#1930s train station

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Greta Garbo en route to her native land, Sweden, from Grand Central Station, August 2, 1932. When she arrived in New York, she donned sunglasses, an upturned collar, and a hat with a downturned brim in an effort to go incognita.

Photo: Associated Press

[kafkasapartment]

Elevated Train Station, Lower Broadway and the Battery, 1936. William Sharp. Oil on canvas.

[fawnvelveteen]

Marlene Dietrich arriving at a Parisian train station on May 19, 1933.

[voca1ion]

The New York Central Building was built as the headquarters of the New York Central Railroad and as a companion to Grand Central Terminal. Both sat in the middle of Park Avenue, and looking north from south of 42nd one would see this tower looming over the Beaux-Arts terminal. This view is looking south, so the terminal is out of view. The construction of the Pan-Am building between the terminal and tower has since prevented people from viewing both at the same time as was intended. Today, the tower is called the Helmsley Building.

[semioticapocalypse]

Paul Wolff. Entrance to the train station. Zurich. 1931

Follow my new AI-related project «Collective memories»

[artdecoandmodernist]

The most beautiful Art Deco train in the world, the Mercury in Chicago Station. 1936.

[emmieexplores2]

Rock Island Depot in Peoria, Illinois was captured in a photograph taken by Charles Medin on May 28, 1930.

[melbmemories]

Princes Bridge Station, Melbourne Victoria circa 1930's.

[kronika-ilustrowana]

Лабиринт путей и белые облака паровозного пара.

[aryburn-trains]

CNW train, engine number 1538, engine type 4-6-2 Train #201, the Nightingale; 9 cars. Photographed: Omaha, Nebr., 1930s.

[mjalford98]

Evening photoshoot earlier this year with Great Western Steam Locomotive no 4079 Pendennis Castle, recreating scenes from the heyday of the steam era in the 1920s & 1930s, with all the night photos edited & published - a few more day time shots to receive some attention.

This was my first experience of an organised photoshoot, and great fun combining subject matter of a classic train with crew and passengers in historic costume, recreating the atmosphere of a world which once was so relatively recently, and which, at least in part, I would heartily support bringing back.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Thousands of men, women, and children gather at Pennsylvania Station on December 7, 1933 to greet Samuel Leibowitz, the lawyer defending the Scottsboro men.

Photo: NY Daily News

[camarocarfight]

Alastor's Bloody Valentine

Human Alastor x Reader late Valentine's Day special

Rated very mature with sexual content, murder, blood, and gore. Set in the 1930s with human characters. I suppose you could look at this as being a little Alastor back story.

Maybe there'll be a part deux?

It's kinda edited, but I got lazy and lost interest, and I just wanted to finish it. I hope all of you dear readers enjoy!

New Orleans, 1932

There was a chill in the air, carried in on a breeze that whistled through the old willow trees, and rustled their long, spindle-like branches. The trill of grasshoppers and crickets and the occasional screech of a night owl were customary of the bayou. Only interrupted by the nightly steam train, whose whistle echoed for miles until it faded like a whisper. There was no moon - only an ebony sky accompanied by its thousands of starry hosts. 

As serene as it all seemed, the bayou was one of the most dangerous places to be in 1932. Not just because of the alligators, snakes, and venomous spiders. The neighboring town was full of talk about the Louisiana serial killer, who lured their victims into the darkness of the bayou to slaughter them, leaving no trace or remains. People simply vanished, though it seemed to be mostly men of diverse age and status. Innocent and not so innocent. The most recent being a younger gentleman who had just gotten married. The papers did fail to mention that he'd nearly beaten his new wife within an inch of her life not long after the wedding, but news traveled fast. He was the thirteenth person to go missing.

With Valentine's Day came the fear of who the next victim would be. Mothers and wives kept tight leashes on their sons and husbands, and the police put in place a mandatory curfew. Temporary police sentinels were stationed on street corners, keeping watch over the streets day and night. Which subsequently made it more difficult to get to and from the only speakeasy in town. The police were happy - killing two birds with one stone. 

“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, don't let this curfew get you down. Take your gal out on the town for some swing and make the most out of your Valentine's Day. Ladies, keep your gents close, and stay safe-”

“Y’see,” Mimzy turned the cathedral radio off with a huff and crossed her arms over her voluptuous chest. “This curfew is ruinin’ everything!” 

You rolled your eyes and leaned your elbow on the bar and rested your cheek in the palm of your hand. Mimzy had been on a tangent for the last week for having to close the speakeasy. Being that it was in the basement of an old sugar mill, it was too risky to keep it running with the police snooping around. In one night, with the help of Husker, all of the liquor was moved under the cover of darkness to the crawl space of Alastor's hunting cabin deep in the bayou. The liquor would at least be safe if the police felt it necessary to search the sugar mill. The only thing they'd find would be an empty stage and bar. 

With no speakeasy, the regular meet and greet for you and all of your friends was the cabin. It was a comfortable space, at least. Alastor had used the extra money he made from his radio show to install new, polished wood floors, a nice bar, and even a loft with a decent sized bed when he would stay for the first week of hunting. It also had a decent kitchen, which was Alastor's favorite feature. As for you, Alastor made sure to give you your own bit of space. In the corner of the main room was a stone fireplace with book shelves flanking either side. The shelves were filled to the brim with books of every genre. Hanging above the fireplace was Alastor’s prized Stag - previously occupied by Alastor’s portrait from when he was in the service. You never did tell him just how creepy you found the stuffed creature. Alastor loved the hunting sport, but you appreciated wildlife as just that; alive. 

Mimzy sauntered over from the radio and sat herself on a rickety barstool, her brows pinched. “How am I gonna make money? Who knows how long this whole thing will go on for. And where's Alastor? His show ended an hour ago. His ass better not be dead too.”

You sighed and stood from your barstool to round the bar. There was a bottle of, ironic enough, Red Stag that was already open. It wasn't your first choice, but prohibition made everyone less picky. You poured yourself a generous glass, only for Mimzy to swipe it from you, and gulp it down in one swig. Your eye twitched in irritation as you glared at the woman through your lashes. The relationship between the two of you was decent enough, but as of late, she'd been grating your nerves and testing your patience. Mimzy's flamboyant personality didn’t jive well with your own in an enclosed space. You were more reserved, shy, and softly spoken. Not to mention that the cabin had always been an intimate space for you and Alastor. It didn't seem so intimate now - being that it was now shared space with Mimzy and Husker. 

“Would you like another drink before I pour my own,” you asked, your voicing clipped. 

Your head was pounding now, with a migraine blooming behind your eyes. The little grin that slid over Mimzy's lips told you that she knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Actually, Doll, I would,” she flashed you a grin with her nose wrinkling as she did so. “You're such a good friend,” Mimzy cooed and thrust her empty glass in your face. 

Your grip on the bottle of Red Stag was white knuckle, and you opened your mouth to give her a piece of your mind, but the words caught in your throat when the cabin door opened. Both you and Mimzy looked over to see Husker coming through the door with Alastor trailing behind him. Your shoulders visibly deflated when your gaze met Alastor's.

Mimzy put her glass down on the bar and threw her arms up in glee. “Alastor! I'm so glad to see you!”

“And I you,” Alastor grinned. “Thanks for holding down the fort and watching over my darling for me.”

“I don't need a babysitter,” you grumbled and nodded your head at Husker when he gave you a sympathetic smile. “Hey, Husk.”

“Cher,” Husk greeted in that deep, baritone voice. 

Alastor laughed boisterously and leaned on the bar in front of you. Upon meeting his gaze, his chocolate brown pools started to melt away all of the tension in your body. It was so easy for you to get lost in his eyes. 

“I jest, my dear. Husker here is going to drive Mimzy home, and we are going to celebrate!”

Mimzy quirked a brow and made a sound akin to a high-pitched scoff. “I ain't ready to leave yet. I want to celebrate too! We could have a round of drinks!”

Husk had noticed that you and Alastor had yet to tear apart your gazes and were seeming lost in each other. Alastor flashed you a dazzling smile and leaned over the bar to press a chaste kiss to your lips. That was enough for your cheeks to flush and become a brilliant crimson. 

“C'mon,” Husk grabbed Mimzy's fur coat off the coat rack and all but threw it into the woman's face. “Before I drag your ass to the car.”

Mimzy put her coat on in a huff, then fussed over her hair, throwing insults at Husker as she did so. 

“Thank you,” you mouthed to Alastor and waved to Mimzy as she was all but pushed out the door by Husker. You could hear her nagging as she walked all the way to the door. “Poor Husker.”

“He'll live,” Alastor hummed and gave you a wink. “Mimzy, however,” he chuckled.

“That would be too good to be true,” you mumbled and grabbed the bottle of Red Stag to pour yourself that long awaited glass. “How was work?”

Alastor set about removing his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress. Your gaze was drawn to the newly exposed, tan flesh of his forearms. “Same as always, my dear. I'm sure you were listening?”

“Until Mimzy turned the radio off,” You walked into the main sitting area and sat in your favorite rocking chair. 

In your left hand was your glass of bourbon that you then took a sip of. From over the brim of the glass, you continued to study your partner as he made himself comfortable. Alastor's bowtie was now untied, and the top button of his dress shirt undone, exposing a delicious expanse of his neck. Being that it was Valentine's Day, you hoped that it meant that Alastor wouldn't mind taking everything farther than usual. The man would tease you here and there, whispering dirty things in your ear, because he knew it riled you up. The act of sex, however, just didn't fit his idealism. Any affection from Alastor would include kissing and touching, maybe heavy petting, but the two of you had only had penetrative sex a handful of times. Each time it happened was mind-blowing, leaving you craving more and waiting on bated breath to feel him the same way again. You could feel yourself beginning to flush just thinking about it - the heat slowly building up in your chest and rising until your cheeks were crimson. At least you could blame it on the bourbon, which you quickly threw back and tore your gaze away from Alastor. 

“So,” Alastor sat down on the couch and crossed his legs, and draped his left arm over the back of the couch. “Quiet evening with a shared drink, my darling?”

Honestly, the man was entirely too distracting. It didn't help either that the bourbon was affecting you far sooner than you anticipated. Your mind blanked, seeing Alastor sitting there - sleeves rolled up, bowtie undone, the red vest that matched his trousers that fit him entirely too well. Alastor was your perfect definition of a sex-god that had a distaste for the very thing that you craved. His smoldering gaze and satisfied, closed-mouth grin told you that he knew exactly what  kind of effect he had on you. 

“Are you alright,” he cocked his head to the side. “You look bothered.”

“You're a tease,” you swallowed. 

Alastor’s brows rose in surprise. “Me? I'm just sitting here,” he laughed and beckoned you over with his finger. “Come here, my darling.”

A bolt of red-hot arousal shot right up your spine, and your body moved automatically, seemingly out of your control and under Alastor’s. Alastor moved to uncross his legs and seized you by the hips with his strong hands. You now stood in between his spread thighs, looking down into his brown eyes as he gazed up at you. His lips quirked in a crooked grin, making him look like the cat who got the cream. 

“Tell me how I'm a tease,” Alastor whispered huskily. 

You brought your hands up to cup his face and ran your left thumb along his bottom lip. “You know what you do to me, Alastor.”

Alastor grinned and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Oh, I'm well aware,” the man's pupils were now blown with his own need. “Would you like me to do something about that?”

Relief flooded you, and you nodded eagerly. By now, the bourbon was really beginning to have an effect on you and how much you needed the man before you. “I've been waiting so long, Alastor.”

“The wait makes it worthwhile,” he growled.

Before your tipsy mind could even comprehend what was happening, Alastor stood, effortlessly hoisting you up by the hips, and bounded towards the spiral staircase of the loft Your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs around his slim waist. Alastor’s arousal was very noticeable against your own pelvis. The heat from his girth radiated through his slacks. When his lips met yours in a fevered kiss, your mind blanked with arousal. Your senses quickly became overwhelmed by his touch, his scent, and his taste as his tongue coaxed your own in a scorching kiss. Alastor eagerly devoured your mouth and every subsequent moan he drew from you. He broke the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip as he did so. His lips then trailed down to the column of your neck where he sank his teeth into the supple flesh. You hissed from the pain and carded your fingers through his brunette hair until you had a handful and tugged, earning a groan from him. 

“Fuck it,” Alastor growled and sat you on the steps of the spiral staircase. 

Alastor’s hands snaked up your dress to pull your panties down your legs, leaving the silk garment dangling from your left ankle. You gasped when he cupped your dripping sex in his left hand and breathed against the side of your neck. 

“I’ll have you right here,” he growled and claimed your mouth once again. 

You moaned wontanly into his mouth when he penetrated you with two fingers and curled them against your g-spot. Even though sex was a rare occasion, Alastor had memorized your body from the inside out. Knowing every sensitive spot to kiss, lick, or bite. Alastor groaned and pulled your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, ripping the most delicious moans from your throat. Each and every sound you made went straight to his cock that was now straining uncomfortably in his slacks. With a tweak of his fingers, Alastor had you coming with his name falling from your lips like the most beautiful prayer. 

“Alastor,” you were breathless, chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath. “I need you inside me.”

Alastor’s eyes darkened, and he carefully withdrew his fingers from your quivering sex. “You’ll have me,” he whispered and kissed you chastly. 

The sound of Alastor’s belt buckle was like music to your ears, as your body was finally getting the attention that it so badly craved. With your left hand, you reached between you and Alastor and took his now freed, sizeable length in your hand. You bit your lip and looked up at Alastor through your eyelashes. Alastor held your gaze as he guided himself into your tight heat, slowly splitting you open and seating himself inside you. Both of you panted, attempting to adjust to the almost foreign sensation. No, you weren’t a virgin, but Alastor had been your first, and since sex wasn’t a regular occurrence, it took both of you longer to adjust. You, more so than Alastor. 

He was thankfully patient, waiting until the pained look on your face was no longer before slowly pulling out and thrusting back into the hilt. The man clenched his teeth painfully and screwed his eyes shut, completely drunk off of the feeling of you fitting around him so perfectly. 

You held onto Alastor tightly, with your nails digging into the flesh of his back, even through his dress shirt. Alastor’s hands had your hips in a death grip, and you hoped that you would have bruises left in their place. You wanted Alastor to claim you - mark you -  so that everyone knew you belonged to him. 

“Come inside me, Alastor,” the words fell from your lips in a pathetic whimper before you even realised what you said.

The look Alastor gave you startled you, and his hips stuttered to a pause. You stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity, Alastor’s eyes searching your own as if looking for truth behind that request. You feared your moment of intimacy with Alastor was ruined until he started moving once more. This time, he moved slower, taking his time pulling all of the way out and sinking back into you. He continued to hold your gaze and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Is that what you want,” Alastor asked, but it was barely above a  whisper. “To be mine, forever?”

Of course it’s what you wanted. Alastor had been your first, and you wanted no one else. It was difficult for you to imagine your life any different. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about starting a family with Alastor. You brought your hands up to Alastor’s face and looked into those chocolate pools.

“Make me yours, forever, Alastor.”

~~~

You awoke the next morning, nestled in the king-sized bed of the loft alone. Alastor was nowhere to be found, with his side of the bed neatly made. Between your legs was an ache and a stickiness in the inside of your thighs that served as a reminder of the previous night's activities. What little bourbon you had, had also left you with a slight headache that settled over your temples. Coffee would be a good fix, and you wondered why you hadn't smelled it perking if Alastor had already been up. 

There was a fire going in the fireplace when you made your way down the staircase, confirming that Alastor was around, but nowhere to be seen. You thought nothing of it and went over to the kitchenette to get coffee perking and breakfast ready for whenever Alastor returned. 

You sat down in your rocking chair by the fireplace when the coffee was ready to enjoy your cup. The chair rocked rhythmically on the hardwood floor, nearly lulling you to sleep until you heard a god awful noise coming from the crawlspace under the cabin. Your first thought was that a stranger or the police had found the liquor stash, and you bolted out of the chair to get the pistol hidden among your books. 

The door to the crawlspace was in the kitchenette and was flung open, revealing a blood covered Alastor. The man looked up at you with blood splattered across his face and chest, staining his white dress shirt. There was enough blood that you couldn't tell if it was coming from Alastor or not. 

You dropped the pistol that was in your hands and rushed over to him, and hooked your arms around his arm. “A-alastor, what the hell? Are you-”

“It's fine!” He laughed and looked down at you with a grin. “It's not mine.”

Your eyes widened, and you took a tentative step away from him and shook your head. “Then, whose is it?”

Alastor ignored your question and casually walked over to the pot of coffee on the stove. He poured himself a mug, all the while humming a song with that same grin on his face. 

“Alastor,” you demanded. “You're scaring the hell out of me.”

“I'm sorry,” he put his coffee mug on the counter and turned back to you. “This,” he pointed to his stained shirt. “Is just the latest victim.”

“The latest…,” you paled, with the details finally coming together. “You're him.”

Alastor flashed you that dazzling grin and opened a drawer next to the stove. Without even looking, Alastor pulled a massive knife out and studied it. 

“Did you know, my darling, that in order to inflict a fatal wound, you need at least fifteen inches of penetration?”

“Please put the knife do-”

You gasped. Before you could even react, Alastor lunged forward, plunging the knife deep in your abdomen. He stood in front of you, holding the blade in place with his smile never faltering. Pain blossomed throughout your body, and you began to choke on the blood that bubbled up through your throat. You coughed and watched the blood mixed sputum splatter across Alastor’s already stained shirt. Tears fell freely from your eyes, staining your cheeks, and your trembling hands grabbed onto Alastor’s arm that still held the knife inside you.

Blinking up at Alastor through your tears, you saw no remorse on his face. Just that twisted grin that you had fallen in love with so many years ago. 

“You should know I'm too much like my father to have children,” Alastor said darkly. “That's a risk I cannot take.”

Alastor pulled the knife out of your abdomen and stepped back as you crumpled to the floor on your knees. The pain was white-hot, but it was nothing compared to that of your broken heart. Your body screamed for his closeness and wanted to hate him for everything. Even after the previous night, after telling you he would be with you forever. In an attempt to stop the bleeding, you held pressure on the wound, but you knew it was no use. You were dying. At the hands of your lover.

“It won't be long, my love,” Alastor got down on one knee and brushed your hair out of your face. “I'm sorry I had to do this.”

“F-fuck you,” you gasped and choked. 

Your vision was beginning to fade in and out, along with your hearing. The weight of your body suddenly became too much and you fell to your side. Before your head hit the floor, Alastor had caught you and laid you down gently. The last sensation you felt, other than the pain, was Alastor kissing you. It was a passionate kiss, similar to that of the kiss you shared while making love. He didn't care about the blood that pooled from your mouth, but seemed to enjoy it more than anything. When he broke the kiss, you met his gaze, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“I'll see you in hell,” you spit, using every ounce of energy you had left before going still.

Alastor smiled down at your now lifeless body and ran his fingers through your hair. A single tear ran down his cheek, and his smile grew into a grin.

“It's a date.”

Part Two

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

End of month update - March (+ April 1st)

Hello, all! Sorry that this update is a day late, I didn't get around to posting it yesterday.

This is the end-of-month update, where I post Tumblr’s current top four films that have received the highest percentage of “yes,” “no,” and “haven’t even heard of this movie” votes.

As of today, the top four films with the highest percentage of “yes” votes are:

Finding Nemo (2003) | Shrek (2001) | Monsters, Inc. (2001) | The Lion King (1994)

Next, the top four films with the highest percentage of “no” votes are:

Sausage Party (2016) | Sharknado 2: The Second One (2014) | All Quiet on the Western Front (1930) | Bonnie and Clyde (1967)

This top four changed through the new additions of Sausage Party (2016) and All Quiet on the Western Front (1930), which replaced Sharknado 3: Oh Hell No! (2015) and Scarface (1983).

Finally, the top four films with the highest percentage of “haven’t even heard of this movie” votes are:

Monica and Friends: Bonds (2019) | Monsturd (2003) | Heroic Losers (2019) | Death Trance (2005)

This top four changed through the new additions of Monsturd (2003) and Death Trance (2005), which replaced Mahana (2016) and Capernaum (2018)

Currently, The Incredibles (2004) is the still only film to receive absolutely zero “haven’t heard of this” votes.

That’s it for March’s end-of-month update! Remember that you can view last month’s update by clicking here. Additionally, you can view the full ranked Letterboxd lists of movies that have come up on this blog by clicking the following links:

This list is ranked from highest-to-lowest percentage of “yes” votes.

This list is ranked from highest-to-lowest percentage of “no” votes.

This list is ranked from highest-to-lowest percentage of “haven’t even heard of this movie” votes.

Remember to vote on the polls that are currently running: Jane Eyre (2011) | Lady Macbeth (2016) | The Water Diviner (2014) | Thoroughbreds (2017) | Suspiria (2018) | Closely Watched Trains (1966) | Atonement (2007) | The Official Story (1985) | Fright Night (1985) | Ernest & Celestine (2012) | Central Station (1998) | The Hitcher (1986) | The Company of Wolves (1984) | Predestination (2014) | Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004) | This Is England (2006) | Crimson Peak (2015) | The Love Witch (2016) | Lost in Translation (2003) | Romeo + Juliet (1996) | Santa Claus (1959) | Tokyo Drifter (1966) | A Fistful of Dollars (1964) | Brain Damage (1988) | Society (1989) | Watership Down (1978) | Frankenhooker (1990) | Mars Attacks! (1996) | Super 8 (2011) | Goosebumps (2015) | Goncharov (1973) | The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996) | The Secret of Moonacre (2008) | Coraline (2009) | The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)

[karl-jensen]

CONNOR and CAITLIN — My Headcanons

Since American steam locomotives are a thing in Thomas and Friends, I am quite weirded out with Connor and Caitlin's in-television designs since they are based on American streamliners. The production didn't even look up different streamliners from the United Kingdom and missed out on a handful of interesting trains such as the LNER W1 Hush-Hush, LMS Streamlined Coronation Scot, the P2's and many more. For my headcanons for the two Streamliners of Sir Robert Norramby, I made Connor and Caitlin an LNER P2 (fictional) Prototype and an LMS Coronation class to fit the series' theme of British Steam Locomotives.

Headcanons for Connor

Connor is now an LNER P2, specifically a fictional prototype just like Gordon.

He is now painted Blue to match the color scheme of the A4's and their Coronation liveries. However, Connor's wheels are black instead of red.

Prior to being painted Blue, he was once Green like many of the LNER's engines.

His personality is rather snarky and would often tease anyone as well as rolling stock and humans.

He is numbered 2000 and is named "Lord Connor".

He used to pull the Coronation, a train service from London to Edinburgh.

Connor was the first to be purchased and saved from scrap by Sir Robert Norramby. He would be heartbroken to find that Caitlin wasn't rescued until 1971.

Headcanons for Caitlin

Caitlin is now an LMS Coronation class locomotive.

Her streamlining works as follows: A spare firebox door was specially built for Caitlin and the other Coronations to cover up the smokebox. Whenever their casings are removed, their original smokebox doors are placed back. The face that you see in Caitlin's illustration IS her original smokebox door, while the one inside the casing is the spare one.

Her number is 6249 and is named "City of Sheffield", a real-life locomotive. Caitlin hated that name and would often get called as "Sheff" from many of her colleagues, especially Connor. She would call herself "Caitlin" since it suited her better.

She is quite friendly to everybody, but gets easily irritated whenever someone teases her or hears an annoying sound like screeching.

She once pulled the Coronation Scot, a train service from London to Edinburgh.

Caitlin was rescued from the scrapyard in 1968, months after Connor. She was purchased by Sir Robert Norramby with financial support from Sir Charles Topham Hatt.

She was restored to working order in 1971 where she surprised Connor.

The Edinburgh Incident, 193X

Headcanons in General

Connor and Caitlin's character dynamic in the show is similar to Hercules and Lillie Lightship from Tugs. Both are portrayed as lovers.

Connor first met Caitlin in the 1930's. He tried racing her to Scotland but ran out of water after refusing to scoop up water from a trough along the way. He was scolded by the Stationmaster and was reported to the LNER's head office for his reckless and irresponsible behavior.

During World War II, both engines shared a close relationship. They would often help one another until they became very close like star-crossed lovers.

Both engines were out of service by the 1960's. Connor was the only engine in his class to have never been streamlined, while Caitlin continued her British Railways career without her casing.

Connor fell into a deep depression after he was restored to working order, but he was informed by Sir Topham Hatt and Sir Robert Norramby that they will raise money to save Caitlin from the cutter's torch. His depression ended in 1971 when Caitlin arrived at Tidmouth Station with a passenger train.

Prior to Caitlin's restoration, she was transferred from the scrapyard to Crovan's Gate late at night so that Connor wouldn't see her. Sir Robert wanted to surprise him once Caitlin was restored to working order, but rumors by some engines say that a Coronation Class is in the Island being restored. The crew tried their best in hiding Caitlin by putting her in the shed so that her partner wouldn't see her, and tried their best in hushing up rumors.

The two engines pull special coaches with observation cars, or "Beavertails" as they are called. The TV show did not acknowledge their presence in real life, so I added them to stay true to railway history.

Connor: I'll race ya to Edinburgh, Sheff. See ya in the blink of an eye!

Caitlin: Do NOT call me that, you green goblin! Call me by my preferred name, CAITLIN!

Connor: Alright then, darling. If I reach Edinburgh, I still get to call you 'Sheff'. But if you reach there first, then I shall call you 'Caitlin'. Is it a deal?

Caitlin: It's a big fat damn deal. I'll race ya to Edinburgh!

[beguines]

West Virginia miners, for various reasons, were slower to unionize than their counterparts in other states. This was true not only in comparison with northern Appalachian miners in the states of Pennsylvania, Illinois, Ohio, and Indiana (labeled the Central Competitive Field), but also in comparison with those in Alabama and other parts of southern Appalachia. They gave only partial support at best to national strikes in 1894, 1897, and 1902–​1903. However, as many analysts have noted, they were eventually to become the most fervent of union supporters. There were several interrelated reasons for these two characteristics. First, a larger percentage of West Virginia miners in the early 1930s lived in small, isolated towns (93% in towns with fewer than twenty-​five hundred residents) and in company housing (75%) than in other coal mining states. Second, fear of the union led coal miner associations to hire hundreds of Baldwin-​Felts guards and "detectives," so that by 1910, there was not a coal town in West Virginia in which they were not stationed. Whereas in earlier periods, union organizers moved around relatively freely in West Virginia, by this time not only union organizers but sympathetic miners were commonly harassed, brutalized, and murdered.

The growing militancy and solidarity of West Virginia miners was on full display when, in April 1912, Paint Creek and Cabin Creek miners struck. It was objective conditions (unsafe work, cheating on pay, company control, and sheer brutality), not southern or mountaineer culture, that led them to become a model of solidarity (a class solidarity so paradigmatic that it stimulated IWW (Industrial Workers of the World or Wobblies) songwriter Ralph Chapin to write the union anthem "Solidarity Forever". The mine owners were determined to crush the 1912 strike with force. Baldwin-​Felts guards "built iron and concrete forts that they equipped with machine guns throughout the strike districts," evicting miners from company housing and destroying their furniture. They then began to murder striking miners singly and in groups. In the most celebrated instance, they drove an armored train, dubbed the "Bull Moose Special," through the mining districts, machine-​gunning strikers and their families in tent colonies near the tracks. The miners, to be sure, fought back in kind, shooting mine guards and detectives with six machine guns and one thousand high-​powered rifles supplied by the national union. Women in the company towns were equally combative, engaging in gun battles alongside the men. It was women who prevented the "Bull Moose Special" from returning by tearing up the railroad tracks and who often attacked strikebreakers, driving them away. According to Wobbly Ralph Chapin, this was the appeal of famed United Mine Workers of America (UMWA) organizer Mother Jones, "who might have been any coal miner’s wife ablaze with righteous fury". Mineworker families not only fought, but in the tent colonies sang and danced, creating a new union solidarity culture, making the union "an intense, emotional unity".

The Paint Creek/​Cabin Creek strike lasted a year and was never broken, despite the declaration of martial law and the arrest and jailing, without trial, of hundreds of miners, while the mine operator and gunmen who drove the "Bull Moose Special" were never even questioned, much less indicted. Rank-​and-​file coal miners and their local leaders rejected a settlement brokered by district officials, UMWA national president John White, and Governor Henry Hatfield, continuing to strike until all their demands were met. They then demanded the replacement of all their district leaders, finally forcing the national union to call elections.

Michael Goldfield, The Southern Key: Class, Race, and Radicalism in the 1930s and 1940s