#ttte&f

Constructive criticism welcome! 

(Originally published July 6, 2017)

Wednesday: June 19, 1940

The next morning, I was awakened by the warmth of the pilot light in my firebox, set alight by a cleaner who had swept the floor, polished all my controls, turned a small valve that looked as if it were built for a garden hose, checked to ensure my auraphone was rising from a low contralto at a healthy rate, and moved on to Edward on my immediate left. Simmering comfortably, I woke up slowly to see, through the crack in my shed door- for the windows were boarded up on account of blackout regulations- that the morning sky was already beginning to brighten. By the time most of our drivers had arrived on their bicycles, we were all still groggy but beginning to grow sharper.

"Good morning, old boy," greeted Boris as he boarded my cab.

He waited a while, but I didn't bother giving anything above a low groan. "Anybody home?" he joked, looking up and rapping at the glass of my fisheye.

"Stop it!" insisted Maxwell, and all-but-shoved him to the back of the cab. I gave a lazy 'tsk-tsk-tsk' in agreement.

"That's no way to start a morning," yawned Edward to whomever it may have concerned.

"Ah well," I responded, "just, erm... be thankful we're heating up in time for the Report."

Edward, who had heard the rumors of my earlier bank engine fiasco with the Wild Nor'Wester, stifled a chuckle. Henry, Gordon and James didn't bother to hold back.

"PFFFFAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH HA ha ha ha!"

"AAAW HA HA HO HO ho ho ho huh huh huh…!"

"Eh HAH ha ha ha hah hah heh heh heh heh...!"

Edward kept quiet because he knew better than to give them a rise. I kept quiet because I knew of no other option.

Preview:

(Originally posted 7/15/2017)

Constructive criticism welcome!

Wednesday: June 26, 1940

"Gud moahnin', Mr. Havirty," said Sir Topham Hatt.

"Good morning, Sir," our Foreman responded flatly.

"An' gud moahnin' tuh you," Hatt greeted us, turning our way.

"Gurrd mrrrrnnng, Durrrurrcturrrrr…" the rest of us moaned, still drowsy.

"Mah wohd!" the mogul ejected sharply. "J-jahsht look et yuhselves! Whot evuh wuh ya doin' ohll naight!?"

Henry had had trouble getting up to steam lately, Havirty explained to him, and so the night before, he and the rest of the workmen had worked on him trying to find out precisely why. This meant they had to light his fire, see how long it took for steam to build, disappointedly bring it back down, make several adjustments and notes, light Henry's fire again, rinse and repeat. The roaring and crackling of the fire and hissing of steam made it a sleepless night for Henry, for the other engines, for Havirty and his engineers, and, I suspect, for the rest of the borough. Indeed, the workers were still crawling all over Henry like ants in dungarees. We all were staring forlornly at him, and he glanced miserably back at us, but Havirty reassured us that he would be back to work in a week at most.

The Morning Report proceeded as it had all week before. Sir Hatt was handed this morning's inspection papers by Havirty, both of them forcing polite grins. They had a brief discussion about the day before, which I had never cared for. With that, Hatt gave Havirty his orders on paper and quit the scene, punctual as always.

7:38 AM

Platform 1 seemed to be dimmer somehow. The cobblestone walls were a deeper shade of gray, the green paint on the pillars holding up the station's glass roof seemed to become duller, the posters with the colorful countryside paintings boasting "It's Quicker By Rail" were gone, and in their place were simple posters that announced, below a drawing of a crown, such messages as:

Keep Calm and Carry On Freedom Is In Peril, Defend It With All Your Might Your Courage, Your Cheerfulness, Your Resolution Will Bring Us Victory

Yeah, I figured. That was probably why.

"Abaht toime ya showed up! This plaice shmells lahke an oshtreh."

Oh yeah. And HIM. So much for courage and cheerfulness.

It was taking all the resolution I could muster to carry on in the face of our Mister Five-By-Five, let alone Hitler.

"With all due respect, Sir," said the Butler at his side, "this is a train station. It's supposed to smell like ash. Shall I fetch another french roast from the cafe out front?"

"Yesh, thaink ya," answered my Sir, readying his handkerchief.

I turned my gaze to the right of the coach in front of me, not about to witness him gorge himself again. Reaching the end of the platform with the express coaches, I happened upon Havirty having a chat with another train guard at a bench on Platform 2.

"How's work at Anopha, Jo?"

"Um… okey. But it does have its moments. You know that one huge timetable mix-up a couple days ago that held up three trains? See, they found it was 'cos of a truck on the first train that was written 'Do Not Hump' in a goods train to a hump yard. If that really was the case, I suppose it's on me. I's the one who wrote it there. See, they keep catchin' a guy who's a closet-o-rama-file-a-yak or somethin', an' it's a really long word an' it means the guy runs off to the same sidin' at night ta pay a truck a visit, an' he spoons it 'til four 'cos it gets 'im hahd. So they keep catchin' 'im, yeah, but the delinquent keeps gettin' away, right? Good. Now I's not havin' the trucks 'round the quarry be sticky wit' dew in the mornin's, so…"

The rambling dullard went on and on, like the background music in a stuffy cafe, long after I had stopped listening. In the meantime, the passengers shuffled aboard the coaches, the porter brought the luggage trolleys into the guard's van, and the guard inspected the couplings between the coaches, this time checking twice to see if the chains were hanging loosely between my buffers and those of the coach in front of me.

Suddenly, after the guard took his place at the far end of the platform with his green flag, everything around the train seemed to freeze in place. Even the wind hung in the air.

"What's going on?" I asked my driver, confused.

"Just as I feared, old boy," said Maxwell worriedly. "This really is supposed to be Henry's train."

"But Henry's being fixed at the depot. He can't work."

(sigh) "Exactly."

"Who is pulling this train, then?"

"I don't know."

"Edward?"

"No, he has to take a goods train first thing this morning."

"James?"

"He might. But it's twenty past seven. If so he'd be here by now. Or at least in short order."

"We're going to be late, aren't we?"

"I… I honestly don't see why not."

Oh, bugger. Oh God. Oh no! I thought. I caught myself almost in the same moment, but my cab auraphone betrayed me.

"Stop it!" barked Max; then seeing that he had my attention, he lowered his voice. "Get a hold of yourself! Feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to change a thing."

"I'm trying. But what else is there to do?"

"…Well, the guard is talking to our Fat Controller right now," he noted. "I hope they'll think of something."

"Wait!"

(sigh) "What now?"

"Can… can you tell me the riddle again? The one from the ancient land?"

"..."

"The one the traveler told you? You told me to remember it in case something really went wrong like this."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well… this is how I remember it. There's a great big desert, and in the desert, there's two huge stone legs with no body, and there's also a huge broken vase shaped like a head. The legs and head are supposed to be from a statue, but there's no reason it should be there; there's no one to see it, because it's only desert sand as far as the eye can see in any direction. So who built the statue?"

"Ya mum's hairy pits!" Boris catcalled.

The dullard next to Havirty burst out laughing, and our yard boss dragged him away in embarrassment.

The guard and Mr. Hatt, who had been rudely interrupted by the outburst, now resumed talking, this time with my full attention.

"...Rahght. Hae's fahrd. Nahw! How much tahme d'we have t'soaht dis aht?"

"Until the train's due out? … Roughly four minutes."

Sir Hatt, gripping his hat with his left hand and cradling his forehead in his right, gave a long sigh. He turned to his butler, handed him his coffee, then stomped audibly in my direction with a scowl. "Mr. Wilkinson! Mr. Tell!" he called, and my driver and fireman came out of my cab. He took them behind me for a few minutes to tell them something I couldn't hear, in a concise, anxious almost-whisper.

He soon dismissed them, and while they silently went back into my cab, Sir Hatt walked over to stand on my buffer beam. His scowl loosened when he saw the look on my face. I didn't know what to think, and I looked the part. If my complexion hadn't always been as such, it would be safe to say I had gone white-as-a-sheet.

"Tommush, lishin tah me," he pronounced slowly and concisely. "It'll ahll be ahkay."

"Yes, sir?" I panted, trying to look as presentable as I could.

"Ah want yeh ta pool this tren twinteh mahls, ta Crowsby an' Willswuhth. Leave thah coachus there fah Idwahd, and come bahck ta tha Stehhtion whin tha deed is done. Thess tren is goin' with yah, or it's naht goin' ahtohll. Just pehce yohself and keep an eye out fah signal towahs. Do ya know how they wahk?"

"Up-and-red-train-ahead!(gasp)D-down-and-green-track-is-clean, SIR!" I spat anxiously, my dome already throbbing with excitement.

"Jakers, ah said ta pehce yohself," he replied with a sigh of relief. "Well, tha-'s toahn it. Dismissed!" And turning back round to the guard, he said, "Git the shontah ta tha head o' tha trehn, pronto!" As he walked away, his butler handed him back his coffee mug and he took a swig.

"Ahhh… kkkhck!-pthw! Leahst it isn't boiling hot."

7:44 AM

I took a moment to look around.

I looked up at the shimmering glass on the station roof, with the occasional bird dropping here and there, as if to break up the monotony.

I looked down at my buffer beam to make sure all the equipment was in working order, and briefly flashed back to the awful moment I witnessed the coupler chain pull taut not so long ago.

I looked to my left at the tall steeples and chimneys that jutted out of the lake of roofs that was Knapford town. Old Prince Gordon also caught my eye as he lumbered into the yard. Oh, what a shock he's in for, I thought to myself. Now he'll see how much I know about hard work and dedication!

I looked to my right at the woods that obscured whatever lay beyond for miles around, and the gold-tipped ridge that rose above the treetops in the distance.

Finally, I looked straight ahead of me, at the green signals of the Gate and the open line beyond, in wait for the sacred Whistle.

I would never look back.

On.

And the fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth: and to him was given the key of the bottomless pit. And he opened the bottomless pit; and there arose a smoke out of the pit, as the smoke of a great furnace; and the sun and the air were darkened by reason of the smoke of the pit.

And in this darkness, I could feel only a strong wind that swept my soul off the ground and sent it cartwheeling helplessly through the air like an autumn leaf. It gave the sensation of a bottomless pit, although I knew I had simply gone numb. In a moment I could feel the ground beneath my wheels again. My vision, at first a bright blur, slowly came back into focus; sky-blue and deep green came first, followed by a deep beige that soon filtered itself into grey ballast and brown sleepers. Then there came the white of clouds, the grey of factory smoke, and the blackish grey of the steel rails I was on. By then, I could also hear my own loud huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff in tune with each stroke of my rods and turn of my wheels. I looked back at Gordon again as I passed him, and I saw, to my surprise, that he had a spirited grin on his face. It was the happiest I'd ever seen him looking at me. He was soon gone behind me, as was Knapford town and the gateway that separated the junction from the open line.

I had been here once before, but I hadn't cared for the scenery. This time, it was enrapturing. I had never seen so many shades of a single color in my life, and I briefly imagined that this was what the Emerald City of Oz looked like. Furthermore, these shades were forever shifting, for the same wind that was in my face, almost stinging my lenses, was rustling the leaves all around. Aside from this, the only noise was of my own escaping steam, the occasional birdcall, and the ta-tuck ta-tuck, ta-tuck ta-tuck of the rails beneath my wheels.

In a strange way, it reminded me of the evenings when our fires were being doused and cleaned and all was slowing down for a good night's rest. Perhaps this was what encouraged me to start to let down my guard and cutoff rate alike. I caught myself each time, though, knowing I had a train to pull and didn't want to be late. But then I went back to watching those leaves, and it was so quiet, and I got so tired, but I pulled myself back up again only to stare back at the leaves. It happened at least twice- maybe four times- along my journey, and I nearly felt out of steam by the time Crosby, the quaint town with its little platform, booking office and car park by the side of the line- and our next stop- finally appeared in the distance.

The workmen had explained to me that the platform there was usually crowded with people who took the train to their Jobs in the big cities. But as I coasted sorely to a stop near the end of the platform, looking for a water crane, we couldn't help but notice that there were no passengers to be found. There were two trolleys at the ready, a janitor leaning against the office wall, sandwich in hand, and a porter waving a red flag. The janitor's eyes met mine as he chuckled to himself.

Boris stepped onto the platform impatiently. "What the devil are you laughing at?" he interrogated. "And where are all the passengers!?"

"The railway bus came and went ten minutes ago," explained the porter, gesturing to me. "Say, uh, that isn't supposed to be the Limited… is it?"

"…oh, BUGGER!"

His shout triggered a force of habit and I looked behind me.

Through the bronze rim of my cab window, the lone and level line stretched far away.

Friday: June 28, 1940 ~1:00 PM (Greenwitch Time)

Scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch.

The noise of the scrubber's stiff spindles was as irritating as always, but there was nothing else for me to focus on with my apertures shut tight to keep soap from getting in. We engines hate being dirty, sure, but we barely enjoy washdowns either. It's all too easy to get hot and bothered when you bleed steam, live on coal and give off smoke, but after spending half a day of this sort of irritation, the water they use is usually lukewarm! On bank holidays, though, Havirty has the water run through a chiller before it comes out the crane, which punctuates them for us the way children's presents punctuate Christmas. (And on snow days, he has the water heated instead, which feels just as refreshing.)

It goes without saying that we turn green with envy whenever we hear the workmen complain about cold showers.

"Okay… and now for the right tank." Scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch...

"Hnnnnnmmm," I grunted defeatedly under the soap bubbles.

"What was that?" the cleaner said, wiping my face off with a flannel.

My eyes now clear, I could see that Edward, pushing a long wagonload of chittering trucks and vans two tracks to my right, was helping the workmen arrange them into that evening's goods trains. The men would work their way up the line towards Edward, marking the numbers of the sidings the trucks were slated for on their sides with pieces of chalk. When a truck reached the junction ahead, the signalman would see the chalk markings and set the points for that siding. The truck would be uncoupled, and on the foreman's mark Edward would give a single, mighty stroke with a huff of escaping steam, sending it coasting gently on its way into the siding.

"Mark!"

"wha?-oof!ah!he-e-ey!heyheyhey!waitwaitnononoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaDHNG!"

As laughter rang through the rest of the yard, I allowed myself a quiet chuckle before turning my attention back to the cleaner.

"Oh, that was all, Miss Meriwether. Carry on."

"Look, I know it's taking a while," she replied. "But I haven't seen this much soot on an engine in months! Not since the coal fire, even." And she gave a shudder.

"It's the big engines," I explained. "They've been blowing smoke at me for forgetting the Limited."

"You didn't forget it," Meriwether corrected. "The guard did!"

I suppose nobody knows exactly what had happened that fateful morning at Knapford Station. Sir Topham Hatt told us Maxwell had opened my regulator by accident, Max said the guard had forgotten to couple me up, the guard said the stationmaster had refused to allow him to inspect the train before we left, the stationmaster said our Fat Controller had insisted that we left on the dot, and Henry, Gordon and James all said a whiny little pug just hadn't the common sense to leave well enough alone.

"Madam," said Edward, in a voice that felt like an electric blanket, "do you mind if I talked to our Number One about this?"

The old cleaner nodded understandably.

"I know how you feel, little one. This could go one of two ways: either something new comes up and they forget about the whole Limited thing, or they let it blind them to everything else that sets you apart. And already, just for being a tank engine, they think they're better than you."

"...Are they?" I posed.

"Well, I see the work you do each day out in the yard," the cleaner pitched back in, "getting everything ready for the big boys and then picking up their mess. And I think from all those years you've been doing that, it's made you the sharpest of all. I mean, they only need enough smarts to go forward 'til they see a red light. Why, I don't even think I can keep track of how many sidings there are in that blasted yard!"

"Why… thank you, Miss. I'd never thought of it that way."

"Mark!" came the order.

-huff!-

-clunk!-

"ow!he-e-ey!no!no-no-no-no-no!no-no-no-no-nonononoaaaaaaaaaah!"

The wagon slid slowly down the line, screaming to itself all the while. Edward and I chuckled again.

"And besides," continued the old craftmaster, "there's no room for a second fisheye on those big tenders of theirs. Take it from me; my fisheye peeks a bit over my own tender, but even I need my driver's help looking out behind me." Then, with a chuckle, he added, "But if you still really want to go off to war, see the world, be a hero... then I won't stop you."

"He's certainly got the courage and cheerfulness to bring us victory," Meriwether joked, remembering the poster on the station wall, "not to mention the determination. Matter of fact-" here she paused, glaring into Edward's lenses- "I wonder if you could pull some strings for us?"

"What?" started Edward, bewildered.

"Well, you've done it before," she explained. "We all know what went down between you and those union men!"

"...I suppose so. But I don’t work for free."

"I'll leave thirty pence in your cab this morning as collateral; then, when you talk it over with Havirty, you two can decide that for yourselves."

"Mark!"

"...aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"Now, Thomas…"

"Yes, Edward?"

"If I tell you how, would you be willing to try pulling another train?"

There was a long silence.

"I don't know," I answered, after giving it some thought. "Maybe? I mean, I'd love to. But what if something goes wrong again?"

"Then let me rephrase that question," said Edward slowly and clearly. "Have you become too afraid of failure to even try? Or are you still willing to open yourself up to the possibility of defeat and disgrace, all so you can travel the world and redeem yourself in the eyes of your fellow jinn?"

I didn't reply at first. In spite of himself, he began to grow impatient, and it showed in his voice as he glared back at me.

"Thomas!?"

"I'll give it a try, Edward," I determined, as he followed my gaze to the gold-peaked hill in the distance. "What have I got to lose?"

July 2, 1940 7:15 AM, Greenwich Time

As I swept downhill in an overwhelming freefall, there was nothing I could do. There was almost nothing I could even feel.

There was a blur of blues and greens and greys in my lenses that slowly darkened. There was the seething of air past my face and over my funnel. There was the awful, rusty chortling of the trucks and vans behind me.

There was a sudden, rugged tremor undertyre. There was as distant alarm bell.

And then there was only a dull ache from my front axle and a festering pang of failure. Soon, even these faded away, and I was alone.

The shrill -peep!-peep!-pip!-peep!- of a steam whistle was the first thing I sensed in a long while.

Preview:

I was still smelling what I thought was the ruster gas all around me, and I was wondering how the people could manage to breathe that stuff constantly without dying. And why did neither Maxwell, nor Boris, nor anyone else in this harbor seem to notice it? I wondered. They’re probably feeling the gas rusting them, too, but it’s not strong enough for them to notice it. Wait a moment! Boris said the Germans weren’t here yet. Maybe they’re releasing it from just behind that sea fret, my fear beckoned me to imagine, but the gas breaks down in the air so it’s not strong enough to be dangerous?

HIS LITTLE DIESEL DUDES

splatter and dodge right

EQUALLY SILLAAAY