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In Spite

Written by Broa Island

Proofread and Corrected by BNSF1995

Based on various Railway Stories by Richard Jordan, the Rev. W. Awdry, TrainKing James & Victor Tanzig

Isle of Sodor: 1959

Every year, the Fat Controller requests a thorough inventory of all rolling stock to ensure that the trucks and coaches were all in top working order. If one was found to be deficient, it was withdrawn from service and replaced with a new one.

This year, it was discovered that many of the railway's brake vans needed to be replaced. They were old and worn out, and had been used for many years without much maintenance. Their axles were rusty, and the engines found them hard to move. When the engines learned they would be getting new brake vans, the topic soon became the talk of the railway.

"We won't have to lug anchors up Gordon's Hill anymore!" Yang chortled at Elsbridge.

"Indeed," Thomas added. "No more screeching demons holding us back."

It wasn't long before the new vans arrived, courtesy of BR's Head Office. They were much sturdier than the old vans had been, and their brakes were brand new. Soon, goods traffic became a pleasure as the engines glided along the rails. Some of the vans were also non-faceless, and got along well with the engines.

All… except one.

His name was Dominic, and he wasn't a very friendly brake van at all! He was up to date like all the others, but his attitude left something to be desired. He was rude to the engines, and tried his hardest to rile up the trucks and make them apply their brakes at the most inconvenient of times, often making the engines late.

His behavior was so bad that the engines would leave him on sidings out of the way to avoid having to use him. As a result, Dominic was something of a drifter.

One morning, I'm sorry to say that Dominic somehow ended up on the Ffarquhar Branch Line.

Thomas, before leaving with his stone trains from Anopha, always spoke with the non-faceless brake van to make sure they knew the route and when to brake. Most vans were pleased to have their engine keep them in the loop, but Dominic didn't appreciate it, at all.

"You think I don't know the route, do you?!" Dominic shouted.

Thomas was taken aback. He had never met such a rude brake van before. "I'm not trying to insult your intelligence," Thomas replied, feeling hot in the boiler. "I always ask my brake vans to make them feel included."

"Well, you can keep your puny mouth shut! I'm just going along for the ride."

Thomas was most annoyed.

Without another word, Thomas began the trek down the branch line to Elsbridge, where one of the main line engine would take his trucks from there. The journey went well at first, but it wasn't long before Dominic began snickering, and plotting to himself.

Part of the Anopha Tramway runs over a river. After the winter, when water from the melted snow runs down from the mountains, the river is often so loud you can barely hear yourself think! Not only that, but droplets from the nearby waterfall sometimes sprayed onto the bridge, making the rails very slippery. To make matters worse, the line ran downhill after woods.

This was one of the reason Thomas talked to the brake vans before leaving the quarry, so that they knew to brake here specifically. Dominic, even without Thomas' advice, already knew this, and used it to his advantage.

As they approached the bridge, Dominic applied his brakes which let off a loud SQUEAL! Thomas smiled to himself. "Maybe I should've given that van some more credit," he said. But he would soon be eating those words.

As they passed over the bridge, Dominic's brakes suddenly "failed", and the squealing ceased. But the river was so loud that Thomas didn't notice it, leading him into a false sense of security.

As Thomas reached the over side of the bridge, he felt the surge of the trucks as they began their descent down the hill! He tried to get them under control, but weight of the train and the lack of grip his wet wheels had on the rails proved to be the ultimate factors in the inevitable runaway Thomas had become!

"OH, GOD!" cried Thomas as he raced down the line. Dominic, on the other hand, was enjoying himself immensely, but he did a good job hiding that fact.

Up ahead, the track curved round towards a tunnel. Thomas tried his hardest to slow down, but he couldn't! He hit the bend and came off the rails with a CRASH, his trucks tumbling behind him! He came to a halt just shy of the tunnel. Thomas wasn't hurt mind you, but he was badly shaken by the whole affair.

Dominic, still on the rails, guffawed. "You bloody idiot! It would appear that you must be the one who doesn't know the route, not me! Any respectable engine would know to slow down at that bend, not speed up!"

Thomas' eyes widened. It all made sense now. "You scheming bastard!" he muttered. "You planned for this to happen!"

"Call it what you want, you engines just don't know how to treat brake vans. We're essential you see."

The Fat Controller didn't think it was very funny. When Dominic was returned to Knapford later that same morning, he was given a well-deserved tongue-lashing from Sir Charles Topham Hatt II.

"You have been causing our railway a lot of trouble," he said. "You have been vindictive and spiteful to my engines and I will not have that!" Dominic only stared. "From now on," continued the Fat Controller, "you will stay here to think about what you've done!"

Dominic was perfectly content to sit in the Knapford Yards for a while, not having to work and not having to talk to other engines. Soon, he would be back in service and ready to play tricks on other engines.

Meanwhile, Thomas had been put back on the tracks and returned to work without incident. For the rest of the day, however, he was in a really foul mood. This didn't improve when he found his special coach missing that afternoon!

This was the last straw for Thomas. As you saw in the last chapter, the tank engine took his anger out on Donald and Douglas, the two new goods engines the Fat Controller had ordered from Corkerhill Depot in Scotland. But only one engine had been expected. The Twins meant well, but did cause confusion.

And unfortunately for them, Thomas wasn't the only one they had gotten on the bad side of.

When he was put back to work, Dominic quickly took a dislike to Douglas. Things always went wrong when the former had to take the latter out. Then his trains were late, and he was blamed. It wasn't long before Douglas began to worry.

"Och… the Fat Controller's gonna send me awa' for shair," he sighed sadly to the other engines in the shed one night.

Donald, his twin, was understandably angry. "Lae that screechin' box on wheels tae me!" he told Douglas.

Donald confronted Dominic in the yard the next morning.

"Ye'll a muckle nuisance," he said. "It's tae leave ye behind I'd be wantin'!"

"You can't," said Dominic bluntly. "As I told that tank engine, I'm essential."

"Och are ye noo?" Donald burst out, backing away from the van. "Ye're naethin' but a screechin' an' a noise when a's said an' done. Spite Douggie wad ye? Tak that!"

Donald suddenly surged forward and rammed Dominic, sending him flying down the siding! The van hit the buffers with a loud BANG, streaking in pain as he did so.

"Haud yer wheesht," said Donald severely. "An' there's mair comin' syne ye misbehave!"

It was a good thing no one was around to see Donald's deed, as violently bumping non-faceless rolling stock like that was considered a form of assault. Nevertheless, Donald slipped away before anyone could call him out… and let's just say that Dominic behaved better after that. Douglas' trains were punctual, and the Twins felt happier.

Then… one rainy day… Donald was involved in an accident.

He'd just arrived at Tidmouth Station with goods train from Killdane. After he shunted his trucks into the yards, he backed into a siding to rest before his next train. But the rails were slippery, he couldn't stop in time, and CRASHED through the buffers into a signal box!

Luckily, the signalman was away on his coffee break. When he returned and saw what had played out in his absences, he was furious.

"YOU CLUMSY GREAT ENGINE!" he stormed. "We'd only build that box two years ago! And I'll be right in saying that this little stunt of yours has jammed the points, that's means you're stuck here! It serves you right for spoiling my nice new signal box!"

Porter soon arrived with the breakdown train to help clear the mess. As the men worked to free Donald's tender from the signal box, the Fat Controller, who travelled to the scene on board Porter, spoke to the Caledonian.

"Wet rails couldn't have possibly been your fault, Donald," he said. "But even so, I did not expect such… clumsiness from you! I had decided to send Douglas back and keep you, but since you'll undoubtedly need a trip to the works after this…" He trailed off.

"I'm sorry, sirr." But Donald didn't say what he was sorry for.

"Indeed," went on the Fat Controller indignantly. "You have upset my arrangements. This is most inconvenient. Now I shall have to draft in another engine to help with the goods work while you have your tender mended!" And with that, he walked sternly away to make the arrangements, leaving Donald very anxious about his brother's future on Sodor.

Unfortunately, for everyone, the only engine available to substitute Donald… was James. The red engine grumbled dreadfully about his new workload to anyone and anything that would listen.

"Ony wan wad think," said Douglas one day at Knapford Harbor, "that Donal had his accident on purrpose. I heard tell," he went on, "aboot an engine an' some tar wagons?"

"SHUT UP!" snapped James. "It's not funny!"

"Weel, weel, weel!" said Douglas innocently. "Shairly Jeames it wasna ye? Ye dinna say!"

Gordon and Henry howled with laughter while James went as red as his paintwork. "Alright, Scotty Boy, I'll show you," he muttered darkly. "Don't expect me to be asking much of you!"

"HELP ME UP THE HILL, PLEASE!" panted James like a damsel in distress.

The following day, James arrived at Wellsworth with at goods train bound for Kellsthorpe Road. He was still sulking about Douglas' remarks the previous day wouldn't make steam properly. To make matters worse, the brake van he'd been given was defective, and it's brakes kept slipping on. He did his best, but by now, he was exhausted.

Unfortunately for James, Douglas was the only engine at Wellsworth, and the Scot was revelling in the red engine's suffering.

"D'I hear that right?" he laughed. "Are ye askin' me fae help?"

"Douglas, please," James groaned. "This is hard enough as it is."

"Alright, alright laddie," Douglas finally conceded. "I'll give ye a push." James was very thankful indeed.

Soon, Douglas had switched onto James' line and came up behind the troublesome brake van. However, he was very surprised by who exactly the van was!

"Oh…" Douglas muttered grimly. "Hullo, Dominic. Are we gonna ha' a problem today?"

Dominic was indignant. "How dare you accuse me as responsible for this delay! That James is just a lazy red septic tank that will never know the true meaning of hard work! Unlike us brake vans, of course!"

Dominic says he isn't responsible for James' woes that day. But we know better, don't we?

And apparently, Douglas did too. "Oh, stop yer lyin' and, Get MOV–in' you!" he thundered as they began the climb.

"Come On! Come On! Come On!" puffed James to the trucks.

Slowly but surely, with James snorting in front and Douglas barking behind, the two engines forced the heavy train up the hill. But because of his condition, James was quickly loosing steam.

"I CAN'T DO IT! I CAN'T DO IT!" he panted.

"LAE IT TAE ME! LAE IT TAE ME!" shouted Douglas. He pushed and puffed with all his might, working so hard that sparks leapt from his funnel!

"Oh-err!" groaned Dominic. "I wish I'd never thought of this!" He was being squeezed between Douglas and the trucks.

"Oh, what is it noo?!" Douglas strained, rather annoyed.

"TAKE IT EASY!" screamed Dominic, "I'M GETTING SQUISHED HERE!" There was a crack of splintering wood that was drowned out by Douglas' determined puffing. "DOUGLAS, I'M BREAKING APART! PLEASE STOP!"

"Ah, hogwash!" dismissed Douglas. "Ye'll be fine! Stop complainin' and-"

"YYYYYAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH!"

CRUNCH!

The screams could be heard for miles.

"Goodness!" cried James as he came to a stop a third of the way up the hill. "Douglas, what happened?!"

It took a while for Douglas to force the words from his mouth. "I-I-I-I… I juist smashed up Dominic!"

James was taken aback. That wasn't the answer he was expecting. "Wh-wh-wh-wh… What?! What do you mean 'smashed up'?!"

"I… I mean he's in splinters! Reduced tae kindlin'!" A wave of realization swept through Douglas. "Bust me buffers… I killed him!"

"Alright, alright," said James, now fulling realizing the gravity of the situation. "Let's not panic. We just need to-"

"JEAMES!" screamed Douglas. "I KILLED HIM! Oh God… Not again…"

I'm sorry to say that he did.

Dominic's body was smashed to pieces, which did effectively end his life. Luckily, the guard had jumped clear before the van collapsed, landing safely on the grass beside the line. Edward soon arrived with an empty truck and a coach full of workmen to clean up the mess. The job was long and brutal, as many men were unfortunate enough to come across splinters that still had essence hanging from it like thick red vines.

The police also arrived swiftly at the scene to conduct their investigation, ordering James and Douglas to wait at Maron until they were done. The Scottish engine was practically in tears.

"He said he was breakin' apart. He begged me tae stop. I told him tae shut it. Why dinna I listen?!"

"It's not your fault, Douglas," James consoled, feeling partly responsible. "I wasn't pulling hard enough."

"Medde I was pushin' too hard," Douglas sighed sadly. "I guess we'll never ken."

James was about to say something else, but a cold, unsympathetic voice spoke in his place.

"I MIGHT HAVE KNOWN IT WOULD BE DOUGLAS!"

Both engines jumped. There, standing on the platform, fists clenched, was the Fat Controller.

"S-sirr," began Douglas shakily. "I'm so sorry-"

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!" thundered the Fat Controller. "BOTH YOU AND YOUR 'BROTHER' HAVE CAUSED TOO MUCH TROUBLE SINCE YOU GOT HERE! It's a wonder why your controller hasn't called me about theft of property yet, and I intend to make sure he never gets the chance! I cannot have troublemakers and… and MURDERERS on my railway! When I can find time, I shall be sending both you and Donald back to Scotland WHERE YOU BELONG-"

"CHARLES! THAT'S ENOUGH!" The engines and the Fat Controller turned in the direction of the outburst. James shivered. He'd never seen Edward this angry before. The mess has been cleared, and Edward had brought the workmen and the police up to Maron upon the latter's request.

The old engine took a deep breath before continuing. "Lose of life aside, Douglas was grand, sir," said Edward, considering his next words carefully. "James had no steam left, but Douglas worked hard enough for three. I heard him all the way from Wellsworth."

"Two would have been enough," said the Fat Controller dryly. He paused for a moment, then turned back to James and Douglas. "I want to be fair, Douglas," he went on. "I admire your determination to help a fellow engine, but… I don't know… I really don't know." He turned and walked thoughtfully away.

But Douglas wasn't out of the clear yet. James was allowed to continue on his way, but due to the lack of a brake van, Edward ran at the rear of his train. Douglas, however, had to stay put so that the police could ask him a 'few' questions.

"Good… good luck, Douglas," James said quietly as he puffed away. Douglas muttered a 'thank you' as the red engine went. The Caledonian then, reluctantly, turned his attention to the constable that stood on the platform next to him.

"Now, Douglas was it?" the officer said sternly. "I understand you and the deceased have a rather nasty history?"

As you can tell by that question, the senior constable put Douglas through the ringer. And while he would be exonerated, that didn't stop some of Dominic's friends from chastising the Scottish engine, calling him a murderer, and worse. Though most of the trucks and the other engines (except for Gordon and Henry) were very supportive, for the longest time, Douglas was addled by the guilt of destroying that Spiteful Brake Van.

But… And I'm going to get in a lot of trouble for saying this… I think Dominic deserved it… Don't you?

Seven Months Later…

An inspector, clad in scarf and earmuffs, 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," he said, his voice carrying a hint of confusion.

The Fat Controller looked up from his newspaper. "Tell Donald and Douglas to drop it already!" he said bluntly.

"Erm, it's-it's not them," the inspector stammered. "This fell out of yesterday's mail deliver; thank goodness I was able to spot the little rascal on the tarmac before it was too late." He placed a white envelope on the desk. "It's addressed to you, sir."

The Fat Controller, curious, pulled the letter across the table towards him. Using a butter knife, he cut into the envelope and its contents easily slid out. It was a single note, which he read carefully. The period of silence grew longer and longer, and the inspector grew anxious.

"Is… Is anything the matter, sir?" he asked cautiously.

The Fat Controller finally spoke. "Bloody Hell!" he muttered, slamming the note back on the desk. He practically leapt up from his chair and made a beeline for his coat and hat. "Has the express departed yet?" he asked the inspector hastily.

"N-no," stammered the inspector taken aback. "Molly's not due to leave for another ten minutes."

"Good! I'll buy a ticket at once. Mr. Dibdin, you're in charge until I get back from London."

Of course, this wasn't the first time the inspector had taken the railway's reins in the Fat Controller's absence, but he was still rather confused. "London? Wh-what? What on earth is going on, Sir Topham?!"

"BR's Head Office has called an emergency meeting of the region controllers," the Fat Controller explained hastily. "I had no idea until you brought it to my attention. It was a good thing you found that letter, Mr. Dibdin." With that, after saying his goodbyes, the Fat Controller dashed out of his office and power-walked along the platform toward the ticket booth.

The inspector was more confused than he'd ever been before! He then turned his attention to the note supposedly from British Railways, now sprawled across the Fat Controller's desk. He picked it up and, although he couldn't explain why, he felt rather uneasy.

The note was written formally, true, but even so it couldn't have been from BR. What made that statement clear was that the company's crest, neither early nor late, was nowhere to be seen on the piece of paper which the inspector held. Instead, there was another symbol, one that was unfamiliar to him, and one that, in his blind panic, the Fat Controller had failed to notice.

Two parallel lines. Each ascending into a two-sided triangle halfway along. With two diamond shapes presented proudly by the lines' tips. One on each side.

Little did the inspector knew… That what the Fat Controller would learn during his time in London… Would forever change the Island of Sodor's way of life…