[]
In Loving Memory of Michael Angelis
(1952-2020)
Dear Friends,
The era of steam was coming to an end on British Railways.
Visiting diesels of various types growled and sneered at the engines of the North-Western Region, who were still flying the flag for steam engines everywhere.
However, not all hope was lost for the steam locomotives on the mainland, as various heritage societies set their sights on rescuing all the non-faceless engines they could from steelworks and scrapyards across the country.
The end of the Steam Holocaust was finally in sight.
But the deep scars it left would most likely never heel…
Fates
Written by Broa Island
Proofread and Corrected by BNSF1995
Based on various Railway Stories by the Reverend W. Awdry, Hufflepuff Batboy, Ryan & Fox of SiF, Britt Allcroft, David Mitton, MasterOfTheLemons, TrainKing James & SodorsNWRsteam
Guest starring a Character created by Noelle Stevenson
Act One: Visitors
Based on "Tenders for Henry" & "Super Rescue"
[]
Isle of Sodor: 1967
"I'm not happy," Gordon complained one morning in Tidmouth Sheds. He had returned from Barrow with the midnight express a few moonlit hours earlier, and had been in a bad mood ever since.
"Your firebox is out of order!" James teased, "No wonder, after all that coal you had yesterday."
"Hard work brings good appetite! You wouldn't understand!" retorted Gordon.
"I know, its boiler ache," suggested Duck, "I warned you about that standpipe at Barrow, but you drank gallons."
"It's not boiler ache! It's-"
"Of course it is!" said Henry cheekily, "That water's bad, it furs up your tubes. Your boiler must be full of sludge. Have a good washout, then you'll feel a different engine."
"Don't be vulgar!" Gordon snapped, and he puffed out of the sheds to get the Wild Nor' Wester, still sulking.
The other engine laughed among themselves as the big blue engine left. They were completely unaware that the true reason behind Gordon's grumbling was much more depressing than he was letting on.
Gordon hissed mournfully as he backed down onto the express at Knapford Station. The Fat Controller stood on the platform and noticed the big engine's solemn frown.
"Cheer up, Gordon!" he said with a smile.
"I can't, sir," said Gordon, "the others say I have boiler ache, but I haven't, sir. I keep thinking of the dreadful state of the world, sir. Is it true, sir, what the diesels at Barrow say?"
"What do they say?"
"They boast that they've almost… abolished steam, sir!"
The Fat Controller was silent as his face fell. At last, he spoke. "Yes, Gordon, it is true."
"What?!" cried Gordon, he'd hoped for a different answer, despite knowing it was a fool's wish. "All my Doncaster brothers, drawn the same time as me?! Along with all my Gresley cousins, my blood relatives, my family?!"
"All gone, except one…" confirmed the Fat Controller sadly. "Gordon, words cannot possibly describe the pain you must be feeling, and I am dreadfully sorry I couldn't do anything to save your family. But nevertheless, I'll-"
The sound of the guard's whistle interrupted the Fat Controller's speech, and it was time for Gordon to depart. The big blue engine said no more as he sadly pulled out of the station. The Fat Controller was concerned, he wanted to tell Gordon that a small fraction of his relatives had survived the ongoing Steam Holocaust, but he never got the chance. His regret soon evolved into pondering.
"Hmm… if only we could," the Fat Controller said thoughtfully. Suddenly, he smiled from cheek to cheek. "Yes! I'll ask their owners at once!" He hurried into his office to make three very important phone calls.
Arrangements took time, and Gordon didn't get any happier time dragged on. At first, the other engines continued to tease the big engine about his supposed "boiler ache", but eventually, they soon pieced together that something was very wrong with their old friend. Both Duck and James tried to learn what had Gordon so depressed, but he remained fiercely tight-lipped regarding the subject.
One evening, a few weeks later, the engines stood in silence at Tidmouth Sheds. They had tried everything to make Gordon speak his mind, but nothing had worked, and they'd pretty much given up. Duck was about to say something to the big blue engine when Ruby and Yang raced into the coach yard looking excited.
"GUYS!" Yang screamed, "HOLY FUCK!"
"Will you be quiet!" retorted a very angry Gordon. "An important engine like me needs his beauty sleep, and I can't get it while you two 'workplace hazards' are up to your tricks!"
"Ignore him," Duck cut in. The pannier tank turned his gaze to the sisters, "Alright you two, calm down and tell us what's happened! Has there been an accident?!"
Before either utility engine could respond, a chorus of deafening whistles rang out across the land! A flock of birds were startled from the trees, tiles from the sheds' roof slid to the ground, and the signalman split his tea before changing the mainline signal to green! The engines' jaws collectively dropped as a group of large black shapes appeared in the distance, each becoming more and more distinguishable as they drew closer!
Approaching the sheds were three massive engines, all of which were non-faceless. The engine carrying up the rear was a rare sight indeed, with eight large driving wheels, two powerful cylinders, a pair of massive smoke deflectors, and a shining golden tiara dawned atop the smokebox. The middle was occupied by a handsome-looking streamlined Pacific, one of the Jubilee engines to be more precise. Finally, the lead engine had two massive tenders and a shape similar to that of Gordon's.
Carefully, the signalman switched each engine onto a different track, and the Gresley P2 Mineral, the A4 Pacific, and the rebuilt A3 Pacific soon proudly stood side-by-side just before the turntable. Once the smoke and steam disbursed, Gordon could hardly believe the sight that greeted him!
"It's Abel!" he gasped. "The Fat Controller's brought him and my cousins to see me! Oh, thank you, sir!"
Gordon toot of joy was drowned out by the collective roaring whistles of Adora 'The Heart of Etheria', Spencer the 'Silver Bullet', and Abel 'The Flying Scotsman'!
"So does this mean we're getting kicked out of the sheds, or what?" James asked no one in particular.
"Oh, shut up, James," snapped Ruby, "you're ruining the moment!"
The following morning, the four Doncaster engines were put on display in Knapford yards while BoCo took Gordon's morning express to Barrow. Enthusiasts and photographers crowded around them like bees to a flower, they were very excited to see four examples of Sir Nigel Gresley's work in person. As for the engines themselves, they laughed and joked through all hours of the day. They had a lot to catch up on after all.
"You've changed a lot since the last time we met," Spencer observed, looking Gordon up and down.
"I had a rebuild at Crewe," said Gordon, "they didn't do a proper Doncaster job, but it serves."
"I had a rebuild too and looked hideous," put in Abel, "but Mr. Pegler said I was an extra special engine, and made them give me back my proper shape."
Adora scoffed. "Is that why you have two tenders?" she said with a smirk, "being special?"
Gordon glared at Adora, but Abel just laughed. "Not at all, my dear," he chuckled. He then turned to his brother, "You'd hardly believe it, Gordon, but over there, they've hardly any coal and water."
Gordon was shocked! "But surely, every proper railway…"
"Exactly," cut in Spencer sternly. "Both you and Adora are very lucky, Gordon, to have controllers that know how to run railways unlike those psychopathic pricks in the Western Region!"
"Language, Silver Bullet!" scolded Abel, "We're in the company of enthusiasts, remember?"
Gordon, however, was confused. "What do you mean 'me and Adora'?" he asked, "Are you saying that Adora's railway still uses steam engines too?"
"O-oh, okay, wow, you're talking to me now," said Adora, stumbling over a few words. "Well, I work on the London and Kent Despondos line, you know, goes through Surrey and Kent, well duh. Anyway, our manageress doesn't have any plans to modernize her primary form of traction, despite BR trying to persuade her to do so a number of times. I was built by Gresley specifically for use on that line along with my cousin, Adam. We were mixed-traffic express engines, and we could both handle 100-wagon long coal trains!"
Adora snorted. "Not that I'm bragging or anything, what makes you say that?" she quickly blurted out in fits of nervous laughter.
"You see, Gordon," Abel said to his brother softly, "the LKD is part of BR's south-eastern mainline, right next to London for goodness sake, and they see that steam engines are still really useful. Sure… out of all our brothers, we might be the only two left in existence, and the LKD and NWR may only small fractions of the wider network, but they aren't valid reasons to lose faith in the future, my dear engine. I was meant to be given a compulsory Final Firing in 1963, but even with the knowledge of the fate that hung over me, I never lost hope. And here I am, four years later, still alive and kicking!"
Gordon smiled, Abel's words and learning of Adora's heritage had restored most of his will to live, but he still had his doubts deep down in his boiler.
"Speak for yourself, Scotsman," Spencer sniffed, "at least you don't have to worry about running out of fuel on the mainline with those two tenders of yours. Adora and I, meanwhile, have only got one each, meaning we both had to be piloted through most of our respective journeys here!"
Gordon's smile disappeared, and his brow furrowed. "Piloted? By whom?"
The two diesels that had piloted Spencer and Adora to Sodor surveyed the sheds at Tidmouth.
"It's time, my dear 7101," said the Class 46 'Peak', "that we took this scrapyard and made it into something useful." The engines were offended by such a remark, and shot several angry protests and death glares at the newcomers. "Now, now, don't blow a stack or anything," the largest diesel retorted, "the rest of the network has gone and done the deed… Good riddance to all of them…"
"Now hang on there, 199," reassured the smaller Class 35 'Hymek', "it's their railway after all."
"No, no, no, no, not for long it's not," 199 tittered. "Don't get yourselves comfortable in your sheds will you my dear… 'steamies', heh, heh. Our controller says that you lot spoil our image."
"Of course we do, you big blue buzz-box!" snapped Duck. "We show what frauds you are! You call yourselves engines?! In my experience, if anything happens, you care nothing for you train, you just sit there and moan for a fitter! We bring it home, if only on one cylinder!"
"Well if you ask any one of us, we're quite agreed," put in James. "British Railways are losing the best thing that's ever happened to them!"
"Oh yes, I'm sure they'll regret getting rid of their 'antique collection' later on," admitted 199, "but rest assured, nothing ever happens to us, we are reliable, and you are on your last wheels."
"Oh shut your trap you overweight matchbox on wheels," Yang hissed. "God, it's all the same with you diesels, your all talk and no go. At least with us, you can tell which end's which. With you lot, you can't tell if you're talking out of you mouths or your backsides. The average enthusiast would take one look at you and go 'OH GOD, IT'S HIS ASS!'" The engines all roared with laughter, Ruby, of course, howling the loudest at her sister's snide remark. 199, however, was outraged!
"How terribly rude," he said, "I was only just trying to start conversation."
"Well you asked for it, now shut your mouth and stop sprouting that nonsense!" 7101 growled to his associate. "You're in their shed on their own turf! Know your place 199, or you'll get into trouble."
Sadly for Duck, James, Yang, Ruby, and every other engine on the NWR, 199 thought he did.
Soon enough, the five visiting engines were put to work. BoCo and 7101 took in turns with the Wild Nor' Wester while Gordon joined Spencer and Abel in heading special enthusiast trains from Tidmouth to Barrow. For a while, Adora also worked with these enthusiast runs, but she and 199 soon found themselves hauling load and heavy goods trains up-and-down the mainline. Both didn't mind the dirty and difficult work and, in fact, preferred it to passenger duties.
7101 kept his distance from the other engines, only approaching them to ask for help with certain tasks in which he was unfamiliar with. 199, on the other hand, was loud, obnoxious, and rather annoying, as he would talk of nothing but the supposed 'superiority' of diesels over steam engines. However, 199 was wise, and made sure to word his boasting in a way that made it seem he didn't wish genocide upon non-faceless steam locomotives, but everyone knew better, as that genocide was, sadly, a very grim reality on the British mainland.
Besides 199, the Sudrian engines got along well with the newcomers, especially with Abel, whose heart was kind and forgiving despite his celebrity status. This statement rang true with all the engines… except for a rather jealous Henry.
"Who does that nor'eastern diva think he is?!" the big green engine complained to Duck and Donald in Knapford yards. "Tenders are a mark of distinction, everyone knows that! Why's he got two?!"
"He's famous," said Donald, "if ye dinna count City of Truro, he wuz the first engine, nay, the first man-made machine, to go a-hundred miles-an-hour!"
"Besides," added Duck, "BR's dismantled almost all of their coaling stages and water towers, leaving nowhere for a steam engine to top-up on fuel on the mainland!"
"Pah!" scoffed Henry, "I can't believe that! I never boast, but I always work enough for two. I deserve another tender for that!"
Duck whispered something to Donald.
"Henry," asked Duck innocently, "would you like my tenders?"
"Yours?!" exclaimed Henry, "What have you got to do with tenders?"
"Alright, the deal's off. Would you like them, Donald?"
"I wunda deprive ye of the honour," replied Donald playing along.
"It is a great honour," said Duck thoughtfully, "but I'm only a tank engine, so I don't really understand tenders. Perhaps James might-"
"I'm, uh, sorry I was rude," Henry said hastily after clearing his throat, "how many tenders have you, and when can I have them?"
"Six, and you can have them tomorrow morning."
"Six lovely tenders!" chortled Henry, "What a splendid sight I'll be! That'll show the others what sort of engine I am!" And with that, Henry steamed away with a spring in his puff to collect the Limited.
Duck and Donald exchanged evil looks.
Saying Henry was excited would be an understatement! For the rest of the day, he bragged about his six new tenders to everyone and anyone who would listen. Even 199 grew tired of the green engine's boasting.
"D'you think it'll be alright," Henry asked Duck for the umpteenth time.
"Of course," replied the pannier tank slyly, "just go where I told you, and they'll all be ready."
Night came and went, and Henry woke up bright and early the next morning. He puffed happily out of Tidmouth Sheds towards Arlesburgh West where the tenders would be waiting for him, as par Duck's instructions.
About twenty minutes later, the tranquility of the early morning was disturbed by a monstrous scream that echoed across Tidmouth and beyond!
"WHAT!"
The engines all gathered round Knapford Station to get a good view of Henry when he went passed. They all knew that Duck couldn't've just given these tenders to Henry as an act of kindness, the Great-Western engine clearly had something up his sleeve, and they were all excited to witness the outcome of this little scheme of his.
"Here he comes!" announced Douglas. "Three cheers for Henry!"
The engines, their crews, and the station staff all cheered to the echo as Henry puffed through the station. But he was anything but a splendid sight. He had six tenders, true, but they were very old and very dirty. And they were all filled to the brim with thick, grey, boiler sludge!
"Had a good washout, Henry?" called a voice, "That's right; you'll feel a different engine now." Henry wasn't sure, but he thought the voice was Gordon's.
The first thing Henry did when he reached Barrow was shove the sludge-loaded tenders into the scrapyard's smelting pit with reckless abandon! The scrapyard director gave the green engine a rightful tongue-lashing for causing a disturbance, but Henry didn't care. He and the other engines were used to this man's attitude towards non-faceless vehicles by now.
"Tricked by a tank engine," fumed Henry, "I'll get you for this, Duck! Just you wait!" And with that, he reversed out of the smelting shed to find a turntable.
As he did so, he passed by an area of the scrapyard the workmen and engines had nicknamed 'The Plague Pit'. Dozens of rusted, dead carcasses of steam engines were piled up besides the tracks like the toys of a child who no longer plays with or cares for. A vast majority of these cadavers were, and always had been, faceless, but some had large sheets of tarp tied over their smokeboxes, concealing the doors from view. Henry knew exactly what the scrappers were hiding under the tarpaulin, there was no denying it, although he wished he could.
Once Henry had been turned around, he began his trek back to Knapford. As he did so, he felt a slight stinging sensation in his left cylinder, but thought nothing of it. By the time he reached Elsbridge, however, the sensation had become an agonizing pain and the green engine came to an embarrassing stop just beyond the station platform.
"Henry?" his driver asked, "what's wrong? What have you stopped?"
"I… I think my regulator's jammed," replied Henry with great difficulty. "It's wide open, I can't close it!"
The driver pondered for a moment. "Well if that's the case, it looks like you'll be needing a trip to the works, old boy. Either that or we wait until you've cooled, then Christin and I can mend it ourselves." Both engine and crew silently agreed that the Steamworks was the better option. "You've still got steam, right?"
"Yes?"
"Good," replied the driver. Henry suddenly felt himself lose control of his body as his driver pulled down on the reverser. The big green engine slowly backed down the Loop Line towards Crosby, with his final destination now being Crovan's Gate. Or was it Tidmouth? These 'Loop Lines' always confused him.
Henry was most upset. "Oh, this would have to happen so soon after Duck fooled me with those wretched tenders," he said, "Now the others will laugh at me again!"
"Oh, give it a rest with your complaining, will ya!" scolded the fireman. "Good grief, it could've been a lot worse. We could be stuck here all together! At least your reverser still works."
"I suppose so," sighed Henry sadly. "But whatever happens, don't let that vial diesel from the mainland see me limping like this. It'll be bad enough getting a ribbing from the others, but from him…"
Henry continued on for a few more miles before stopping by a signal box and whistling for a road. There, opposite the box on the up-line, was Diesel 199 with a train of oil tankers. Henry cringed.
Oh no, the Black 5 thought sadly, I'll never hear the end of it now. It'll be 'out-of-date' this, 'out-of-use' that, and 'ready-for-scrap' for the remainder of his stay.
The diesel looking stony-faced, narrowing his eyes. And in spite of Henry's awkward predicament, he said nothing at all. The signalman in the box, however, had plenty to say.
"Oh thank goodness you're here! Henry, take this 'Spamcan' away, please."
"Eh? What on earth for?"
"Because the wretched thing's failed," explained the signalman, "the Round Robin's behind and all he's done is wail for a fitter! Completely useless, and he's the face of the network's future!"
"Useless?" spluttered 199, "Spamcan?! I'll have you know, sir, that I provide-"
"Stow it! I've heard enough from you today! Any more of your whinging and I'll take me tin-opener to ye!"
The diesel subsided into silence from such a ghastly threat, and after he'd changed tracks, Henry pulled the train clear of the points. 199 didn't bother to help at all, he just sulked behind.
"Helped by a relic," moaned the diesel, "Oh, the indignity, the indignity of it all!" Henry just ignored 199, he found the Peak's over-dramatic self-pitying great entertainment and soon felt much happier.
"Hey Spamcan, look," chuckled Henry, "There's that little pal of yours."
7101 pulled the Round Robin that day. He rushed past with a growl and a roar, but was too busy to notice 199's awkward situation. He was having troubles of his own. Henry and 199 watched intently as the Round Robin slowed to a grinding halt about half-a-mile from the signal box.
"Goodness me," sighed Henry with sarcastic sympathy, "two diesels out for the count in one day. Whoever would've thought it?"
"Hmm… better go and see what happened to that one," quizzed the fireman, and he walked along the gravel towards the static passenger train, but not before moving Henry's reverser back into natural, restoring the green engine's autonomous abilities.
As Henry's fireman soon learned from 7101's driver, the diesel's ejector had failed, meaning air had leaked into the train's brake pipes and put them on! 7101's brakes were already leaking when he passed Henry and 199, gently at first then harder and harder, and no amount of growling was going to shift the now locked-wheeled coaches. The driver soon returned and explained the situation to the signalman.
"I can't have two trains blocking the mainline!" gawked the signalman. He then turned to Henry, "You'll have to shift them, No. 3! You're the only reliable thing we have left on section!"
"Well, well, well," Henry's driver mused, "Did you hear what the signalman said, Henry old boy?"
Henry laughed. "And I thought they'd be laughing and sneering at me, and now the joke's on them!"
The driver, however, began to have his doubts. "Moving two dead diesels and their trains though," he pondered, "That's no joke for a failed engine. You think you'll manage it?"
Henry thought for a moment, and then smiled. "Well, I'll give it a jolly good try at any rate. Anyway, 7101 was much more polite than that old 'Spamcan.' He did try and shut him up the other day."
"I'd thank you to stop with this 'Spamcan' claptrap," 199 spoke up, "I'm always-"
"Talking out of your exhaust as usual, NOW CAN IT!"
Henry's driver laughed. "Come on, Henry," he said, "no point wasting time arguing with him. Can't keep the passengers waiting much longer as it is." Henry silently agreed.
"Right. GET MOV–ING YOU!" the green engine roared at 199, "MOVE!" Henry gave a hearty blast of his whistle and lurched forwards, hauling the sulky diesel into motion ready to start the rescue! He came up gently behind the Round Robin, his fireman coupled him up and joined his front brake pipe to the train. He returned to the cab, and both he and the driver analysed the air gauge.
"Well what do you know," mused the driver, "it's better than we thought Henry, old fellow. The lead diesel, 7101, can keep pulling if we keep the brakes open for him. So the only weight we're actually carrying is Spamcan's goods."
Henry let out a winded laugh. "Oh, ain't that a mercy," he gasped. He was, by now, feeling rather puffed, but not willing to stop now.
7101 tooted his horn loudly. "Are you ready back there?!" he called.
"Yes I am!" whistled Henry. "What about you, Spamcan?"
199 growled. "Don't… even… speak… to me…"
At the front, 7101 growling loudly and hauled the train forwards, Henry puffed gamely in the middle, and 'Spamcan' and his oil tankers trailed meekly behind. Once they were moving at a steady pace, the long cavalcade set out towards Tidmouth.
Duck was shunting in the yards while Donald and Abel waited in the sidings by the station. Soon, around the bend first came 7101, then the coaches, then Henry, and finally 199 and his goods train! Abel and Donald cheered as the strange train pulled into the platform, while Henry gave a cheeky wink at an utterly speechless Duck.
"Ah, there he is," observed Abel, "Good show, Henry!"
"Well dun!" cheered Donald, "That'll show them dirty diesels whose really in charge around here, lad!"
"Well, 7101 did well too," panted Henry, "He saved a lot of weight and effort of my buffers."
As soon as the train came to a complete stop, the passengers swarmed onto the platform like angry bees. Not only had they been delayed tremendously, but some of them had even missed their stops which Henry and 7101 had to skip to prevent the train from stalling again. Lucky, before anything could get out of hand, the Fat Controller, who'd been on the Round Robin unbeknownst to the engines, climbed onto a luggage trolley and addressed the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he called, "I do apologize profusely for the delay that has been the result of technical faults with the two diesels visiting from another region. However, I think we can all take pride in the fact that Henry, who'd suffered a technical fault himself, managed to get us here, safely, despite his own difficult circumstances!"
"He has the maturity to understand that he can't solve problems just by dithering next to a signal box and begging for a fitter to come and mend him on the spot!" put in 7101. "And that, Spamcan m'dear, isn't what real engines do when in doubt!"
"Oh that's right," hissed 199, "rub salt in my wounds. Where is my fitter anyway? Oh, Fitter? FITTTTTTTEEEEEEER?!"
"Henry," the Fat Controller called over 199's wails, "is an enterprising engine, and we're lucky to have him!"
After hearing such a speech, the passengers soon forgot to be cross. So they thanked Henry instead and took his photograph while the Fat Controller rearranged the timetables.
"What should I do with Spamcan- Uh, I mean 199, sir?" Henry asked the Fat Controller.
"Donald can take him back to the mainland with the goods. 7101 can make way for Abel instead, we have a lot of passengers that've missed their destinations here today. I will give BR my views on their services later."
"Dinne worry, sirr," said Donald, "Douggie and I will give these two a valuable lesson in how trains should be handled!"
"I'd rather see my fitter first," said 199 bluntly.
"Ye'll see nothing but the back-end of me tender for the duration, so I suggest ye SHUT UP, and PULL UP!"
Duck pulled the still whinging diesel and his train clear of the platform, allowing Donald to back down upon 199 and couple up. The Fat Controller watched as the Caledonian engine pulled the sulking Class 46 away, the last few tankers and brake van of his train slowly fading into the distance.
"If that's the future, then I'm glad I'm stuck firmly in the past," said the Fat Controller.
Abel took the Round Robin on a complementary return journey down the Loop Line for all those left stranded at Tidmouth by the day's events. The passengers were thrilled to see the Flying Scotsman backing down on their train, and crowded round the famous engine to take photographs. Had the guard not tactfully 'shooed' them into their coaches, the train would have started later than ever!
Eventually, everything died down, and Henry and 7101 began making their way to the Steamworks at Crovan's Gate together. Henry rolled down the line tender-first, pulling 7101 ahead of him.
"I'm sorry about the other night," ventured the diesel, "We're not all like him, you know."
"Oh, that's all right," soothed Henry, "you did get 'Old Reliable' to shut up after all."
"Yeah, and made a fool of myself today too."
"Rubbish! A failed ejector might happen to any engine. Look at me for example: I lost my regulator today."
"You! Failed?!" exclaimed 7101. "And yet…" His voice trailed away in admiration.
"Well," said Henry. "Emergency, you know. Trains must get through. We can't let the Fat Controller and the passengers down, can we?" 7101 was speechless. "I say," Henry quickly added, "I don't think I ever got your name."
The diesel's eyes widened, puzzled. "A… name?" he quizzed.
"Every non-faceless vehicle has a name; we've known it from the moment of our Awakening. Surely you've got one, correct?"
"Our controller never addressed us by our names, and never allowed any of us to use them either. He said numbers made it easier for him and his business associates to distinguish us from one another. 'It's harder to get attached to numbers,' he said."
Henry's cheerful smile quickly faded, and his face went pale. "That's… not fair… That's not right! I didn't know you mainland diesels were being dehumanized as the steam engines were! Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry… Um…?"
"Bear," 7101 introduced, "My name's Bear. And to be honest, most of the diesels back home are lucky."
"Why is that?"
Bear looked down sadly at his buffers. "They don't know they're being dehumanized in the first place."
Neither steamie nor diesel spoke a word for the remainder of the journey. They both had a lot to think about.
End of Act One
"Super Rescue" is based on a real event which happened at Waterloo in April 1967, as acknowledged by the Rev. W. Awdry in the introduction of RWS #23 "Enterprising Engines", where he states that photographs depicting the incident sent by the mother of a boy named Richard were used as inspiration for at least two of the story's illustrations. As a result, this, and "The Little Old Engine", are the only books that admit that the stories and characters of The Railway Series are fictional.
-Taken from the Thomas & Friends Wiki