#former railway station

[conatic]

Belgique Belgium

Hainaut

Mons

Ancienne Gare de Mons

[artfromthefuture]

Solingen. Wandgemälde an der Fußgängerbrücke des stillgelegten Hauptbahnhofs by wwwuppertal Via Flickr: Solingen. Wandgemälde an der Fußgängerbrücke des stillgelegten Hauptbahnhofs

[justanotherguyincali]

Solingen. Wandgemälde an der Fußgängerbrücke des stillgelegten Hauptbahnhofs by wwwuppertal Via Flickr: Solingen. Wandgemälde an der Fußgängerbrücke des stillgelegten Hauptbahnhofs

[lets-take-a-break]

旧別海村営軌道風蓮線奥行臼停留所

Former Betsukai Village Railway Furen Line Okuyukiusu Station

北海道野付郡別海町　Notsuke-gun, Betsukai-cho, Hokkaido, Japan

2024/08

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 15 - Star

Duck once had a Friend...

Once upon a time, Duck the Great Western Pannier Tank had worked at Paddington Station in London as a station pilot. Paddington was a huge station with several engines just like Duck who rattled about shunting trains for the big engines to take on long journeys all across the West of England and into Wales. Some of these engines were pompous and rude, while others were old and wizened. Duck’s favourite engine at Paddington however was an old, old friend of his.  

Her name was Princess Margaret, and she was a member of the Star Class of GWR express engines. They were old and wise engines, who though displaced from the top link express services by their younger successors the Castles and Kings, still performed admirably.

Duck didn’t get to see his friend much. She worked trains that went right the way out to Wales and back, and so she would often spend the night at her destination before returning. But when Princess Margaret was there, she would always take time out to talk to Duck. The two were as close as engines could be – Margie, as Duck called her, had taught the Pannier everything there was to know about coaches when he’d first arrived, back when she still headed important expresses like the ‘Cornishman’ and the ‘Cambrian Coast Express’. As she’d been displaced first by the Castles, then the Kings, she’d begun running longer-distances, on lighter-laid lines that the two bigger classes just couldn’t travel on.  

“Margie was still in service when I left,” Duck explained to the sheds one evening. The engines at the Big Sheds had been discussing their lives pre-Sodor – the Scottish Twins had spent several long minutes purely explaining why the Thistle was the prettiest flower in the world, while Percy had spent almost an hour going through all the various parts of the country he’d seen. “I feel like she had a good chance of being preserved too. She even got to cameo in that one movie – the Titfield Thunderbolt!”

All throughout this, Bear had been unusually quiet. The former Western-region diesel had had his own stories he wanted to tell, but now he was slightly afraid of speaking up. Oliver noticed. The Great Western autotank was still new to the railway, and didn’t trust Bear yet.

“Well, Bear – you look troubled. Is something the matter?” he asked. Bear winced, his engine making an odd rumbling sound. All the engines looked over, and Bear shrunk back under their attention.

“When I was being built,” he began slowly, “we… uh… I…” Henry smiled sympathetically.

“It’s alright Bear, we won’t hate you for what you have to say,” he offered. Duck, Percy and the other big engines agreed. Bear sighed.

“Princess Margaret was the last Star Class in service,” he said quietly. “And when I was built… she was… being… taken apart at Swindon.” Bear cut off, looking down at his buffers in shame. Duck’s eyes widened.

“She… she was cut up?” he asked slowly. Bear didn’t look Duck in the eye, staring down at the rails instead.

“Yeah. At Swindon. The men claimed they’d waited four years to see if they could find a buyer… and none came for her. I’m sorry Duck – she seemed like such a nice engine. She just told them it wasn’t their fault, and she’d lived a good life…” Bear rumbled out of the sheds to pull the Midnight Goods before any of the engines could say anything. Oliver looked horrified.

“I… I didn’t think he would be so… torn up about it,” he admitted quietly into the night air. “Oliver, I understand you went through something traumatic,” Percy replied darkly, “but you need to learn that not all diesels are evil. Duck… I’m sorry too. It’s hard learning a friend is gone.” Duck didn’t reply, instead staring silently out of the sheds.

His friend had been a real shining star on the Great Western, who’d served them through two World Wars and kept on going even as her class was torn up. And all she got for it was a cold siding at her own birthplace and a cutter’s torch.

Duck wasn’t sure what that said about Swindon’s legacy, but it wasn’t positive.

Back to the Master Post

[famousinuniverse]

Statue of Liberty, Musée d’Orsay, Paris, France: The Musée d'Orsay is a museum in Paris, France, on the Left Bank of the Seine. It is housed in the former Gare d'Orsay, a Beaux-Arts railway station built between 1898 and 1900. The museum holds mainly French art dating from 1848 to 1914, including paintings, sculptures, furniture, and photography. Wikipedia

[hazel-of-sodor]

Imagine being an LMS express engine, back in the thirties, arguing with Gordon at Barrow, you blow your deep LMS whistle to try and assert dominance, but instead of the Gresley blowing his shrill inferior whistle in retaliation, he replies with a HOOTER of all things, defaming the stations. The rumor was true, the Gresley has a whistle that can out do even the deepest of deep-toned whistles. Never shoulda got transferred.

Well looks crack this one open shall we?

Lets get into the social dynamics and politics of the LMS, Barrow, and NWR.

So Gordon is top dog in Barrow, end of the story. While Barrow yard is far larger in this world than ours due to the existance of Sodor, its Industries, Harbors, and People, the largest Express Engines allocated there are usually 4-6-0s. Pacifics do venture down to Barrow, but heres the thing, hes their Elder.

Ask any Engine in Britian who the first (British) pacific was, they will invariably say Gordon (Neither The Great Bear nor Henry were largely successfull as 4-6-2s, and are seen as having found their true forms as 4-6-0s). Invariably class protoypes (successfull ones at least) are held in higher regard, but Gordon pionered the type. No matter He is former GNR/LNER and current NWR, Gordon is the first and is therefore the eldest. One could be forgiven for thinking that Gordon could have lost this respect in his younger years, but decourm in stations is the law for express engines (whisting in stations isn't wrong, but we just don't do it). Flagship express engines are the image of their railway, and are expected to uphold said image while in station. On the rare occasion LMS Pacifics did stay in Barrow longer than it took to refuel and prepare for their next run, they found Gordon a proud but gracious host, as was proper. (it helded that their opinion of him matched his own.)

The 4-6-0s, however were another matter. The Stanier 4-6-0s were content to tease their larger cousins about their hero worship, and keep a cordial relationship with North Western No.4. The Fowler's, however were...divided. The Patriots and Royal Scot's were aware of the threat of standardization. Stanier was not known to be sentimental man, and there were fears among some of the classes that they would be scrapped in favor of Stanier's standard engines (in reality a number of both class would be rebuilt to use Stanier Boilers.)

Some of these engines decided to deal with these fears by competeing feircly with their Stanier contemporaries, and for some this was not a friendly competition. These engines saw Gordon not as an honored elder or a respected collegue, but a part of the enemy. The incident this ask refers to occured in 1935, when a young Patriot class, newly assigned to Barrow decided to try and get a rise out of the Pacific. Gordon treated the younger express engine with all the restrained derision and posh superiority he felt the situation called for. Needless to say the Patriot only got angrier and angrier, leading to him trying to silence the North Western Engine with a long, rude, blast of their whistle, a dire breach of station etiquette.

Gordon intially waited impatiently for the whistle to stop, but when the 20 second mark was passed, he responded in kind. While Gordon only gave a short blast, the Patriot fell silent in shock as a Gordon's Pennslyvannia Railroad whistle thundered out. In the ringing silence afterwards, Gordon explained in manner simular to an exasperated parent correcting a toddler that one did not raise their whistle in stations unless they were departing or arriving, and they most certainly did not hold their whistle.

The LMS, throughly embarressed by their engines behavior, quickly reallocated the patriot to the other side of their territory (although they would return during the war.)

[houseboatisland]

I'm curious, have you any lore on The Old Iron Bridge?

Sorry for the wait answering; my mind’s been occupied with other cartoons hehe.

Uhh, let’s see.

This one “Duncan Gets Spooked” Audio Production from Sodor Island Forums (ick) interpreted the bridge to belong to some other impoverished, unnamed 2’ 3” gauge railway besides the Skarloey or Mid Sodor Railways, but apparently being not too far from the former. It then goes on to say that the reason the Skarloey engines are now on it is because it has been absorbed as an extension of their railway after it had laid closed for several years and never connected to the Skarloey. My headcanon basically aligns with that.

For a while, on this blog too, I flirted with the idea of the Skarloey and the Mid Sodor Railways briefly, and unsuccessfully, being a single company for a few years in the vain hope that it would help them survive their ongoing hardships. They would then split up, and the MSR close while the SR limped on. The railway The Old Iron Bridge used to belong to, would’ve been part of the connection between the two separate railways.

Now though, I’ve decided to revamp my headcanon: The SR and MSR never united. (They did think about it, though.) The railway that The Old Iron Bridge belonged to, (let’s call it “The Third Railway” for the sake of this post since I can’t properly name it right now) existed east of what became the SR’s Lakeside Station, and again, never connected with either the SR or MSR.

The Third Railway was built not long after the Skarloey Railway, in the 1870s, also to exploit minerals, (slate I guess, and maybe theirs would turn out practically worthless for selling,) and hopefully drum up tourism. The railway was more of a speculators’ toy than an actual railway with a purpose: it had very little going for it on its own, and its backers were betting everything on the SR buying them out once they got started up. The SR never did, and The Third Railway eked a miserable, hand-to-mouth existence, never profiting and usually not breaking even either.

The Third Railway of course wouldn’t have had many engines, because there wouldn’t be much work for them to do in the first place. I’m sure it wasn’t more than three. By the 1920s, one had already been sold or scrapped for funds, and the railway should’ve considered itself lucky to have lived this long. As with the Talyllyn Railway in real life, the surviving engines’ work would have been so undemanding that they would have existed for eternity with the minimum amount of care, quick patchup on basic engine designs and no excessive damage. Then, in the 1930s, The Third Railway decides it needs more money again, and sells/sells for scrap their second engine. Reeeeally playing with fire, now. Goose laying golden eggs, etc.

That leaves one engine: the engine later made infamous by Rusty’s story. He falls off The Bridge heading home one night, is never recovered, people claim to see his ghost, etc. His death is definitely the last straw for The Third Railway; they close immediately after they’ve collected their pittance of an insurance payout. The railway hadn’t had hope for its entire life, and they were lucky to have enough work for ONE engine at the time of his demise. (Why was he returning home at night if he barely had work to do in the day? I have to figure that out.)

Uhh. In terms of when the accident was, I’m gonna say it was immediately after the Second World War, (1946-48) and NOT during it, because then it instantly would have been eaten up for scrap metal, including The Old Iron Bridge. You’d think The Third Railway’s Company would have sold off the track and everything to pay off its debts, but I guess for one reason or another they were just never able to. That’s how the Skarloey engines can find it in one (crappy) piece when the events of “Duncan Gets Spooked” happen. My headcanon is that Season 5 basically was the Seventies, so at that time the SR is buying The Third Railway’s remnants and cleaning them up for expansion. Hence “clearing the railway of branches and overgrowth.” It wasn’t the Skarloey Railway that was all crummy and shrub-ridden in the episode: it was their new assets, the former Third Railway.

So, in my headcanon, the supernatural is real. Ghosts and crap. (It’s a show about choochoos with faces. Some kooky presence or non-mortal plain/dimension/whatever existing isn’t entirely off the table.)

Duncan definitely saw The Engine’s Ghost, and what workmen at night have seen him too from Rusty’s retelling. It’s a good time now to note that what happens in my headcanon doesn’t follow that what the show and books show is gospel, and some things may happen differently than what’s onscreen. So while the episode may show The Engine’s Ghost to merely have been fireflies, in my version of the episode it was deadass, on God and his Timberlands, the ghost. Duncan’s freakout was waaay worse too, (oh, and his crew, don’t forget them,) and the fireflies explanation was merely his way of coping with what he saw. He spent many a sleepless night rewriting his memory to be that it was fireflies, however stupid that was. (I’m not gonna go into detail but I’ll just say The Engine’s Ghost’s face was absolutely unmistakable with a bunch of flickering bugs. If you saw what Duncan saw, you’d see just how stupid his rationalization sounds. “Dude are you blind??? That was NOT bugs, yeesh😱💀” you’d say.)

I have little in the way of headcanon for The Engine himself set in stone, headcanon-wise. But I can say for certain he felt cheated by life, and that’s why his restless spirit still roams the place of his death. In my headcanon, The Engine’s Ghost must have heard Duncan calling Rusty’s story rubbish, and that’s why Duncan’s the only engine to ever, as I said, come face to horrific-gross-terrifying-ghost face with him. The Ghost was livid and thought Duncan had earned himself a one way ticket to Scare the Soot Out Of Youville for his insulting him. Duncan’s also the only engine to ever “face off” with him all this time later. This particular spooking seems to have sated The Ghost’s hunger for attention for several years, for he wasn’t seen again for at least a decade.

But The Ghost does start appearing again after that, just to keep his legacy going and, truth be told, he revels in the new attention his story has gotten since the comparably tame TV adaption. He’ll appear if he knows people are camping out to see him, or maybe during the day, become invisible and secretly be responsible for something non-maliciously being where it shouldn’t. (You have to pity the poor coach or truck that happens to be moved, though. What a freaky thing to live through and then just keep living with after the fact.) Lots of the campers have seen him making his usual “round” on his bridge, and as you can imagine try to record it, but I guess ghosts in this world never show up in photos or video the same way vampires don’t appear in reflections, and because ghosts are seen so rarely, that’s what helps along a majority of people into thinking ghosts aren’t “real” when they are.

The Skarloey Railway still runs the former Third Railway since buying it and reviving it. (It’s barely recognizable with the old thing. Much prettier.) Duncan, naturally, is banned from being scheduled to run on it for PTSD reasons. It just makes sense to do, if you’re a railway traffic coordinator.

[stephensmithuk]

The Lost Special

CW for discussion of sexual abuse and capital punishment.

Originally published in The Strand in 1898, i.e. during the hiatus years, this would be collected with a bunch of other Doyle stories in the Round the Fire Stories collection released in 1898. Doyle continued to have stories regularly published during the hiatus.

The London and West Coast Railway Company is fictitious; the company that operated the line discussed in this route was the London and North Western Railway (LNWR), the biggest revenue earner of the period due to the sheer size of its operations. It would become part of the London, Midland and Scottish Railway (LMS) in 1922 during "Grouping" i.e. the merger of British railway companies into four major ones. The LNWR name came back as the London Northwestern Railway brand of West Midlands Trains in 2017, operating commuter and semi-fast services from Euston. That franchise is due to operate until 2026, at which point, considering the likely result of the upcoming election, it will be nationalised. What happens to the name after that remains to be seen.

Liverpool Central refers to two stations. The one here is the six-platform "High Level" station, opened in 1874 as the headquarters of the Cheshire Lines Committee (CLC) and offering services to Manchester Central, London St. Pancras or even Harwich for the ferry services to the Netherlands. The CLC remained independent after Grouping

There was also, slightly to the North West. the 1892-opened "Low Level" station, that was underground, opened by the Mersey Railway, but with staircase access to the High Level one and provision for a through railway connection left to that station if it was decided to join the two lines. This operated local trains towards Birkenhead using the world's second underground railway after London. This also stayed its own operation after Grouping in 1922; both companies would become part of British Railways on nationalisation in 1948.

In 1966, the Beeching Axe saw the High Level station have nearly all its services diverted to Liverpool Lime Street, with only those to Gateacre still calling there. BR wanted to stop those entirely, but local opposition prevented that. With no need for six platforms, two become a car park and the station ended up with just one functional platform in 1970, ending up in rather a state of decay. It shut entirely in 1972 and was demolished, the Gateacre services going, along with the whole North Liverpool Extension Line.

The Low Level station, however, still very busy, would have better fortunes - it would become the centre piece of the new Merseyrail network. The station was renovated, the two lines were linked and today Liverpool Central is one of the busiest stations in the UK outside of Greater London. However, the eastern part of the planned loop, including services to Gateacre, fell victim to budget cuts in the late 1970s.

Rochdale is a town in the Greater Manchester area - at the time it was a textiles hub, but that very much declined from the 1950s and the place has acquired a bad reputation. In 2012, a child sex abuse ring involving British Pakistanis "grooming" white girls was convicted in a high-profile trial and the resulting public reaction was, to put it mildly, racially-tinged. It also came out that the town's deceased former MP (who had in fact been knighted), one Cyril Smith, was a paedophile.

"Specials" refer to trains arranged outside the usual timetable, often in connection with some event. These included football excursions (or FOOTEX in BR parlance) carrying fans to away games around the country. In the hooligan-heavy 1970s and 1980s, BR would use older carriages due to the frequency of them getting damaged by drunken supporters, the whole thing becoming a policing headache. Others included various enthusiast-oriented journeys and "Merrymaker" mystery trips, usually to a seaside destination.

The main companies do not really do these today in anything like the numbers they used to, but various private companies have stepped in, including a West Coast Railways Company oddly enough, that provides the rolling stock, locomotives and drivers for the Jacobite tourist service from Fort William to Mailaig. These charter trains can be found operating multiple times a week, being sold through various different companies. Most use heritage rolling stock with vintage steam or diesel engines involved, with a variety of types catering to your tastes, although a big wallet is generally needed. Like at least £100 for standard class without dining and even then the schedule might not be the most convenient; these trains are planned around the regular services and you might have a long wait sitting in sidings for the next bit of your path to be clear.

In any event, the special train would have cost around £5,412 adjusted for inflation. However, a cursory glance suggests it would actually cost far more to do that today - hence the high prices modern "specials" charge passengers.

Signal boxes were required to log the details of trains passing through - the type could be identified by various lights arranged on the front and later the specific service by four-character codes. Today this is done electronically and monitored at larger control centres - older boxes have generally closed, with some being transported to heritage railways for their use. I would assume that the stations not mentioned did not have their own signal box.

In terms of the stations mentioned here, these were on the 1830-opened Liverpool and Manchester Railway, the first intercity railway in the world.

This route is today part of the City Line in the Merseytravel Network - trains are today operated by Northern or TransPenine Express. It was electrified in 2015. For each station in turn...

St Helens Junction: Still open.

Collins Green: Closed 1951.

Earlestown: Still open, despite being listed for closure in the 1963 Beeching Report.

Newton-le-Willows: Still open. Even had a Motorail terminal for a while, but this is long gone.

Kenyon Junction: Closed to passengers 1961, shut entirely 1963. Various locals have called for reopening it.

Barton Moss, closed 1929.

Parliamentary trains are those which railway companies had a legal obligation to operate - basically to provide cheap services for workers. This could mean one train per day on a route. Some did the bare minimum, some did a lot more. With this requirement no longer around, the term has evolved to mean services run at the legal minimum, even as low as one train a week, because it's cheaper to do that rather than go through a closure process. In some cases, the route would be used for engineering work diversions and so it is needed to keep up driver familarity. Current examples include Pilning, which has two trains a week on a Saturday. The most notable is Teeside Airport, which is meant to serve the airport of that name that operates four to six passenger flights a day, but is a fifteen-minute walk away, so getting a bus is much more preferred. This got one train westbound a week until May 2022, when its platform was deemed unsafe and Teeside International Airport refuses to pay for repairs.

Railway companies had their own police forces; these would later come under the British Transport Police.

Many mines and industrial planets had connections to the national network for transporting goods like coal or clay; BR even developed a "Merry-Go-Round" system allowing hoppers to be filled up and emptied while moving at a very slow speed to save time on shunting; newer versions are still in use, despite the coal market having massively declined. Mines would have their own engines - the nationalised National Coal Board kept steam locomotives going until 1982, 14 years after BR stopped using them, with some of their former engines now featuring on preserved lines.

The Vistula river runs through central Poland, including Warsaw.

Many mines would be closed once their seams were worked out to the point of it being now longer economical to run; some are now tourist attractions, at least in limited sections.

France used the guillotine for capital punishment until the abolition of that in 1977. It would also be extensively used, in a slightly different form in the German states, including extensively by the Nazis, until 1966, when East Germany switched to shooting people in the back of the head.

New Caledonia is a French territory in the Southern Pacific that was used as a penal colony at the time; it is currently in a state of political turmoil in a row over expanding the franchise to cover more recent arrivals, something opposed by indigenous groups seeking independence. The proposal has been suspended at time of writing due to France's upcoming elections.

[engineer-gunzelpunk]

Scenes from 'This is Sodor: The Iron Age'/Calling All Engines humanized: Diesel Gets Defenestrated

The Tidmouth Gazette reports:

CHAOS AT KNAPFORD

Tensions between steam and diesel locomotives are set to escalate from this latest incident from the so called ‘Sodor Airport Conflict’. Main heavy fast goods locomotive, ex-(railway of origin unknown)Stanier Black Five NWR#3 ‘Henry’ was captured on photograph defenestrating ex-BR Class 08 ‘Diesel’ from a station window into a pit of mud after the former engine was humiliated by ex-BR Sodor Ironworks Class 08 shunters ‘Iron ‘Arry’ and ‘Bert’, when they assaulted him and doused him in oil in an earlier incident of violence on our fair Island home…’

"But for a few bruises and a besmirched outfit, he was unharmed'

"This is merely the latest incident of steam-diesel violence which includes; the aforementioned dousing in oil, ex-GNR NWR #7 steam tram "Toby" being hung up by the ankles from a loading ramp by Diesel, ex-LB&SC shunter NWR #1 "Thomas" getting doused in paint by Diesel (the triggering incident of the conflict), 'Arry getting shoved onto gravel by Thomas and ex-L&Y Class 28 NWR #5 "James" being grabbed and thrown under a coal hopper where he was subsequently buried in coal. His outfit was besmirched but he was otherwise unharmed.'

"It is to the shame of the NWR that we on fair Sodor should witness the type of mindless violence plaguing the Mainland in imitation of the conflicts between the youth cults of Mods, Rockers, Teddy Boys and Skinheads, particularly from our naughty engines. It behooves Sir Topham Hatt to quell the violence and restore order before it spreads out of control..."

"The Tidmouth Gazette with the kind permission of the Daily Mirror has printed this invaluable guide to the youth cults from which the engines are patterning their style and dress."

[spc-rambles]

And now, a random head canon on one of Danville's landmarks, because I found myself making some up for the sake of fun world building.

Cliffside Park, seen mostly in HNG but also in P&F’s ‘We Call It Maze’ is the Tri-State Area’s national park, which includes a selection of log cabins. There’s three dotted around the park and they’re very expensive. Lucky that one of them was built by Betty Jo and Clyde when they were 20.

All other sights seen in ‘The Ballad of Badbeard’ among other episodes they appeared in make up the geography of the park. This includes a heritage railway that takes you up along the mountain range where its terminus is at a plain where white tailed deer and red and grey fox live. A fifteen minute drive from Betty Jo and Clyde's log cabin and the campsite.

The other end of the line is the central Tri-State station ‘Danville Central’, as seen when Hamster and Gretel were juggling wagons and such, where the heritage line connects with the main railroad network as well as Danville’s subway network.

Two of five locomotives working the line have been seen on Dwampyverse shows. The former is a well tank, water tanks below its boiler. Funny how the smaller one is pulling coaches for more passengers than the big tender engine has. Just an observation.

[guerrerense]

Locomotive #5199 approaching Carrog station por Welsh Photographs Por Flickr: The Llangollen Railway is a volunteer-run heritage railway in Denbighshire, North Wales, which operates between Llangollen and Corwen. The standard gauge line, which is 10 miles long, runs on part of the former Ruabon – Barmouth GWR route that closed in 1965.

[colonellickburger]

Mark Pinder. Burnt-out Mini stuck down the steps of the former Scotswood railway station, Newcastle upon Tyne, 1990

[head-post]

Protesters in Serbia demand justice after deadly roof collapse in Novi Sad

Thousands of people went on protest on Sunday in the northern Serbian city of Novi Sad, marking a month since a concrete canopy collapsed outside the city’s railway station, killing 15 people and injuring two, The Independent reports.

Protesters held a huge banner with a red handprint in front of the column – a message to the populist authorities that they have blood on their hands. Later, the protesters left the same symbolic message on the pavement in Novi Sad’s main square and also painted a large part of the square red.

Street protests and blockades have taken place almost daily since the roof collapsed on November 1, demanding accountability after tonnes of concrete fell on people sitting or walking below on a sunny day.

The station building has been renovated twice in recent years. Many in Serbia believe rampant corruption and opaque deals led to the sloppy work and the roof collapse.

Although prosecutors announced the arrest of 13 people, a Serbian court released former government construction minister Goran Vesic from custody. This has sparked widespread scepticism about the ongoing investigation, as populists control both the police and the judiciary.

The march on Sunday in Novi Sad was quiet and peaceful, unlike some traffic closures in recent weeks when government supporters tried to disrupt the gathering and scuffled with protesters. There have also been scuffles in Serbia’s parliament between the ruling party and opposition lawmakers.

On Sunday, Serbia’s President Aleksandar Vučić spoke in defence of his supporters who blocked opposition-led traffic. Vučić said the traffic shutdown represented the “highest degree of violence” against citizens.

Opposition parties are demanding the resignation of Serbia’s prime minister and his government, as well as access to full documentation on the construction of the railway station and other infrastructure projects with Chinese state-owned companies.

The Novi Sad railway station was originally built in 1964. Its reconstruction was part of a larger project involving China and Hungary to build a high-speed railway between Belgrade and Budapest.

Read more HERE

[merpmonde]

The CFTR's steam train

In a serious rain shower, the Chemin de Fer Touristique du Rhin's train stops at Volgelsheim station, where the association that maintains the line has its museum. The train itself is made up of former Austrian carriages built in the 1920s with what I suspect were 2nd and 3rd class seating.

The locomotive is a T3 tender built around 1900 at Graffenstaden, just South of Strasbourg, for the Alsace-Lorraine Railways. At the time, the region was under Imperial German control, hence the Eagle logo and German inscription "Elsaß-Lothringen" above the number. The association has two of these, nicknamed Berthold and Theodor. These are supported by small Diesel engines; on our trip, one of these hauled the train to the depot, where the extent of the association's work is on display. The active engines are maintained here, while others are being restored.

Peut-être un jour? - To run again one day?

The town of Breisach, on the other side of the Rhine and therefore in Germany, is visible, and a boat carries passengers across the river from near the depot.

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 28 - Plot Twist

That’s not Philip:

Of all the engines who worked at the Big Station, Philip the boxcab was possibly the one who had the biggest personality. He was young, eager and entirely on the wrong side of too overconfident, much to the consternation of the big engines. The little engine had been brought in to help shunt coaches and trucks around the station, but unfortunately, he was distracted very easily.

“Gordon! Gordon! Race me!” “No Philip, I have to prepare for the express,” reminded Gordon, trying to stay calm. “But whyyyyyyyyy,” whined Philip loudly. Gordon’s eye twitched. The big engine moved to head to be refuelled, hoping Philip would get the hint. Philip did not. The little boxcab trailed after Gordon, whinging and whining about how unfair it was that Gordon wouldn’t indulge him in a race, especially cause they were the two fastest on the railway, surely! Philip could beat Gordon in a race, why wouldn’t Gordon race him?  

“I’m not busy, after all,” Philip added, trying his best to annoy the big engine into cooperating. Gordon wondered absently if he’d been too harsh on Thomas for being cheeky, all the way back in the early days. After all, even Thomas wasn’t this bad. “Don’t you have to arrange the express?” retorted Gordon. Philip snorted, his eyes lighting up with mischief.

“Nah! It’s not that important anyway – let’s go, let’s go let’sgolet’sgolet’sgo!” Gordon reached his boiling point, his safety valves popping as he erupted furiously.

“GO AND ARRANGE MY EXPRESS, NOW!” roared Gordon. Philip shook, stunned, before glaring defiantly back. “You’re a big meanie,” he snapped, sticking his tongue out petulantly before zipping away. Gordon sighed, and set about either finding another engine to fetch his coaches or getting them himself.

As Gordon left, he muttered under his breath. “I do wish Philip would learn some competency for his work.” And then he was gone, speeding down the line with headlamps swaying in the cool evening breeze.

Back at the Big Station, something was very wrong. Paxton, the other station pilot, couldn’t find Philip. The Class 08 checked everywhere, from the sidings to the harbour to the station and the sheds – but there was no sign of the little diesel boxcab. Duck joined in the search when he finished his last passenger run of the day, followed by Oliver, Stafford and finally Charlie, who told so many awful jokes that Duck very nearly shoved him off the end of the quay.

But still nothing. All five had to concede defeat and head back to the sheds, where they told the others about the missing engine. “Let him stay missing!” huffed James. “The yards ran smoother when he wasn’t here.” “That’s an awful thing to say,” snapped Duck. “Philip is just young – I’m sure he’s doing his best.” “Duck, please,” sighed Henry. “We keep trying to get along with him, but he just doesn’t care about doing his work. The smallest thing distracts him! You know where I found him last week?” “Where?” “On the mainline! He’d chased a butterfly half the way to the Junction and I very nearly turned him into a sardine can!”

Duck winced – he had to admit, Philip had done similar on his branchline, though that had been because he was following a sailboat as it made its way along the coast. He’d bumped right into Douglas, who’d torn the poor little boxcab a new one about railway safety.

It was not comforting to know he was not learning.

Duck was about to retort when the engines all heard Philip’s horn. The little engine rumbled into the sheds, looking very different. His paint was scratched all over, his number having been altered so it looked much closer to sixty-six as opposed to sixty-eight. His headlamp had been shattered by something, though what none of the engines could tell. And then there was Philip himself – his eyes were entirely the wrong colour, their former dark brown now a weird, almost red tinge. His almost always present smile had fallen flat, and they had a slow, calculating look about them.

None of the engines spoke for a long moment. “Philip, there you are,” James finally said. “You’ve ruined your paint. You need to go get it cleaned up at once.” “It should be fine,” ‘Philip’ replied, his words slow and halting, as if trying to predict what the other engines would do or say. Again, the engines all just stared, not sure what to say.

“Are you… sure?” checked Duck. Stafford and Charlie both cowered a little more behind the Pannier, a little spooked and afraid. ‘Philip’ considered. “Yes,” he replied, a little quicker this time. Duck hummed in consideration. “Well, you shouldn’t have run off like that. You made everyone worry for you. Now go get off the main road, Paxton needs to collect Gordon’s coaches when he returns.”

‘Philip’ smiled; it wasn’t quite the huge beaming grin that the engines were used to seeing on the little boxcab. It was smaller, less natural and more calculated. “I can do that,” he said. “They go in the… coach sheds, right?” “Carriage sheds,” sniffed James. “What did they even try to teach you young engines?!” The little boxcab hummed lowly, and slunk away to wait for Gordon. The moment he was out of earshot, the shed erupted in chatter.

“That’s not Philip, it’s an imposter!” exclaimed Duck. “We need to do something!” “Like what?” “An exorcism maybe? I don’t know!” Duck wracked his brain for an idea, but none were forthcoming. “If only Edward wasn’t being overhauled, he’d know what to do!” There was a long pause, before finally Henry spoke up.

“What if we… did nothing?” “Did nothing?!” “Think about it,” Henry went on, ignoring Paxton’s outburst, “Philip is completely clueless and causes us so much trouble – but this new engine, whoever it is, seems like they’ll do their work. All we need to do is keep an eye on him and try our best to steer him into being a really useful engine so that we don’t have to deal with Philip being an idiot and nearly causing us yet another accident.” “Edward wouldn’t agree to that,” Duck reminded Henry sternly. “Well then it’s a good thing Edward isn’t here,” Henry retorted. “If anyone asks, he had a long think about his future on this railway – we might just make a good station pilot out of him yet!”

“This seems immoral,” Paxton said quietly. “That’s because it is,” came the blunt addition from Duck. “You’re suggesting we do nothing while the real Philip is… is… what is even going on anyway?” “He might be… uh… possessed,” said Stafford quietly, the other engines straining to even hear him. “Trevor told me about it – it’s when evil spirits sneak into a person or engine and take them over. They’re supposed to want something… but I don’t know why they’d want Philip.”

The engines all shared a long look, none of them really wanting to admit it…

… but they all wanted to wait and see what happened.

‘Philip’ seemed to change overnight. After a few days’ worth of slightly painful adjustment, he seemed to click into what was needed. Trains ran smoother than they had in months. ‘Philip’ was a natural at shunting, zipping through the sidings and doing the work asked of him with ease. Even Sir Topham Hatt was impressed!

“I don’t know what happened,” he said. “But you’ve really smartened up, Philip. I’m rewarding you with a new coat of paint.” ‘Philip’ just smiled his weird, slightly stilted smile. “Thank you, sir,” he replied. He was repainted the next day, getting a very smart new livery that he barely cared for at all, instead focusing on his work. James could have wept for joy when he realised his train was arranged and prepared before he’d even gotten to the platform for an entire week.

But none of the engines at the Big Station told anyone about what had happened on that odd night, keeping it a closely guarded secret. The weeks passed, and the engines kept up the charade. It was clear to them that this engine was not Philip – he had the wrong accent and his horn sounded vaguely like the screams of the damned – but they had grown fond of him, of having their trains on time and of having an orderly yard.

‘Philip’ was good at his job, kind, quiet, and when he did speak he had an absolutely brutal dry wit that had even Gordon howling with laughter.

“I still don’t like it,” muttered Duck one evening, nearly three months after ‘Philip’ had shown up at the sheds. “We don’t know why he’s here at all.” “Oh shush,” huffed James, his eyes focused on the TV the crews had left in the corner of the sheds for the engines. “The big plot twist is coming – I bet he’s been sleeping with her sister.”

Duck rolled his eyes – James was way too invested in a recent Mexican telenovela which a local channel had been playing. “Aye, it is a devil in my husband’s skin!” Duck and James both stared at the television as the major plot twist turned out to be that the husband was secretly possessed, and had been engaged with the maids, the sister and a weirdly attractive uncle of the wife.

“No,” Duck snapped. “You are not going to suggest Philip should act like that.” James just chuckled. The two looked over to the shed doors as they heard a familiar rumble.

The little boxcab rounded the last bend and raced into the sheds, much too fast.

“Hi guys! It’s been weird – I was lost! But I’m back now – the vicar told me that he ‘helped’ me but I didn’t understand. Who wants to race?”

James and Duck shared a look; Philip was back.

For a few days, all was quiet. The engines once again were forced to carefully navigate this unfamiliar engine in Philip’s body, only this time it was the original once more. And Philip hadn’t learnt a thing despite having spent six months possessed. He still raced about far more than he ought to, not really focusing on his work but rather the first thing that intrigued him. He ended up in all sorts of crazy positions, including somehow getting shunted onto the middle of the Midnight Goods and going halfway across the island behind a slightly peeved BoCo.

But… Philip wasn’t stupid. Naïve, perhaps. But not stupid. And in those few days, he began to notice something; he began to see it in the corners of his eyes when the other engines thought he wasn’t around.

They sighed more, when they saw him. They pursed their lips at the sound of his horn, as if hoping or expecting a different noise to come out. They scowled at his perfectly polished paint that he loved, having made his driver repaint over the smart livery with his own preferred, zanier one.

Engines like Gordon and James had infinitely less patience for his antics than before, as if their slight fondness for him had been replaced by disdain, barely masked behind a veneer of indifference. Engines like BoCo, Bear, Charlie or Oliver who had been supportive of his attempts at learning the yard before now just watched on silently, as if what they saw in front of them didn’t quite line up with what they had in their minds.

Something was wrong.

The worst thing for Philip was seeing the shift in Duck and Paxton. The two had gone from being perhaps the only two in the entire yard who genuinely liked him to being little more than distant colleagues. Whatever had happened during the time he’d been lost, wandering through an infinite woodland with a million different places to explore, it had given the others a reason to just… watch him.

Always watching, always judging. None of them seemed to like the outcome of these judgements, always pretending to be looking elsewhere whenever Philip caught them. All of the others would attempt a smile, but it felt weak. Lacking.

Philip felt rather alone, and it hurt.

It didn’t take him too long to find out why. Philip had been heading back to the sheds after another disheartening day, rumbling quietly alongside the sheds, when he overheard the engines inside.

“It’s not the same,” hissed Gordon. “He’s not the same!” “Why did the vicar have to fix it,” agreed James. “The yard was finally running so smoothly!” “Well, it’s done,” snapped Duck. “And we have to live with it. The other Philip is gone, and we need to get used to this Philip again.” “I wish we didn’t have to,” admitted Charlie, almost silently. “He doesn’t even try and learn, he just flutters about. I miss the other Philip.”

Philip fled from the sheds before he could hear any more. He couldn’t take it – all his friends had said they preferred another Philip, that they weren’t happy with him. They didn’t want Philip, they wanted a different engine. They wanted a different engine wearing his face, working with his engine. They wanted a version of Philip that he wasn’t. They didn’t want him.

His friends didn’t want him.

His friends didn’t even like him, they just dealt with him while missing a ‘Philip’ only they had met.

Philip ran to see the Fat Controller. Surely he would be able to do something! But when Philip entered the Big Station, all he saw with Sir Topham Hatt shaking his head as he poured over a spreadsheet.

“And he was doing so well the last six months,” the Fat Controller sighed. “I’d hoped Philip was finally being really useful – perhaps I was too hasty.”

Philip hid in the carriage siding, his mind whirling. None of his friends wanted him. His owner preferred a different version of him. They spoke of a him that had existed when he was lost as if he was better, more reliable. More useful.

The Fat Controller wasn’t sure if he was really useful or not.

Philip went to the yard foreman the next morning, before any of the other engines awoke. He was in tears, barely able to speak around the painful lump in his throat. He was transferred that same day, grabbing some empty trucks and vanishing out of the yards.

Philip would end up working in the diesel yards at the far end of the line, where Douglas had found Oliver so many years ago. The diesels here just snarled and growled at him every time he tried to introduce himself, snapping orders and glaring at Philip until he completed them. In time, a different engine passed by, heading for Sodor. He looked like a truly ancient steam engine, his paint rough but showing signs of recently being touched up. He had a stern look on his face, though it lightened some as he vanished out the other end of the yard.

Philip had been entirely replaced now; his friends and his controller had even bought a new engine to take over from him, to finally give the Big Station the care and attention Philip hadn’t had the capability to give before.

He gave his new yard far too much attention, scuttling between rusting hulks, constantly forced to keep his cab down and moving. If he even considered trying any of the many fun activities he’d enjoyed back at the Big Station, he was verbally ripped to shreds, the other diesels sneering and rolling their eyes whenever they caught sight of him.

Philip should have stayed in that infinite woodland, chasing butterflies and enjoying his life. Why had he ever left? 

Philip cried himself to sleep, and never stopped sobbing.

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