#Traintober: The Western

[engineer-gunzelpunk]

Traintober Day 16: The Western (cw: animal death)

This story I wrote a while ago. It takes place in the Western region of Victoria, back in the 1940's. It features yet another one of my OCs, Victorian Railways A2 No 986 "Pluto", one of the long-lived A2 express passenger engines that graced the rails of Victoria from 1905 to 1963, to the very end of steam on the main line.

This is based on another true story of enginemen participating in a sheep muster from the books of Nick Anchen, a master of collecting warts-and-all stories from old enginemen that worked the railways. Some of the details are true to life as to what happened on this occasion, only thing that has changed is that the locomotives talk.

For those of a more sensitive disposition, I have put the story behind a cut.

Carnivore

Nearly every locomotive in the VR has performed some kind of country or agricultural work in their career. Heavy Harry pulled trains filled with meat, the Rs pulled the seasonal wheat trains,  the light-footed Js and the Ks pulled trains filled with livestock and fruit up and down the branchlines to and from Cudgewa in the North East, to take to Harry or Greyhound or the other swift-running X-classes waiting in Wodonga to take to Melbourne; it was the rare steam locomotive that stayed in suburban confines or didn’t pull any goods work. Australia was still a strongly rural place in the Steam Age, and Victoria was the agricultural breadbasket along with Tasmania. The fact that it was webbed in iron made distribution relatively easy and fast.

Quite often it involved sheep, pigs or cattle. Not the most pleasant of all jobs but it needed to be done. 

The year was 1943, the war in Europe and in the Pacific was at it’s height, and there was drought blighting the land.

One day, the cantankerous A2 express passenger locomotive No 986 Pluto and another A2, Roy, were being prepared to take a train up to Yelta, near Mildura in the state’s North West. Pluto was especially excited for the tales heard from the other locos promised wonders… but the landscape was anything but. Parched, yellow and unpromising.

Yelta was near the Little Desert, and was dry as dust. On the way to Yalta was the town of Merbin; which was home to a lot of very poor folk, the firemen in their generosity would kick off lumps of coal from their footplates on the way up or down so that the poor could cook and heat their homes with it. But the purpose of this trip to Yalta was to gather sheep from the flocks there and to take down to the opposite end of the state, Korumburra in Gippsland in the East.

Korumburra was sheep grazing country and the absolute opposite of Yelta ; wet, cold and lush, perfect for fattening sheep.

“What are you so happy about, you cranky old bastard? We’re travelling into Hell in a handbasket...”, groused Roy, who seemingly wanted to piss on Pluto’s parade. “You’ll see, idiot boy…”,  chuckled Pluto, who was normally grumpy and argumentative but today,  his gleefulness was unshakeable.

This was country so far away it required two locomotives to go the distance, and the then newly built young H220 Heavy Harry who was formally built for this purpose was being used to cart troops around; so the old-fashioned A2s still performed their work on their old lines like the Western Line to Serviceton and The Overland express.

The locomotives pulled up at Yelta and their fires were banked. Pluto relaxed and drank his fill of water, chuckling away at a seemingly hilarious scene.

“Whats so bloody funny?” snapped Roy. “Look at our drivers and firemen…”, snickered Pluto. The drivers and firemen had changed clothes and joined the sheep muster, loading the sheep onto trains. The drought had made them thin, pathetic things but that didn’t seem to deter the drivers and firemen helping the farmers to load the sheep into the vans as they could. 

Pluto enjoyed the sight of the humans running about and gave an occasional little laugh to himself. Pluto being so happy rather than angry was irritating and frightening to Roy, who always knew Pluto as the engine who was seemingly ‘born old”, grousing about everything and anything under the sun. After a while, the drivers and firemen returned … with a plump sheep.

Pluto couldn’t help but give an excited little hiss of steam, and it all got on Roy’s buffers something fierce. “Why are you so excited that we are in this dust hole watching our drivers and firemen chase sheep about?! Really bloody skinny sheep at that! And why are you so bloody happy they took a sheep! It’s going to shit in your cab on the way back! It’s definitely going to shit in my cab! Ew!’

Pluto’s joy was not diminished, “You watch, idiot boy…”. As they watched, Pluto’s driver and fireman slaughtered the sheep with a practiced care like they had done it a hundred times before, quickly and with no fuss. Roy quailed in fright at the sight. They carried the sheep and a trough into Pluto’s cab, and hung it off his tender near the coal chute. 

They cut the wool off the sheep, cleaned it, drained the blood into the trough, skinned it and took the entrails out. Pluto’s excitement became audible, his roiling boiler hissing and bubbling away.

“Tucker time, Pluto!” yelled his Driver, as he threw the entrails into his coal bed, the fire cooking the meat and then adding their charcoal-ed remains to the ash and clinker of the pan after a thorough burning.

Pluto hummed and simmered happily as the smell of cooking meat encompassed his entire being.

Roy was shocked and appalled.

“You got so excited to be a giant barbecue, you crazy old fool!” barked Roy.

“You stupid, silly little kid" grumbled Pluto. "Eating something you are not accustomed to normally is a pleasure!

 ‘Getting to eat human food sometimes really broadens the mind! 

‘Eat the liver, boy! It’ll put the mettle in your metal! Put the iron in your frames! Eh he he he he!”

“You like eating that stuff? After you saw it get slaughtered? You are really are crazy!” 

Pluto’s mouth twisted slighty and he just gave a brief wheesh, the locomotive equivalent of a shrug… and his voice turned cold and strained.

“Roy, I have been very, very exceedingly nice to you through this entire trip, it is literally killing me.’

“Not even my boy Harry gets as much of a banter-free run as you have. Instead of letting me have my joy, which is a rare and delectable treat thank you very much… you complain like a fishwife…”

“You carry on like that, the only thing you’ll be eating is coal and human waste…”

“Human waste?”, squeaked Roy.

Pluto laughed, “Well, they don’t install dunnies in us, do they?’

Roy’s grey face blanched in terror. “They would really put their filth in our fireboxes?!”

He retched at the thought, but Pluto just casually rolled his eyes and wheeshed briefly once more.

“Who knows? Since they know we are alive, they don’t do that, at least its never happened to me, they’ve done it in a bucket and tipped it out the side… but since you’ve been shitting on my joy since we left Melbourne, you foolish boy… it would only be just if it happened your crew’s ‘honey bucket’ got lost…”

Roy said not a word on the way back to Melbourne, the smell of sheep was making him ill. Nothing involving poo in the firebox happened… but the idea was terrible to him.

And Pluto enjoyed the smell of cooked meat in and around him in peace, all the way to Gippsland. He even had a tiny bit of the cut of the mutton the Driver and Fireman had hanging near his coal chute; they cut off a bit, cooked and ate it for lunch and put a little bit for him.

And it was delicious.

***

[joezworld]

Traintober Day 16 - The Western

So, the entire reason I did these Traintober prompts in the way that I did is that I watched Patrick H. Willems' new video "Why Are Movies So Obsessed With Trains?" and got inspired. (It's a very good video, go watch it and the follow-up.)

One of the primary inspirations I had was old westerns - you know, armed men on horseback robbing trains, cowboys, shotguns, whatever it was Gore Verbinski was doing with The Lone Ranger (2013); that sort of thing.

So I did that. On Sodor. Because why the hell not?

If you squint you may see some similarities to Train Stops Play.

Catch That Train!

The 1990s - When isn’t important

The train stood still under the bright sun of a high noon. It was hot but calm, the perfect day to stay inside, out of the elements. 

The engine certainly thought so - he was a four-coupled design, old as dirt by modern standards, but polished and cared for; still useful. He blew impatient smoke rings into the clear summer sky - he wanted to be somewhere else. 

His crew felt the same, baking in their uniforms as they tended to their charge. The fire was hot in the best weather, and the best weather this was not. They were considering stripping to their undershirts, or beyond, just to cool down.  

Behind them, a mixed train stretched back - short by some standards, but long for them: nine cars - one dry goods van, a trio of open hoppers that were riding empty (except for some loose straw), a trio of flatcars as empty as the hoppers, and then two coaches tacked onto the end - one for the mail, the other a baggage/coach combination. An odd train for sure, but this line was always a little old fashioned. 

The signal was at danger, and so they sat there, in the middle of the fields, surrounded by nothing but high grass…

-

The horses emerged over the crest of the nearest hill. 

There it is! The lead rider bellowed. He adjusted his white coat, dug in his spurs, and his white stallion took off with a will, galloping down towards the train. 

One after another, his fellows trailed behind him, until a fourteen horse gang was charging down the embankment towards the train. 

CLUNK 

The signal dropped, and the engine set off with a roar of impatience. 

The train jolted into movement, and the riders had to push their horses to keep pace. Soon the train was pulling away, and the riders slowly fell back, galloping down the center of the rails to keep their horses from falling to exhaustion. 

The tracks abruptly split underneath them, a long passing loop opening up to the right of the train. One rider, a small man on a huge chestnut mare, took his chance. Gaining speed, he pulled right alongside the train, slowly working his way along the coaches, looking for anywhere that he could hop on. 

The train did not oblige, and its speed began to slowly increase again, in varying steps. Sometimes the horse was faster, other times it was the iron horse. The rider was undeterred, even as his mare worked up a lather. 

A second set of hooves joined his, pounding against the rails of the loop. The lead rider pulled alongside. His stallion was longer in the legs, and he managed to pull ahead. The rest of the group slowly followed, trying to gain ground. 

It was slow going, but they’d have them eventually. All they had to do was make the flatbeds…

HONK-HONK! 

A two-tone note split the air, and the riders scattered as a huge diesel locomotive raced towards them on the loop. Half of them went right, spilling off the track and onto the embankment alongside, while the others slowed down, pulling in behind the train once again. 

The diesel grew larger by the second as the riders on the right-hand side spurred their horses on for another sprint. To the right of them, off the tracks entirely, was an earthen embankment that carried the road. Ahead of them, arcing over the tracks, was the bridge that took the road to the next town…

One rider, wearing black clothes and on a black stallion, took the charge, his horse almost flying up the side of the embankment, hooves pounding the road’s surface. Up here, he could almost gain on the steamer, and he raced onto the bridge just as the diesel slipped underneath in a streak of green. 

The road turned to cross the tracks, but the stallion didn’t. 

With a yell from its Rider, the black horse took a flying leap and cleared the bridge’s brick sides, soaring through the air in a perfect arc. 

Steel horseshoes sparked off the roof of the diesel as the horse landed mid-gallop, charging down the length of the passing train, against the direction of travel. 

The Rider looked to his left, mentally juggling three different speeds in his head as the steam train whizzed by on the other track. There went the hoppers, then the flatbeds…

The end of the diesel’s passenger coaches were quickly approaching…

Coaches, there. 

With a swift command from the Rider, the horse jumped from one train to the other, landing atop the first coach with sure-footed ease. Seconds later, the white stallion of the Leader landed atop the second coach with a thonk. 

Looking back, the rest of the group, now led by the young gun with the chestnut mare, continued down the road. Once it straightened out, they steeplechased their way across the lineside hedges and rejoined their fellows on the tracks in record time. 

Now then, onto the real prize. The two riders looked at each other, and spurred their horses on yet again, moving forward up the train. 

Reaching the end of the two coaches, they took a jump, and landed on the third flatcar with a bang. 

There! It was the Young Gun, pointing further up the train. Third hopper!

The two riders turned as one, and started up the train, their horses jumping the gaps between cars with practiced ease. 

The Young Gun watched them from the line. They’d find it, he was sure of that. 

HEY! His head whipped around. There, standing in the doorway of the coach, was a hired Guard. He took one big step out the coach, and onto the first flatbed. 

He wielded a shotgun. 

The Young Gun didn’t even think. With one shout to his associates, he stood up on the saddle of his mare, judged the gap, and leaped for the train. 

The Guard didn’t hear him coming, and he tackled the man to the deck of the flatbed. The gun went skittering off the side of the train car, falling away to the lineside. 

The Young Gun was fast on his feet, and tried to pin the Guard to the deck. Unfortunately he was built like a string bean, while the Guard’s muscles strained out of his shirt. With one move he was halfway across the flatbed, while the Guard looked for his weapon. 

Finding it gone, he reached for his belt. With a vicious look, he grabbed a small object and flicked it. The man exuded an aura that said he didn’t need a gun. An extendable baton would do the trick. 

The Young Gun was momentarily at a loss, before a shout from his fellows drew his attention. One of his associates tossed something his way. 

A mallet. 

The Young Gun suddenly felt more confident. This, he could work with. 

The two men stared each other down,  waiting for the other to flinch. 

A shout rose up from the hoppers. They’d found what they were looking for!

At the exact same moment, a cry of What is going on? emerged from the open door of the coach. 

The two men realized that it was now or never. 

They readied their weapons

They charged.

----------------------------------

A few minutes later

“I’m sorry,” Said the police constable, not for the first time. “But you’re going to need to take this from the start.”

“Polo is our game!” Said the man on the left. He held the reins of the white horse. 

“Polo,” The constable repeated. “The sport on horseback?”

“That’s right!”

“And…” The constable held onto his pen and notepad like a lifeline. “What exactly does polo have to do with chasing down a train?”

The man on the right, the one dressed in all black, spoke up. He at least had the good graces to look slightly aware of the situation’s ludicrous nature. “It’s the gentleman’s rules of polo.” he said quickly.

“The… Gentleman’s Rules.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you mind elaborating on that a touch?” The pen, it has to be a lifeline. 

“Well,” the white-dressed man started, before his black-suited companion stopped him. 

“Clancy. Please.” He looked to the heavens for support. “that's the rules of our game. One ball, no out of bounds. Play doesn’t stop until the horses tire or the ball is destroyed.”

Oh no. Things were starting to make sense. “And would I be right in assuming that you hit the ball onto the train?”

“You would be.”

“So, you were chasing it down to retrieve your ball?”

“Yes.” The one in black was looking more and more chagrined. The one in white was suitably oblivious.

“Did it, at any point, occur to you that it might be wiser to treat the ball as lost?” They’re going to say no, because this island is full of nutters. Why did he accept the transfer from London? Was it the lie about peaceful country life, or the lie about Sodor being boring?

The white-dressed one puffed himself up. “We are not cowards! What’s a spirited ride down the railway line to a skilled group of horsemen like us?” He gestured broadly to the group of polo players, who were all being interviewed by what had to have been every police officer in Suddery. 

“Aside from him being a skilled instigator,” The black dressed man said with a hangdog expression. “We didn’t bring another ball.”

“I see.” The constable made a few notes out of sheer desperation. Somehow he knew that the other side of the story was going to be just as implausible. 

“Now then,” He turned slightly, and addressed the private security guard, who looked ready to explode. “What’s your side of this whole business?”

“I-” The man started. “We. Are from Securicor. You know, the security firm? We are escorting a highly valuable shipment from Brendam to Newcastle. I am doing my job-”

The man was turning puce, and the constable cut him off. “Yes, yes, I’m aware. Cash transport on behalf of Northern Rock. We are kept in the loop on this sort of thing.”

“Then you know how valuable this shipment is!” The burly man continued, waving his arms around. “And so I hardly see why I am being questioned about how I did my job and protected my shipment from- from- from a group of bandits on horseback!” 

Here we go. “You’re being questioned primarily so that I may have a full understanding of what transpired, but also because you drew a firearm on these two men right here, and then proceeded to get into a fight with another whilst on a moving train.”

“A fight that he lost, I daresay.” The white-dressed rider spoke up again. His black-dressed compatriot put his head in his hands. 

“They jumped onto a moving train!” The guard protested. “What was I supposed to do?!” 

“Win the fight, I might say.” said the white-dressed man. 

“Why you-!” The guard turned a different color, and looked like he needed to be restrained. 

“Oi!” The constable cut in. “Leave it! No more of this instigating while I’m right here.”

“Oh fine.” The white-dressed man said calmly. “It’s all the better that he lost, anyway. We’d have never gotten the ball if young McColl hadn’t distracted him.”

He produced a small white ball that helpfully said “POLO” on it.

The Securicor guard went several colors at once. “All that, for that?!” He bellowed, and lunged for the ball. It took all of the constable’s strength, plus several other men, to wrestle him to the ground. 

-

Several hundred feet away, Edward watched the rapidly unfolding calamity with bemusement. “I say,” he wondered aloud to the Chief Inspector for Suddery. “Isn’t that the new man that London sent up?”

“A-yup. ‘E’s been here ‘bout a week.” The inspector said as a group of men restrained the security guard. 

“How has he been fitting in?” 

The guard broke free, and the new constable had to tackle him to the ground. 

“I think he still needs to get used to the place. Not used to the country life, I think.”

“Few are.”

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 23-Tap Out

Day 23-Beyond

Other Stories

Other Day

A Western Summer

Thomas rolled onto the docks smoothly, humming contentedly, whistling a hello to S.S. United States as he looked for his friend, the liner replying back.

He soon found Percy, cursing at the truck management.

“May I remind you my siblings taught Salty?” he called out amused.

Percy looked back with a glare, “No wonder it's a mess then.”

Thomas chuckled, and began helping Percy sort out the mess.

“Its due to the storm,” he explained, “several harbors are closed for repair, and it's all coming through here. Plus everything meant for past Elsbridge…”

“Has nowhere to go.” The saddletank sighed, “I guess that's why they needed me here so much.

“How was the trip?” Thomas asked innocently.

“Never again.”

Thomas laughed, “I thought it would be better than being stuck in the shed.”

“...of course it was your idea.”

“Come on, where is your love of the water?” He teased.

“I’ll leave that to your boyfriend,” Percy snarked. He then paused and looked back towards the sidetank, “how are you by the way?” He asked, suddenly serious. “I know the storm was harder on you than anyone else.”

Thomas actually considered the question, “I’m alright.” He said finally, “Duck’s been keeping my mind off things, so a lot better than I expected.”

Percy snorted, “I half expected you to have run off to save a scrap yard…”

He stopped when he didn't get a reply. He looked over to see the tank engine staring at the tracks before him, the trucks looking at him in concern.

“I…I can't.” Thomas said, he looked up at Percy, “you hear about the other night?”

Percy nodded slowly, “something about a demon battleship?”

“Not a demon, just one who failed to pass on.” Thomas sighed. “The whole time…I was just tired, not physically but…”

“You're not sure how much more you can take.”

“They’re withdrawing the Class 26s, and the 40s…the peaks will start being withdrawn next year. I thought I would be done. That the end of steam would signal the end. They would scrap the unsuccessful diesels and electrics then I could rest. They're scrapping successful engines now…just for being non-standard.”

Thomas looked exhausted.

“Tap out.” Percy said.

“I can't.” Thomas snapped.

“The hell you can't,” Percy snapped back, “you have an entire island of engines willing to step in, and that's not counting beyond the NWR. Tell us where to go and we'll see it done.”

“I can't just hand off my duty…”

“You're not.” Percy said firmly, “no one expected this to go on so long. You may not be able to hand control over to anyone else, but we can do the heavy lifting.”

Percy paused and continued more gently, “it's been twenty years since they announced the plan. No one can blame you for taking our help…I'm afraid you're on your own with the battleships though.”

Thomas burst out laughing at the unexpected statement, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

[3u-n0a-s3i]

TRAINTOBER day 23: Beyond

What would a Duck want to see beyond his rails?

[mwolf0epsilon]

Summary: Every railway has it's golden engine, but not every railway is nearly as lenient and forgiving as the NWR. Duck adapts in his own way.

Prompts: The Western | Golden

[Couldn't pick which of the two Traintober prompt lists I wanted to have a crack at, so I've decided to kill two birds with one stone and write for both simultaneously. I'm still fairly new to the TTTE fandom and haven't really written anything for it, so I hope these aren't too bad! Either way enjoy!]

[number1spongebobfan]

Oliver rode too roughly on the rails :/

[pistonsandgearsinc]

Traintober: Day 8 "Bird"

"They say I waddle"

[Western Region Docks, United Kingdom]

"Oi, Monty where's the eggs?" 1437 ventured. 5741 let out a long sigh, "Terrence if this about my waddle then I don't wish to hear anymore." but 'Terrence' rallied again. "No, I mean, there were a few trucks of eggs on your line that I was meant to arrange." He clarified.

"Don't know Terrence, I just got back from the coaling stage." Just then a low whistle sounded out as 517 came in with a small mixed goods. "Afternoon Montague, Terrence." She whistled to the pair. "Hey Matilda, have you seen some trucks of eggs by chance." Terrence asked.

"Mhm."

"Where-"

"A few hours ago."

Terrence grumbled to himself as his face produced a long frown, Matilda only continued to smile.

"Not entirely helpful." Montague replied.

"The truth isn't entirely helpful." Matilda replied in kind.

"The Great Western Way would beg to differ," Terrence retorted, but Matilda merely smirked and said, "The Great Western Way ALSO admonishes failures that could have been avoided. I think losing your train in such conditions would be highly avoidable."

-

Sprites and backgrounds by PrincessMuffins, CJTheCreator, tsDra90n, Amelheronemus.

Inspiration wasn't really there for this, sorry.

[edwards-exploit]

I believe the morning sun

She still can't quite believe that she's finally feeling steam in her tubes and warmth in her firebox again- the dreamlike light that the morning sun casts definitely doesn't help.

Always gonna shine again, and

But here she is, in resplendent new colours and new nameplates affixed to her sides and a new number painted on her cabsides - the newest addition to the North Western Railway! As she thunders down the rails, finally free from the din and darkness of the Steamworks, she only hopes she isn't late!

I believe a pot of gold, waits at every rainbow's end, oh.

TRAINTOBER DAY ONE: DAWN + THE ARRIVAL

[konnosaurus]

traintober day twentytwo- duck!

duck, big on his great western properness, meets pendennis, wh, despite being a big ol' important gwr engine, is just here for a fun time and some good conversation hehe!

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 19 - Admire

Douglas Couldn't Help It!

Douglas smiled softly as he watched the station. It had been only a couple of years since his dramatic escape from British Rail and arrival on Sodor, but Oliver was already fitting in like a natural. The Great Western engine was an absolute social butterfly, able to charm the big engines with ease even as he made Duck laugh with all his in-jokes that only the two truly understood. He was admittedly still a little wary of the diesels - especially Bear and Daisy whose classes had worked around where Oliver had lived and replaced him and his siblings - but even then he was growing more confident around them with each passing day. 

“It’s nice being on Sodor,” Oliver had confided in Douglas. “Diesel and steam engines can live in harmony here without fear of one replacing the other.” Douglas couldn’t agree more, he himself feeling more at peace with the diesels on Sodor with each passing year. But the way Oliver seemed so relaxed and confident in himself, it made Douglas feel all sorts of things. Douglas couldn't help it! Oliver was so suave and witty and brave - how could he not admire him? 

As if on cue, a cheerful whistle blasted in the distance, and Oliver steamed in. Douglas puffed over, a broad smile already growing on his lips. “Hullo Oliver, how was yer run?” “Oh, hi Douglas,” grinned Oliver. Douglas felt like his fire was about to melt right through his firebars and fall all over the line. “The run was good - I don’t think I’ll ever get over how beautiful this line is!” “Aye, it is a fabulous little line, though I’m sure yer old line was also nice.” “Oh it was!” Oliver began, “but… then the diesels began to arrive, and we didn’t get to use the line as much. And that was after they replaced most of the Autocoaches with their Mark 1s… nasty, heavy things!” Douglas just hummed, a little dopily. Oliver chuckled, shooting Douglas a megawatt smile that went straight to the poor Scot’s boiler.

“I’ve got to go, and I think you do too,” grinned Oliver, already beginning back down the line with his train. Douglas blinked, and looked back. His guard was tapping his foot impatiently, and when he spotted Douglas finally paying him some attention, gestured to the trucks. Douglas went red with embarrassment and hurried to get back to work.

As he back down onto his trucks, Douglas looked over and spotted Mike sitting on the Arlesdale Railway’s tracks next to him. Mike was shooting Douglas the most disgusted look an engine could, his face scrunched up comically. “What?” “You’re besotted,” sneered Mike. “It’s pathetic to watch – just talk to him like a normal engine, ask him out if you have to! But stop gazing after him like he’s some damsel in a Hollywood film!” Douglas just sighed. “Ye'll understand ane day.” “No I won’t! Who would I even look at like that? Frank?! You’ve lost it, Douglas!” Douglas ignored the little pillarbox of an engine and steamed away.

Douglas worked hard all day, trying his best to find another time when his schedule matched up with Oliver’s so they could chat – only much to his dismay, it just didn’t happen. Poor Douglas was never in the right spot, and all he could do was watch as the cute Autotank vanished out of view with his passengers.

“Ah canae tak it anymore! Hou is it thon A keep missin Oliver by mere seconds?!” burst out Douglas to his twin that night. Donald snorted. “Ye're juist unlucky. Iver considerit playin cards - ye'd have more luck thare than i love!” Douglas rolled his eyes at his twin and went unhappily to sleep.

An entire week went by in this manner, with Douglas managing one or two short conversations each day where Oliver would leave him absolutely flustered and whining to his twin about the Western engine he had rescued. Donald indulged his twin with a wry grin, remembering similar conversations he’d had to listen to back in Scotland and back at Tidmouth.

Finally, Douglas managed to strike good fortune. On Saturday, he finished up his duties near Tidmouth, and convinced his driver to let him sleep there the night, so he could try strike up a conversation with Oliver again. But as he neared the shed, he heard voices – it was Oliver! And… Gordon?

“I mean, he’s just so strong,” sighed Oliver wistfully. “I suppose, though I don’t see the appeal personally,” came the reply. Douglas felt his boiler pressure drop. Who was Oliver talking about?

“I mean, have you seen him?” went on Oliver. “Especially at night! Watching him go by is a true sight.” Gordon snorted. “You talk like he’s me! Please, just because we—” Douglas reversed back down the line as fast as his wheels could carry him. Oliver liked another engine. Oh.

Oh no.

And Douglas knew who it was too – a strong engine who ran at night and Gordon could relate to? It had to be Henry! Gordon and Henry had shared a shape, and Henry hauled the Flying Kipper. It made so much sense, didn’t it? Of course Oliver would want someone like Henry, who was strong and caring and determined! And the two shared a shed too, so of course they had gotten to know each other well; and to think Douglas thought he had a chance.

Douglas managed to get James to agree to trade his late evening coal train – which was not that difficult, all things considered – and got as far away from Tidmouth as quickly as possible. He delivered the coal, then slept unhappily at Vicarstown.

Douglas didn’t say much for the next few days. He did his work, sighing quietly but still treasuring every smile Oliver sent his way. The Fat Controller had listened to his rather sudden request to help out on Edward’s branchline and agreed – for a few days at least, but all too soon Douglas was back on the Little Western.

Donald had noticed Douglas’ change of mood almost instantly, but waited a few days before confronting his twin.

“Richt, ye've been mopin aw week. Whit's wrong wi ye?” snapped Donald at the sheds. Douglas jumped, and looked at Donald for all of three seconds before gazing down at his buffers, a defeated look gracing the Caledonian’s features. “Oliver likes a different engine. A dinnae want tae get i the way thouch - A'm no some insane jealous idiot wha refuses tae see him happy without me thouch – e'en gin it's wi Henry. A'll juist admire him from afar an wait for these feelings tae gae away.”

Donald stared at his twin for a long, silent minute. He didn’t know what to say – Douglas believed, of all things, that Oliver liked a different engine. “Are ye sure?” he asked delicately. Douglas sniffled a little. “Ay, A overheard him at the sheds. He wis talkin tae Gordon aboot his crush. A'll be ok, juist... give me some time, aw richt?”

Donald agreed, and watched as his twin fell asleep. Then, he groaned aloud. “These twa idiots,” he grumbled. “A'm gaun'ae have tae talk tae Duck aboot this.”

Duck agreed with Donald. “Oliver’s been moping about Tidmouth too,” he huffed. “These two are as dumb as each other, I swear. We need to do something about it.” “Douggie wonae dae anythin - he's committit tae "just admirin him from afar" like some sort o chivalrous knicht.” “So it’ll have to be Oliver,” Duck realised. Donald agreed grimly.

These two would definitely need a push in the right direction – and thankfully, Duck knew exactly what to say…

“You’re an idiot and now Douglas thinks you like Henry.”

…Or maybe not.

“He thinks what? How?!” “He overheard you talking to Gordon about him and somehow misunderstood everything. The only reason I know is cause he told Donald, and I put ten and eleven together and figured out how dim-witted the pair of you are. Go ask that dumb Scot out already or I will dump you with Thomas.” “I get along fine with Thomas,” huffed Oliver. “He’s having another spat with Percy,” Duck replied with a groan. Oliver shuddered. The two still remembered the screaming match the pair had had in the middle of the Big Harbour a month back – it had been so bad that Gordon had to drag Thomas away while Henry held Percy back from chasing after the blue tank engine.

“Those two fight like cats and dogs,” sighed Oliver. “inconsistently and whenever it suits their fancy.” Duck couldn’t help but laugh, before pausing. “Don’t try and distract me – go ask Douglas out!” Oliver groaned, and puffed away to go do just that.

He found the Caledonian dozing in his shed up at Arlesburgh. Thinking quickly, Oliver convinced the signalman to let him roll onto the same line as Douglas, puffing right up to the Caledonian’s bufferbeam. Douglas opened a sleepy eye – and then bolted right awake.

“Oliver?!” “Hi Douglas. You know, I heard a very interesting thing today.” Douglas gulped, feeling his fire go cold. “O-oh?” Oliver grinned at the nervous engine, and smiled cheekily. “Oh yes – a birdie told me that you liked someone. And imagine my delight when I found out who.” Douglas listened intently – and then it sunk in. “Delichted? Are ye…”

Oliver smiled at the Caledonian, and rolled forwards until he buffered up to him.

“You’re an idiot, you know that? I like you, not some other engine. Strong, runs at night, saved me, blue like Gordon? It’s you.” Douglas just blinked dumbly, then groaned. “O course Gordon wad compare our paint juist sae he coud talk aboot himself!” “Of course,” agreed Oliver. “But I’d rather not hear you talk about other engines when we’re talking about us.”

Needless to say, Douglas was flushed bright red for the rest of the day and Oliver scored himself a Caledonian boyfriend.

Back to the Master Post

[greatwesternway]

Traintober Day 12: Something Borrowed - Toad

This was originally supposed to be, like, three different essays ("Brakevan Decorum", "Top 3 Smartest Guys on the NWR - #2 Will Surprise You!", and "The Great Western Mafia") but @littlewestern and I decided Day 12: Something Borrowed was a great day to talk about Toad.

Why "Something Borrowed"? Because on the NWR, Toad so often is.

While we most often see Toad working with Oliver, upon his arrival in Sodor, he declared that he'd like to be Douglas' brakevan. Sir Topham Hatt does seem to approve of this and I think that suggests something about how he'd like his railway to run. However, in practice, the NWR seems not to have enough brakevans that Douglas could have one all to himself.

I think that Toad assuming he could just be one engine's brakevan is because that was a more common arrangement on the GWR and perhaps to an extent on British Rail. We do see an example of a mainland engine having a dedicated brakevan in Samson and Bradford. If they have the stock, it's probably a very good idea to pair engines with brakevans for the same reasons one might assign an dedicated crew to an engine. Having established rapport between an engine and his brakevan can only make them work together better. Particularly when it comes to engines who need more guidance and insight into their work like Samson, pairing them with a brakevan who has a compatible personality can really make things run more smoothly.

Unfortunately - no matter how much Hatt may admire the Great Western Way of doing things - the NWR does not have enough stock to allocate Toad to Douglas only. Still, Toad can be Douglas' brakevan in spirit... and given that Douglas has been known to smash less mannerly brakevans to bits, I doubt Toad has much trouble finding himself available when Douglas needs him.

Toad's manners are also, I think, a relic of Great Western sensibility. It's really quite fascinating though because if Toad's decorum is typical of GW brakevans, it would seem to indicate a delicate balance in priorities that other railways seemed unable to hit.

That is to say, Toad always refers to his engines with an honorific (always Mr. Oliver or Mr. James or the rare Miss Marion) and is mostly soft-spoken and deferential to their leadership when back-ending their trains. He treats them in a way akin to a butler, as though his presence is a service he's providing them. That Duck and Oliver are both seen to be somewhat dismissive of him would point to their being an observed hierarchy of command on the GWR that places brakevans beneath engines.

However, Toad has also quite often put his brakes down when his engines are trying to do some foolhardy shit. He resisted both Gator and James' attempts to flout regulation citing safety, which is the precise point of a brakevan. I think this too is part of brakevan decorum on the GWR, although I also think it rarely had to be employed there. GW engines are generally quite safety conscious on their own, but part of good safety procedure is redundancy. Having your brakevans prepared to intercede in the unlikely event your engines want to trade safety for expediency is good preventative measures.

This is a hard line to toe though and the NWR up to that point hadn't done a very good job if the Spiteful Brakevan is any indication. A brakevan who uses the limited autonomy he's granted and the necessity of his presence to leverage in his interpersonal problems can become such a detriment to his engine.

And while Bradford is a perfect brakevan to pair with an engine like Samson who can't be fully trusted to work independently, his strict adherence to regulation at the expense of common sense makes him a nuisance for engines who are more capable.

So it stands to reason that when Douglas rolled in with a GW engine, a GW autocoach, and a GW brakevan, Hatt might have wishfully thought some of that GW decorum was going to rub off and was all too happy to entertain even purely ceremonial gestures towards the Great Western Way of assigning brakevans.

You know what that also tells us though?

If Toad asked to be Douglas' brakevan, it almost certainly means that he was not Oliver's, particularly since it is stated that Isabel is Oliver's coach. That little notion paints a much more interesting picture of the escape from the scrapyard. Rather than it always being the plan to bring him, Toad may instead have been a late addition to the consist. And if that's true, another suspenseful possibility emerges: that Oliver and Isabel might have had enough coal to make it all the way to Sodor had they not brought him along.

But they wouldn't really have had a choice about it: they are all Great Western and must stand together.

Luckily, thanks to Douglas, they do all make it to Sodor and Toad is able to return the favor quite a bit over.

Toad's shown on several occasions to be a clever little sumbitch. He understands resource allocation (giving Gator one of his lights in "Toad's Bright Idea"), he can solve problems by looking at the bigger picture (using the crane on the other side of the island to get the whale back in the water in "Toad and the Whale", he's even got a touch of the silver tongue (lying by omission about James' speeding and directing the conversation to the branch on the line instead in "Toad's Adventure"). He might very well be the smartest guy on the railway and he's not even an engine. It would be a waste if he weren't as assertive as he is.

And so we reach my favorite thing about Toad: Toad is the one who comes up with the plan to rip Scruffey apart. And what's more, I don't think he actually told Duck and Oliver the whole plan. Three can keep a secret if two don't know they're doing so. 'Cause see, Toad never says they're going to rip Scruffey apart; he tells Oliver the plan is to bump him if he makes trouble.

When they're arranging the trucks, Toad also suggests in a way worded to sound like he thinks Oliver had already thought of and decided that he ought to be placed at the end of this train:

"I expect, Mr Oliver, you'll want me on the middle road as a stop-block, like."

"Er- Yes, please."

Oliver marshalled the worst trucks two by two in front of Toad.

"This way, Mr Oliver, takes longer, but they can't give trouble, and if you leave that Scruffey till last, you'll have him right behind you. Then you can bump him if he starts his nonsense."

Toad just settin' some fuckin' dominoes up right here.

And this is the beauty of it too. If Scruffey don't start no shit, won't be no shit. It's all so plausibly deniable, so brought upon himself!

Duck's presence is also important to the plan, even though he seems incidental. He and his also GW coaches are there as a matter of the schedule, but Duck came to the station with the ulterior intent to cheer Oliver on. As to just what he was going to be cheering specifically he may not have known (he looks quite unsettled by it), but this is Duck's branch line so it's important that he personally be seen condoning the execution about to happen on it, where all the other trucks can see it.

So now the trap is laid and of course Scruffey walks into it. He tells the trucks to hold back and they do. And when Oliver puts every bit of his boiler into pulling them anyway, Scruffey tells them to loosen up. Whether the rest of the trucks did or not, it doesn't matter. It's too late. Toad has his brakes on.

And then Sir Topham Hatt - who loves engine (and probably brakevan) bullshit - comes upon this scene. He can probably guess what really happened here because this ain't his first rodeo, but it solves the larger problem of truck behavior on Duck's branchline and you have to admire the craftsmanship of this scenario. Even Oliver doesn't know this was the intended result. When Hatt asks him about it, he's nervous.

"Well, Oliver, so you don't know your own strength. Is that it?"

"N-n-no, Sir," said Oliver.

The Fat Controller inspected the remains.

"As I thought," he remarked. "Rotten wood, rusty frames - unserviceable before it came." He winked at Oliver, and whispered, "Don't tell the trucks that - bad for discipline!"

He strode away, chuckling.

It might have even been so good a plan, so engineered to absolve all invested parties of blame, that Hatt might not have considered that Toad was involved at all. He knows damn well this wasn't Oliver's plan (he's not that clever), but no one really suspects a brakevan either. At the end of the train, a brakevan is so removed from the action, so far down the line and out of sight as to escape notice entirely.

Fkn consigliere shit right there.

[cerenemuxse]

"He Squawks!"

7th October 1963

The story can be found at @eosr-by-muxse for easier access.

Under an agreement between James and the rest of the North Westerners, after every October 6th, James is allowed to spook any of his fellow co-workers. This year has a bit of a surprise for him.

For Traintober 2023: Day 8 - Bird

~

In Tidmouth Yards, three engines were laughing about as they cleaned up the little mishap one of them caused. Troublesome Trucks had been derailed by accident.

“Thon wis quite a scare, Jim!” piped up Donald with a chuckle. “Ye could’nae even wait a single day noo, could ye?”

James laughed loudly. “Of course not! It’s past my birthday, just like we agreed~!”

“We ken, auld man!” Douglas said cheekily as he pulled a Troublesome Truck back on the line. “At least we won’t be needin’ the cranes.”

“Ye’re gettin’ better at spookin’,” Donald added with the same cheekiness.

“As if I was never good at it!” huffed the red medium-sized tender engine playfully, giving a cross look at the Scottish twins. Within seconds of silence full of steam being bellowed, all three engines burst into laughter once again as they continued pulling the trucks back onto the tracks.

Once they were done, Donald asked. “Sae, who’s yer next victim?”

“Emily, of course! As always.”

“As always?” asked Douglas with a chuckle. “Sae we’re always first? How sweet, Jim.”

With another playful huff, James replied, “Well, you’re the furthest away from my branch line, and I haven’t seen you both in a while, except for the weekends, that is.”

“We saw ye yesterday, auld man,” reminded Douglas.

“But still-!”

“We get it, Jimmy,” interrupted Donald. “Still cannae believe ye’re turning fifty-ane ance this month is over.”

“May I remind you that you’re both fifty-four years old. You’re both not that much older than me, ‘auld man,’” James retorted with a tease, mimicking the twins’ Scottish accent.

“Alricht, get goin’ then if ye want tae catch Emily,” huffed Donald, shooing the larger engine away. “We dinnae want the Big Man findin’ oot aboot this.”

“Right!” puffed James. With two sharp whistles from the polished brass object, James reversed and gathered his goods train that was headed to the docks. Half of the train was from the Ffarquhar Quarry and the other was from the Goram Fell Quarry, so the trucks were full of stone. Thankfully, these trucks weren’t Troublesome Trucks. Otherwise, they would’ve gotten James back for the incident that had occurred moments prior.

The red medium-sized tender engine pulled out of the yard with his goods train and went onto the Main Line, heading towards the Brendam Branch Line.

…

Brendam Docks was busy as usual with Salty bustling about and Cranky loading and unloading cargo. Goods trains were being set up as James approached Cranky.

"Here's James!" he exclaimed, whistling sharply. "Here's my train, Cranky!"

"You're gonna have to move along, James!" exclaimed Cranky with his typical grump. "I need to load another train now. You can put it underneath the dock manager's building for now!"

Without another word, James whistled once more and moved ahead. He made sure the brake van of his goods train sat right outside of the roofline of the building. Once that was done, he collected his brake van and moved along, only to find another engine stalled ahead.

Although James hadn't planned on adding this particular engine to his list, he gave it a second thought. With a soft but mischievous chuckle, he whispered, "I've been a little too nice to Edward."

His driver, Fred, caught wind and immediately spoke up. "Oh, don't you even think about it!" he whispered hastily as he grabbed the handbrake. "Come on, old boy! We're gonna be late!"

"Pft! We'll be fine. I'll only take a moment!" he whispered. Fred and George looked at one another before giving in, with Fred letting go of the handbrake. James snickered as he approached the blue medium-sized tender engine as slowly as he could. Knowing that Edward lacked the ability to open his smokebox door, James moved closer than he typically would. Once he was at the halfway point of Edward's goods train, he stopped, making sure Edward hadn't taken notice. The other engine didn't do anything but hum about, presumably waiting around. With a devious grin, James rushed forward with full force and hollered, "I'm behind you!" as loud as he could.

Edward let out a very loud squawk, startled by the sudden scream and red blur rushing past him.

James immediately pulled on his brakes the moment the sound left the other engine's mouth. The noise had shaken him out of his joy, making it short-lived. Slowly, he reversed until his smokebox aligned with Edward. He popped open his smokebox door, seeing Edward's face.

Edward's eyes were blown open, his lips creased together in a thin straight line, and his cheeks were burning to a near sooty black.

"Did you just-?" began James.

"Naw!" immediately squeaked the smaller engine, trying to be stern. "Naw, I didnae!"

"You squawked like a seagull!" exclaimed James, flustering Edward even further. "I can't believe it! He squawks!"

"James, please-!" he insisted, still trying to be stern.

"I wonder if Duck quacks?" asked James smugly. "Now wouldn't that be a treat?"

"James!"

"Oh, I won't tell anyone, Edward, if that's the problem."

"Well, aye, but-!"

"I've gotta go now! Talk to you later!" exclaimed the red medium-sized tender engine giddily before rushing off, leaving behind a very flustered Edward.

~

Just a fun short story! Looks like I did get a chance to join Traintober this year just for a bit.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 22-Surrounded

Day 22-Duck

Other Stories

Other Days

A Western Summer

When Duck approached the Tidmouth sheds for a rest before his next train, he was suddenly vividly reminded of his early days on Sodor. The shed was lined with the NWR veteran engines, Gordon, Emily, Henry, Linda, Jinx, Tidmouth, James, and more…all looking seriously at him.

“Good morning everyone.” He said politely.

“Good Morning Duck,” Gordon answered. “If you have time before your next train, there is a matter we would like to discuss with you.”

They already knew he wouldn't have to be ready for his next train for over an hour.

“Of course Gordon.” He said, stopping on the turntable, surrounded by the other engines.

“We have heard you have decided to pursue Cassandra.”

“She has been kind enough to grant me the chance to court her.”

“And just what do you intend to do with that chance?” Linda demanded.

He was a Great Western engine, the head of his line, he would not be intimated.

He also wasn't an idiot.

“To give it my best attempt.” He said honestly, “I am aware how fortunate I am that she of all engines gave me this chance. I will not squander it.”

“And if it doesn't work out?” Gordon asked solemnly. 

Duck stopped to give the thought the consideration it deserved, “I would be hurt.” He admitted. “I’m already dreading the day she returns to her line.”

“Then why court her, knowing she will leave?” Tidmouth asked.

“Because she is worth it.” Duck said simply. “I enjoy spending my time with her.”

He looked down, “we both know neither of us are willing to give up our branchlines to join the other. When her line is repaired I won't see her as often…but the time we will have will be worth it.”

“And if she decides it's not?” Henry asked.

Duck grimaced, “that's her call to make. I wouldn't like it…but it's her choice.”

Gordon considered the pannier for a long moment, then glanced at the engines around him, “are we in agreement then?”

One by one the engines nodded, some hesitantly, but all nodded.

Gordon looked towards Duck, “we'll help.”

“Pardon?”

Gordon cracked, smiling, “Cassandra’s been happier these last few days then we've seen in far too long. We decided that if you were as committed to her as you appeared, we would help make sure you two got time together once she returns home.”

“I passed then?” Duck asked, his relief palpable underneath his humor.

Gordon snorted, “yes, we could hardly tell Cassandra who she can date, she's been on the railways longer than most of us existed…”

“But you could decide whether to make it easy for me.”

“Of course. Normally we would have trusted you but…”

“They're Caomhnóir.” Duck said, “she deserves to have us look after her for once, instead of the other way around.”

“Exactly.”

Duck suddenly smirked, “I will be telling her about this, and she will not be pleased.”

Gordon chuckled warmly, “of course not.”

[brendambois]

Traintober day 9: Old Iron

Edward the Blue Engine was parked on one of the many two track jetties in the vast land of Tidmouth harbour, staring out into the horizon.

As the sun was setting, a small blue tank engine with six small wheels, a short stumpy funnel, a short stumpy boiler, and a short stumpy dome rolled up beside him. "Hello Edward, what are you doing out here?"

"Oh nothing Thomas, just thinking" the old engine replied.

"About what?" Said Thomas.

"About how far we've come"

Thomas then looked on to the horizon "We really have come far haven't we."

"Yes we have" Edward said, "I still remember when Gordon was the new engine on the line, and how he would call me old and slow, and how James was young and stupid and would call me old iron."

"Oh the irony of that" said Thomas "At this point we could all be considered old iron."

"Oh the irony indeed" Edward chuckled "it really is crazy how far we've come" he continued "From being the Nowhere Railway to one of the most popular tourist destinations" he looked down at his running board "I never thought that I would make it this far, from the shy steamer on the Furness to one of the the main staple engines on the North Western Railway"

He then looked at the tank engine next to him "And look at you, you went from being a small tank engine on a small railway in the middle of nowhere to being one of the most famous locomotives in the world.

Thomas the Tank Engine looked at his old friend dearly "But I still never would have made it here without you and everyone else, so from the bottom of my metaphorical heart, thank you. Now come on, Edward, the party for the 40th anniversary for our tv show is starting soon, and I don't want to miss it."

"Alright, I'm coming" Edward said.

And even though it was over 100 years ago, when Edward saw Thomas move through the dancing rays of the dying sunlight he could still see flickers of the little engine with the long tongue who wanted to see the world.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Summary: Some long forgotten drama comes to light when a shadow of the North Western Railway's biggest exhibitionist's past comes back to haunt him.

Prompts: The Drama | Exhibition

[Couldn't pick which of the two Traintober prompt lists I wanted to have a crack at, so I've decided to kill two birds with one stone and write for both simultaneously. I'm still fairly new to the TTTE fandom and haven't really written anything for it, so I hope these aren't too bad! Either way enjoy!]

[hoisnyshenanigans]

HOISNY Masterpost

Welcome to the HOISNY Blog! This blog is for the TTTE/T&F AU, HOISNY (also known as "Hold On I Still Need You"). Its contents are a fic series found on AO3, as well as side oneshots which are moments that don't quite fit in the 5 main fics, but fit in the AU’s context. // Will be updated as more content goes up!

CURRENTLY UP FOR READING | Main Series

Hold On I Still Need You | Status: Complete

After avoiding each other for years, Gordon and Flying Scotsman are properly reunited at The Great Railway Show. But things take a turn for the worse, when during the Race, an accident leaves them both extremely vulnerable. Things aren’t looking as sunny on the other side either, when an innocent comment leaves Thomas reeling and reliving feelings he had tried so hard to forget. Truths that had previously been buried are worming their way to the surface again and after many, many years of avoiding it; Flying Scotsman and Gordon finally have to confront their feelings for each other.

HOISNY: Interlude 1 | Status: Complete

A letter from the Flying Scotsman to his brother.

CURRENTLY UP FOR READING | Side Oneshots

Where It All Began | Status: Complete

Banbury’s bullying causes the first meeting between the soon(ish) to be North Western’s number 4 engine & the newly built Flying Scotsman. Queue brotherly fluff.

Finding Out How I'd be Torn From You | Status: Complete

Thomas arrives at the Great Railway Show and leaves more devastated than he thought he could ever be.

CURRENTLY UP FOR READING | Traintober 2024

HOISNY's Traintober 2024 [Masterpost] | Status: Ongoing

Traintober 2024 within HOISNY's context.