#CUMBRIAN COAST

[sowhatifiliveinfukuoka]

Peter Mitchell

Railway House, Cumbrian Coast (1976)

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

I love the idea that Nobby likes James; even sorta respects him! What about Nobby and Gordon? I bet Nobby isnt so impressed by bossy big blue babey Gord

Oop, started to respond and then saved this to drafts. And then I forgot about it. Sorry.

I didn't want to answer at once, though, because when I received this we were only about two-thirds of the way through Springtime, and I thought it would be better to talk about this after the story was over.

Because now you've had a chance to see Nobby bossing someone else around mercilessly — and then, on a dime, going into utter, catastrophizing meltdown the minute he himself suffers a mild indignity.

So I hope it makes sense when I say that Nobby and Gordon have some similarities!

Another is that Nobby actually was, in his youngest years, a similar sort of all-important savior-of-the-railway company flagship. His domain was much smaller than Gordon's, of course, but he had the same absolute primacy and pride. And much like the youngest Gordon it's really not that Nobby was a bad sort, but a fellow engine trying to make him see sense when he was on his high horse was just a fool's errand. (Nobby was a lot more respectful of human authority in those early years... which you may consider to make the situation better or worse, lol. He definitely had—and still has!—more of a temper than Gordon, though, and can be way pettier. The counterbalance is that he has higher ideals and a better ability to relate to other engines.)

A final thing they have in common is that they conceive of and hatch rather daring ideas. Leadership qualities run strong in them both.

Of course, none of this means that Nobby will recognize these similarities. Or that they will in any way dispose him to think kindly of the infant galloping sausage.

Hmm, I reserve the right for this to change as I write, but in general I just think Nobby doesn't at first take much notice of Gordon particularly (heresy, I know!). In the same era Gordon is arriving, so are several absurdly large new Sodor engines and to him they are all ill-mannered whelps.

He doesn't get as steamed up about any of them as much you might think, though, because they are fundamentally Not His Problem. His railway is undergoing Grouping at the time — he has bigger fish to fry. Anyway, if any of his lot were a fourth as rude as the Big Blue Bastards, he'd tear them to shreds, but that's because he knows they were taught better and he expects more from them. Nobby kind of regards Gordon in the at first as a sort of orphan. Not in the sense he pities him but that he kind of half despises him as a poorly brought-up urchin and half thinks it's a shame that no one did better by him.

Nobby has definitely at times told Edward, when Edward has the dubious fortune of bringing a train over the bridge, that he must really tell that Gresley to do this or not do that or to act in such-a-such way.

At which point you can imagine Edward just staring at him with weary disbelief. Nobby, you don't tell Gordon things... it's a waste of good steam.

Nobby thinks this is making excuses, lol. To his mind it's entirely Edward's responsibility to Coppernob all those lost boys into respectable engines. Put your frames into it, son.

[v0id-c0rroded]

Think the steam loco, the mighty 9F freight specialist, is giving assistance to the scruffy diesel engine here.

It's the Cumbrian coast line in the Barrow region, the diesel is a BR Class 25 leading the tanker ensemble.

Circa 1967

[guerrerense]

Oxford road Tangmere por Nigel Por Flickr: 10th February 2024 sees 34067 Tangmere working the Winter Cumbrian express from Manchester Piccadilly to Crewe via the West Coast main line. As far as I know there has not been a Battle of Britain class through the Oxford Road corridor on a passenger train

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I am absolutely stuck on the dynamic between Brighid, Arthur, Alfred, and Jack rn. They're both Arthur's sons, but Jack was hers to raise first and she contributed to Alfred's upbringing too, and they may as well be hers with all the people they're getting from her, and that's happening because of Arthur's policies. And Arthur, for his part, parents them based on vague memories of his mother - but you've said a lot of those are actually Brighid.

Point of all that being, would you mind expanding on the early part of Arthur and Brighid's relationship, before he became a colonizing shithead? What are these memories with her that he's attributing to their mother? How did that relationship influence his parenting (both the things that he's aware were Brighid and the things that he thinks were mum but were actually Brighid?)

Okay so just to preface this so no one starts reading this like they do my more modern things where I can usually have a basis in fairly accepted and confirmable fact, we’re going so far back that not only is this not chronologically accurate, its only archaeologically plausible. This is the literary version of saying, "it's for ceremonial purposes” on the label of an artefact anyone with courage would call a prehistoric bong. There’s a big trend for “History of X in 100 Objects” right now. In my personal collection is a 'History of Ireland in 100 objects.' I’m not saying this is accurate or realistic. However, it is based on historical themes that lend themselves to what is ultimately a historical fantasy as plausible as I can write it. That said, let's crack this can of fuckery.

So, to start out, this is all pre-1066, which is when, after the Norman invasions of England, Wales, and and Southern Scotland, the history of the British in Ireland begins. Before that, we’re talking about a world where Irish raiders are a menace on the Welsh coast, and the Dál Riada is the result of an Irish migration, where the peoples on the Irish Coast brought Gaelic culture and eventually merged with and overtook the Pictish culture already occupying the area. The balance of power is very different in this world. This is not the 18th and 19th century when Brighid is firmly under the heel of a British jackboot and even when the British government was willing to concede slightly on empire, the British army nearly revolted when it was even considered to maybe, perhaps, rein in unionist violence in nineteen-fourteen just months shy of WW1. Winston Churchill was also behind that, in case you need more reasons why he's an allmighty cunt.

I give them all Celtic roots. Brighid is probably 300-500 years older than Alasdair, and then political solidification in Wales brought Rhys along and then Arthur as the reorganization of Celtic Britons in Roman Britain. This might be a hot take, but while the Anglo-Saxon ‘invasion’ in the 400s-500s brought Germanic rule and language to England, the Cumbrians and other Celts were not wiped out. Mostly it's a cultural shift. So he’s born as much a Celt as his siblings and experiences dramatic changes earlier in his life than they do. However, if you get to the root of English culture under all of the bullshit of empire and all the German royalty who built up their legitimacy by reviving Anglo-Saxon memory, history has more Celtic elements than someone might think.

In Northern England, Southern Scotland, Eastern Ireland, and the maritime fringes of Wales, there was an Iron Age tribe by the name of the Brigantes, whose name was taken from the northern goddess Brigantia, which means either ‘the exalted’ or ‘highlanders.’ Either way works for me because it is the root word of Brighid’s name, the Welsh word for prestige, honour, dignity and power, all things connected to fire, power and elevation. As all modern knowledge of her comes from 8 inscriptions and some statuary material, and her name is so goddamn appropriate, I’m running with it. It’s so close to Brittania. According to Strabo, writing about a now-lost account of a Greek sailor and explorer Pytheas, it comes from a feminine name likely from the Celts itself.

In the tradition of Catholic patron saints of specific places, Brigantia seems to have been a goddess associated with lakes, rivers, and coastlines. Saint Brighid, from the same name base, is the patron saint of Ireland, bastard children, babies, children, midwives, sailors and poets. Me, hitting a bong in 2021; yeah, that sounds like mother and daughter to me. Eirian, whose name is a version of the Welsh name for King Arthur’s mother because I’m ✨original✨ ruled her own kingdom directly. She was a queen regnant in a culture that saw that crop up often. She was a product of the Iron Age, a warrior culture where swords and a hierarchy of militancy ruled society. Brighid was her firstborn child, and very much her mother’s daughter, sharing that long, beautiful hibernian gold (think rose gold) hair down to her waist. She was tall and gorgeous, with a head for politics as well as martial talent, but Eirian was as much a goddess of the hearth as the sea and war; she still took her tributes in blood, and treasure. She ruled directly with iron and faith.

Brighid, however, while just as capable of that, had a personality that found early Christianity very appealing. It’s hard for us to imagine now, but 1,500-2,000 years ago, Christianity was, in many ways, a much gentler religion than some flavours of what we now call paganism. And while just as capable at every aspect of ruling as her mother, I do think Brighid has aspects to her personality that were kinder, a bit softer. She was an artist in the scriptoriums, a weaver, all these things in her golden age. And she was grown, or near it, by the time Arthur came along. And the gentlest things he remembers about his mother are usually Brighid. An image of a woman weaving, red hair pouring down her back as her fingers fly over the shuttle and her feet work the treadles. That is Brighid. Another of a woman’s elegant and quick fingers on the spindle, fitting the handle into a clumsy child’s hands, laughing when he gets frustrated. Also Brighid. Picking him up and giving him a raspberry even when he kicks to be let down because he wants to run everywhere, is also Brighid. Teaching him to put his knife into the kidney because he’s young, and that's the highest he can reach? That’s his mother. The two images, his powerful mother and his bright sister swirl together when Arthur gets into a strange mood.

He'll yammer away in Cumbrian and hum the tune of the songs who's words he cant remember. When she died in the 5th or 6th century, they scattered as their various regions expanded and solidified linguistically as Common Bythronic became Welsh, Gaelic, and Cumbrian (Scotland’s native Celtic language is actually extinct, replaced by Irish Gaelic in late antiquity.) England imploded under the pressure of the Germanic migrations, so I picture Arthur kind of wandering through his numerous kingdoms most of the year. Brighid may have, too. It was common for high-status people to go on progress and stay with the nobility from time to time in various European societies. However, I can also see her with her own mini-kingdom inside the Gaelic system of ranking kings, over kings and high kings. Arthur would usually spend the winter with one of his siblings. Usually Rhys, but he would have been welcome with Brighid for a long time, even as the wee cuckoo, half-German bastard that he was. He may have even lived with her for long periods. But once, she was power, and once she loved him and once he wasn't the cause of all the horror of her years. It was a different world before the Vikings came.

[the-rewritten-railway-au]

Rhys

🩷 Autumn 1899; December 1968

CW/TW: Pre-transition period (Edward), hostile work environment, gaslighting, mentioned character death, mentioned workplace violence

Buckled Tracks and Bumpy Trucks - Season 20 Episode 17 (edited)

Word Count: 1,823

Someone else was his first love interest.

A/N: "Rhys" is pronounced "reese." I didn't come up with that, btw. His crew did.

~

In the chilly autumn weather, passengers walked about Barrow-in-Furness Station. The leaves cluttering the ground crunched as folks stepped on them, awaiting the next passenger train.

A sharp whistle, reminiscent of the squawks of seagulls flying by coast line, went off in the distance, pulling in the passengers’ attention to the Indian-red tender engine approaching. She steamed into the station with a range of blue coaches with white trim, easing to a stop.

She was a Class 21, a class of engines dedicated to express passenger services. The sunlight reflected against the brass trim of her splashers and brass dome, giving it a gleaming shine. The oldest of the Class 21s greeted the awaiting passengers with a warm smile, as steam gently spewed from her chassis.

The weather was nice that day. There was no wind. Just the gentle breeze against her frames. It was like a soothing touch, which she appreciated.

Coming in the opposite direction, a small four-driver tender engine came by, hauling a goods train for someone else to take care of. Once he blew his whistle, the eldest Larger Seagull groaned. She would be foolish to not recognize it.

“Guid day, Coppernob,” she greeted through clenched teeth, trying to sound as nice as possible. Her crew reminding her to be nice to the elderly engine had become a daily routine, despite how arrogant and bossy he was. She didn’t need to turn the scolding into a daily thing.

Coppernob wasn't taking her forced greeting. “Don't treat me like a fool, young engine!” he hissed. “Such disrespect. You're better than that.”

“I wid if ye'd just go awa’,” she grumbled, “and didnae go around, gossipin’ aboot me.”

“It’s for the well-being of others, Alice,” he reminded her as her crew hushed whispers, telling her to knock it off. “We can't have your reckless behavior ruin the reputation and workflow of the Furness.”

Alice scoffed. “It’s always aboot thaim wit’ ye.”

“Bunny!” hissed her driver.

Before Coppernob reprimanded her, a Furness Railway 7 class steamed up to the platform adjacent to Alice’s. Unlike Coppernob, he had splashers, designed in a style similar to hers.

“Good day, you two,” he greeted. “Anything new I missed?”

“Nah! Nah!” Alice squawked out, immediately blushing out of embarrassment from the slip-up. She ignored the piercing glare from FR No. 3. “Nawthing new, Rhys.”

Rhys hummed, not convinced. A Furness engine would have to be a fool to not notice the conversation from kilometers away. And not to notice how furious the glare directed towards him was. However, he chose not to poke any further. Yet.

Alice’s guard blew his whistle, interrupting the thoughts going through the engines’ minds.

“Och!” she perked up. “Thon’s me. Guid-bye, Rhys!” With a quick whistle that resounded throughout the station, Alice departed from Barrow-in-Furness, heading north on her railway line, the Cumbrian Coast Line.

Once she was gone, Rhys sighed before glancing at Coppernob. “What is it you have against me?”

Coppernob didn't respond. Instead, he stormed off, leaving the other confused.

…

About a week later, Alice and Rhys met again but at Roose Station. The latter had finished telling a story that left Alice squawking.

There was just something about spending time with Rhys that comforted Alice, making her feel warm and appreciated. It was different to the way her sisters would comfort or check up on her every evening, especially if she’d had to defend one of them from one of the other Furness engines.

It was different, yet she couldn’t figure it out.

As she calmed down, a saddle tank engine pulled in, hauling a small freight train of steel rails, coming from the Barrow Haematite Steelworks.

“Diane!” exclaimed Rhys, noticing the black tank engine. “How’s the Steelworks going for you?”

Diane gave a quick smile to Alice, who smiled nervously, before replying. “Exhausting!” she exclaimed. “But it's good work!”

“Good to hear, dear! Good to hear!”

“You know, I’m surprised the old horse hasn't tried physically separating you both,” Diane noted. “He complains about you two whenever he runs out of things to whine about.”

Alice hummed, her freckled face crunching at the mention of Coppernob. “I din’ get why he diz���nae want me near Rhys. He diz’nae make sense aboot it.”

“Remember, dear,” Rhys assured. “He just… wants the best for you.”

The Larger Seagull frowned.“Well, he huz a funny way o’ showin’ it.”

Just then, her guard blew his whistle. With a heavy sigh, she bid farewell to the other two engines and promptly left.

Once she was gone, Diane shot a glare at Rhys. “Have you told her?”

The 7 class winced.

“Rhys!” she scolded.

“I know! I just-” He took a deep breath. “It’s too soon. We don't know when.”

“But it’ll be soon, Rhys!”

“I’ll tell her tomorrow, I promise!”

“You better!” she exclaimed before steaming off to Ravenglass, leaving her friend to go his way with the daunting thoughts in his head. His crew tried to soothe him, but it only made him feel more guilty.

…

“Alice! Stay away from that engine!”

Her safety valve was ready to burst. Earlier that morning, she fended off one of the Seagulls, her predecessors, up at Foxfield after seeing them pester one of her baby sisters. The utter annoyance those older engines could be.

And then they wonder why they could’nae get me and ma sisters tae ‘behave’ being the thought to go rampant in her mind after every confrontation.

“Bug’ aff! I'm no’ dealin’ wit’ ye today!” yelled Alice before storming off.

Coppernob chased her down. “Listen to me, young lass-!”

“Shut it!” she screamed. “Yer raps ma knittin’!”

“Watch your tongue-!”

“Or whit?” she taunted. “Whit'r ye goin’ tae dae? I'm no’ afraid o’ ye!”

“I want you to get away from that engine…” hissed Number 3, the words seething like painfully hot steam. “And you will do it as soon as you see him.”

“Ye cannae control me!” Alice argued. “Why is it thon when I’m finally doin’ better, it’s all wrong?”

“It wouldn't be wrong if you weren’t acting like that with him!”

Still furious, she looked at him confused. “Like whit? Whit’re ye implying?” she questioned.

Coppernob stared at her in horror, eyes going wide.

The look brought tension to Alice’s frame. “Copper-?”

“You can't even see it, can you?”

“See whit-?”

“You’re too far gone,” he mourned.

“Excuse me-?”

“Stay away from Rhys,” he hissed. “I don't want to find out that he’s broken the same way you are.” With that, he steamed away, returning to his work leaving a stunned Bunny behind.

“Broken…?”

…

That evening, Alice returned to her shed, only to find Rhys, resting in a siding. His crew were smoking cigarettes, unaware of the larger engine. Coppernob’s words had stung her to the core. She spaced out momentarily when Rhys called out for her.

“Alice! There you are,” he hollered, alerting his crew. They quickly climbed aboard into his cab. “Listen. I-”

“Am I broken?”

“...Pardon?”

“Am I broken, Rhys?” she asked again, looking Rhys straight into his eyes. “Coppernob said I’m broken.”

“What-?” He was dumbfounded as he approached the young Victorian engine. “No, of course not, Alice! Don't listen to Coppernob. His age is getting to him,” he reassured her.

“Okay…” was all she said before letting the silence overtake.

Her mood upset Rhys, making him rethink his choice. Should he? He didn't want to upset the young engine even further, but she needed to know.

It would be worse if she went about her life, not knowing what happened to her dear friend.

“Did… ye want tae say somethin’?” asked Alice after a while of silence. “Sorry if I-”

“I'm being withdrawn.”

Bronze pupils shrunk as her eyes went wide. “Ye're what-?”

“I'm being withdrawn, Alice. I don't know exactly when… but it might be soon,” he stated, carefully wording his sentences.

“Soon? How long have you known?”

“Alice-”

“How. Long?” she asked sternly. Her eyes burned in frustration and despair.

Rhys sighed with guilt. “A month.”

“And you didn't tell me?”

“I don't want to break you.”

“Break me?” she scoffed, offended as tears brewed up and her voice began to crack. “I'm not fragile, Rhys!”

“But you're still growing out of your old behavior!” he exasperated as both crews held onto the brakes of their respective engines. Alice’s crew held extra tight, making sure they didn’t let go as their engine tended to be hostile, especially out of emotion. “Alice, please promise me you won't go back to your old self.”

“Rhys-!”

“Alice, please,” he begged. “Please, do it for your sisters. For Diane. For me. The board isn't going to tolerate it any further, and you know that.”

At the mention of her little sisters, Alice agreed. “I promise, Rhys,” she sobbed. “I promise.”

…

“I hope ye're happy,” Alice sneered. It was the following morning and she’d come across Coppernob at Barrow-in-Furness once again.

“What?” scoffed Coppernob.

“Rhys is bein’ withdrawn.”

Shock went through the older engine's frames. “Whatever for?”

“I dinnae ken. Go ask him yerself,” she sneered.

“Alice!”

“Dae me a favor and boil yer smokebox,” she hissed before storming off, jerking the coaches by accident. The sentient ones yelped and her passengers were startled as her crew scolded her severely, and Coppernob called out for her.

She blocked out the sounds of the world around her as her four driving wheels pushed her north towards Foxfield.

.

.

.

Later that week, Rhys was withdrawn. He was able to bid farewell to Diane but not Alice. Diane was the one to break the news to Alice.

Alice broke her promise.

And Edward made a realization.

Rhys, I’m so-

“Edward?”

Said engine jerked, accidentally jostling his trucks.

A few days had passed since he left the Steamworks with his pistons fully repaired. He’d spent a week waiting for the parts to arrive.

“Did you even hear what I was saying?” James asked again, concerned as the extra Troublesome Trucks Edward hauled yelped and complained.

“Guidness, naw,” Edward replied, guilt building on his panic. His freckled cheeks burned. “Och, dear. I’m sae sorry-!”

“Are you okay?” James interrupted. “You spaced out for a bit.”

“Er, somewhit?”

“We can stop-”

“Naw, naw!” he exclaimed. “No need to! It's just- You reminded me of something.”

“Something you'll tell me?” James asked with a glimmer of curiosity in his heterochromatic eyes.

“N-No’ today…” He looked down. “Sorry.”

“Oh…”

“B-But-!” Edward stammered, “what about your adventures on the Mainland, hm?”

“You're gonna have to be more specific, Ed,” chuckled James.

The smaller engine pieced together what he could recall from the conversation that had taken place. “That incident with the twins! Up in Whitehaven?”

James winced playfully. “Oh, what a mess that one was-”

As James continued to ramble on, Edward's mind focused in. But not after he processed what he'd realized.

I wis in love wit’ Rhys, and I didnae even ken…

~

AND then his twin baby sisters were built the following year and things are all good again, right...?

...right? :)

Well damn, i guess I did end up writing a story before the 1910s ovo ANYWAYS, first EoSR story of 2024 and it ended up being a ship-verse story but its angst-

very normal muxse behaviour

i got to actually sit down and work on Edward's backstory a little more. It was EXTREMELY vague before so hopefully this starts adding up, especially for "You've Got Mail." (i'm a bit all over the place with my fics)

Being the oldest of a new generation is already a lot of pressure but how would it feel when its tradition for them to try to shape you in a way that is deemed appropriate in your railway. This usually works but Edward was different.

Notes:

Rhys had zero romantic interest in Edward.

Rhys' basis: 16 - FR Class A3 0-4-0 - built 1858 by W. Fairbairn & Co., Manchester - 1899 withdrawn

Introduced Diane (FR 17 "A5" class) and Old Coppernob (FR 3 "A2" class) sooner than I thought ovo Oh well.

The family relations on the Furness are a bit odd because the A2, A3, and A5 don't have a specific designer, just like the K2s. Just know that Edward isn't related to them. To my understanding, the Furness Railway 21s were designed by Sharp, Stewart & Co. Neither Pettigrew or Mason designed them. Same goes for said classes. Only the A5s were built by Sharp, Stewart & Co. but in the original Manchester location.

^ that being said, Diane and Edward are probably distant cousins for that reason, but Old Coppernob and Rhys aren't related to them. :p

Rhys translates to "ardor" in Welsh. Ardor means a strong intense feeling, which i think perfectly describes what engines feel when they're in love. :)

there was a lot of back and forth on previous love interests for these two. at one point, i considered Goldilocks to be James' first love interest but went against because i just thought it was weird and it would imply that Edward is a replacement for Goldilocks. I did not want that so i scrapped it.

Edward and Old Coppernob are basically the failed unintentional attempt of a healthy father-son relationship. They're both at fault for this. (yes, Edward has daddy issues. it just kinda happened but it also feels like it makes sense considering his role as the oldest and the issues he has)

guys i dont JUST write angst, i swear- :((((

evidence:

ps if i made you sad, read "He Squawks!" (one of my favorites /bias) it has pre-2x5 fluff + silliness (not the main focus but the silliness is :p the screenshot is unrelated :p)

[thesudrianchronicles]

NWC 7: Finally! An Atlantic!

Written By NorthBritishAtlantic

1929

An engine coasted down the Cumbrian Coast Line along the West Coast of England. He seemed to move majestically, his motion hardly making any sound. Like a phantom in the mid morning sun.

As he passed through smaller stations with names such as “Parton”, “St Bees” & “Seascale”, he noticed people on the platform & even some engines looking on at him in awe & surprise.

For you see. This engine was very far from home. For he was a North British Atlantic.

And he had said goodbye to Scotland, for a new life on a small Island, which many people said was in the middle of Nowhere.

Soon, he arrived at a large looking station. Its overall roof covering its platforms. He saw a sign which read “BARROW CENTRAL”, in big bold letters. He pulled up to the platform & his crew got out of his cab.

“We’ll be back in a few minutes Sam.” His driver said.

“Don’t wander off now!” His fireman added, before the driver slapped his arm. Which made Sam chuckle.

The two humans left their Atlantic with his thoughts. He looked around his surroundings. It was a quiet Sunday morning, and there weren't any trains due for an hour or two. So he had the station all to himself.

Or so he thought.

“HEY!” A voice called from behind, causing the Atlantic to jump. “What you doing in my platform?”, “Sitting there like Lord Mutt.” “I’ve got a station to run ya know?!”

Sam looked to his right. Sitting on the track next to him, was a tank engine. Her black paint was bright but dirty. And the letters “LMS'' were in big bold yellow lettering on her sidetanks.

“Well?” She said, eyeing up the larger engine. “Do you say anything?”, “Or do you just sit around & look like an idiot?”

“That’s enough Poppet.” An older voice called. “Leave Him be, even if he is sitting on the mainline taking up space.”

Sam looked over to his left. He saw an older looking engine sitting inside a glass box next to the platform. He had 4 small wheels, a tall thin funnel, and most notably, he had a large round copper firebox.

“The name’s Sam.” The Atlantic spoke, “And you two are?”

“I’m Coppernob”, the old engine said, “And the tank engine next to you is Poppet.”

“What’s an LNER engine doing all the way down here?” asked Poppet, raising an eyebrow at Sam.

“Heading to Sodor”, Sam replied, “NWR needs an engine for local passenger work. So I’m going there to stay.”

“Why you staying?”, Asked Poppet curiously. “Wouldn’t your frien-”

“If I stay I'll end up scrapped.” replied Sam bluntly, cutting Poppet off mind sentence. “My class is on the way out, it's only a matter of time before I’m withdrawn.”

“Don’t worry about it mate.” Poppet said, understandingly. “I’m on borrowed time myself.” “Most of the older Furness engines are being withdrawn as of late.”

“But you at least still have work.” Said Coppernob, “A hard working engine is a useful one.”

Sam sighed. Thank you Coppernob, he smiled slightly.

Poppet chuckled. "Just call him Nobby!" "Everyone else does!"

Coppernob rolled his eyes. Poppet just laughed, and Sam smirked.

“Alright then! Nobby it is!” Sam chuckled.

“So Sam.” Coppernob asked, making the other two stop chuckling. His facial expression was blank. “Have you travelled far?”

“Aye, a wee bit.” Sam said, his gaze returning to the older engine. “Perth, you heard of it?”

“Perth?” Poppet said, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a part of Glasgow?”

The look that Sam threw at Poppet made her shut up instantly & made Coppernob burst out laughing.

The three engines would continue to talk for about 15 more minutes. Nobby & Poppet were telling Sam about one of the old FR’s busiest & most interesting tourist days back in the spring of 1919.

Just as Coppernob was telling Sam about his rather, as he put it, “interesting” experience with a young fireman. Sam’s crew arrived back & came up to see him.”

“Awwww Sam!” His Driver chuckled, putting her jacket back on. “Looks like you made some friends already!”

“Yeah, good on you lad.” His fireman added, trying to hide the obvious lipstick marks on his neck.

“Well come on then!” His driver said, climbing into his cab. “Sodor awaits us!”

“Well goodbye you two.” Said Sam, “I’ll try & visit as much as i can.” “If this all works out that is!” He added chuckling.

“Bye Sam!” “See you around!” Poppet called as Sam drove off.

Sam blew his whistle loudly in goodbye. It echoed around the yard, and startled some of the engines in the shed! He picked up some speed, as he chuffed over the bridge to await his new life.

On the isle of Nowhere.

30 Minutes later

“FINALLY!” a stout gentleman nearly yelled from the platform. “FINALLY I GOT AN ATLANTIC!”

Special thanks to @mean-scarlet-deceiver for letting me use Nobby & Poppet for this story.

[nuwanders]

What English accents do you think they’d have in Cyrodiil other than Yorkshire accents in Kvatch (according to a headcanon by @bretongirlwrites)?

Hope the bugs aren’t biting you too much

(so far no bites or signs of activity since arriving back in the flat!! we're hoping that's the end of it, but of course we'll remain vigilant for the next few weeks until we can be certain :))

anyway! interesting ask. i'm hesitant to map real life cultures 1:1 onto TES cultures, especially when cyrodiil is clearly based on a weird mixture of ancient rome and medieval italy (and when england finds its own TES 'equivalent' in High Rock), but for the sake of answering your ask I'll assume that Cyrodilic (or what the game calls 'common' or 'Tamrielic') is the same as English. This isn't too much of a stretch; if Old Cyrodilic is similar to Latin, it seems reasonable to imagine that Old Cyrodilic + Ancient Nordic + Bretonic languages (which I headcanon to be similar to languages from the Celtic family, with the addition of French) could result in something sounding like English.

so! Cyrods speak English. I'm going to hazard a guess that the Kvatch/Yorkshire comparison comes from Sean Bean being a Yorkshireman, which is cute so I'll leave that as is.

Going further, it would probably help to draw a boundary somewhere between northern and southern English accents. It seems obvious to draw that boundary between Colovia and the Niben. The climates obviously don't map very well, but in terms of culture and vibe, the north is seen as rugged, 'wild' and economically poor whilst the south(-east) is seen as 'civilised', 'cultured' and economically prosperous. Inverted commas because this is obviously a load of bollocks, though the economic disparity is definitely there.

So to start with, I think the Nibenay Basin accent would sound similar to Estuary English (also known as BBC English, received pronunciation, etc... basically what Americans think of when someone says ‘British accent’). Cyrodiil's financial, cultural and political power is concentrated in the Basin in the same way England's international influence is concentrated in London/around the Thames. The 'Basin accent' would be spoken by the Imperial City's upper classes and mimicked by aristocrats across the province, regardless of whether or not they actually hail from the Niben.

(more under cut)

Making a slight exception to the Colovia = North rule, I'm going to say that an Anvil/Gold Coast accent sounds like West Country English. This is because the West Country, whilst being in the south of England, has more in common with the north in terms of how it is viewed by south-easterners. West Country English is associated with farmers, agriculture, and rolling green hills. If you go far enough west, you find the Cornish accent, which I think seems appropriate for sunny, coastal Anvil. A famous example of West Country English would be Sam Gamgee from TLOTR.

I think the Colovian Highlands accent would sound like Cumbrian English. Cumbrian English is spoken in the mountainous Lake District, in the north-west of England and close to the Scottish border. It shares a border with Yorkshire which would make sense given the position of Kvatch, (though I think the Kvatch accent would probably bleed into the Heartlands).

I think the Skingrad/Heartlands accent would sound like (north) Derbyshire English. Derbyshire sits in the midlands, just south of Yorkshire. It is the home of the Peak District (where I'm from!), which is very 'Heartlands' in both vibe and location.

I think the Bruma/Jerall Mountains accent would sound like north-east/Geordie English. Don't ask me for an explanation, i simply feel it in my heart. A famous example of Geordie English can be found in Billy Elliot.

The Chorrol/Great Forest accent would sound like east-midlands English, which is more a group of accents than an accent in its own right, but the important thing is that it’s not as strong as most northern accents (relative to 'standard' / RP english), but is noticeably distinguished from SE English by the short 'A' in words like bath, laugh, grass etc.

Lastly, I think the Blackwood accent would sound like Black Country English. The Black Country also lies in the midlands, but has a very distinct (and strong) dialect of its own, not dissimilar from the brummy accent of Birmingham (made internationally recognisable by Peaky Blinders). This, in my mind, is analogous to the Blackwood's proximity with the Niben yet distinct cultural identity. The Black Country is seen in England as impoverished and uncultured, which I think fits with the negative stereotyping about the Blackwood in-game.

I'm not going to break down the various regions of the Niben because I think, like in the south-east of England, there would be less variety in accent. If you want to break the Imperial City down into its different districts, you could easily do so with the various accents of London (e.g. Waterfront Cyrodilic could sound like Cockney). In general, I think the upper-middle classes and the aristocracy will speak with a Nibenese accent no matter where they're from, in much the same way 'RP English' is seen as the universal 'middle-class' accent of England.

Hope this helps!

[maypoleman1]

25th June

Midsummer Day/ St John the Baptist’s Day

Source: Green Canticle website

Today is Midsummer Day and St John the Baptist’s Day. At Magdalen College in Cambridge an open air service is held in honour of the Baptist. The pulpit is built into the stone wall of the quadrangle which, in years gone by, was decorated in greenery for the service, denoting a decidedly pagan origin to worship on this site. The rather weak Christian explanation for the midsummer garlanding was that the vegetation represented the wilderness through which St John wandered.

The seventh century Irish princess, St Bega, fleeing a forced marriage, ended up shipwrecked off the Cumbrian coast. Finding refuge with the local landowner, Lord Egremont, Bega asked that she be allowed to thank God for her salvation by building an abbey on the spot. The lord, reluctant to give up prime real estate to a fugitive and penniless princess, promised to do so if the following day there was a snowfall, which it being Midsummer Eve, was unlikely even in Cumbria. However the next morning, three miles of Egremont’s land was covered with midsummer snow. The abbey was duly built at modern St Bees. Sadly this tale is almost certainly fiction. An Anglo-Saxon bracelet, allegedly belonging to Bega and worshiped as a holy relic for centuries, was kept at the abbey at St Bees. The Saxon English term for bracelet is beag, and Bega’s life story was probably improvised from this unlikely source.

Today is also rumoured to be when one of the standing stones at Callanish on the island of Lewis walks. Local giants were turned to stone by St Ciaran when they refused to help the saint build a church there. Every Midsummer, one of the giants, known as The Shining One, comes back to life and walks down the avenue of standing stones formed by the Fir Chreig, or “false men”.

[tracksterman]

I'd walked in from the West Cumbrian coast on Monday afternoon via a cheap advance rail ticket. After a calm night on the SW slopes of an obscure fell I headed over the tops, east and north; t-shirt weather in mid November once early high cloud had burnt off.

[videogameref]

Photography by Peter Mitchell.

Railway House, Cumbrian Coast, 1976

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

What exactly do you think determines which accent an engine speaks with: where they were built or where they worked for most of their life?

Example: Thomas speaks with a cockney accent due to being from the LBSCR, James being Liverpudlian due to being a L&Y Engine etc etc.

In basic linguistic theory, L1 is our first language, that we learn natively. L2 refers to any languages afterwards/languages we learn when past the critical language learning stage (I think it's after 5 years?) that we have to learn through more explicit instruction.

I think the engines acquire languages and accents much as we do, though they would have an extra L0: the language and accent they absorb during their building process (as engines are presumed to be able to speak when they first come to life—they do not have the long language-learning stage that humans do!)

I have to suppose L0 (the building language) has a time-limited affect on engines. This is because of how very common it is for an engine to be built in one country and then immediately shipped off to another. I suppose at this point engines learn their L1 like babies do, and it takes a little while but they become fluent in this language. If it's different from their L0 then I would suppose their L0 is forgotten or at least goes dormant.

After L1, we have our L2s. We can learn more languages but they will not pick them up as readily and will speak it with an accent.

This all applies to accents, too, just like us. We do tend to engage in accent shift, unconsciously imitating the people around us. I would suppose Thomas's first accent is long gone — though he did have his original crew that travelled to Sodor with him and stayed on with him a long time, so through them he might have held onto it a good while! Apart from his crew, though, there must have been a remarkable dearth of speakers with that accent on his little rural branch line.

I love the idea of Scouse James though, again, it's been going on a hundred years now and I can see him trying to minimize it, so I imagine his accent has softened a good bit by now!

But James would retain his accent a while because he probably worked the L&Y for over a decade before coming to Sodor. If Gordon was only trialled out of Doncaster for a year, and given that he travelled all about the East Coast Main Line and his Works would have featured a rather cosmopolitan cast, well. I don't think Gordon retains his original accent at all. He could not imagine himself sounding Yorkish and, to be frank, neither can we!

Southeastern Sodor must feature a lot of the same Barrovian/Cumbrian/Lancashire mix that went into Edward's L1. I would imagine the north and west of Sodor have their own particular accents, though. So even his speech patterns shouldn't have remained completely stagnant.

Donald and Douglas having each other is going to reinforce their L0/L1 speech forever so it makes sense that they have the strongest accent.

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Book Interviews: The Lost Art Of Ironing by Kelly Davis, Glory Days by Kerry Darbishire and Kelly Davis

Kelly Davis lives in Maryport, on the West Cumbrian coast, and works as a freelance editor. Her poetry has been widely anthologised and published in magazines such as Mslexia, Magma, London Grip and Shooter.In 2021 she came second in the Borderlines Poetry Competition and was longlisted for the Erbacce Press Poetry Competition. She has twice been shortlisted for the Aesthetica Creative Writing…

[v0id-c0rroded]

Unseen Metrovick pic!

Cumbrian Coast, April 1965, a local train. Perhaps lower risk ;-)

[christinamac1]

Nuclear lobby infiltrates West Lakes Academy and the Energy Coast University Technical College  

 West Cumbrian students challenged to design nuclear decommissioning robots  Business Crack, by Adam Lewis, May 9, 2024 West Cumbrian youngsters have been tasked by the Robotics and AI Collaboration (RAICo) and the Industrial Solutions Hub (iSH) to design and build robots which will be showcased at a major robotics and artificial intelligence industry event.  The students, aged between 16 and…

[britishcyclesport]

Coast to Coast Sportive

Need a target to aim for this year? How about the Coast to Coast in a Day Sportive? The Coast to Coast in a Day Sportive is a 150 mile, west to east ride across the north of England. This iconic route takes you through three of England’s National Parks. Starting in Seascale on the Cumbrian coast, the route will head east to Windermere. Here you’ll get to cross Lake Windermere by ferry, something…