[]
Isle of Sodor: July 14th, 1966
The day before what would later be known as "Edward's Exploit"
It was a beautiful day on the Island of Sodor, and Edward the Blue Engine pulled into Wellsworth Station with his local passenger service along the Brendam Branch. Douglas had just returned from banking Yang's goods train up Gordon's Hill, and was resting in a siding when Edward arrived with a prominent CLANK and a rhythmic SQUEAK!
"Losh sakes!" exclaimed Douglas, "Are ye alright there, Edward?"
"Oh, I'm fine," the old engine reassured, "Just my age showing it's true colours."
"That's not age, Edward. Something sounds wrong."
"I'm due for maintenance next week, I'll get it looked at then."
"Alright. If ye say ye're fine, ye must be," said Douglas, although he was still not convinced. The two's conversation continued on for a while longer, the subject changing to the three big engines' recent and disgraceful attitude towards Edward. Suddenly, the sound of a diesel's horn echoed throughout the yards and valley, and Douglas quickly blurted out in a loud whisper, "Hold yer wheesht!"
BoCo purred through the station with a long train of China Clay from Brendam. He tooted a friendly greeting from his horn and Edward whistled in return. Douglas, however, just glared at the Metropolitan diesel as he quickly faded into the distance. The Caledonian's scowl did not go unnoticed, though.
"Douglas," Edward sighed, "BoCo's been here for over a week now and you still don't speak to him."
Douglas looked away from the blue engine. "I dinna speak tae anyone I do not trust," he muttered, "and we both know what yon diesels are capable of. I dinna trust any of them, the nasty things!"
Edward became stern. "Douglas, you're being ridiculous," he said. "BoCo has done nothing but been a help here on the branch line, especially with you and Donald busy on the main. BoCo has been nothing but kind and you two give him the cold shoulder!"
"All well and good for him, but I canna relate to the heartless brutes like himself!"
"Heartless Brutes?!" exclaimed Edward, he was very insulted on BoCo's behalf. "And your wrong! You do relate with one thing."
"And what would that be?" Douglas quizzed.
The old engine's eyes darkened. "Scrap…" he said quietly.
Douglas gasped as many unpleasant memories he long thought forgotten came flooding back to him! "Dinna mention that word! It makes me wheels wobble!"
"All the same, it does the same to BoCo," explained Edward, "his class have failed significantly, and he's been given a second lease on life here on Sodor. His siblings, unfortunately, can't say the same."
"Rather them in the scrapheap and not my brother and I," said Douglas darkly, and he puffed away to pick up a goods train from Knapford. "Goodbye, Edward."
Edward said nothing in return, he just sighed sadly as he watch Douglas' silhouette slowly vanish out of sight.
Act Three: Escape
Based on "Edward's Exploit (TrainKing James)", "Escape", "1967" & "Little Western"
With Elements from Aurora Dawn's "The Rainbow Factory" & H.G. Wells' "The War of the Worlds"
[]
One Year Later…
That conversation he'd had with Edward replayed over-and-over in Douglas' mind as he approached Barrow-in-Furness with the late-night goods from Brendam Docks. There wasn't a steam engine in sight, not in the station, not in the sheds, not even in the yards. Everywhere Douglas looked he saw nothing but diesels, hauling the trains his brothers and sisters once headed, and wearing headboards that they didn't earn nor deserved. The Caledonian felt sick at the sight of so many oilers, but he knew he couldn't do anything about it. At this point, nobody could.
Douglas stopped by the signal box and whistled to alert the signal man to his arrival. The signal man walked down from his box and Douglas' driver handed him the train's paperwork. He took a pair of reading glasses out of his overalls and held the left lenses up to his right eye.
"Everything checks out," the signal man said at last, "You can leave your train by the smelting shed and one of our shunters will arrange another for your return journey."
"Dinna fash yersel," Douglas said hastily, "I'll arrange the train myself, no bother." Of course, Douglas despised the idea of having his train being marshalled by a diesel, despite knowing that shunting his train would mean he'd be here longer than he needed to be.
The signal man was slightly taken aback. "Alright then, if you say so." He tipped his cap, "Have a good night, driver."
"You too, mate," replied Douglas' driver as the signal man walked back to his box. A while later, the points leading into the scrapyard changed, and the signal fell to green. Douglas edged cautiously into the yards, his overwhelming feeling of unease mutual with his driver and fireman. Nightwatchmen, both diesel and human, patrolled the grounds, while from the rooves came the yellowish beams of makeshift searchlights.
Anyone would think this place was a prison, let alone an industrial complex where men and women had made a living!
They left their train in a siding just beyond the smelting sheds' doors, where the night-shift workman, mentally broken by what they'd seen inside the foundry, began unloading the trucks. Douglas reversed back down the line to begin shunting for his return train, meaning he would have to pass by the 'Plague Pit'. This was the fate of the steam engines that once rested at Barrow Sheds, tossed aside like trash. Douglas felt terrible for all the engines, both faceless and non-faceless, that had their lives ended in such a brutal and undeserving way.
As the Scottish engine passed by one particularly large pile of rusted and gouged fireboxes, he thought he could see a faint pulsating glow of red among the greys and browns of scrap metal.
It looked like… a large blood vein…
Douglas' crew spotted it too, and their engine slowed to a walking pace as the fireman jumped out of the cab to investigate. But before he could do so, he paused.
"D-did you lads here that?" he stammered, too frighten to from a cohesive sentence.
"I dinna here nothing," said Douglas, "except for the roaring fae that smelting chamber back-" Douglas cut himself off when his fireman held up his hand, demanding silence.
"There! Can't you here that?"
"Jon," said the driver growing impatient, "you're holding us up. Stop playin' about and get back in the cab-"
"hisssssssssss…"
Now it was the driver's turn to pause mid-sentence. He carefully climbed down from Douglas' cab and joined the fireman on the greasy concrete. "No… Wait…" he said quietly, "Now I can hear it…"
"It sounds like a steam engine," observed the fireman.
"Boulder dash!" exclaimed the driver while keeping the volume of his voice in check. "The only working steam engine here is Douglas, and he couldn't make a sound that faint when we're standing right next to him!"
The "hissssss" came again. This time, it sounded almost despairing.
At last, Douglas lost patience. "Who's there?" he called.
For a full minute, there was silence. Then a weak whisper came from the other side of the apparently bleeding scrapheap. "Are you a North Western engine?"
"Aye, and proud of it."
"Oh, thank God! I'm Oliver, and I'm with my crew, my coach Isabel, and my brake van Toad. We're run out of coal, and I've no more steam."
Curiosity got the better of Douglas, and he backed up a few inches until he was clear of the fragment steel. There, sitting on a siding, cold, alone, and beyond terrified, was a non-faceless GWR 14xx tank engine painted in BR Brunswick Green. Behind him was a maroon auto-coach, and behind that was a brown 20-ton brake van, both were native to the Western Region and both were non-faceless. Out from the Isabel came two men in overalls, Douglas correctly assuming these were Oliver's driver and fireman. They were dishevelled, and looked as if they hadn't slept, ate or drank in days, maybe even weeks!
"But, what are ye doing?" asked Douglas.
Oliver hesitated for a moment before answering. "Escaping…"
"From what?"
"The Harvest…"
Douglas had no idea what Oliver meant, but his frames shivered anyway. So the rumours be true, he thought, Barrow has gone rouge! Then, he remembered what Edward said about BoCo's second chance on Sodor. "Then it's glad we'll be to help ye," he said, "It'll have to look those as ye're ready for scrap and I'm taking ye away."
Douglas' crew gawked at their engine. "Douglas," the fireman said, "are you suggesting that we… steel BR property?!"
"Property? Property?!" bellowed the driver, quite offended, "I don't see any railway property here! All I see are two lives about to be snuffed out of existence in the most brutal way possible, and their only crime is not meeting the unrealistic standards of a man in a suit!"
The fireman sighed. "Your right Ronald, I'm sorry. But even so, I doubt the Fat Controller will like this."
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it! Now come on, we must work fast, or all our fates will be the same as theirs!" The driver gestured to the lifeless husks that were once powerful and unchallenged steam engines.
And thus, Oliver's escape from the cutter's torch began!
Douglas' fireman ran back to the signal box to phone an ambulance, as the health of Oliver's crew was deteriorating quickly. After that, he jogged over to the station and explained the situation to the night-shift staff, who were utterly appalled in learning the truth of the neighbouring scrapyard's operations! They didn't need to be asked twice. The station staff, even the stationmaster himself, all abandoned their duties without a second thought, and the fireman led them to Oliver's siding. After all, as Douglas' driver had said, lives were on the line!
Soon the ambulance pulled into the station carpark, and the paramedics took Oliver's driver and fireman away as discreetly and quietly as they could to not alert the nightwatchmen. Douglas' crew and the rallied railwaymen then turned their attention to Oliver and his rolling stock companions. They took off the tank engine's side-rods, lubricated his joints and motions, wrote out transit labels, and chalked SCRAP everywhere they could.
Douglas buffered up to Oliver and his crew climbed back in his cab. "No time to turrn round," he painted, "I'll run tender-furrst! COME ON!" And with that, Douglas lurched backwards, jerking engine, coach, and brake van into motion!
Once Oliver was in the clear, the stationmaster hurried back to the station, avoiding the searchlights' all-seeing eyes. This is insane, he thought to himself as a beam of light swung over him, narrowly missing the top his head! Finally, after many close calls, he made it back to the safety of his office and made a beeline for the telephone. The stationmaster knew what he had to do.
"999, what service do you require?" came a voice on the other line.
"POLICE!"
Meanwhile, Douglas maneuvered Oliver through the scrapyard towards the main line junction and the accompanying signal box. As they did so, the inevitable happened. They were caught in the headlights of a passing faceless diesel! The diesel's driver sounded the horn long and loud, alerting all of the complex to the fleeing engines!
"Yoohoo! Yoohoo!" cried the driver leaning out from the diesel's cab. "A clanker's escaping! Yoohoo!"
Douglas puffed firmly on. "Take no notice, Oliver," he counselled; but before they could clear the first signal box, they were stopped by a guard's whistle!
The scrapyard director was waiting for them outside the box along with some of his men, his lamp shone on Oliver. "Aha!" he exclaimed, "A 'Western' engine!" His light flickered further back. "A 'Western' auto-coach and a goods-brake too! You can't take these!"
"Can we now!" said Douglas' driver. "They're all for us. See for yourself." He clambered down from his engine's cab and handed the director the doctored paperwork. He took his time reading through it, looking up from it at Oliver occasionally. Neither engine hardly dared to breathe.
The director turned to one of his lackies. "Nigel," he asked calmly, "When did we acquire this stock?"
"About a week ago, Mr. Prime, sir," replied one of the scrappers. "We left them on a siding outside the smelting…" he trailed off in realization. "He was there…!" the man said after a moment of silence, "He was there during the last Spectra extraction!"
The scrapyard director then turned back to Douglas' driver. He took Oliver's paperwork in both hands… and ripped it clean in two! Before the driver could react, he was laying on the cold hard gravel with a massive blackeye and a stinging red cheek! Douglas, his fireman, Oliver, Isabel, and Toad watched on in utter disbelief and horror!
The director lowered his clenched fist to his side, "Get the torches ready!" he ordered, "We've got loose ends to tie! No. 10, return this lot back to the out-of-use siding, your controller with be very disappointed to hear that-"
"I'm sorry, sirr," growled Douglas, "but I dinna take orders from MURDERERS!"
The Scottish engine then let off a huge cloud of steam from his cylinders which completely consumed the signal box within seconds! The director and his men screamed in agony as the boiling hot vaper made contact with their skin and Douglas' fireman used this distraction to help the driver back to the cab!
"Well," the driver laughed, "that could've gone better."
Douglas blew his whistle long and loud and he dragged Oliver over the junction back onto the main line towards Barrow Station! The steam quickly dissipated, and the scrapyard director quickly spotted the two engines slipping from his grasp right before his eyes!
"AFTER THEM!" he screamed.
Two faceless Class 17 diesels sat in the goods shed at the far end of the scrapyard. Men hustled and shouted as they prepped the locomotives to give chase! After a lot of key-turning, engines-growling, and men-swearing, the two diesels roared into life and began making their way through the yards in pursuit of the Caledonian and the Westerner!
As all this unfolded, Jessica the 9F and Adora the visiting P2 passed through Barrow Station double heading their return goods train from London St. Pancras. Their combined puffing completely drowned out the sounds of ongoing chaos around them, leaving them and their crews ultimately unaware of what they were missing out on.
"Do you hear something, Jess?" Adora asked.
"WHAT?!" shouted Jessica over the noise from their powerful cylinders.
Adora groaned. "I SAID," she bellowed, "DO YOU HEAR SOMETHING?! COULD YOU PLEASE QUIET DOWN?!"
"NO THANKS," replied Jessica as they passed through the station throat that faced the Vicarstown Bridge, "I'M ALLERGIC TO CHEESE!"
"Mr. Oliver!" cried a voice from the back. It was Toad the Brake Van. "I hate to be a bother, but we have a situation back here!"
Douglas' driver leaned out of the cab and couldn't believe the sight that greeted him. "We're not out of the clear just yet!" he exclaimed, pointing at the two pursuing diesels.
"What are they trying to accomplish, the bloody fools!" cried the fireman, "It's up to you now, Douglas old boy. If those miserable pricks what a chase, then we'll give 'em one they'll never forget!"
But the "chase" was over before it even began. As it passed under the first signal gantry before the station, the front diesel's lead bogie derailed at a set of trap-points and it came to rest on the ballast! With a shower of sparks and the howl of shearing metal, the diesel was sprawled across the intersection, blocking the other purring menace's path! There was a deafening CRASH as the trailing engine collided into the side of its companion and derailed too! The bell-alarm in the signal box rang out across the yard and the signalman telephoned for a crane!
Douglas' driver watched on in silence, not knowing what to think. "Oh…" he said at last. "Never mind. Carry on as you were, Douglas." And with that, they forged ahead to the safety of North-Western metals. In the distance, they could all hear the sounds of police sirens, as the cars they blared from sped towards the scrapyard to finally bring it's reign of terror to an end.
"That was a near thing," puffed Douglas with relief.
"We've had worse," smiled Oliver. "We ran at night. Friendly signalmen would pass us from box to box when no trains were about. We got on well till 'Control' heard about a 'mystery train'. Then, they tried to hunt us down."
"What did you do?"
"A signalman let us hide on an old quarry branch. My driver and fireman blocked the cutting with rubbish, and levered one of the approach rails away. We stayed there for days, with diesels baying and growling like hounds outside. I'd never felt so terrified in my whole life."
"Small blame to you," said Douglas feelingly. Presently they rumbled over the Vicarstown Bridge and onto the North-Western Railway. "We're home! They canna catch ye noo."
"Best thing I've heard all week," sighed Oliver gratefully. "Could you tell Isabel and Toad please." Douglas called out the news, and both coach and brake van let out a chorus of joyful cheers as the approached Vicarstown Station. Douglas' driver, on the other hand, wasn't so ecstatic.
"Hold your tongues!" he hissed, hushing the rolling stock. He pointed down to the station's lower levels. "There's the works. We must slip in unbeknownst and find a place for Oliver."
Douglas tried hard to be quiet, but the night foreman heard them, and had to be told their secret. "I know just the place," he said, and showed them an empty siding nicely hidden away. He then returned to his offices to telephone the news to the Fat Controller.
"Goodbye," Oliver said to Douglas, "and thank you." And with that, Douglas puffed away to the sheds, leaving Oliver in the care of the Vicarstown Works.
"Yon's an enterprising engine,"he thought aloud, "I won away here with Donald; but I'd've been feared to do it on my own."
"Hmm…" Douglas' driver pondered, "I can't help but think we're forgetting something…"
"Well," reassured the fireman, "if we forgot, then it wasn't important."
"Yeah. I guess your right."
Back at Barrow, Douglas' return train sat cold and alone on a siding in the pouring rain.
Knapford Station was quiet. The Fat Controller was about to lock the door to his office, ready to return home to his wife, when the telephone suddenly buzzed so hard the whole thing visibly vibrated. He quickly ran back inside and answered it.
"Hello?" _ "Yes?" _ "Are you sure?" _ "Good God, you must call the-" _ "Oh, they're already there? Okay, that's a-" _ "What?" _ "What about Douglas?" _ "What do you mean 'stowaway?'" _ "They? What do you mean they?" _ "Oh… I see. Well, err, I'll be there right away."
The Fat Controller slammed the phone back onto its base and hurried outside to his car. His day wasn't over just yet unfortunately. There was something at Vicarstown that needed his immediate attention. Once he reached the carpark, he climbed into his car, and drove off into the night.
The road that was the closest thing Sodor had to a dedicated highway was shrouded by darkness, the only source of light being that of his car's headlights. The Fat Controller knew he had to be careful driving in such dangerous conditions. Perhaps he wasn't being careful enough. As his car coughed under a bridge, there was a loud CLUNK, and it came to a pitiful stop just beyond the mouth of the bridge's arch.
The Fat Controller got out to inspect the damage. Sometime before he'd reached the bridge, a brick had fallen from the arch and landed on the road. As his car rolled under the bridge, the brick had damaged one of the it's axles. There was no denying it, he wasn't going anywhere tonight.
"Oh, bother." Just then, the Fat Controller heard the purr of a diesel engine coming down the line to the road's right. "Hey!" he called out, trying to get the attention of the diesel and/or it's driver. "Over here!"
Bear brought his goods train to a stop by the roadside, and his driver climbed down from the diesel's cab to speak to the stout gentleman. "Good evening, Sir Topham," the driver greeted, "need a lift?"
"Hop in, sir," insisted Bear with a smile.
"Very much obliged," thanked the Fat Controller as his climbed into the diesel's cab. "Vicarstown please." With his very important passenger safely on board, Bear continued on his way, his trucks trailing and chattering behind him.
The sun was just bringing to rise by the time Bear arrived at Vicarstown Station. As he shunted his train into the yards beneath the viaduct the monstrous station stood upon, the Fat Controller climbed down from the diesel's cab and was greeted by the yardmaster.
"I'll take you to see him now," said the yardmaster softly before leading their guest to the workshops.
As the two men walked across the gravel towards the engine sheds, the Fat Controller's eyes laid upon Oliver, Isabel, and Toad for the first time. Engine, coach, and brake van didn't bother to hide the fact that they were all very nervous. The Fat Controller's jaw dropped at the sight. After a long moment, his mouth slowly shut, and his lips twisted into a sorry-looking frown.
"Well, it's diesels or steam engines, and you can't bring more of those in, it's just not viable, you've said it yourself!" Mr. Olaski had said.
"I don't know what to do…" the Fat Controller said with a sad sigh. While he was lost in thought, a concerned Bear edged closer as quietly as he could, stopping just a few meters behind him.
"Sir…" the diesel said quietly. The Fat Controller turned before the Hymek took a deep breath and continued. "My driver says, erm… you were considering a place for me in your railway. I awfully appreciate that, but…" Bear looked down the line at Oliver. "I'd rather that… this engine has mine instead. Especially if he isn't welcome on his old line anymore."
The Fat Controller turned back to Oliver, who simultaneously looked extremely relieved and very scared. There was a long, agonizing silence. Then, the Fat Controller looked over his shoulder back at Bear, who was surprised to see a knowing smile stretched across his face.
"You know," said the Fat Controller warmly, "the first down express is due in half-an-hour. Could you take it please?"
"But I thought I-"
"Don't worry about any of this, I'll sort everything out. Off you go now."
Bear thought his fuel tank would rupture in excitement. "D-d-does this mean that I'm still…? Does this mean I'm here to stay?!"
The Fat Controller laughed. "Chop, chop." And with that, Bear, the NWR's newest resident, happily growled out of the yard to find his coaches, thanking his new owner profusely as he did so. The Fat Controller then continued his trek along the sleepers towards the scrapyard veterans that stood before him. "Now to you my lad," he said, "it seems like you've had quite the experience."
"I suppose you could say that, sir."
"What's you name?"
"Oliver, sir."
"And, uh, I suppose, Oliver, that you would like to work for me."
Oliver sighed sadly. "Indeed I would, sir," he said before looked down at his buffers. "But… I of course understand if you can't make arrangements." The 14xx shut his eyes, preparing for the man in the top hat's inevitable answer. He couldn't have possibly expected what happened next.
"If you can work hard like you've already have," smiled the Fat Controller, "and if you can be brave like you have been, then I would be most humble to offer you a life here on my railway."
"Sir…" Tears slithered down Oliver's cheeks as he struggled to find words that could accurately express his emotions. "Oh, thank you, sir! T-this means everything to me, sir!"
"You'll be sent to our works at Crovan's Gate at once," said the Fat Controller. "We'll have you looking as smart as can be." He then turned to the yardmaster, who was shedding a few tears himself. "Could you get the film director on the phone, please? I've had a few ideas."
A couple of hours later, unaware of the Fat Controller's meeting with Oliver, Douglas returned to Tidmouth Sheds where he told Gordon, James, Duck, and Donald what had happened at Barrow the previous night. They were all excited about it, and agreed that something must be done for Oliver.
"I'm feared," said Donald. "Some murdering diesel may creep in, and him there alone, lacking steam even to whistle for help."
"You're right," said James, "he won't be safe until the Fat Controller knows."
"Douglas should tell him at once!" said Gordon firmly.
"Is it me speak to the Fat Controller? It's forward he'd think me, and maybe interfering!"
"Well, here he is!" said a cheerful voice. The engines jumped as the Fat Controller (having taken the bus back from Vicarstown to Tidmouth) strode towards the sheds. "Now, what's this all about?"
Duck broke the awkward silence. "Beg pardon, sir, but we do need another engine."
"I agree, Duck. That is why I am giving Bear another chance." Their faces showed such dismay that the Fat Controller had difficulty with his own.
"Sir," ventured Gordon at last, "we had hoped for a… real engine."
"They," said the Fat Controller gravely, "are rare. Unless one can… 'escape' so to speak, there's little hope."
"But sirr!" burst out Donald, "One has…"
"…and thanks to Douglas, is now at the Steamworks undergoing a full overhaul," announced the Fat Controller.
"Sirr," gasped Douglas, "is there anything ye don't know?"
"More than you think," chuckled the Fat Controller, "the Barrow stationmaster told me all you did, Douglas. Let it be known that I do not appreciate my engines steeling property and creating a disturbance. But considering the circumstances you found yourself in, I think both myself and the Cumbria Police Department can let this… little incident of yours slide just this once."
"Och, sirr! Ye couldna' see a braw wee engine, and him in trouble, and no do a wheel's turn!"
"More than 'a wheel's turn', I fancy! Douglas, I'm pleased with you. I should inform you all that the scrapyard's workforce have all been taken into police custody and Oliver's crew are expected to make a full recovery, all thanks to the selfless actions of you and your crew! Oliver, Isabel and Toad will soon be ours; they are just what we need for Arlesburgh Branch Line!"
Loud cheers and whistles greeted this announcement. Oliver the Great Western Engine, Isabel the Auto-Coach, and Toad the Brake Van had all been officially saved!
Epilogue: Sodor
Based on "Little Western" & "1967"
"The Island Song" written by Mike O'Donnell & Junior Campbell
[]
The following week went by like a blur for the engines of Sodor.
When Henry's repairs were finally completed, the green engine spoke a good word for Bear (now renumbered to NWR Diesel 3), and the others gave him a warm welcome, even James surprisingly! He had good manners for a start, so Henry didn't find it hard to teach him their ways. Bear found them different from those of 'British Railways', but much more interesting.
He now works on the main line and usually pulls the Limited or the Round Robin, despite his rather shaky start with the latter. The others teased him at first because of the way his engine growls, and that the name 'Bear' was very suiting. He still growls, not because he's cross, but because he can't help it. It took quite a while, but soon Bear he gotten use to engines and staff referring to him as such.
"It's much nicer than just a number," he says. "Having a name means that you really belong."
The Fat Controller soon had Oliver, Isabel and Toad mended and painted in full Great-Western colours. Then, over the coming months, he "rescued" three more Western auto-coaches from scrap. Two were faceless which he gave to Duck. The non-faceless third, Dulcie, joined Oliver and Isabel. Toad, like other brake vans, found himself traveling with many different engines to all corners of the island from Cabalnoo to Ffarquhar. He isn't fussy, far from it in fact, but ever since that fateful night, he's always preferred to work with Douglas.
Duck and Oliver are happy on their branch line. "We re-open Branches," they boast. They're very proud of this indeed.
The others laughed at first, and got accustom to calling the Arlesburgh Branch the "Little Western". Duck and Oliver were delighted when they learned of their line's nickname, and now, no one ever thinks of calling it anything else.
Then, at the end of the week, the front pages of the local newspapers read in big bold letters:
AN OVERDUE CRACK DOWN!
British Railways under investigation as ordered by Harold Wilson!
Board facing charges of mass genocide!
Reports of corruption within Parliament are also under scrutinization!
Yes… the torment had ended!
The steam engines scattered over the country, desperate, leaderless, starved… those who had fled by sea with the help of preservationists, all would return. The pulse of life, growing stronger and stronger, would beat again! The news spread like wildfire! Every steam whistle in the UK let off a long and shrill note brimming with hope! Men in pubs held their glasses up to the sky along with a chorus of three-cheers! The priests of the churches sounded the bells of the spires until all of England was ringing!
This would later be known as 'The Day England Sang'!
That very same day, Abel, Spencer, and Adora were due to triple-head an enthusiast train from Knapford all the way to London Waterloo! The engines and staff of the North Western Region of British Railways all gathered at the Big Station to see them off, with the final arrival being that of Thomas the Tank Engine.
"Sorry I'm late," he panted as he pulled into the station with Annie and Clarabel. "What did I miss?"
Duck said nothing. He just winked at Oliver and Bear.
A few minutes later, the station erupted into cheers as 'Sliver Bullet', 'The Heart of Etheria' and 'The Flying Scotsman' backed onto their train (in that exact order mind you) which was filled with excited enthusiasts. Some people tried to take one last photograph of the famous engines, but the guard intervened and practically herded them all into the waiting coaches.
"I don't get paid enough for this shit," the guard muttered under his breath.
The Fat Controller said they had all been honored, and thanked Spencer, Adora, Abel, and their owners for their help. "Please tell everyone," he went on, "that whatever happens elsewhere, Steam will still be at work here. We shall be glad to welcome all who want to see, and travel behind, real engines. No longer are we just another Region in Dr. Beeching's toybox. From this moment on, we are once again, and forever will be, the North Western Railway!"
This announcement was greeted with a chorus of cheers and whistles which mingled with the chimes of the Knapford church bells!
"And hey," Belle cut in, "Maybe some of us could one day visit that lovely line of yours, Adora."
Adora laughed, tears of joy welling in her eyes. "That would be brilliant!" she said, "but are you sure you've got enough 'bootlaces' and 'tenders' for the journey?"
James and Henry were offended. "WHY YOU LITTLE-" they bellowed in unison, but the rest of their outcry was drowned out by the guard's whistle.
With that, the three Douncaster engines departed to the strains of 'Will ye no come back again?" led, as one might expect, by Donald and Douglas the Scottish Twins. As they pulled out of Knapford for the last time, Abel looked back to Oliver, his eyes filled with hope.
Yes, he thought with a smile, this is only the beginning.
Once all the excitement had finally died down, a sleek brown car pulled into the Knapford Station parking lot. With a distinctive Click, the car's door swung open and out emerged Mr. Olaski. The Fat Controller was waiting for him. "Good afternoon," he greeted.
"Hello," replied Mr. Olaski shaking the Fat Controller's hand. "You have something to show me, it seems?"
"Indeed. Step this way please." The Fat Controller then led Mr. Olaski to his office where they found the small TV once again set up on the desk. "I've had a bit of a rethink you see," continued the Fat Controller, "went out with the film crew, jiggled things around."
"I see," Mr. Olaski said pinching his chin.
"What we've come up with is, erm… different. But, I like it, and I think you might too." With that, the Fat Controller turned the dial, and the Television set whirred into life.
[]
THE FOLLOWING FEATURE IS
A PRODUCTION OF THE
NORTH WESTERN RAILWAY COMPANY INC,
COPYRIGHT MCMLXVII
[]
"I welcome you to the North Western Railway," narrated the voice of the Fat Controller, "a line of heritage, innovation and prestige. We're a small railway, but an interesting one at that, which proudly serves the Island of Sodor from isle-to-isle. On our lines, we value good service and excellent timekeeping, with lineside facilities that are truly unbeaten. And you can trust me on that last part, heh, heh…"
An image of the 'MC BUNN' Café appeared on the screen at that moment. Mr. Olaski pinched the top of his nose with a sigh, and the Fat Controller blushed a bright red.
"One of the most unique aspects of our line is our variety of locomotives. Big. Small. Fast. Slow. All with an important role to play. You might notice that some are Steam, and some are Diesel. This… isn't always perfect. Sometimes engines can be lazy, and we really can't have that. But we value character above all else, for it's really the connections and friendships that let us thrive on our line. The railways are changing, and in many ways, so must we. One principle, however, will never change. Any engine willing to work must be welcome on our island!
"We don't know what the future holds," the narration continued, "but we know how we must proceed, and that is through offering chances to everyone. Whilst the rest of the world may loose sight in what real innovation is, the ways of our island and railway are here to stay. And we hope to see you there soon!"
As the film came to a close, Mr. Olaski wore a broad smile on his face. "Charles," he said, "I couldn't complain if I tried. It's really wonderful."
"Oh, it's not done yet!" insisted the Fat Controller as the NWR's new emblem faded onto the screen accompanied by the text:
INTRODUCING THE
NORTH WESTERN RAILWAY.
[The emblem went here]
FOR A NEW ERA.
Picture a land where the sky is so blue
A storybook land of wonder
A magical island just waiting for you
Island of Sodor will make your dreams come true
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Imagine a place where the sun always smiles
The valleys are green as can be
The friends that you love are all waiting for you
Island of Sodor will make your dreams come true
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Children follow the dream
To a land of make-believe
The Island of Sodor
A magical land where dreams come true
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Follow the road that leads to your dream
Over the hills and mountains
Look for the skies with stars in their eyes
Island of Sodor will make your dreams come true
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Children follow the dream
To a land of make-believe
The Island of Sodor
A magical land where dreams come true
[]
The Island of Sodor
Magical land where dreams come true
THE END…?