Isle of Sodor: 1959
An inspector walked into the Fat Controller's office, just as the stout gentleman sat down at his desk with the paper and a cup of tea.
"Err… Sir, we have a problem," he said, his voice carrying a hint of confusion.
The Fat Controller looked up from his newspaper. "Tell Henry, Gordon, and James to knock it off!" he said bluntly.
"Erm, it's-it's not them," the inspector stammered, "It's the, err… new engine, sir."
"Well? What's wrong?"
"There's two."
The Fat Controller raised an eyebrow. "…Problems?"
"No… engines."
The Fat Controller's eyes practically popped out of their sockets! The hot tea that was once in his mouth was now sprayed across the desk and floor like water from a malfunctioning kitchen tab! Once he had recovered, he stared blankly at the inspector.
"Did you say… two, engines, Mr. Dibdin?"
"Yes, sir," replied the inspector.
"Then send the other one back to Corkerhill at once!"
"Certainly, sir… But that's the problem. They've, erm… 'lost' their numbers, sir."
"Indeed!" thundered the Fat Controller. He stood up, grabbed the top hat he inherited from his father, and walked towards the door. "We'll see about that!"
A Scottish Scandal
Written by Broa Island
Proofread and Corrected by BNSF1995
Based on various Railway Stories by the Rev. W. Awdry, Christopher Awdry, TrainKing James & TheBuriedTruck
More and more people were traveling on the North Western Region of British Railways. More and more ships were docking in and out of the harbors along the Sudrian coastline. All the engines had to work very hard indeed, and they were soon feeling rushed off their wheels.
The Fat Controller arranged for an engine from Scotland to assist with the ever-growing goods work. It was most surprising, then, when he found TWO identical engines waiting in the yards at Knapford! Both locomotives were painted in BR black with red and white lining across their cabs and tenders.
"Good day," the Fat Controller said bluntly.
"Good day tae ye, sirr," the engine replied in unison. Their strong Scottish accents weren't helping matters.
"I hear you've lost your numbers. How did you manage that?"
"They maun hae slyly slippit aff sirr. Ye ken hoo it is."
"I know. Accidentally on purpose!"
The twins looked pained. "Sirr! Ye wadnae be thinkin' we lost them on purrpose?!"
"I'm not so sure," said the Fat Controller. "Now then. Which of you is 57646?"
"That, sirr, is juist what we canna mind."
The Fat Controller looked at their solemn faces. He turned away. He seemed to have difficulty with his own.
He swung round again. "What are your names?"
"Donal an' Douggie, sirr."
"Good," he said. "Now your controller can tell me which of you is which."
"Och! Ye'll no get muckle help fae him, sirr."
"Why?"
"He disna ken oor names sirr. He never bothered to ask uz; some say he outright refused tae learn oor names!"
Normally, the Fat Controller would find that concerning. He hated the fact that the mistreatment of non-faceless vehicles on not only the mainland, but the rest of the world, was still a very big problem that no one seemed to care about. But today, he was in such a foul mood, that he didn't care himself.
"One of you," said the Fat Controller, "is playing truant! I shall find him out and send him home! Mr. Dibdin," he ordered. "Give these engines numbers, and send them to work!"
He then walked sternly away, failing to notice Donald and Douglas exchange worried looks.
Soon, workmen came to give the Twins their numbers. Donald was 9, and Douglas 10. When the men went away, they were left alone in the carriage shed.
"Strange nummers, ey' Douggie?" Donald mused.
"I like them," smiled Douglas. "They suit uz."
"Ye may hea noticed that yon penters forgot somethin'."
Douglas was puzzled. "What did they forget?"
"They pented braw new nummers on oor tenders, but they put nane on uz." Donald winked broadly at his twin.
"Ye mean," grinned Douglas, "that we can…"
"Juist that!" chuckled Donald. "Haud yer wheesht! Here's the inspector!"
The inspector arrived at the sheds on board Duck. He climbed down from the pannier's cab and strode over the gravel to the Scottish Twins. "Now Nine and Ten," he smiled. "Here's Duck. He'll show you around before you start work."
The Twins enjoyed themselves, and were soon friends with Duck. They didn't mind what job they were assigned. They tackled goods trains and passenger trains easily. It wasn't long before they had earned the respect of the railway's non-faceless rolling stock.
"We like it fine here," said Donald.
"That's good," smiled Duck. "But take my tip. It may take a while to earn the trust of the other engines here. About two years ago, we had a Gronk here on loan, and he pretty much turned us all against each other with his lies. Ever since then, the big engines have been a bit… untrusting of new-comers, and frankly, I don't blame them."
"Neither do we," said Douglas sympathetically. He then chuckled. "But dinna fash yersel. We'll suin settle them."
Unlike most of the other engines on the Island of Sodor, Donald and Douglas had deep-toned whistles. It wasn't long until the other engines caught wind of this.
"Get a load of the new guys," Molly snickered to Yang two mornings after the Twins arrived. "They sound like buses."
"Mmm… Nah," dismissed Yang. "Too deep a pitch. They're more like ships if you ask me."
Molly, figuratively, threw her smokebox back and roared with laughter. "HA! All they need is a Carfloat, and then we can start calling them…"
"…TUGBOAT ANNIE!" Yang and Molly finished in unison, referring to the film they saw during the last 'Movie Night' at Tidmouth Sheds. The tomboy H2 and the jock 'Claud Hamilton' howled with laughter at their own wit.
"Ye two talkin' shit about uz?"
"JESUS!" they cried, accidently in unison.
Donald and Douglas, having cruised up quietly, one on each side, glared coldly at them. Molly and Yang glanced nervously from side-to-side, their faces devoid of all colour.
"Uh, n-n-n-no, no, no, certainly not," they stammered, talking over one another in panic.
"Alright then," said Douglas darkly. "Noo mind what ye say, or ye'll baith be taking the next fast express tae Atlantis!" And with that, the Twins puffed away. Yang and Molly stared nervously at each other, and gulped. But they weren't the only engines to face Donald and Douglas' wrath that day.
Gordon and Henry had also made a rude remark about their whistles, also making a reference to the 1933 comedy film "Tugboat Annie". Donald and Douglas had also made a less then subtle threat against them too. Whether they actually meant these threats had yet to be determined, but no engine wanted to be the unlucky one to test their word!
One afternoon, a few days later, Douglas was helping Duck in Knapford Yards while Donald was waiting to take a goods train to Barrow. As Duck was occupied arranging Donald's trucks, Douglas offered to take Gordon's coaches away. He hurried over to the station, was coupled up to the rake, and gently pulled the coaches away from the platform.
Douglas was enjoying himself… Until an awful thought struck him. "I hope the Fat Controller disna find oot I shouldna be here," he said to himself. "I cudna abide gooin' back tae Corkerhill."
Despite his negative thoughts, Douglas was able to overcome them before shunting the coaches into the carriage siding. He then went to join Donald at the water tower. As he went, a fatigued Thomas scuttled past with his 2 o'clock 'Push-Pull' service. Neither Donald nor Douglas paid him any attention though.
Donald noticed the distressed look on his brother's face, and immediately felt concerned. "Douggie," he asked. "What's the matter?"
Before Douglas could confide in his twin, they both heard the loud scream of a steam whistle that startled the birds from the trees! Thomas, black smoke pluming from his funnel and his face glowing red, came fussing over to them. The blue tank engine was angry… like, really angry… like, Hitler levels of angry!
"Oh, that's funny," Thomas chuckled, rather unhinged. "Which one of you numskulls? Which one of you FUCKING rascals put me up to this one?! Your all a bunch of FUCKING comedians, aren't you?!"
"Calm doon, lad," cried Douglas. "What's gotten ye all ruffled-"
"OH, SO YOU ENJOY PLAYING DUMB?!" interrupted Thomas, his voice cracking. "I'm gonna get to the bottom of this, and when I do, both of you will wish you never had your Awakenings! You'll see!" the tank engine called as he puffed away, "You'll see! YOU'LL FUCKING SEE!"
Donald and Douglas were completely and utterly baffled. "What on earth wuz that all about?" Donald quizzed.
"I dinna ken, it maun be a tank engine thing. All the same, what d'ye think could ha' gotten him so maa-aaaa-AAA-AAAD, COOCH!" Douglas shrieked. He'd just remembered something Duck had told him and Donald when they began working together.
Every day, punctually at 3:30, Gordon steams into Knapford Station with the express. It is called the 'Wild Nor' Wester', and it is full of people from England, Wales, and Scotland. All of the coaches that make up this train are BR's iconic MK1 coaches, painted in a beautiful maroon… Except for one. This one was from the Western Region, painted chocolate and cream, and is officially known as the 'Farmland Flyer'.
This special coach is for passengers traveling to places on the Ffarquhar Branch Line. When the other coaches are taken away empty, station pilots and their crews must remember to shunt the special coach to the bay platform. It doesn't wait there long. Thomas, with Annie and Clarabel, comes hurrying from Elsbridge to fetch it. As you might have already gathered, Thomas is very proud of his special coach.
But Douglas, distracted by his worries, had completely forgotten about this routine, and must have stowed the special coach away with the others! He explained this to Donald. The Twins' already high stress levels were amplified when they and their crews heard the shouts and complaints from a mob of livid passengers erupting from the station (and I'm pretty sure someone broke a window too).
"Everybody remain calm!" cried Donald failing to remain calm himself. "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!"
Donald's driver climbed onto his engine's running board and slapped him across the face, snapping the Caledonian out of panic! He then turned back in the direction of the station.
"Do you see that?" the driver exclaimed. "They're complaining to the Fat Controller. He'll be coming here next."
"What do we do?" asked Douglas' fireman.
Douglas' driver pondered. "I have an idea!" he exclaimed, and the three men and two locomotives gathered around to heed his plan. "We'll change tenders. Then away with you, Donald, and take your goods. Don't worry about us. Quick now! Do as I say." He clapped his hands together. "We only have so little time, so let's move lads, MOVE!"
Everyone worked fast.
About half-an-hour later, the Fat Controller and three passengers walked towards them; but Donald, with Douglas' tender (10), was out and away with the goods before they came near. Douglas and his driver waited with innocent expressions.
"Ah!" said the Fat Controller, "No. 9, and why have you not taken the goods?"
"Uh…" the driver stalled, trying to think of an excuse. "Ah, yes, that's right! The bloody chain snapped, and Donald's boiler pressure dropped like bricks!" He then showed the four men his engine's tender, still uncoupled.
"I see, some defect no doubt. Tell me, why did No. 10 leave so quickly?"
"Medde sirr," put in Douglas, "he saw ye comin' an' thocht he was late."
The Fat Controller made a 'cup' with his fingers, and pressed it against his chin. He then turned to the passengers.
"Here, gentlemen," he said, "are the facts. No. 10 was acting as station pilot. Your coach disappeared. We investigate. No. 10 – er – disappears too. You can draw your own conclusions. Please accept my apologies. The matter will be investigated. If you were to make you way back to the station, we shall be offering a free afternoon tea."
The Fat Controller watched the men walk away till they climbed the station ramp. His shoulders twitched; he wiped his eyes. Douglas wondered if he was crying. He was not.
He swung round suddenly. "Douglas," he rapped, "why are you masquerading with Donald's tender?!"
Meanwhile, unaware they'd been found out, Donald, still disguised as his twin, was making his way back from Barrow with a return goods train. The trucks he'd been given were old, poorly maintained, and (in the case of the non-faceless stock) irritable and uncooperative.
In a previous Tale, we mentioned that non-faceless trucks are, in fact, NOT troublesome. However, like all stereotypes, they stem from the actions of a disagreeable minority. And unfortunately for Donald, his train was staffed with pretty much the entirety of that defiant few!
The journey began well enough. But soon, trouble aroused. Brakes began slipping on, and one truck, smack bang in the middle of the train mind you, ran a hot axle box. Donald had to shunt it off the train. Each delay made him crosser and crosser.
"Stupid things," he growled.
"What does he know?!" tittered the trucks. "An old kettle like him is no patch on us!"
Later, Donald stopped on the crest of Gordon's Hill, so the guard could tend to the brakes of the faceless wagons. When all was ready, he restarted much more quickly then he meant to, and the resulting jerk broke an old coupling hook ten trucks from the end! They, and the brake van, came loose!
Feeling the snatch, Donald's fireman looked back. They were already half-way down the hill, but coming after them, and gathering speed on the slope, he saw the remainder of the train!
"We've got to keep ahead of them, Donald!" the fireman shouted. "Quick now! I just hope there's nothing at the platform at Wellsworth!"
"But, we're supposed to stop there an' leave some of these trucks," objected Donald.
"Can't help that," replied the driver. "If those devils you call trucks catch us, we'll stop even earlier, because they'll knock us off the rails!"
"Well, what are we waiting for?!" cried Donald, and he surged forward as the driver threw open the regulator!
It was touch-and-go for a while. If the brake van hadn't been holding the trucks back slightly, Donald could not have kept ahead. But he managed it. Just. The Caledonian raced down the line at full speed. The guard, braking in his van, could only do so much. The trucks were getting closer, and closer!
Wellsworth Station loomed in the distance. Thankfully, their line was clear. Whistling franticly, Donald whooshed past the signal box, whistling like a banshee, with the trucks screaming in fright behind him!
Quickly, the signalman summed up the situation. He set the line ahead as far as he could, and Donald clattered by safely. He then dashed for his telephone and sent a warning down the line.
"ALL TRAFFIC HALTED!"
Soon, the runaway trucks came into view. To the relief of the signalman, they had slowed to a crawl, stopping just before his box. They were very relieved indeed. The signalman, once again dialing his telephone, cancelled his previous message, and instead sent out an 'Obstruction Danger' warning, setting all his signals to red, while the other main line boxes returned theirs to green.
All he and the trucks had to do now… was wait.
When he was sure the trucks had stopped, Donald stopped too, half-a-mile further on.
"We shall need permission to go back," the driver told the fireman. "Nip back and clear it with the signalman, please."
When he had permission, Donald carefully reversed back to Wellsworth. He bumped the trucks fiercely when he got there.
"WILL THERE BE ANY FURTHER TROUBLE?!" he growled, Scottish accent dissipating for a brief moment.
The trucks had scared even themselves. They were speechless. Another voice spoke in their place.
"I should hope NOT!"
Donald jumped. There, standing on the platform next to him, was the Fat Controller! "I suspect the whole island knows of your escapades with the noise you were making."
"S-sirr," stammered Donald, preparing to answer to the name Douglas, "I-I-I-I…"
"I appreciate your efforts to warn of the danger," interrupted the Fat Controller, "but I have to wonder how that couple broke to begin with. Judging how I just saw you handle those trucks…" he trailed off sternly. "To add to that, you have caused considerable delays along the main line! This won't do, at, all! I'd advise you to be more cautious in future…" he trailed off again. He turned to Donald's tender, which was really Douglas', barring a yellow '10' on it's side.
The Fat Controller's eyes narrowed. He turned back to Donald and finished his sentence. "…Number Nine."
Donald's jaw dropped. "Sirr!" he exclaimed. "How did ye…?!" But before he could finish, the Fat Controller flat-out walked away from the conversation, striding into the station building without another word.
The station went quiet. The yard went quiet. Even the birds in the tree stopped singing.
The crew secured the trucks, and Donald, with a hopeless toot from his whistle, set off once again.
When Donald arrived back to Tidmouth, the Fat Controller scolded him and Douglas severely.
"There must be no more tricks," he said. "I shall be watching you both. I have to decide which of you is to stay, as the North Western can't be seen using a locomotive they did not legally purchase!" He strode away.
The Twins looked glum. Neither wanted to stay without the other. They said so.
"Then… What is tae dae?" wondered Douglas.
"Och!" said Donald. "Each maun be aye guid as ither. Syne he'll hae tae keep uz baith."
Admittedly, their plan was good, considering it was they only one they had at this point.
But they had reckoned without Dominic.