked the trucks.

"He deserved it!" one of the trucks snapped. "He was rough with us and going too fast for our liking! And earlier, he called us dirty, smelly scrap lorries!"

"Honestly, Falcon," said the Manager, turning back to him, "I don't know in what dictionary being ahead of everybody else means going too fast. And you really shouldn't insult trucks. Once you're repaired, I'm having you shunt at Cas-ny-Hawin until you learn to treat trucks gently. If you want trucks to be friendly with you, you need to be friendly with them."

"I…yes sir," said Falcon meekly.

"As for you lot," said the Manager, turning back to the trucks, "I get it: Falcon said something he shouldn't have. Even so, I hope you don't try anything like this again: a few of you were damaged to pieces. I can only hope they aren't too broken to be repaired."

The trucks, realising that they may have condemned some of their own kin, felt sorry at once: they had forgotten that they were more liable to be broken into pieces than engines.

"This will be a problem for our finances too," the Manager sighed. "With almost every single item damaged, I'll have to pay the customers for their ruined items."

Falcon was soon rerailed and taken to Arlesdale, where he was shunted into the workshops. Alfred was called to collect the unhurt trucks and finish the Horse and Cart run with what was left undamaged.

Neither Duke nor Falcon spoke a word on the way to Arlesdale, Duke just gave him a look of disapproval. The look didn't leave when the George England left him in the shops. When evening fell, Albert pulled up alongside.

"I heard you were way too rough with the trucks today, brother," said Albert. "This is probably gonna be a waste of time, but I'll tell you anyway: trucks are NOT troublesome. They behave kindly when you treat them kindly. Mistreat your trucks and they'll misbehave with you. I learned that myself years ago and you know that very well. I hope you heed my warning, Falcon: you really need to take it seriously."

Falcon didn't say anything: he had a lot to think about.