[Don't mind me, I'm just a line bump]
Whistles and Sneezes
Written by the Reverend W. Awdry & Broa Island
Proofread and Corrected by BNSF1995
Isle of Sodor: 1936
Gordon was cross. "Why should Henry have a new shape?" he grumbled. "A shape good enough for me is good enough for him! He goes gallivanting off to Crewe, leaving us to do his work, it's disgraceful! And there's another thing, Henry whistles too much. No respectful engine ever whistles loudly through stations."
"It isn't wrong," said Gordon, "but we just don't do it!"
Poor Henry didn't feel happy anymore.
"Oh ignore him, my dear fellow," Percy whispered to the big green engine. "I, for one, like your whistling, it's makes your harder to miss."
That made Henry feel just a bit better.
Then it was time for Gordon's train. "Goodbye Henry," he called as he left the sheds, "we are glad to have you with us again, but be sure and remember what I said about whistling. While your at it, get yourself a new coat of paint too. And a washdown, you look disgusting. Oh, and get your axles oiled, that squeaking is driving me insane!"
Most people kick start their day with coffee. Gordon kick starts his with relenting criticism.
Later that day, Henry took a slow goods and presently stopped at Wellsworth Station where he met Edward.
"Hello Henry," said Edward, "I must say the men at Crewe did a splendid job; I was pleased to hear your happy whistle yesterday."
"Thank you, Edward," smiled Henry. "But I do wish they'd fixed my tubes while I was at Cheshire. I don't know why, but they've been feeling ever so stuffy since I got back."
"Oh…" Edward was slightly concerned. "Do you think you should tell the Fat Director about that before it becomes a-"
"Sh! Sh!" interrupted Henry. "Can you hear something?"
Edward listened – far away, but getting louder and louder, was the sound of an engine's whistle.
"It sounds like Gordon," said Edward, "and it ought to be Gordon. But it can't be Gordon, he never whistles like that."
It was Gordon.
He came rushing down the hill at a tremendous rate. He didn't look at Henry, and he didn't look at Edward; he was purple in the face, and whistling fit to burst. He screamed through the station and disappeared.
"Well!" said Edward, looking at Henry.
"It isn't wrong," chuckled Henry, "but we just don't do it," and he told Edward what Gordon had said.
Meanwhile Gordon screeched along the line! People came out of their houses, air-raid sirens blared, five fire brigades responded to panicked phone calls, horses upset their carts, and old ladies dropped their parcels! The Island of Sodor was in a terrible mess, everyone thought they were under attack by a foreign power!
At Vicarstown Station, the noise was awful! Porters and passengers held their ears as Gordon howled into the platform. The Fat Director held his ears too; he gave a lot of orders, but no one could hear him, and Gordon went on whistling. At last he clambered into Gordon's cab and practically grabbed the driver by the straps of his overalls.
"Take him away," bellowed the Fat Director, "AND STOP THAT NOISE!"
Still whistling, Gordon puffed sadly away. He whistled as he crossed the points; he whistled on the siding; he was still whistling as the last deafened passenger left the station.
Then two brave (but ultimately foolish) fitters clambered up onto his cab roof and knocked his whistle valve into place with a sledgehammer – and there was SILENCE.
Gordon returned to Tidmouth light engine early that evening. He slunk into the sheds, thankful that they were empty. The other engines arrived later that night.
"It isn't wrong," murmured Henry to no one in particular, "but we just don't do it."
No one mentioned whistles!
The next day was a Saturday, the sun shone, the birds sang, and the grass swayed in the gentle morning breeze. Yang was making her way down the mainline with the Limited and was enjoying herself enormously. The wind whistled passed her as she picked up speed, and she felt like, if she could go fast enough, she might be able to fly clear of the rails and into the sky. She laughed, half in exhilaration and half at her own silliness for even considering such a thing!
Then, Yang saw some boys on a bridge over the rails. She whistled a cheerful greeting as she zoomed under the bridge's arch. Suddenly-
CLANG! CLANG! SMASH!
Yang felt a sharp pain on her smokebox and boiler. For the boys didn't wave and take down her number in their train spotters' books; they dropped stones on her instead!
They were silly, stupid boys who thought it would be fun to drop stones and bricks down on passing trains! Some of the stones hit Yang's boiler and spoilt her paint; one hit the fireman on the head as he was shovelling coal, and others broke through the carriage windows and injured the passengers inside!
It was now Yang wished she had hands to rub the large dent that had formed by her funnel. "Ow, ow, ow, ow," she winced all the way to the next station.
Stopping at Cronk, the driver opened the first-aid kit, bandaged the fireman's head, and turned to his engine. "You alright Yang?!" he called.
"I'm… awesome…" came the disorientated reply.
As the passengers disembarked, the guard asked if anyone was hurt. Thankfully, there weren't any catastrophic injuries, but most of the passengers had many bleeding cuts and purple bruises… and they were anything but happy.
"Call the Police," they shouted angrily! And that's exactly what the guard did, running into the stationmaster's office to use the telephone.
When the police arrived a while later, Yang, her crew, the guard and the passengers all gave their testimonies of what happened, and one of the officers wrote everything down into a small notebook (much to Yang's discomfort).
"Right then," said the lead constable, "it looks as if we've got to catch these little bastards in the act!"
"Indeed," said another policeman, "a good old-fashion sting operation!" He then turned to the stationmaster. "What is the next train coming down this line?"
The next train happened to be a local passenger service pulled by Henry. As it turned out, the faulty tubes he had briefly mentioned to Edward the previous day were becoming a problem! They had become blocked by excess soot and ash from the smokebox and Henry was finding it difficult to breathe.
They soon approached the bridge, and atop it were the naughty boys, stones in hand.
Henry didn't have time to process the situation, as he was beginning to feeling an uncomfortable tickling in his funnel. This sensation grew in intensity, and grew, and grew! As he passed under the bridge, the boys dropped their stones onto Henry. And then it happened!
"Achoooooooooo!" sneezed Henry!
Smoke and steam and ashes sprouted from his funnel! They went up and over the bridge, and all over the boys who were now as black as nig-
"FREEZE!" cried the police jumping out from their hiding spots around the bridge! The boys tried to make a run for it, but it was no use! The police caught up with them and the naughty boys were arrested.
Normally, they would've been hauled away to prison, but the police realized that whatever the boys' parents had in store for them would be a much worse fate then anything they were allowed to do.
When Henry pulled into Cronk Station, he was covered from funnel to footplate in soot. Yang couldn't help but howl with laughter when she saw the state the not-so-green engine was in! Henry was about to retort when the stationmaster told his driver about the naughty boys and the sting operation.
"Uh…" said Henry's driver still trying to comprehend what had just happened. "Well… done, Henry? I guess?"
Henry said nothing, he just looked at Yang and hissed, "Not. A. Word!"
When the Fat Director heard the news, he wisely decided not to congratulate Henry on his efforts, as the Black 5 was still rather salty regarding the subject. Instead, he sent Henry to the Steamworks to get his tubes replaced, and once the repairs were completed, he felt much better.
The night Henry was let out of the Steamworks, he went home hoping that next time he saw Gordon and the boys, they had learned their lessons and wouldn't be so mean.