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The Story Of Gordon

Written by memesandtreasure

Proofread by the S:TTS Team

Chapter 1: Island

Isle of Sodor: 1922

"Hm. Quaint," the new engine thought to himself as he settled into his shed.

He was large by every standard, especially compared to the rather… diminutive company he found himself in. Coupled to a large eight wheel tender, he also bore four leading wheels, six large driving wheels, and a single trailing axle leading behind him.

He was also painted green, although a much brighter apple green than the three box tanks and whatever that… thing considered himself to be anyway. Each side of his tender would have bore the company logo of the GNR on them, as well as his number, but he wasn't one of them… not really; as such, he bore no number at all.

The railway itself was as small as the engines that ran it; hilly, short, and nothing like the vast and straight expanse that was the East Coast Main Line upon the formation of the LNER, it was an odd sight for him. Then again, he must have been odd to these new engines himself; after all, none of them had probably seen an engine of his splendor.

One who radiated power, speed, and grace above all else.

Such was the way with Gresley's engines, whether they be the dirtiest goods runners or the grandest passenger haulers, and covered the largest tender engines, the smallest tank engines, and everything in between.

He would have to prove that on this day, and he'd do so in nothing but style; a 100 mile per hour run the likes of which this Island of Sodor, nay, the entire world had never seen before.

He is Gordon, a Gresley prototype to what was sure to be the greatest express engine class to have ever been built.

And he felt unstoppable.

"You saw the way he stared at me, didn't you?"

"Yes, Henry, I did, but you weren't alone on that front. I think he looked at all of us like we were funny little toys on his way to the sheds," Thomas replied.

Their newest visitor had at least been quiet in his curiosity, tinged with the slightest bit of apprehension and aversion.

Henry hadn't been up to snuff on the express as of late, no matter how hard he tried; as such, the board and Fat Director agreed to move him to smaller trains while they looked for a bigger engine to pull the train themselves.

It just so happened that the LNER had a Gresley prototype to sell off, and as such, said engine was sent to them as soon as possible. His origins as a prototype had soon made their way across the island like a wildfire, and many couldn't help but look at him with a sense of fascination and intrigue, especially the engines.

That said, the novelty had soon run out for the latter after they realized that their most recent compatriot wasn't exactly interested in making friends. Henry had taken to him the least easily, especially when the visitor was caught shooting him offhanded glares like he wasn't meant to be built.

"I'm sure he's just nervous about being so far away from his old home," Eagle soothed. "I mean, wouldn't you be a bit snappish if you were sent away from where you were built and designed just because you were slightly off standard?"

"Yes, but that's not the point. I don't think he likes me, but I don't know why."

"Well, I don't think we can just ask him. For now though, let's see if he warms up to us at all; after all, we were ordered to make a good first impression," Neil added.

"You know I can hear you four, right?"

The other engines widened their eyes in shock; they swore that they'd been whispering as quietly as possible.

"To answer your inquiries in order, I stared at you because there were rumors of plans that had been stolen from the works at Doncaster by who was presumed to be a spy for an old rival of my designer," he answered Henry's question with. "And it just so happens that I believe you are the final product."

His gaze then turned to Thomas.

"I didn't mean to rattle your boiler, but I hadn't seen such a diverse fleet of engines before, especially considering how small some of you are in comparison to yours truly."

His next answer was directed at Eagle.

"I'm not snappish, and I don't miss Doncaster as much as you think. It pains me to say it, but I was only part of the Great Northern for about a year, and the LNER was a stint that proved even shorter. I miss the people of the works, and the engines I once spoke with before coming here, but I hold no emotional connection to what I left behind."

And his final answer was sent to Neil.

"For what it's worth, your island has been fairly hospitable despite my otherwise sour demeanor. For that, I apologize. Besides, I've made worse first impressions, and seen them too," the pacific chuckled.

The others soon joined in, surprised at how polite he was.

"I'm Gordon. What are your names?"

"I'm Thomas," the blue tank engine perked up. "The green tender engine to my right is Henry, the box tank to my left is Neil, and the engine next to said boxtank is a mogul named Eagle. Nice to meet you, Gordon."

"Yes… nice to meet you as well, Little Thomas, and your friends too."

"Do you have to call me that? Because I'm pretty large myself."

"What do you think is the answer?"

"...Yes?"

"Yes."

"...Bust my buffers. You have a sense of humor."

"Yes, I do."

Gordon's first day on Sodor had started out well. He found pleasant company in his new acquaintances, and the railway itself seemed like it would give him a good stretch for his wheels.

The question now lay in whether or not he would make a good first impression himself.

And oh boy, did he get quite the opportunity.

Gordon waited impatiently at the first station platform of Knapford. This was to be his trial run with the express, and he wanted to make sure he was on time.

"Hurry up, hurry up. I'm a very busy engine, and I've got places to be."

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there," Colin huffed as he shunted the rake of coaches.

Gordon was excited to feel his buffers make contact with other buffers, and his boiler began to build pressure in elation.

"Whoa, steady there. We haven't even left the station yet."

"This is our first time getting to pull a real train, and it's the heaviest this railway has to offer for the service we're taking. Isn't it exciting for either of you?"

"Well, certainly, but it's not like we're looking to break records here… unless…"

"I'll lay down the sand," the fireman muttered as he opened up Gordon's sandboxes.

As he did so, another engine had pulled into the track next to him, already coupled to her own set of coaches.

Apart from her different valve gear, rather oddly shaped cylinders, and the lack of an extra driving axle, she looked oddly close to his basic shape; more importantly, she looked even more akin to a certain Atlantic he once mentored under.

"Alice?"

"Do I look like an Alice to you?"

"I… yes?"

"I'm just Yang-ing your coupling; In all honesty though, my name's Yang. You must be the new engine Mr. Topham was talking about."

"Yes, I am. My name is Gordon, and you look quite like this engine I knew back on the Mainland."

"Is she an Atlantic too?"

"Yes, she is. Were you, by any chance, designed by a Douglas Earle March?"

"Right on the dot. He was part of the Great Northern before he came to the London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway. The Great Northern… that's your homeland."

"Well, it was where I came from before it was assimilated into the LNER, yes, but… I don't consider it much of a home to begin with."

"Ah… well, good luck on your inaugural run. Try not to break any records out there, alright?"

"You know, if I had a single pence for every time someone said that to me, I'd have two. It's not a lot, but it's weird considering I've heard that twice in the same day."

"Hm… funny guy, I see. Don't try to out-pun me though. Well, Godspeed, Gordon. Godspeed."

Gordon chuckled in response.

"Thank you."

The guard's whistle blew, the brakes on the coaches were released, and finally, Gordon set off down the Main Line.

Gordon thundered down the rails like he'd never been allowed to move before.

This run was to test his limits and see where they lie, and needless to say, he wasn't going to disappoint.

His pistons pumped, and his boiler burned with an ache, but it would be worth it to show the world just what he was made of. That hundred mile an hour run was sure to be his.

But then there was trouble.

"Driver, why are we slowing down?"

"Speed limits, Gordon. The island's smaller than the old East Coast Main Line you're so used to, and hillier too. We've got to keep to the rails, no matter how badly we want to break the ton."

Gordon groaned, but hoped it wouldn't matter too much for his ultimate goal.

As he rushed down the rails, many a passerby looked on in sheer awe. Children had gotten as close to the main line's trackage as they could, hoping to catch a glimpse of this new green blur, while adults either did the same or complained about the noise of his bark; engines were no less suggestive to either mindset.

"That green devil nearly threw my boiler off my frames," Matthew complained as Gordon ran down the rails. "Surely we don't need a speed demon to take over our main passenger work for us."

"For once, you and I agree, Boxtank," Alfred whispered to no one in particular.

This newcomer, stronger and faster than anything he had ever seen before, represented his ticket to survival. If he had him wrapped around his buffer, he and Cecil were sure to stay around for the rest of their working lives.

With that said, these machinations going on inside of their smokeboxes were completely unknown to Gordon, who happily sang to himself and his crew.

"Do come along, we can't be late. Do come along, we can't be late," the prototype sang, much to the amusement of his driver and fireman.

"You think he'll ever stop?", questioned the latter, receiving a shake of the head from his companion.

"No. Do you want him to stop?"

"No."

"Then it's settled."

But the singing did stop, and with it, the ride to their final destination came to an end as well.

Engine and crew were greeted with photographers, who looked from every angle all at once to get their perfect shot, but the reporters were easily the most excited.

The passengers within the dynamometer car stepped out, all with rather big grins plastered upon their faces.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our newest member of the North Western Railway, Gordon, has just made history. Meet the first engine to have clocked in at 100 miles per hour!"

Many were stunned at first, unsure of what to say or do, but a bystander in the form of a man walking out of a pub began to cheer and clap for the achievement.

The reporters were the next to follow suit.

Then came the passengers.

Next were Gordon's crew.

And finally, Gordon let out the loudest whistle he could, proud of his accomplishment and finally feeling comfortable in his new home.

Surely, his ego wouldn't grow from this.

Right?

Many weeks had passed since Gordon's record setting run, and with it came startling changes to the North Western Railway.

The test train that Gordon had pulled was converted into an express service called the Wild Nor' Wester, albeit with more stops and greater speed restrictions in place.

Gordon himself had been repainted North Western blue with red stripes, now bearing the number 4 on each side of his tender instead. The engine had also taken to making his standing amongst them much clearer, siding against Alfred upon realizing just what he was trying to pull.

He hated yard politics, and generally kept out of the gossip, but when the rumors came out about him replacing the other express engines for good, he couldn't help but be a little bit of a prick about it, especially with his astonishing feat of speed in mind.

"It isn't a surprise that they'd choose me to be the new flagship engine," he'd often regale any unlucky soul in the area with. "After all, I am the first engine to have reached 100 miles per hour."

The workers were lucky that they could at least excuse themselves, and most of the engines could take the boasting well enough to last until their next train was to be taken away, but the express engines took it the hardest. They had been replaced, and while they weren't being sent away for scrap, they were still relegated to slower trains and much less intense services than before.

The fact that Gordon was one to brag hadn't helped matters either.

"Oh my god, if he doesn't can it with the speed record, I am going to push him out to sea and personally send him back to the workshop he was built in," Adam grumbled at Elsbridge, with Thomas listening thoughtfully.

"I know how you feel, but don't worry. It'll probably die down soon enough, and we'll all be able to go back to our jobs like nothing," Thomas soothed the Radial with.

"Really?"

"No. I'm not really sure at this point. Did it make you feel better though?"

"...A little."

"Good. Now, I've got to get going. Stay strong, Adam. Stay strong."

As Thomas puffed away with his morning local, Adam grit his teeth.

"Will do, Thomas. Will… do…"

"Oh, so you think you're better than us?", questioned Yang.

"Stronger, faster, much more modern and efficient? Yes. More experienced? Obviously not, but you three are better fits for slower passenger trains than the ones I'm made for anyway."

The atmosphere at Vicarstown Sheds was tense, and the bickering between the engines stationed there only grew louder.

"I can't believe Hatt chose you to keep up the express work, you overgrown sausage. Did your designer not have something more conventional on hand?", the Stirling Single growled.

"Conventional or not, I'm a success. After all, I did hit-"

"100 miles an hour, we know," murmured Adam.

"I'm simply reiterating the very reason I'm the new express engine. It isn't my fault that I'm capable of such a thing."

"How about you take that speed feat and shove it-"

"That's enough, Ruby," boomed a voice.

The engines stopped, and all looked toward the source. It was the data recorder of the run, wearing a neutral expression on his face.

"There is no need for such crass remarks after all. That said, number four, you do not have the right to brag about the things you've accomplished and lord them over your predecessors. Besides… it wasn't even 100 miles an hour."

"...Excuse me?"

"Yeah, so it turns out we miscalculated several key points, and the dynamometer's speedometer wasn't exactly in the best shape… you didn't hit 100 miles. You hit 94."

"...Oh…"

"Well well well, look who's not so high and mighty now, number four?"

"I mean, it still blows yours out of the water, Yang. 90 miles an hour is no laughing matter, but it's not the island record anymore. Sorry."

With that, the data recorder left the astonished engine to their own devices. Gordon was decidedly mortified at the revelation, and fell silent.

"...Well, I guess we both kind of sucked," Yang solemnly uttered. "So, you want to… talk about it?"

"...No… not really."

With that, Gordon's life on the island began, not with a bang, but with a decent pop.

He would pull the express as its lead engine for many years, and kept the same design while doing so.

Unfortunately, that wouldn't last forever.

That, however, is a story for another day.

NWR No. 4

Name: Gordon

Design: Prototypical A1

Cylinders: 3 (20" x 26")

Driving Wheel Diameter: 6' 8" (80 inches)

Boiler: 180 PSI

Result: 29,835 pounds of tractive force

Rebuild status: not required (yet?)

Notes:

Possible maintenance issues in the future; need to keep an eye on inner cylinder and valve gear

Hill climbing heavily degraded by width of drivers

Length issues caused by tender; solvable with coupling loco to Fowler Tender; engine too big or tender too small?

Possible use of the spare boiler on No. 3?

Application of tubes and flues on bigger engines?

Decent with freight, but could use a bit more tact with trucks

Crew adjusting well; inviting them to drinks at Godred's Watering Hole next week