#Lineside

[alexcolburnmusic]

Playing @linesiderbrewing with @sodamnluckyband today, 5:30-8:30! Come get your DMB fix and try some excellent brews 🍺 #linesider #brewing #davematthewsband #dmb #tribute #davematthews (at LineSider Brewing Company) https://www.instagram.com/p/CklMMtKOE7g/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2023: Day 5 - It's Only Me

The Words that Mean the Most to Edward:

Edward had been celebrating a successful rescue of Henry. Henry had just gone to push Gordon into the works siding, when he heard ballast crunch on the lineside behind him. “Driver…” “No Edward.” Edward jumped; a line of trucks behind him went flying. “It’s only me,” snorted the Fat Director, stepping around to the front of the old blue engine. “I thought I’d congratulate you on a successful job today.” “Oh, uh… thank you sir. I did my best.” The Fat Director chuckled. “That you did,” he said easily. “But next time… perhaps give Gordon some tips on what to lie about breaking down. Safety valve my hat! Did no one think to mention I was CME of the railway at one point?” With his piece said, the Fat Director strode off, leaving Edward speechless.

The old blue engine watched as James sulked away, banging the coaches roughly as he shunted them back into their sidings. “Stupid coaches, stupid passenger, stupid newspaper, stupid bootlaces…” the red engine muttered darkly under his breath. “Do you think we should keep him?” asked a familiar voice. Edward jolted – the Fat Direct—no, the Fat Controller was standing right beside his bufferbeam. “It’s only me,” chuckled Sir Topham Hatt, patting Edward’s buffer before leaning against his running board. “I just thought I’d ask your opinion on James.” Edward shot a look over at the red engine, then back at the controller. “I think he has a lot of potential sir, but I also think he needs to challenge himself to show off his potential. He’s in a new environment, with new engines and he had a crash – he’s just acting aggressive to try and hide his fear.” The Fat Controller nodded, and strode away.

“I can’t believe they would… they would say such things about me!” hissed Edward furiously, sparks shooting from his funnel as his safety-valve popped up. As much as he’d tried to keep a calm face in front of the Fat Controller, to hear the engines he’d thought of as friends treat him like they did – speak to him and belittle him for just wanting to do his job and doing the job none of them would do. It… it hurt. “It wasn’t right of them,” agreed Sir Topham Hatt, stepping into the shed from out in the cold. “I… uh… sir! I apologise, I must have sounded a right—” “Edward, please,” Sir Topham huffed, pulling up a crate and sitting down beside the old blue engine. “It’s only me.” “I… I don’t know what to think, sir. They’re meant to be my friends, and yet they treated me like ash and clinker…” Edward spent all night talking, venting out his thoughts and feelings – and when he was done, Sir Topham Hatt simply patted him on the buffer, smiled and strode out.

Edward barely managed to keep a grimace on his face, and not burst into tears. Henry was one of his closest friends on the railway – in spite of years’ worth of teasing – and here he was, lying on his side half-buried in the snow. He was groaning lowly, and the way almost every piece of his running gear was skewed in some unnatural direction made Edward feel sick – but he had to help. He had to help clear away the splinters that remained of many of the vans, then position the flatbed and the cranes so they could hoist Henry up into the air. “The signal was down sir…” Edward couldn’t bear to listen. All he could do was wait and watch as James resolutely dragged the flatbeds away. “Are you alright, Edward?” “I… don’t want to talk sir.” “Oh Edward… it’s only me,” Sir Topham said gently, taking a moment to haul himself up onto Edward’s bufferbeam to sit beside the old engine. “You can talk to me about this, it must have been traumatic to witness.” Edward couldn’t deny it, and even though it was dangerous, and against railway regulation, and all sorts of other things, Sir Topham Hatt sat on Edward’s running board as the old engine slowly puffed home, releasing all his fears and worries and letting the kindly controller into his deepest, darkest thoughts.

Edward cried at the funeral. The Fat Controller was gone – dead, and he’d left Edward and the other engines right after British Railways had announced their plans to scrap them all. While he wasn’t the first owner Edward had had, he was certainly one of the men closest to Edward’s heart – for all that some controllers said engines didn’t have hearts, and didn’t care, Edward did. Almost all the engines did, for all their various relationships with their controller had played out. Sir Topham had kept him on long after another controller would have scrapped him, had listened to him in his darkest times and sought his advice when needed. And perhaps he wasn't perfect - no human was - but all the same, he'd done a lot more for his engines than history would ever give him credit for.  “Don’t cry, Edward,” whispered a voice on the wind. “It’s only me.” And for a brief moment, Edward thought he could see Sir Topham Hatt smile at him from beside his son, their new controller.

Back to Master Post

[sudriantraveler]

The Flying Coffee Pot - Traintober Day 22: Top Hat

Mr. Hatt stood on the open footplate with one hand on the controls, and another holding onto his top hat.

He opened the regulator wide, and Glynn responded with a whim, charging forwards with the trucks banging and clattering behind him.

“Oh-Oh-Oh!” screamed the trucks.

“Come-On-Come-On-Come-On!” roared Glynn as he surged along the line.

Smoke poured from the Coffee Pot’s funnel, darkening the once clear blue sky.

The noise echoed everywhere.

Trees rustled as flocks of birds took flight in panic from their branches.

Horses twitched up their tails and bolted away in terror from the lineside.

An old woman shook her fist at the speeding, smoking beast, as soot and ash rained down over her clothes line.

All the while Mr. Hatt stared straight ahead, a look of fierce determination in his eyes and a wide grin crossing his face.

[lord-of-snack-falcons]

[1917]

“Goods trains… goods trains…!”

Over the past couple years, Edward had found no shortage of things to complain about on his new railway. Fairly high on that growing list was trucks. They were, he considered, noisy, filthy, and astoundingly bad-tempered. A far cry from the docile, good-natured coaches he usually carried.

“C’mon big blue!” The van behind him shouted. “No wonder they call you a seagull, with how slow you’re moving, it’s like you’re picking crumbs up off the lineside!”

“Pick it up, will ya!” Another truck hollered. “At this rate, it’ll be dark by the time we get there!”

“Shut up!!” Edward barked, his patience waning. “Our pace is fine. You just want me to get into an accident!”

“If we did, maybe then we’d get some excitement.” Another van sulked.

Edward snarled as the consist once again erupted into laughter.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Would you be willing to give us some more about Zephyr and Betla?

Zephyr-aka the GT3, one of my favorite all time engines. A gas turbine built as a 4-6-0, her delayed construction meant she was considered outdated on arrival to British Railways. She performed well, and was lived by her crews. There was nothing mechanically wrong with her or her performance, but BR wanted diesel electrics and she was considered non-standard. Shes part of the NWR now on the Little Western, running mixed trains from Arlesdale to Mantaou. I really hope someone makes a new build irl.

Betla was a steam outline built to be destroyed in a stunt for an action movie. Those plans were derailed when she awoke. The NWR supplied a (non-living) replacement in exchange for her. While actually a diesel, she has been enthusiastically adopted by her Britannia class 'siblings'.

She mainly pulls freight on the mainline from Tidmouth to Barrow, but occasionally will pull passenger trains on especially hot days during dry summers, to reduce the chance of a lineside fire breaking out.

(They didn't even use the shot of the replica in the movie, instead using cgi for the crash)

[railwaysparrow]

Men often work along the lineside outside the towns along the mainline. Smart engines know to slow down to make sure no one is in the way of any trains coming though.

Bear always enjoyed a chance to slow down & say hello to the workmen who he knew people rarely spoke to.

[guerrerense]

9F to the Rescue por David Chandler Por Flickr: 9F 92134 takes the stricken 80136 and its train with ease, in an unplanned double header at Moorgates on Saturday afternoon of the NYMR Gala. The standard tank had run out of water and stopped here in full view of all the spectators by the lineside. The crew dropped the fire and placed detonators on the line, before 92134 arrived from Levisham and coupled on the front to take the train onwards.

[pistonsandgearsinc]

Traintober: Day 4 "Devious"

"The Ironworks, you know it, I know it, shit always goes horribly wrong."

[Killdane Ironworks & Smelting Company, East Sodor]

The lineside was littered with scrap and debris, rusted out hulks lay sad and disgraced all in a row. Damien had never been to an ironworks, much less a scrap yard and believed it would be a walk in the park for himself. He is rather dense. A grimy and worn western tank engine, stopped just ahead of the shunter. Their brass and various other parts coated in a fine rust, that had built up amongst their workings.

Their gaze bored into Damien, and they spoke with a low measured tone, "So, you're the new shunter?". "Naturally, afterall I'm a new, modern-" Damien replied in a smug self satisfied spirit, but was quickly interrupted.

"You are another engine like the rest of us, now get to the far side of the yard, there's a train of slag that need's shunting." The tank engine hissed.

Damien was taken aback, "Now hang on a minute-"

"I'm going to stop you right there, I have work to do, we are especially busy this time of year, and unless you intend on making yourself useful, I strongly suggest you leave and free up some space." The tank engine wheezed its way into motion and glided past a stunned, Damien.

But the tank engine wasn't quite done yet, "If you thought I'd be anywhere near as much a pushover as that traction engine, you've got another thing coming." The Western Engine sauntered off, into the bowels of the yard with a set of flatbeds in tow.

Damien watched them go, quite bewildered. How on earth did they know about. . . .well it is a small island, word travels fast and all that. He wasn't quite sure, but one thing was set in stone.

"Devious" Damien was going to hate it here.

-

Sprites and Background by PrincessMuffins, Amelheronemus, etc. [I have only reskinned some stuff]

Happy Traintober!

Before anyone asks, yes I took the HIT bibles "two diesel's" theory too seriously.

[noficbyhalves]

WIP drinking game

Tagged by @ahungeringknife

Tagging you! person reading this! if you've got a wip and would like to, of course

Rules make a drinking game for your work-in-progress that would give the player alcohol poisoning

Oh boy here we go, I'm doing both. Take a shot every time...

Skies

Stargazing is done/discussed/mentioned

An extra shot if the Altaïr/Vega myth is mentioned

A third if it involves Malik overidentifying with Vega/magpies and trying to be Normal about it

Altaïr falls asleep next to/on Malik

Malik uses a nickname/pet name for someone

Extra shot if it's something that would usually be interpreted as an insult

A challenge or bet is issued and taken

Extra shot if it's via something being claimed to be 'impossible'

Altaïr thinks or says the gayest thing in the universe, followed by how Malik is his bestest friend. Platonically. Because he is straight.

A reference to anything queer made by another character goes directly over Altaïr's head

Malik sets something on fire

Malik uses wandless magic

Malik is grievously injured

Malik is blatantly staving off a mental breakdown with just pure concentrated spite

One or both of them does some kind of magic that's Super Fucking Illegal

Extra shot if it's blood magic

Malik gets frustrated by magical society refusing/ignoring 200+ years of progress

Altaïr is fascinated with anything non-magical/lineside

Altaïr is certain that Malik's mother hates him/Altaïr is terrified of Malik's mother

The prophecy involving Altaïr is mentioned

Altaïr's grandfather is The Worst (either onscreen or implied)

William Miles is a manipulative bastard

Kadar is an obnoxious little brother /affectionate

Kadar is blatantly sick of these two being oblivious about each other

Maria is a top-tier badass

Leonardo is Concerned

(I'd say 'every time altmal are codependent af', but you'd have to chug the bottle for the whole duration and that feels like cheating)

MMW

Altaïr treats gender like a performance

The line between sparring and flirting gets suspiciously blurry

Altaïr tries to fix her problems by climbing a tall thing

Altaïr is neurotic re: the pressure to be The Best Master Assassin

Or, Al Mualim deliberately adds to that pressure

Malik is Bothered by Altaïr refusing to plan

Altaïr is disdainful about the concept of luck

An orange is shared

Altaïr does or says something alarming as a result of Eagle Vision/The Apple/Isu Bullshit

A treason attempt is had

Malik is real horny about the concept of trust/seeing Altaïr without her mask

Malik concocts another elaborate workaround to avoid having to use Altaïr's fake name

One of them does something that's basically a nonverbal love confession (of varying levels of sanity)

One or both of them is deeply rattled by comparing their childhood to their kids'

Malik gets called an old man

Altaïr does something that's... religiously or culturally questionable

Altaïr is compared to a natural disaster

"I will always come back to you"

One or both of them gets sappy about parenthood

Someone assumes that because Altaïr is no longer young, she isn't as dangerous

Extra shot if that assumption is fatal

Darim or Saaf get clotheslined by one of their parents' hoard of secrets

Darim is compared to one or both of his parents

Saaf is a lil ray of sunshine

[aryburn-trains]

WL232 by Citizen of the Galaxy Via Flickr: A pleasant late autumn noon hour on November 1, 1992 sets the mood for Amtrak train 63, the Maple Leaf, rolling westward behind GP40TC No. 199 at North Chittenango, only minutes away from its Syracuse arrival. Now-vanished lineside relics include the signal pole line with stamped metal mile markers, and a refrigerator car parked on the team track.

[anumberofhobbies]

Some lineside and platform video on the K&ESR 2/12/23

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2023: Day 7 - Refreshment

Peter Sam and the Refreshment Lady:

Peter Sam hummed as he headed along the line, feeling better than ever. The Refreshment Lady was finally returning! She’d recently broken her leg on holiday, but her cast was off, and she had promised the little engine she would meet him up at the top station.

The little engine had really grown fond of the woman running the little café up at the top station – after their less than perfect introduction. And she was fond of him, always having ten minutes to pop out of the café and visit the little engine when he puffed through with the afternoon train. They were friends – yes, that was the word for it. Friends.

And Peter Sam couldn’t wait to see his friend and finally hear about her holiday, before she waved him off with her tea towel and went back to her café to serve the tourists cream buns and ice cream.

But… the refreshment lady looked downcast when Peter Sam arrived. “Jenny, what’s the matter?” asked Peter Sam. The refreshment lady sighed, and looked up at the little engine. “I asked to talk to you, because I have some news,” Jenny said. “Peter Sam… I’m retiring. I can’t keep doing this – I’m getting old and after I broke my leg… I guess I just realised that I’m not able to do everything I used to. I’ve bought a nice cottage overlooking the lake, and I’m talking to my daughter about handing over the café.” “Oh… oh, Jenny,” Peter Sam gasped. “I… will I still see you?” “I’ll be right along the line, don’t worry,” Jenny replied. Peter Sam put on a smile, but it felt fake, and he knew Jenny could see right through it. Nonetheless, they talked through her break, and then Peter Sam set off.

Only then did he let the tears fall. “She’s… getting old,” he whispered to himself. “She’s… retiring. But she’ll still be by the lineside…” He didn’t hum anymore, and neither did the coaches. They could tell Peter Sam wasn’t feeling up to it.

Peter Sam was there on Jenny’s last day running the little café, having been gifted the day off so he could sit up at the top station and see everyone as they said goodbye to the refreshment lady, who had faithfully served the community for decades. Peter Sam couldn’t tell if he loved it or hated it. He finally got to spend time with his friend… but it was because she was retiring.

There was no getting around the fact that the refreshment lady was getting older, and that soon she would be gone and then so would her son-in-law, who had already retired from Peter Sam’s footplate to work as a stationmaster, and Peter Sam didn’t know what to think. Everyone who had made the painful transition from his old home to his new one were leaving him, and it hurt.

It hurt that Ms Last and Mr Edwards were gone, and that Mr Sam was gone, and old Mr Hugh was now retired to a cottage and the owner was gone and it just wasn’t fair. They were gone, but still Peter Sam stayed the same.

Skarloey puffed alongside. “It’s a really curse, being as old as we are,” he said quietly. “The big engines will never understand, because they have new drivers all the time, as well as new passengers and new cleaners and new everyone. The big engines just don’t get as attached to the people on their line as we do.” “It hurts,” agreed Peter Sam. “I had friends on my old railway, but we closed before they could… could leave. And this generation – they did so much for us, to make us feel welcome and to help us fit in. Did you know Jenny set up a donation box to help raise funds to restore Granpuff?”

Skarloey raised an eyebrow – it was news to him. “She put it on her store counter; raised over a thousand pounds for us. All because she knew how much he meant to me. Is it wrong for me to not want to let go? I just want everything to stay the same, but it doesn’t, and sometimes I just want it all to stop for a moment, just a moment.”

Skarloey didn’t reply. He just smiled softly at his friend and puffed away. There was nothing he could do; this was the engines’ curse, and as much as it hurt to see Peter Sam suffer it, he knew that the little engine had to weather it. He’d felt the same when Mr Bobby had passed away. The world was constantly changing, while the engines were stagnant. Forever a constant.

Jenny watched the two talk, a sad smile crossing her face. She didn’t know what to say to her old friend – sometimes, she could tell that there were some things about the engines that she would never understand.

Jenny would sell the café to her Italian friend’s daughter – a feisty young woman who made some incredible pastries. The Italian loved the fresh air and tranquillity of Sodor, and the tourists loved her pastries and homemade gelato. All the same, it wasn’t the same, and Peter Sam quietly handed his afternoon train to Skarloey. Jenny Davies – the refreshment lady – would live to the old age of eighty, but to Peter Sam it felt like she was gone in the blink of an eye. It felt that way for many of the people he knew.

It was never going to ever be the same.

Back to the Master Post

[sudriantraveler]

The Lamp - Traintober Day 31: Lights Out

A long time ago, there was a little engine who worked the lines high in the sudrian hills.

Easily recognizable by their bright headlamp, they were a common and welcome sight to the mountain villages.

But one night, the little engines disappeared without a trace.

They were never seen again, and with time, much of what was known about them became forgotten.

But the sight of their headlamp never left.

Many a railway worker will tell you that one misty, moonlit night, they have seen the unmistakable glow of an engine’s headlamp flickering from somewhere further along the line.

On and off.

Off and on.

But no engine would ever arrive to prove the light as their own.

Workmen, villagers, and hikers alike have claimed that the lamp guided them home when they got lost in the fog, and engines and their crews have said that they were warned by a flickering light of danger on the line ahead.

But as suddenly as it would appear, it would always vanish just the same way.

Perhaps the engine and their lamp are still out there.

Perhaps, if you are ever to wander the area at night, you might see them for yourself.

You never know what old relics you may find by the lineside.

[supertrainstationh]

65, Fire Slip by nigelmenzies Via Flickr: Class 01 no. 65, Bluebell Railway, 13 April 2022. Taken while working with the Wednesday Lineside Gang.

I got to see this engine running, and I got to see these coaches in the shed behind the scenes, but I never got to ride those coaches or behind that engine.

[just-sittin-on-a-fence]

Metrovick 'co-bo' in Cumbria, June 1968

These enigmatic machines lasted just 10 years on British Rail metals, as such only this one example was painted into the corporate 'blue' identity. They were reasonably lucky to spend their days in Cumbria as it was this region that saw the very final steam workings - therefore plenty of lineside photographers recorded the movements of the 'Metrovicks' in between the steam engines.

[guerrerense]

Practically Perfect por Greg Brown Por Flickr: If there was a way to go back in time and ride one post WWII streamliner, the Shasta Daylight would be the train for me. It began operation in July 1949. After the E7s purchased for the train were found to be inadequate in the mountains, it was powered by the most beautiful locomotives ever built - Alco PAs. The train featured chair cars with massive windows to view the Cascades during its trip between Portland and Oakland. In 1955, a dome lounge was added for additional viewing. Best of all, it stopped in my hometown of Klamath Falls, Oregon during the afternoon in both directions. In this photo, the train is so shiny you can actually see reflections of the lineside poles in its flanks. Now that's the varnish! I am told by Espee experts that this image was most likely exposed sometime between midsummer 1956 and early summer 1957. The dry appearance of the fields and the burned area on the right of way suggest to me that it is late summer or early fall of '56. Seven years after inauguration, this train still has all the Shasta Daylight hallmarks - the motive power is an A-B-A set of Alco PAs, every chair car has the big Shasta windows, the triple-unit diner is operating mid-train, and the dome lounge is providing views of the lower Sacramento Valley's agrarian scenery. For me, this is the Shasta Daylight at its absolute peak. Unfortunately, the train's glory days are just about over. In late 1957, the use of cars on the train solely painted in Daylight livery will end. During 1958, SP will abandon the Daylight paint scheme entirely, going to a utilitarian grey for locomotives and head end cars. Passenger cars will use the silver with red letterboard color scheme that debuted on the stainless steel Sunset Limited in 1950. There are a dozen cars in this train. The full house Shasta consist had 15, so three coach loads worth of passengers have opted for other transport modes. By 1959, patronage will have fallen so much that the train will run tri-weekly in the off season. Not all that long after a big surge of business for the 1962 World's Fair in Seattle, the train will only operate during summers and the holiday season. After summer 1966, the Shasta Daylight would be gone for good. At the time, I was starting the first grade. I am very glad that my friend John Shaw paused along the Cal P mainline near Elmira to commit this image of the Shasta Daylight to Kodachrome. What I wouldn't give to have been with him. Better yet, I wish I were aboard, waving at John from the dome as the train roared by. Photo: John E. Shaw, Jr.