#Swindon Works

[old-transport]

GWR loco No. 6902 'Butlers Hall' @ Swindon Works - May 1961 by Frederick McLean Via Flickr: An old photograph (2" x 2") of accident damaged British Railways/Great Western Railway (GWR) steam locomotive No. 6902 being scrapped in 'A' shop at the Swindon Works. The works was opened in January 1843, the last BR steam locomotive it produced was 'Evening Star' in 1960, the last steam loco to come in for repair was in 1964, the works closed in 1986 with some work continuing into 1987 after which most of the site was cleared for redevelopment. Old/new overhead maps view:- maps.nls.uk/geo/explore/side-by-side/#zoom=15.4&lat=5... The photo has no date or photographer name. No. 6902 'Butlers Hall' was a C. Collett designed 'Hall class' 4-6-0 engine, built at the Swindon Works and new to GWR in Jul 1940. In Feb 1961 the locomotive was involved in an *accident in which the driver died, this is it being scrapped at Swindon Works just a few months later in the May. The accident damage can clearly be seen in the photograph. * "In the early hours of the 11th February 1961, the ex GWR locomotive 6902 Butlers Hall was heading the 10.23 p.m. York - Swindon express when it collided with the rear portion of a divided freight train and derailed. Tragically this resulted in the death of the driver of the express, Driver A. L. L. Jones, who was trapped on his footplate." From Mike Crabtree in the 'Railway Identification Group' on Facebook:- "Swindon ‘A’ shop because of the configuration of a single overhead crane lifting the whole locomotive, Darlington North Road also lifted locos using a single crane and its most definitely not North Road. All other erecting shops used twin cranes and lifted using what was called a double lift." If there are any errors in the above description please let me know. Thanks. 📷 Any photograph I post on Flickr is an original in my possession, nothing is ever copied/downloaded from another location. 📷 -------------------------------------------------

[imodelsgood]

falcons

is this illegal to share

well no one will see these

:)

swindonise the falcon

[whitehartlane]

Micky Van de Ven scores the winner for Tottenham against Burnley at White Hart Lane, 11 May 2024.

© Callum Knowles

[chalkskyline]

Another life is possible, railway works underpass, Swindon, U.K., December 2023

[reasonsforhope]

"Twenty million trees will be planted and 2,500 hectares (6,178 acres) of new woodland created in the west of England as part of a "national forest" drive, the government has announced.

The Western Forest will be made up of new and existing woodlands across Gloucestershire, Wiltshire, Somerset, the Cotswolds and the Mendips as well as in urban areas such as Bristol, Swindon and Gloucester.

It will be the first of three new national forests promised by the government to help meet a legally-binding target of achieving 16.5% woodland cover in England by 2050.

However, with only 10% cover achieved so far, environmental groups have warned much more needs to be done to meet tree-planting targets.

The most recent research shows the total area of woodland across the whole of the UK is currently estimated to be 3.28m hectares.

That represents 13% of the total land area of the UK but in England just 10% is woodland.

Across the UK, the aim is for 30,000 hectares of woodland to be planted every year.

The latest annual figures show about 21,000 hectares were planted, with the vast majority in Scotland and just 5,500 hectares in England.

Andy Egan, head of conservation policy at the Woodland Trust, said there had been "significant progress" on tree planting but that there was still "much more to do" to meet the UK's targets.

He said maintaining government funding was essential.

"Successful tree planting and ongoing management needs long-term grant support," he said.

Alex Stone, chief executive of the Forest of Avon Trust, which leads the partnership behind the Western Forest project, said there were some areas in the region that currently had only 7% of land covered by trees.

"This is about bringing those areas up so we have trees where we really need them," she said.

"What we are aiming to do with the Western Forest is get to 20% of canopy cover by 2050 and, in five priority areas, we are looking at getting above 30%."

The scheme will particularly target urban areas, including Bristol, Swindon and Gloucester.

The government said it would be putting £7.5m of public money into the forest over the next five years.

It said the project would not only help the UK's drive to net zero but would also promote economic growth and create jobs in the region.

Mary Creagh, minister for nature, said she hoped the Western Forest would also "make a huge difference" to water quality, flood resilience and to wildlife as well as bringing nature "closer to people" in the region.

But she conceded there was much more to do in order to hit England's national tree-planting target.

"I am absolutely confident that we can get to where we need to get to," she said.

"Projects like this give me hope and confidence that, with everybody pulling together, working with the public sector and the private sector, we can do it." ...

The Western Forest is the first new national forest to be designated in England in 30 years, following the creation of the original National Forest across Leicestershire, Derbyshire and Staffordshire, where 9.8m trees have been planted."

-via BBC, March 20, 2025

[joezworld]

Express Engines

New chapter dropping. The soundtrack album for this is gonna be strange.

Part 1: Caerphilly

Gordon and Caerphilly quickly formed an enduring friendship, something that did not go unnoticed by the other engines… 

---

“I don’t like this,” Henry confided in Percy at Knapford Junction. 

“You don’t like anything.” Percy retorted. “Be more specific if you want my sympathies.”

“Gordon and Caerphilly, as if there was anything else going on.”

“Oh please,” Percy rolled his eyes. “They’re smokebox over buffers for each other, simple as.”

“I don’t think he’d know what that phrase means.”

“Oh come on! Don’t be an idiot - he has to be.” Percy scoffed. “Otherwise he’d be scheming ways to shove her into the ocean by now.”

“Yes, but-” Henry tried and failed to find the words he needed. “I don’t think he knows how to feel that way. When would it have come up? And with who? Me? James?” 

“Henry, I’m going to politely ask you to never bring that up again. I don’t need that mental image.” 

Before Henry could say anything else, there was a distant poop poop, and Gordon came loping around the bend with a down-bound stopping train. He rolled to a stop at the far platform, giving Percy’s disgusted expression significant leeway. “Do I even want to know what you two are discussing?” he said at last. 

“Oh, just something James said earlier.” Henry lied quickly. 

“Ah, of course.” Gordon sounded like he was rolling his eyes. “He said much the same to me this morning. Can you imagine the absolute cheek of him, thinking that he would be a viable replacement to myself or Caerphilly on the express workings? It’s almost vulgar.” 

“Oh - oh yes.” Of course James actually would say something like that. “Uh, Gordon, on that subject: how… how is Caerphilly doing on the express runs? Everything up to your standards?” 

“As much as it pains me to admit it,” Gordon’s tone hovered somewhere between boastful and contemplative. “But she’s a credit to Swindon’s craftsmanship. Certainly the best engine for the job… other than myself of course. Certainly better than James, the little imp. He thinks that he’s just the dog’s bollocks, puh! More like the dog’s breakfast…”

Gordon continued muttering about James until the guard’s whistle blew, and he stormed away towards Tidmouth. 

“See?” Percy said as the coaches rolled out of sight.

“See what? Him being the exact same he always is?” Henry wheeshed. “He’d be in a much better mood if that was happening, let me tell you!” 

-------

The express receded into the distance, and Caerphilly huffed in displeasure. “I do hope he’s not trying for any record-breaking today.” 

“Oh?” Edward pounced on the possibility of gossip. “Whyever not? Surely he’d manage it if he wanted to…”

“One of his axleboxes is acting up.” She said, staring at the vanishing cloud of steam. “His driver is an imbecile and so intends to see to it after the day’s work is done. Stupid man…”

“Oh,” Edward wilted slightly. “So… there hasn’t been any record attempts that we don’t know about? No competition to see who’s fastest?” 

“Goodness me, no!” Caerphilly laughed. “He’s worn out!” 

Edward brightened up significantly. 

“What sort of a competition would that be?” Caerphilly continued on obliviously. “I’m fresh from the works and he’s about to go in for a full overhaul. We’d never get a reproducible result with him in this state. Best to wait until next year when he’s back in fighting form.” 

Edward’s face fell, and remained that way until Caerphilly left. 

“You,” BoCo said from the yard, having heard everything. “Are a gossipy old woman and should be ashamed of yourself.”

-----

“Ach, you’re all jus’ stupid.” Donald remarked one night in the sheds. 

Vulgar noises met this. 

“Ach! Let me fuckin’ finish, aye?” He snapped. 

“Well get on with it!” The other engines retorted. 

“Well,” he said, keeping an eye on the yard outside to see if Gordon or Caerphilly were lurking about. “Forgive me for mixing a metaphor here, but Ah think what has happened is that… the Big Yin has found his Yang.”

“The what has found his who?” Multiple engines looked at him with confusion. Only Bear seemed to understand what was going on. 

“Aye, they’re all morons.” Donald whispered to himself. “The Big Yin is - oh forget it, Ah’m no explainin’ that if’n ye don’ already know. What Ah am trying to say here is that he’s found a kindred spirit. Or, puttin’ it a little bit neater - a friend!”

“And what are the rest of us then?” James sniffed. 

“Annoying!” Came several different voices all at once, and James grew deeply offended. 

“I am not!” 

“Jamie…” Delta said gently. “Don’t take this the wrong way… but friends don’t argue for two weeks straight.”

------

Eventually, after several more days of worrying positivity, James decided the best course of action would be to introduce a conflict in order to restore some form of normality. Everyone else thought that was a stupid idea, and told him so, but critically couldn’t stop him from putting his plan into action. 

“You know,” he said one night, trying (and mostly succeeding) to slot his plan into an existing conversation. “I don’t think that we’ve really learned all there is to know about you, Caerphilly.”

“Such as?” The Western engine looked at him funny. She hadn’t exactly been concealing anything about herself. 

“Well, I for one am curious as to what they taught you over on the Great Western.” James said, trying to play innocent. (It wasn’t working but Caerphilly didn’t know him well enough to notice.) “Gordon has all sorts of stories about how the LNER made him “absorb culture” and other dreadful things like that.” 

Caerphilly laughed. “Ah yes, the grand old tradition of the “Cultured Express.” Indeed, we had that on the Western as well. There were so many different things - stageplay, music, great literature - in fact, we even had our own theatrical company in the shed at Old Oak Common. Those were the days…” 

“Really now, theater?” Gordon raised an eyebrow. “Tell me there were at least works of drama.” 

“Oh no,” Caerphilly smirked. “As old Edmund Kean once said, ‘dying is easy, comedy is hard.’” 

“Comedies?” Gordon was in full pomposity now, and James fought to keep down a smile. Around him, the other engines suddenly had a sinking feeling, as though something was about to go dreadfully wrong.

“Oh don’t look at me like that! What was it that they forced down your boiler tubes? Shakespeare and Marlowe? Can you recite Tamburlaine the Great from memory?” To an untrained eye (like James) Caerphilly seemed slightly put out by Gordon’s response. 

With that in mind, James took this moment to strike one final blow. “Oh, he just loves opera!”

Now, in James’ mind, this last word was accompanied by theatrical scare chords; opera was stuffy, boring, and pretentious - perfect for Gordon, and loathed by everyone else.

For the other engines in the shed, scare chords did present themselves, but not at the mention of opera. Instead, the chords accompanied the absolutely delighted look that crossed Caerphilly’s face. “Like Gilbert and Sullivan?” 

“I don’t particularly care for their works, (and I daresay I’d consider them Opera) but I do know of them, why?” 

“Oh, everyone at Old Oak loved their work!” Caerphilly raved. “We must have done Penzance two or three dozen times!”

Gordon’s eyebrow raised. “They put on… Gilbert and Sullivan in your shed?”

“Oh yes! I always tried to play Frederic, but it always ended up going to one of the boys - Pendennis or Raglan. I ended up playing Mabel most of the time.”

Gordon’s eyebrow got even higher. “Frederic is a tenor. Mabel is a soprano.”

“I can do a baritone if I need to!” She sniffed. “I’ve got the steam for it!” 

“Baritone.” 

“This is all very judgmental from someone who probably doesn’t have information vegetable, animal, and mineral.”

Gordon made a face at that, and Henry, Bear, Delta, and Donald could all feel a sinking feeling in their frames. On the other side of Gordon, James’ smile slowly melted from his smokebox. 

“I think,” Gordon said with a tone so slick it could lubricate bearings. “That you will find me the very model of a modern major-general.”

“Oh no”  James whispered. 

“Ah told them…” Douglas said quietly. 

🎶 “I am the very model of a modern Major-General,

I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral, 

I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical

From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical; 🎶

Gordon started slowly, while staring at Caerphilly expectantly. 

🎵 I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical,

I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical,

About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news, 🎵

Caerphilly picked up exactly where he left off. 

“Lot o’ news…? Ah yes.” Gordon picked up at the pause, and James was suddenly aware that he should have listened to everyone else. 

🎶 🎵 With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.

I'm very good at integral and differential calculus;

I know the scientific names of beings animalculous:

In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,

I am the very model of a modern Major-General! 🎵 🎶

They were singing together. 

This kept up for over an hour as the two worked their way through what must have been the entirety of the Pirates of Penzance. 

Then, just when it seemed like salvation was at hand, Samarkand backed into the shed, in high spirits from the day’s work. James and Henry both looked at her plaintively; they hadn’t yet gotten to know her very well, but they hoped that she’d be willing to put a stop to this. 

Delta and Bear had gotten to know the big 9F, and were much less hopeful.

Gordon and Caerphilly were finishing “When the Foeman Bares his Steel,” and she brightened up significantly. “Oh, are we singing? I love HMS Pinafore!” 

There was a very quiet squeak from one of the others - who exactly was unknown. Gordon and Caerphilly looked at each other, and then all three engines started into Pinafore. 

-

Later

Henry backed down onto the Flying Kipper looking like death warmed over. Marina decided not to press, but as she kept shuttling back and forth with the fish vans, she kept hearing something. 

“Are you… humming HMS Pinafore?” she asked at last. 

“NO!” Henry shrieked, and she scuttled away with a wide-eyed look. 

Later still, Salty came by, singing a tune as he moved a string of container cars. “I thought so little, they rewarded me By making me the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee!”

Henry’s eye started twitching. 

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

Part 2: Sam

As freight traffic increased on the main line following the growth of Tidmouth Harbour, more trains were scheduled to cope. In turn, a new division of the company was founded: “NW Cargo Operations,” which handled most main-line goods trains going into the new millennium, ranging from the Flying Kipper to the Pick-Up Goods. It was often hard, dirty work, and many of the established mainline drivers felt that such duties were beneath them, and refused to take these trains unless directly ordered to. As such, many of the drivers who filled the ranks of “Cargo Ops” were younger, either promoted from the branch lines or hired directly for the purpose. (Main line crews rather derisively called the whole lot of them “Childcare Ops,” a nickname that had surprising levels of staying power) 

This was especially true on the steam traction side of things,where the crews were a strange mix of branch line crews who took an “easy” promotion, relatively junior main line crews who had  jumped at the chance to get more throttle time without having to deal with Gordon or the people whose primary career goal was driving Gordon, and rank amateurs who had only just proven that they could be entrusted with a coal shovel. There were shockingly few “adults” on the staff, meaning that more often than not, the most mature person on a given crew was the engine; this was fine for Henry and the Kipper, but James on the pick-up goods was far more common and far less ideal.

It was into this mixed bag of professionalism and skill that Samarkand - Sam or Sammie for short, if she was feeling nice - steamed headlong into. The crews were overjoyed; growing train sizes meant that more and more often they were dealing with an underpowered engine (James) on a long train (the pick-up goods, now thirty or more cars long), or the daunting process of filching a bigger engine from the passenger services. (Henry, because nobody was suicidal enough to ask Gordon) Sam, with her massive, ten-coupled frame, a power class of 9, and Crovan’s Gate “improvements” was a gift from the heavens, and they put her to work immediately on the heaviest trains. 

---

“I dare say,” Henry remarked a few days afterwards, as Sam’s container train receded into the distance in a cloud of dust and steam. “It’s like the 1960s again.” 

“I’m not sure I follow?” Caerphilly raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I suppose you weren’t there for this,” Henry said. “But as steam faded from the mainland, many of the most junior drivers and firemen were given footplate space on what had been the crack express engines. I recall hearing from a Southern engine who came here once that a close sibling - who at that point was more rust than engine, mind you - was brought beyond a hundred miles an hour on a boat train in 1967 by a crew of boys no more than twenty-five.”

“You’re kidding!” Caerphilly wished she’d been able to find out more about what had happened in that last horrible decade, after she’d been locked away. “And so, what? We’ve just handed Sam over to the daycare center and told them to flog the wheels off her?” 

“I suppose you could put it like that,” Henry mused as the signal rose. “But she seems to be enjoying it, so don’t view it as a bad thing.”

And he left, leaving a very contemplative Caerphilly behind. 

---

Contrary to what some engines (James) thought, Sam was enjoying working with “Childcare Operations.” Crews on the heritage lines she’d previously found herself on often treated her strangely: those who knew about her, her lineage, and Star treated her like she was made of glass; those who didn’t often treated her with mild indifference - she was a big engine, with big engine problems, but none of the glory that came to the ex-express engines. (Of course, some of those probably poisoned the well for her, so thanks Mallard.)  The rest, well, they were veterans of BR in the 60s or earlier, and as such treated her like they treated all the other engines - like property, to be ignored unless needed. In comparison, these fresh-faced youths who still didn’t fully know their way around an engine were a breath of fresh air, laughing and joking their way through a driving shift, and making sure that she was in on the fun. They even made references to things she’d never heard of - movies, television shows, songs, and even novels - and then bothered to explain them to her.

As this happened, it occurred to her, for the first time in her entire life, that she wasn’t the youngest one in the yard.     

----

“Something occurred to me yesterday.” She said one morning at the big station. 

“And what might that be?” The other engines - Gordon, Delta, Pip, Emma, Daisy, Caerphilly, and Marina - all turned to look at her. 

“I’m old.” she said simply. “Like, I’m one of the youngest steam engines there is and I’m over forty.” There was a very long pause. “I don’t know how to feel about that.” 

“Well don’t I just feel ancient and withered.” Caerphilly fixed her with a wry look. “Practically a fossil - I should be put on display in a museum, oh wait…” 

Delta and Marina both looked at each other across the platforms. It was clear to see that both diesels were doing the math in their heads as to exactly how close they were to Sam’s age. It looked to be concerningly close. Daisy, meanwhile, said nothing, but made a face that rather neatly expressed “oh god, am I really older than some steam engines?”

Pip chuckled lightly. “Well, I suppose that not all of us can be young and beautiful like Em and I, hmm? All you lot will have to settle for aging gracefully in the rest home.”

Caerphilly emitted a vulgar noise, and Gordon rolled his eyes. “Speaking as the elder of this moment, I believe I shall take my leave before this devolves into a feud.”

“Age before beauty, eh Gordon?” Delta pounced, trying to draw attention away from the sudden sense of insecurity she felt. 

This time they all heard the eye-roll, even as Gordon began to pull away with his stopping train. “Not only am I just as beautiful as the rest of you, but take note that you are only ever as old as you feel, and today I feel rather young indeed. Good day, ladies.” 

He left in a cloud of self-importance, leaving some of the other engines gobsmacked. “When did he get so… secure?” Daisy asked. 

“And calm?” Delta watched the coaches leave. 

“Did he just call us all beautiful?” Pip raised both eyebrows. 

 “Is that… not supposed to happen?” Caerphilly looked confused. 

The other engines all looked at her. 

“What?” she squeaked, suddenly unsure of what was going on. She had to tamp down a momentary feeling of panic as four different diesels looked straight into her eyes.

“Caerphilly,” Delta said carefully. “Is there… anything you want to tell us about yourself and Gordon?”

It took several seconds to parse. “Certainly not!” She spluttered. “And what business would it be of yours anyway?” 

“Aside from the fact that Gordon is one of the engines holding this island together?” Marina said thoughtfully. “And means a great deal to us?” The thoughtful look quickly turned wry, and she continued before Caerphilly could respond. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but I often wonder if he even knows what he’s saying. It would be most relieving to learn that he does.”

“What?” Sam broke in, eyebrows high. “How can he not know? He’s like, ninety!”

“And he has spent almost every one of those years on this island.” Marina was firm, and Delta looked like she agreed. “From whom would he have learned? James? Henry? Thomas?” 

Sam remained steadfast. “No. No. No way. He has to know! They - he can’t be that stupid!” 

Silence hung in the air for about ten seconds after this. Then, uproarious laughter split the atmosphere in two. Daisy started to turn red. Delta began crying. Marina was actually shaking. Pip and Emma - who have not been on Sodor that long! - were laughing so hard that their headlights flickered on and off. 

Caerphilly and Sam looked at each other, unsure of what to do. “This bodes poorly for us, doesn’t it?” Caerphilly said over the sound of Daisy’s helpless wheezing. 

Sam paused, long enough for her crew to emerge from the station building. They looked deeply befuddled at the howling diesels, but didn’t stop to question it. 

“I…” Sam said as they hopped into her cab and readied the train for departure. “Think that I need to be somewhere else before I catch whatever they have.” 

Delta tried and failed to say something, which instead came out as a gasping whimper. 

With concerned looks sent all around, Sam left in a billow of smoke and steam, the pick-up goods trailing behind her. 

The laughter continued, but abruptly began petering off as the pick-up goods kept going. First ten cars, 

Then twenty, 

Then thirty, 

Forty, 

Forty-seven cars were between Sam and the brakevan as she hauled the train away from the station, not once seeming to notice the immense load. 

The others watched her go with dropped jaws. 

“Remind me again,” Delta said eventually. “Why we were so revolutionary, when they had engines that could do that?” 

-----

The pick-up goods was a long and often tedious run up the island, stopping at every station and fishing cars out of goods yards before dropping new ones in their place. It often took every minute of the standard 9-and-a-half-hour driving shift, and if the size of the train while it was in Tidmouth was any indication, Sam wouldn’t be back in her shed until close to midnight. 

One advantage of the slow, plodding run? The chance for gossip to clear the engine/crew divide. 

“So,” Siobhan leaned out of the cab window as they waited in the Wellsworth goods loop. Caerphilly had just thundered by with the Limited, and it had seemed like a good time to bring it up. “Wha’ exactly was going on wit’ all ye at the platforms?” 

“Oh, nothing… just some girl talk?” Sam did not sound incredibly sure of herself. 

“Sounded more like the girls laughing at ye, than anythin’ close to talking.” 

“Well, it wasn’t supposed to be funny, but they all started laughing!” 

“So what’d ye say?” 

“I’d rather not… it’s too… gossipy.”

Siobhan recoiled. “An engine that don’t wanna gossip? What is the world comin’ to?” She disappeared into the cab. “Oi, oi, Will. Come ‘ere. No, no, come here. I gotta show ya somethin’.” 

She reappeared a moment later with the fireman - a young, barely trained teenager named Wilma - and pointed forwards in the vague direction of Sam’s face. “See tha’? That’s an engine that won’t give up the gossip! I’ve been doin’ this fer seventeen years and I’ve never seen that before. Make a note o’ it or somethin’, ‘cause it may be the only time ya ever do!” 

Sam blushed with irritated embarrassment. “I don’t know if it’s true! I couldn’t ask any more questions because they just kept laughing! I’m not gonna go around and tell lies!” 

Will ignored all of this, and focused on the important details. “How have you been doing this for seventeen years? My mum is barely older than you.”

“I signed on when I was sixteen, figured it’d keep me out the house.” Siobhan paused for a long second. “And, I know yer mum - she’s a slag, that’s how she’s barely older than me with a kid yer age.”

Will turned bright red and swatted at Siobhan. “Fuck you!” 

“Aye, that’s what yer mum was saying!” Siobhan dodged the swat and the lump of coal that followed it. “And that’s how ye fuckin do gossip, yeah!” 

“I don’t think I needed to hear any of this.” Sam remarked to nobody in particular. 

Inside the cab, nobody heard her. “Oi! Put that hose down!” 

“Stand still!”

“Don’t ye fuckin dare…” 

“Stand still! There’s coal dust on your face.”

Sam rolled her eyes, and very quietly directed more pressure to the injector running the in-cab hose. 

Bssssssshhhhhh “ACKSBTHLTHGH!” 

 ----

When the train eventually reached Wellsworth, Wilma was on the platform before Sam stopped moving, and was patiently waiting for the stationmaster to take the bills of lading for the cargo they were dropping off. 

At the other end of the platform, BoCo watched with some interest as Sam tried mightily to cover up a smile. He didn’t have to wait long for an explanation, as a sopping wet Siobhan squelched her way along the platform, checking each bearing as she went. 

“Do I even want to know?” He asked Sam quietly. 

“See that girl down the platform, talking to the stationmaster?” 

“Yes..?”

“I think she’s going to fit in very well on this railway.” 

Siobhan was close enough that she heard them anyways, and squeaked her way up the platform, leaving a trail of water behind her. “Aye, listen ta me closely, you giant green abomination. This shite is my fault, but I am gonna blame ye fer it, see if I don’t.” And she squeak-squeak-ed away to check on other parts of the train. 

“How are you liking Childcare Operations?” BoCo asked, full of innocence. 

Sam allowed a smile to light up her face. “It’s some of the best work I’ve ever had. I have to see if York would sell us Evening Star. He’d love this.” 

--------  

Later Still

They’d reached Killdane around lunchtime, and took their time setting out cars of alumina bound for the aluminum company in Peel Godred, before collecting cars of ingots for the mainland. 

“Isn’t this a little much?” Will asked as they shuffled the train around to put the heavy loaded cars at the front. “That’s, like, fifty five or sixty cars now.”

“I can take it!” Sam chirped, and Siobhan frowned. 

“Aye, lassie. It’s not that I think ye can’t, but at this stage I’m worried about losin’ a coupling somewhere.” 

“It’s downhill, it’ll be fine! Besides, if we don’t take these now, someone’s got to make a special trip before tomorrow, and who do you think that’ll be?” 

“...” Siobhan had a laundry list of reasons why this wouldn’t work, but decided to let the big engine figure it out for herself. With the electric engines looking on in wonder as she built up the train to a titanic sixty-one cars, Sam felt perfectly confident that everything was going to work. 

Then it didn’t, but in a way that no-one was expecting. 

“I’ve got no air pressure," the guard radioed in from his van. “I think the train’s too long for the air to pump up back here.” 

 No air pressure meant that the train’s brakes wouldn’t release, so they really weren’t going anywhere now. “So what do we do?” Sam asked in confusion. She didn’t even know this was possible, and had no idea how to solve it. 

Siobhan and Will were similarly befuddled, and were conferring with “control” on what their next move should be when a weak honk sounded through the yard. 

It was Delta, who limped to a stop with the mid-day Limited, looking exhausted. 

“Well, I think that these traction motors have just about had it," she said weakly. “I don’t think we’re going to make it much further.”

As if to prove her point, there was a sudden arc of electric light from the space between bogie and platform, and a thin plume of smoke rose into the air. From inside her cab, there was shouting and scurrying, before a weighty mechanical chonk rang out, and the smoke tapered off to nothing.  

“Are you alright?” Sam and Siobhan were wide-eyed at the whole display. 

“No, but don’t worry about it.” Delta’s expression had tightened quite a bit. She was in pain and not thrilled about the situation; she was even less happy about the dozen or so station staff now swarming over her. “The works were supposed to change the traction motors on that bogie next week. Bloody inconvenient timing if you ask me.”

It took some time to tend to Delta’s sudden and very prominent issue - the fire brigade had been called, so now the entire station was at a standstill. Sam, Siobhan, and Will, at a loss for anything else to do, had started re-arranging the train, assuming that they’d be breaking it into sections anyways in order to deal with the air brake issue. 

This was still ongoing when Wendell rolled in from the works to rescue the coaches from the calamity. “60 cars isn’t long enough for that to be an issue," he remarked after being informed of the problem. “They ran fish trains that long all the time on the mainland. Must be a leak somewhere. Or your air pump is bad.”

He would have explained more, but he was too busy shunting Delta out of the way, and then he was off, taking the Limited the rest of the way to Barrow. 

Meanwhile, this revelation meant that Siobhan, Will, and the guard were clambering over Sam and the trucks trying to figure out what the issue could be. 

Doing this took so long that everyone eventually lost patience, and started putting the train back together. “If it doesn’t work,” Sam rolled her eyes. “Then we’ll just treat it as an unbraked train. Not like we were going very fast anyways.”

Everyone seemed annoyed, but satisfied with this plan, but then Will had a thought as they began shunting the lines of trucks together. “Hang on, aren’t we taking her to the works?” She motioned over to Delta, who was sitting by herself, front bogie coated in fire retardant and liberally wrapped with caution tape. 

Delta heard her, and smiled self-effacingly. “I’m fine. They isolated everything, so I can go there on the motors in the rear bogie when there’s a gap in the timetable.” 

Siobhan and Sam both raised eyebrows, about to ask why she was moving on her own at all, when, as if to prove a point, Wendell flashed through the station with the midday express, clearly covering at least some of Delta’s timetable.

Will had a pensive look as the express’s lamps faded into the distance. “Hey, wait a second. If she can move on her own, and we’re having air brake problems, why don’t we just put her on the back and have her pump air from the rear? Should solve that problem, and she doesn’t have to drive on one motor set.”

It took a few moments for everyone to ponder that, and quite a bit longer for “control” and the stationmaster to sign off on it, but eventually everyone agreed that it “was the best bad idea” they’d heard today, and Delta was soon coupled between the brakevan and the train. The guard was very happy to report that the brake line was charging normally, and a brake test showed that there was full brake pressure up and down the train. 

Of course, there always had been. A group of mainland trucks had felt very troublesome indeed - something about being bossed around by a tea kettle - and had decided to cause mischief when they had the chance. This came to a head when the train was put together in Killdane yard, and the mischievous little things had held their brake valves shut, preventing the brake pressure from propagating up and down the train as usual. They all found it very funny, and had felt very proud of themselves indeed when the train had become so delayed due to their handiwork. 

The other trucks on the train - mostly trucks from other parts of Sodor - also found this funny, but only a few of the cannier mainland trucks realized that the laughter was… not directed at the same place. 

“Oi,” an “ECC INTERNATIONAL” hopper whispered to a “SODOR FUEL OIL CO.” tanker as Sam began to build up steam. “What’s about to happen?”

“You’ll see…” The tanker sounded positively giddy. 

With a hiss, the brakes came off, and the line of mainlanders waited just a moment before clamping their brake shoes against their wheels. The hopper, sensing that he was on the precipice of making a mistake, did not follow their lead. 

Behind him, the wounded diesel that had been shunted onto the train at the last moment gave a sigh. “Oh, they think they’re clever.”

Up front, the steam engine whistled loudly, and set off with a roar of exhaust, steam shooting into the air with each cacophonous chuff. 

The train quickly jerked into motion, and there was a yelp of pain from further up the train as all ten of the mainland trucks were yanked into motion with their brakes hard on. Screaming and shouting, they skidded across the yard and almost to the main line before they realized that this engine was not stopping for their prank - perhaps she didn’t even notice. They released their brakes - too little too late, in the hopper’s opinion - and began rolling, albeit with huge flat spots that painfully thump-thumped their way down the main line. 

The tanker in front was in hysterics, as were most of the other Sodor trucks. 

The few mainland trucks that didn’t participate were horrified. 

Behind, the big diesel was awestruck. “She’s like a machine,” she said. “Why did the Western Region have to get her?” 

-----

 Later

Eventually, finally, the train clanked into Barrow, fifty-seven trucks trailing behind Sam. The yard shunter gulped mightily at the sight of it, but Sam paid no notice as she rolled off to the sheds for coal, water, and a short rest. 

Caerphilly was also “on shed,” having brought in the mid-day express, and the conversation was flowing before Sam came to a halt. Will and Siobhan saw the opportunity, and scampered away to the station building unnoticed. They may have enjoyed being on Sam’s footplate, but after seven hours they needed a break, a sandwich, and a floor that didn’t move when it got excited. 

It was maybe an hour or so later, after their much-needed rest, Siobhan trotted back to the crew rest area with a sheaf of papers and a rather self-satisfied look on her face. Will saw her coming from across the room and sat up, not liking her expression one bit. “What?” She asked with some trepidation.

“So…” Siobhan tried not to look like the cat that got the canary. “Del’s in the works, Henry’s on a container train, Wendell’s in Knapford, and the two nutcases are on the Limited and the boat train, which means that the Northern Belle’s got no engine."

“What? You joking?” 

Siobhan wasn’t. The Northern Belle was an all-Pullman luxury charter train, operated by the same company that now ran the Orient Express. It catered mostly to wealthy tourists, taking them to various cities and historical sites across Northern England. It visited Sodor twice since it had been introduced last year, and while the train (and its passengers) had been resoundingly trouble-free, the management of the luxury train company was another story, apparently demanding special treatment from the Fat Controller despite refusing to pay for it. As a result of the prior two experiences, a notice had been sent around the various sheds that the train would be given to “any engine that is available,” with the heavy implication being that Wendell - arguably the “least famous” engine on the Island, and notably not a steam engine - would be the one taking it. 

But now, Wendell was clear across the island, it took very little dot-connecting for Will to realize what Siobhan was saying. “We’re gonna take a Pullman?”

“Looks like it.”

Will looked at Siobhan, and then herself. They were so thoroughly coated in coal dust and sweat that they looked like Victorian chimney sweeps. “Do we need to do our hair or something? Should we get the polish? Do we need to get Sammie?”

Siobhan was already holding up a hand to forestall the questioning. “Yard crew is gettin’ Sam righ’ now, I don’ think I can do the hair unless I’m dunkin’ myself in the water tower, and stationmaster had “orders from above” that we only needed to do ourselves up if we wanted to, which is a diplomatic way o’ sayin’ “I hope ye lasses look like shite so those wankers won’ come back.””

“Are they that bad?” 

“Aye! Ye should’ve heard the fuss they kicked up with the Fat Controller when James had to sub in for Gordon at the last moment…”

---

Later still

Siobhan and Will, looking every bit a pair of Victorian ragamuffins, left a trail of sooty bootprints down the length of the platform directly in front of the primped and polished Pullman coaches. A few passengers looked out the window and raised an eyebrow. One particularly loud voice could be heard through the double-paned window, a brash Texas accent saying something about “miners.” 

The coaches sighed and rolled their eyes. They were well aware of the reputation their management had foisted upon them, and were grateful that most railways seemed willing to judge corporate and personal sins separately. 

Further up the platform, and the diesel that brought the train here was gone, replaced by Sam, who did not look her best when still streaked with coal and brake dust from the long trip to Barrow. Her green paint and brasswork were dull under the crud. “Do we not have time for a washdown?” she said, slightly scandalized. “These are Pullman coaches!” 

“No’ today,” Siobhan chirped as she swung into the cab. “Tell ye all about it once we get goin.”

“It’s a whole thing,” Will chimed in, despite not fully understanding the circumstances either. 

“Excuse me, but what exactly do you think you’re doing?” A shrill voice called from the platform. A pair of impeccably dressed men in pressed and starched driver’s overalls stared imperiously through the cab window. 

It didn’t work. “Well Clancy,” Siobahn leaned out the cab window and gave a disaffected stare. “It appears as though I am gonna drive this train to Tidmouth.”

Clancy, who was slightly taller and had a thicker moustache than his counterpart, puffed himself up, the received pronunciation in his accent getting stronger. “And who authorized such a thing? You drive goods trains, not Pullman services!”

Siobhan reached into her breast pocket and produced a stick of chewing gum, carefully unwrapping it from the foil, before sticking it in her mouth. She balled up the foil and tossed it at Clancy, who recoiled. “I would say that my authorization came from the duty sheet I was given by the stationmaster.” She produced the duty sheet, gum snapping away noisily. “I believe ye know ‘im. About yea tall, named Burton? Brown hair, little round glasses an’ a bow tie?”

Clancy’s face screwed up in displeasure. “Yes, yes, I am well aware of our… egalitarian taskmaster, but you and he should know that this is not a service for Cargo Operations. It is a premiere service, and main-line crews should be taking it-”

“It is a charter service and ye well know it,” Siobhan shot back. “Cargo Ops has free fuckin’ reign of them just like ye do. Also, this is the Northern Belle, an’ there was a whole circular abou’ this thing getting wha’ever was available, so we’re it!”

Clancy looked like he had already been tightly wound before he walked up the platform. Now he was liable to explode. “This is an express working! You’ve got a child on the footplate! She should be in school, not firing an engine! Does she even know what she’s doing?” 

Will sat up, thoroughly offended. Siobhan got to him first. “An’ she’s doin’ a fine job o’ it. I ain’t heard no’ one complaint about ‘er all day!”

The man standing behind Clancy took this moment to open his mouth, revealing an equally posh accent with a characteristically flippant tone. “Yes, well, it may be all well and good, but we all know exactly how… permissive the engines can be. I can assure you that if something has gone wrong today, you would be ignorant of it.” 

This was the wrong comment to make.

“Have I been fuckin’ eatin’ glue the last twenty years?” Siobhan yowled. “Do I not know wha’ a fuckin’ fireman does?”

“That’s a lot of talk for someone with clean fingernails and shiny boots!” Will seemingly teleported across the cab, and was almost entirely out the window. “I bet you haven’t lifted anything heavier than a pencil all month, Rupert!”

“I’ve been called a lot of things, but quiet and permissive isn’t one of them.” Sam was utterly bewildered. “What a comment to make!” 

Rupert recoiled, and Clancy went on the attack. “Don’t be hysterical! You’re both barely out of nappies and you think that you can take an express train? Get out of the cab and let someone experienced do the work.”

“How long have you been doing this for?” Sam retorted dryly. “I imagine that it hasn’t been day in, day out, for almost forty years.”

“I don’t recall asking you for your opinion, 92250.” Clancy seethed. “But, if you must know, I signed on with the Southern Region in 1967.”

“The Southern Region that ended steam in 1967?” Sam’s tone was acidic. “What diesel did you hire onto?” 

Rupert could see that Clancy was struggling, and tried to save him. “Now see here! I will have you know that we are both very experienced drivers in the heritage rail industry, and have many hundreds of hours at the throttle of -”

“Engines like me?” A majestic voice called from behind them. It was Caerphilly, who did not look thrilled with the goings-on, to the point where the yard crew who had brought her to the platforms beat a hasty escape back to the sheds. “I imagine you did. Tell me, how does your experience of driving two or three miles through the countryside at a snail’s pace translate to running crack steam express services?”

“We have been gainfully employed on this railway for years doing exactly that!” Rupert’s voice was starting to crack.

“I know. Gordon mentions you. Frequently.” 

They were losing the battle, and they knew it. Clancy was turning a deep shade of red, and went for what he thought was the kill. “Oh for the love of God! Get out of the cab you stupid cows! This is our assignment and I will not let a woman take it from me!” 

There was a moment of silence, during which Clancy and Rupert took absolutely zero notice of how completely surrounded they were. 

KSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The silence was then broken by the sound of Caerphilly and Sam venting steam at the two men, turning the far end of the platform into a cacophonous sauna of noise, heat, and steam. 

It went on for well over a minute, only stopping when the signal in front of Sam turned green, and she slipped away with the Northern Belle rolling smoothly along behind her. The passengers looked out of the windows in awe at the display, totally ignorant of why it had happened. 

In the deafening silence, Clancy and Rupert laid flat on their backs on the freshly steam-cleaned platform. Their clothes were soaked completely through, stuck to their bodies as though they had just been fished out of the Walney Channel. Indeed, if one ignored the slightly red tinge to their skin, the two men could be mistaken for recovered drowning victims. 

Slowly, a pair of footsteps click-clicked their way across the platform. It eventually resolved into a man of average height, wearing a dark suit with a bow-tie and round glasses. A nametag on his breast revealed him as C. BURTON - STATIONMASTER. 

“I have rostered you two on the Kirk Ronan boat train,” he said in a soft American accent. “Number four is the assigned engine.” 

He dropped a clipboard onto Clancy’s chest, and walked away.

Slowly, as the footsteps faded, Clancy and Rupert’s heads turned to look towards the sheds. 

There, in the dark shadows, Gordon’s eyes glinted furiously.

[duskstargazer]

[1935]

The big green engine groaned, as the cranes carefully lifted him from the broken rails and debris of wagons. Something warm and tasting of copper dripped onto his upper lip.

“You’ll be alright, Henry.” Judy tried to sound confident and uplifting, but it was clear neither she nor Jerome had ever dealt with a wreck this bad.

“Oh, thank God you’re alive…”

That voice surprised Henry. The Fat Controller stood in the snow between the tracks, looking mournfully up at his big green engine.

“Th… the signal was down, sir…” Henry rasped, his voice dry and hoarse. It hurt to talk.

I don’t care what caused this disaster, Henry.” Sir Topham Hatt cut in. He had a hard look in his eyes. “I’m just glad to see you’re not…” He trailed off.

“…Beyond repair?”

The stout gentleman bit his lip. “About that. Our workshop here can give you the repairs you need, but it will be a long time. And that’s without all the renovation work that’s been going on there.”

“But,” he continued, “I’ve gotten in touch with a friend of mine from the old days. You probably don’t know him, but he and I were close in our Swindon years. He said that he could have you rebuilt to the design of one of his new mixed-traffic engines. You’d be a different engine, and wouldn’t need Welsh Coal anymore. But I’ll leave the choice to you.”

Henry was silent for a moment. He considered the controller’s words, as his wheels landed gently on the well wagon.

‘Won’t that be nice…?’

Henry grimaced, and tried to dispel the strange voice in his smokebox.

“Where would you be sending me? And how long would I be gone?”

“Crewe, and he said the work would take about four months.”

Henry bit his lip. It felt raw.

“I want to go to Crewe, please.”

[thunderxleafart]

"It's The Great Western Way, or the Wrong Way!" It was only inevitable that I'd draw Duck for my humanized TTTE Au, so here's a quick little doodle of him! <3 The AU is still very much in the works, so his design is subject to change, but here's some notes about him so far for funsies ~

- He's a Nonbinary Transman (He/Him They/Them) - He's roughly 5'6/5'7, not really small but not huge either - He was diagnosed with Autism at a young age

- He was born and raised in Swindon - He worked on the GWR for a short time before moving to Sodor; he currently lives in Arlesbrugh (alongside Oliver, Toad and the Scottish Twins) - His left leg is shorter than his right leg, so he wears a brace that slips on over his shoe/boot for support. He also has a cane. (Though he doesn't really need the cane, he's agreed to use it so his mother doesn't worry about him. Plus it's great for self-defense!) - Some used to say his slight limp made him "waddle"; he doesn't really think he does, but he's embraced the resulting nickname of Duck and it's basically his name now lol - He likes to wear several layers of clothing (as he is naturally a bit curvy), which can often make him look bigger then he actually is. He also frequently wears shoulder pads. - As he was relentlessly tormented as a child, he has absolutely no tolerance for bullying of any kind. - He's an only child, but views Percy sort of like his little brother and is hella protective of him. - He doesn't know how to swim I'm still working out designs n such, but I had fun drawing him! :D

Maybe I'll doodle some of the others and post them too, we'll see. ;3 But for now, enjoy this cute lil Monty! <3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Duck (c) TTTE Art (c) Me <3

[kaliforniared]

The Three Students Pt. 1 (SPOILERS)

Alright, pt.1 reaction notes let’s get started!

Ooooh okay, sneak peek at what's to come for Sherlock! Very interesting…

I knew I KNEW Archie was gonna be “in trouble” for this episode based on the patreon newsletter!! Honestly good on John for having a whole Sherlock-esque deduction monologue about Archie being guilty (unfortunately he’s rather wrong later on)

Oooh so that’s how they end up at Oxford! Because Sherlock was asked to be a speaker! Good for him

I so get the huge difference between speaking publicly because you have to vs getting really into talking about your special interest. Same Sherlock, I getcha.

‘Autistic man turns down offer to speak to room full of people’ ngl this is a MOOD (as an autistic woman myself!)

LESTRADE MENTION!! John is so right in saying Lestrade would be putting in a lot of work to let people like Sherlock (consulting detective - not a CERTIFIED one), himself (doctor from Swindon), and Mariana (accountant from Sociedad) legally take on serious criminal cases so it’s only fair Sherlock returns the favor for that. 

Sherlock, you framed the DOG for your crimes! You’re a good consulting detective but an unhinged criminal

John you’re SO SALTY over Spain’s victory in the Euros, YOU get over it!

‘Nerd alert’, ‘Got half a mind to give you a wedgie’ of course YOU’D be a bully jock John, why am I not surprised?

Cracked open a beer already? Played Madonna late into the night? John, are you okay??

Oop, Mariana lore? 

I weirdly find John’s little chuckle cute when he’s asking Mariana what she did

Mariana, you did WHAT?? John no, that was NOT a ‘goodun’!

JRR TOLKIEN MENTION!! Been a huge Lord of the Rings fan lately

John, you’re a little TOO excited about a pub being there…

‘Wankfest’? John you said that in the same sentence as Sherlock’s speech….the speech sounds fine for now but my gut’s telling me the final draft is gonna SUCK

‘Sherly sense’ John I both love and hate you for that

Okay but shoutout to Adam Jarrell for having a BLAST with that voice acting! I certainly found it delightful

And there it is! Sherlock, you will find yourself in the middle of a case ANYWHERE

I'll say this: I love how this podcast takes the classic acd cases and reinvents them to make them make more sense in the modern day setting! The irony of a mysterious crime being committed for a Criminology controlled assessment is perfect, and honestly a step up from the original being about a Greek exam.

Sherlock: “I will take on the case, you have my word that-“ Soames: “What about the speech?” Sherlock: “…I forgot about that”, Sherlock why do you do this to yourself?

Oh John…you’re gonna become a frat boy, aren’t you?

HE IS!! JOHN YOU MESSY PERSON (I still love you <3)

Drunk John calling Mariana ‘Mrs. Hudson’ is cute to me for some reason

VODKA?! Oh he was PARTYING partying. John, why do you do this to yourself??

Oh no, poor Sherlock’s nervous!

And that’s all for part one! I REALLY really like when the podcast reinvents classic cases to have it make more sense in regard to the realistic modern day circumstances like why they’re ACTUALLY there and what case coincidentally comes up for them to solve! Also guys…I’m kinda getting worried for John. Dude hasn’t been sleeping well in the last episodes and now the alcohol is becoming more frequent for him. Am I the only one on this??

[old-transport]

GWR/BR loco No. 4699 @ Whitland shed - West Wales Tour (787) - Jun 1959 by Frederick McLean Via Flickr: An old amateur photograph of British Rail (BR) pannier tank engine No. 4699 inside the Whitland engine/locomotive shed (closed Jan 1966) in Jun 1959. This is in an old rail enthusiast photo album, on the reverse is annotated "West Wales Tour, C. F. Walklet at Whitland Shed, 7 Jun 1959". No. 4699 was a C. Collett designed class 5700 0-6-0PT engine, built at the Swindon Works, and new to Great Western Railway (GWR) in Feb 1945. The locomotive was withdrawn from service in Jun 1964, then scrapped in the August at the BR Swindon Works. Old/new overhead maps view:- maps.nls.uk/geo/explore/side-by-side/#zoom=17.4&lat=5... If there are any errors in the above description please let me know. Thanks. 📷 Any photograph I post on Flickr is an original in my possession, nothing is ever copied/downloaded from another location. 📷 -------------------------------------------------

[aimeedaisies]

The Princess Royal’s Official Engagements in November 2024

01/11 As Visitor of Strathcarron Hospice, visited the Hospice. 🫂

As Deputy Colonel-in-Chief of The Royal Regiment of Scotland, visited the Headquarters at Edinburgh Castle. 🫡

As Patron of the Eric Liddell 100, attended an Awards Dinner at George Watson’s College, in Edinburgh. 🏃🏼‍♂️🍽️🏆

05/11 As Master of the Corporation of Trinity House, presented Merchant Navy Medals for Meritorious Service at the Corporation of Trinity House. 🎖️

As President of Racing Welfare, attended a Reception at Sladmore Gallery. 🏇🏼

06/11 On behalf of The King, held an Investiture at Windsor Castle. 🎖️

As Patron of the Learning and Work Institute, and as President of Carers Trust, this attended the “Driving Change” Conference at City Lit College. 📒

As President of The Duke of Edinburgh’s Commonwealth Study Conferences, attended a Reception at Brunswick Group. 📚

As Patron of Shaftesbury, later held a 180th Anniversary Dinner at St James’s Palace. 🍾

07/11 As Vice Patron of the British Horse Society, attended the Annual Awards and Race Day at Newbury Racecourse. 🐴

Alongside the King and the Duchess of Gloucester, held a Reception at Buckingham Palace for medallists of the Paris 2024 Olympic and Paralympic Games. 🥇🥈🥉

09/11 With Sir Tim Was present at the Royal British Legion Festival of Remembrance at the Royal Albert Hall. Also in attendance were, The Prince and Princess of Wales, The Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, The Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, and The Duke of Kent were also present. 🌹

10/11 With Sir Tim Attended the National Service of Remembrance at the Cenotaph. Laid a wreath alongside the King, the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Edinburgh. Also in attendance were, the Princess of Wales, the Duchess of Edinburgh, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester and the Duke of Kent. 🌹

11/11 unofficial Sir Tim, as GWR Advisory Board member, visited Swindon train station with the Poppies to Paddington, then travelled to Paddington Station by train. 🚝

unofficial Sir Tim Attended a Service of Remembrance at Paddington Station. 🌹

12/11 Attended the HIV Drug Therapy Glasgow Congress at the Scottish Event Campus. 💊

Visited the University of Glasgow’s Mazumdar-Shaw Advanced Research Centre. 🔬🥼

As Royal Patron of MND Scotland, attended a Supporters’ Reception at the MND Scotland Office. 🍾

13/11 Visited the College of Master Kilt Tailors’ Headquarters at Askival of Strathearn. 🪡🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

Opened Letham4All’s Letham Community Hub. 🏢

Opened the YMCA Tayside Youth Centre in Perth. 👦👧

As Chancellor of the University of Edinburgh, held a Chancellor’s Dinner at the Palace of Holyroodhouse. 🎓🍽️

14/11 As Chancellor of the University of the Highlands and Islands, attended the Nursing and Optometry Graduation Ceremony in Inverness. 🩺🎓

16/11 As Patron of the Scottish Rugby Union, attended the International Rugby Match between Scotland and Portugal at Murrayfield Stadium in Edinburgh. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🇵🇹🏉

19/11 Attended a Reception at the Suffolk County Council Offices before opening the Gull Wing Bridge in Lowestoft. 🌁🎗️✂️

Unofficial Sir Tim presented the Billy Deacon SAR Awards during the Air League’s Annual Reception Ceremony at the House of Commons. ✈️

20/11 As President of the Royal Yachting Association attended the British Olympic Sailing Team Luncheon at the Royal Thames Yacht Club. ⛵️🍴

As Commandant-in-Chief (Youth) of St John Ambulance, attended the Young Achievers’ Reception at the Priory Church of the Order of St John in London. ⛑️🩹

As Chancellor of the University of London, attended the Foundation Day at Senate House, and conferred an honorary doctorate in Literature on Queen Camilla, for her public work in the field of literature and literacy. 📜🎓

21/11 As Patron of the Royal College of Anaesthetists, attended their Winter Symposium. 💉❄️

As President of the City and Guilds of London Institute, attended The Princess Royal Training Awards Conference at Goldsmiths’ Hall. 🏆 Sir Tim Laurence presented the Billy Deacon SAR Awards during the Air League’s Annual Reception Ceremony, held at the House of Commons, on 19 November 2024.

With Sir Tim As President of the British Olympic Association, attended the Team GB Ball at the Roundhouse. ✨

26/11 Opened the Hospice UK National Conference at the Scottish Event Campus in Glasgow. 🏥

27/11 As Chancellor of the Health Sciences University, attended a Graduation Ceremony at the Bridge Theatre in London. 🎓📜

As Patron of Transaid, attended the Annual Showcase at the Africa Centre in London. 🚛🚚

As Royal Fellow of the Royal Academy of Engineering, attended a New Fellows’ Dinner at Drapers’ Hall. 🍽️

28/11 On behalf of the King held morning and afternoon Investitures at Buckingham Palace. 🎖️

29/11 As Patron of the Moredun Foundation, attended a Conference at the Moredun Research Institute in Penicuik. 🐖🐑🐄

Total official engagements for Anne in November: 43

2024 total so far: 414

Total official engagements accompanied/represented by Tim in November: 3

2024 total so far: 94

FYI - due to certain royal family members being off ill/in recovery I won't be posting everyone's engagement counts out of respect, I am continuing to count them and release the totals at the end of the year.

[esperfruit]

Refs for our favorite coaches and break van

Annie Stroudley & Clarabel Stroudley

Age: 61 (Annie is older by 10 minutes)

Height: 171 cm

Twin sisters, close friends with Edward for decades and his flatmates. They also are Thomas' nannies and look out for him whenever Edward is busy. Both care for Thomas a lot and it's mutual. They are giving him good advice and are patient with him even if his impulsivity can become frustrating. Annie and Clarabel are both kind, joyful, patient, wise and supportive but Clarabel can be rather forceful from time to time.

Henrietta Holden

Age: 66

Height: 159 cm

Toby's devoted wife and caring foster grandmother of Percy. She was delighted when Toby agreed to her purposal of taking Percy in. Henrietta is a typical housewife and grandmother, enjoying regular domestic activities but also goes out a lot to meet with Emily, Annie and Clarabel. She and Toby have been happily married for decades and just as much in love as on their first day. She knows Toby better than everyone and knows how to calm him down, cheer him up and offers advice at any opportunity. Henrietta is also very hostpitable as she welcomes friends of Percy as well as Mavis, Toby's apprentice, with open arms, Mavis especially has basically become part of the family.

She has a calm and caring nature and she enjoys a quiet and peaceful life just like her husband and has a strained relationship with her reckless and chaotic sister Hannah.

Tyler "Toad" Swindon

Age: 30

Height: 165 cm

Oliver's best friend and sticks with him ever since they met during Oliver's great escape. Toad usually cheers Oliver up whenever he feels down and keeps his ego in check when it gets above his head again. Before the two met Toad was homeless after he fell into poverty when the company he worked for made him redundant. He received his nickname after he embarassingly fell into a pond during a school trip but he likes the nickname regardless and uses it to this day. Toad is overly polite, adressing everyone with Mister or Miss, considerate, appreciate and thoughtful but does not hold back at communicating his frustrations, especially when he feels left out.

[barbeygirl]

For a cigarette

ok ok I tried to write something. be nice lmaoo

Ron Speirs x reader

Words: 860

summary: the man who’s taken a liking to you insists on walking you home safely every night

Your quiet hometown was once again full of men in uniforms. You punched out your card and grabbed your coat. Some huge company, maybe two, had been pulled back from God knows where and were now here, crowding the small cafe and ogling at the waitresses.

You stepped into the wind with a ding from the bell hanging on the door frame. The dry cold dug deep into your bones and you wrapped your coat on tighter. You just wanted to be home already, snuggled in blankets, wearing woollen socks. Plus there was so much laundry to do.

“Hey,” a low voice came from behind you. You huffed slightly and turned around to look at him. He had came by the cafe you work at the first day they were back. He had sat quietly by the corner by himself, writing a letter to someone. They must’ve been gone for quite a while, since some of the men dressed like him were acting like they hadn’t seen women for ages. You could deal with bad pick up lines and half-lidded stares when working, but he had insisted on walking with you after a man had stood up between you and the door as you headed home.

“Yes?” You said, faking annoyance, “Will I once again be blessed with your company?” He shrugged, not looking at you as he stopped next to you, his hands searching the deep pockets of his jacket. He shoved a pack of cigarettes to your chest, which you grabbed gratefully, and tilted his head towards the road. “Let’s get going, you have places to be,” He said lowly and started walking. 

You sighed, lighting the cigarette. The very least, he was providing you with smokes. An item which was getting increasingly more difficult to obtain due to the war. He was already walking towards your home, like the strange bastard he was, as you tightly secured the pack into your pocket. You had to jog to catch up to him.

It took a while for either of you to speak. You were freezing and he seemed uninterested. It both infuriated and intrigued you. He kept showing up. And in his annoying non-chalantness, he kept acting like it was his job to escort you home. Like it was something he just had to do. Both of you knew you’d be perfectly fine without him. He did know that, right? Despite that, the last three days, he would be standing outside the cafe when your shift finished and walked you home, mostly in silence.

“Any problems at work today?” He asked you gruffly as you turned to the dirt road, leaving the small town behind. You shook your head, “No, none today,” you finished your cigarette, “I think they’re getting used to civilian life again.” To which Ron chuckled and looked off to the side. Your eyes roamed his face when he looked forward again, heat rushing to your cheeks. Did you say something stupid? “Well, I’m glad they’re behaving,” He nodded.

“How about you? What have you been up to?” You asked, and he looked you in the eyes for a moment before focusing back on the fields surrounding you. “I’m hoping to get the weekend off.” He said, clicking a metal lighter open and closed in his pocket, “There’s this dance hall in Swindon. I was thinking of seeing what all the talk’s about.”

"Right,” you blinked a few times and kicked a small rock on the road, “Yeah, they’re quite popular. I’ve been a few times.” Ron raised his brows at you, “You have?” He asked and you nodded. “There’s a small rooftop if you sneak behind the curtains upstairs. Good place for a smoke,” you told him, but he didn’t respond. You looked up to him when you noticed him staring at you. “How about you show me that rooftop this Friday?” He said, mouth in some form of a smile.

You laughed in surprise. You had honestly thought he already had someone to go with. “Okay,” your voice sounded higher than usual, “Sure.”

He nodded and flashed a quick smile at you, “Great, I’ll pick you up then.” He stopped and turned around to face you, tapping on the first pole of the wooden fence around your house. 

You stood still next to him awkwardly. He never came any closer than this, stopping where the fence looped to the side of the house. Usually, you’d just walk past him, saying a quick thank you for walking you home. But now, you weren’t sure how to end the conversation. So you nodded for the final time and headed to the gate.

“Before you go,” He put a hand on your shoulder, effectively stopping you, while his other arm curved around your waist to reach the pocket in the front of your jacket. His quick fingers snatched the cigarette package. Your mouth formed a line as you simultaneously tried to breathe normally, feeling his arm around your middle, and mourned the loss of the cigarettes. “I’ll have more for you tomorrow,” He said and you rolled your eyes, not able to stop the smile before he saw it.

[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

[joezworld]

Express Engines

I gave Gordon a friend!

The news that The Fat Controller had found a new engine - and a steam engine at that! - had caused an uproar. The subsequent revelation that there were two increased things to an almost unbearable furor. 

“Oh please sir,” James begged the Fat Controller one afternoon. “At least tell us which Castle it is. Everyone is going batty over it!” 

A skeptical eyebrow raise met this. “James, you and everyone else will find out in due time.”

“But sir!” 

Stephen stopped and hung his head in exasperation. “If it helps you at all, one is from Swindon, the other Crewe. I shan’t tell you anything more, so stop asking!” 

---

“That doesn’t help at all!” the others grumbled when James reported back. 

“What has he done? Buy Duchess of Sutherland or Britannia?” Delta asked incredulously. “That’s the last thing we’d need. Between them and that Castle, they’d make Gordon explode!”

“Maybe he bought a Black 5,” Bear pondered. “I do hope they’re an all right sort. Some of them didn’t have the happiest of lives.” 

“Maybe it’s a diesel,” Henry said brightly. “Perhaps you two can make a new friend!”

The two shuddered. “Oh please don’t let it be a Crewe Diesel…” they said in unison. 

--

“I bet it’s a standard of some kind.” BoCo said to Edward. “I don’t imagine that anyone would be willing to part with anything from before the grouping.” 

“You don’t think so?” Edward looked thoughtful. “I’m sure that there’s some engines to spare. Goodness knows that the Barry Island engines aren’t in short supply.”

“Well what do you think it’ll be?” 

“I bet it’s a goods engine. Something like an Ivatt Mogul - remember them?” 

“All too well. Also, for the record, they became the Standard 2s, so I’d still be correct.”

“Oh hush!”

---

“Maybe it’s a Garrat!”

“Those aren’t Crewe engines, and they scrapped those.”

“A Dreadnought tank engine?”

“Scrapped those too.”

“Patriot class?”

“Scrapped.” 

“LNWR Experiment Class?”

“How do you know that those exist but don’t know that they were all scrapped?”

“Well, what about the-”

“Thomas, are you just listing any LMS engine that you know of?” Percy snapped after a while.

It was a suspiciously long time before Thomas said “No!” in a very defensive tone. 

Silence reigned for a few minutes. 

“What about the E2s?” Toby said, innocently. 

“Wrong region, and I wish they’d scrapped those.” 

“... Hey!” 

------

“You’re all thinking too big.” Oliver said to Henry at the big station. “They built hundreds of tank engines at Crewe. Could be one of them.”

“They also built those Class 91 electric locomotives at Crewe.” Henry sniffed. “And tanks for the army. So it could be anything, if we’re just going to be spouting baseless ideas.” 

“Oi! Who put sludge in your boiler this morning?” 

“I’m sorry, but it has been three days of this. I’ve barely slept for being asked my thoughts on numbers! Standard 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, who do we appreciate! It’s all becoming meaningless!  Half-term’s almost half-over, so whatever this maths problem of a locomotive is, it had better get here soon before we all go completely mad!”

----

Later, Gordon took a train down to the ferry docks at Tidmouth Harbour. Marina, one of the harbour diesels, was shunting trucks nearby. 

Marina wasn’t shy, but she also wasn’t chatty, so the silence between the two eventually grew unbearable for Gordon. “I’m surprised you haven’t started peppering me with questions about these new engines.”

“I’m not particularly concerned, unless they’re coming down here to take my work from me.” She said, shunting a row of vans. 

“And if it is a harbour engine of some kind,” Gordon ventured. “You would be welcome up at the main sheds with open arms.”

“I appreciate the offer,” she smiled. “But shouldn’t I be offering space to you? Rumor is that it’s at least one new express engine.” 

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Please. Pip and Emma have already forced that reckoning. There is no “true” express role on the Island anymore, so I have already “adapted,” as it were.”

“And here we all thought you’d be clinging to the midday express like a drowning man to a life ring.”

Again, his eyes rolled. “Being ten minutes faster than the Limited does not make an express service. There is prestige, and honor, and the promise of onward connections, all of which Pip and Emma have now.” He looked thoughtful. “I’d be far more upset if I weren’t almost 80.”

“Old age giving you a new perspective on life?” Marina wasn’t sure if he was being funny or genuine.

“Ha, no.” He said, face betraying nothing. “I’m just tired. I could stand a rest, to give myself some time to figure out what the next move is.”

“That is… shockingly mature of you,” Marina now was the one being genuine. “And I’m pleasantly surprised to see it.” 

“Well, someone has to be.” A sly look was making moves across his face. “I think Henry is about two days away from shunting James into the sea.”

“Ooh. How will Delta fare with that?” 

“If James makes it three days, she’ll be helping.” 

“And you wonder why I like the harbour so much.”

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

The Works

A jubilant mood was suffusing itself throughout the building. Two major projects had been officially “wrapped” within hours of each other, and a well deserved celebration was in full swing, with high-tempo dance music filtering out of the staff canteen. 

For the two “projects” quietly building steam on the shop floor, it was difficult to not feel giddy. 

“I can’t believe this is actually happening to us.” Samarkand said, feeling the heat of her fire for the first time in almost three years. “It hasn’t really set in until now. I feel… god I feel better than new! I mean, look at me! Roller bearings, automatic lubricators, a water trough scoop, a feedwater heater, and whatever a Lempor ejector is? I’m going to be… so much stronger than anyone else it won’t even be funny…”

Caerphilly barely noticed Sam going on and on. She barely noticed anything, except the absolutely intoxicating feeling of fire inside her once again. It had been almost 40 years since she’d felt this, so long that she’d forgotten what it felt like. What it could be. What she was.    

“I’m going to be an express engine again…” she said as the music from the canteen grew to a crescendo. An excited smile stretched across her face, big enough to crack her smokebox in half.

“I’m going to be an engine again.”

----------

Early the next morning, Henry was trying (and failing) to convince his fireman to pour some coffee into his tender. “Maybe it’ll work this time!” 

“No! It doesn’t do anything but waste it. Buy some yourself if you think it works so much.” 

“With what money?”

Further conversation was broken off as an unfamiliar whistle sounded in the distance. 

“Who could that possibly be?” The driver asked, poking his head out of the cab windows. 

“I imagine it’s one of the new engines.” Said the fireman. “There were a few numbers on the board I didn’t recognize.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?” Henry stared. 

“When would I have? The first thing I hear is “oh lord I’m so tired, give me that coffee.” It’s like being home with the wife!”

Henry chose not to respond, and instead stared intently towards the rapidly growing cloud of steam in the distance. “It doesn’t sound like a tank engine…”

“Maybe it’s the Western engine?”

“Points are lined for the goods platforms. You think the Fat Controller is putting a Castle on goods work? It’d be like asking Gordon to shunt.” 

The engine kept getting closer, a steady chuffing sound reverberating across the station throat. 

Eventually, finally, surprisingly, the train came into view. 

“Well I’ll be damned.” The driver said. “I didn't think they'd found something like that.”

“I suppose with all the talk of standards, we did forget about that one.” The fireman mused. “Hopefully the firebox isn’t as big as it looks.”

Henry was speechless for a long moment - long enough for the huge engine to clank past him with a call of “Hi!” 

“You’re enormous!” he squeaked at last, and the engine laughed her way into the station.

----

Gordon had fallen asleep in the middle of Barrow yard (only the truly desperate tried to rest in a shed where Bloomer was awake), and was rather rudely awoken by the weeshing steam of another engine. “Gurghr-have you no decency? Can’t you tell that I’m asleep?!” 

The other engine’s laughter was a euphonious sound that emerged from the cloud of steam. “Forgive me, but we’ve been put onto the same train back to Tidmouth. The stationmaster said to whistle in your ear until you woke up, but I figured this was kinder.” 

“I stand mistaken,” Gordon rolled his eyes. “You have an incredible well of decency, madam. Even if you act on the orders of far more juvenile creatures.”

Another laugh that rang like a bell. “Oh goodness, I haven’t been madam in decades; let’s not start now, lest I become old and stuffy.”

“Well, if there wasn’t a massive cloud encompassing me, I might be able to see who it is you are.” 

“Perhaps I’m trying to be mysterious. Have you considered that?” 

“Puh. Any Crewe Engine would have relished at the chance to whistle until I was deaf. Which means…” There was next to no chance the other engine could see him, but the eyebrow raise was compulsory. “What sort of bilgewater is it that you drink, Westerner?” 

A sharp gust of wind blew through the yard, dissipating enough of the steam for the shadowy outline of the other engine to metamorphose into the Castle class he was expecting. 

Then he read the nameplates. 

“Only the finest - sourced directly from the hull of the Great Eastern.” Caerphilly Castle said with a half-smile. 

Gordon would never admit it, but it took a lot of discipline to keep his facial expression in check. “You know, I was under the impression that the pride of the inter-war Western had been locked away in a museum, far from anyone who would ever care for her properly.” 

The half smile grew slightly. “Circumstances changed, and my old jailors found me to be nothing more than unsightly decor. Then the new ones found me far too ‘mouthy’ for their tastes, and rid themselves of me at first opportunity.” 

“And the Fat Controller presumably turned their loss to his gain?” 

“And yours!” Her eyes sparkled in the mid-morning sun. “I’ve been led to understand that I shall be taking over your duties once your boiler ticket expires. I assume it’s only correct that one top link engine is replaced by another?”

Gordon’s expression was inscrutable. “You’re very different to the last Western engine we played host to.”

The smile wavered, and grew slightly sharper. “I should hope so. Will you take my word that I have no plan for mayhem and destruction?” 

“Around here, we call it ‘confusion and delay.’”

The smile became genuine once again. “You remind me of another engine I knew once. I feel like we shall get along just fine.” 

-----

A little later, and the two were coupled together at the platforms, Caerphilly in front. 

“Now then,” Gordon said behind her. “This is merely a learning trip for you, dear Caerphilly, so try not to exert yourself too much. You need to be aware of the line’s foibles, and let me assure you that there are many of them!” 

“Oh god, he’s doing the teaching voice.” Both crews had been conversing on the platform, and covered their faces with their hands in four-way unison. 

“Excuse me, but what tone would you find acceptable then, hmm?”

“Do not mock him! He is the instructor. I need to know this!” 

“oh no there’s two of him now.” Caerphilly’s fireman said with dismay.

“And you should be grateful for it.” Caerphilly said firmly. “Express engines are few and far between, so to have two fine examples on the same line is a marvel in the current day.” 

“Well said!” Gordon beamed. 

The crews looked horrified. 

---

It was still some time before the train left, and Caerphilly was watching in interest as the station pilot added yet another pair of coaches to the train. “I say. I can’t recall the last time an express working had… what is it now? Fifteen coaches?”

“Oh, it shall only get worse.” Gordon murmured as the little diesel - on loan from some heritage railway somewhere - scuttled away for yet another coach. “It’s the last weekend of half-term, and there was some form of sale on tourist class accommodations.”

“But still, on an express?” 

“Goodness no.” Gordon almost rebuked, before catching himself. “The morning express is London-bound only. This is the Limited; slightly slower than the Express, but much faster than the all-stop trains.”

“This railway can support three tiers of passenger trains? I thought that everything had been replaced by motorways?”

“You are correct that many people have turned to automobiles for their travel choices, but rest assured that they do not do so here.” Gordon explained. “While many of our mainland connections like the Sudrian and the Leeds Express have long since made their final departures, within the island our domestic service level has not changed much since the 1970s - and that was hardly changed from the 1950s!” 

“You’re serious? There’s no A or M road across the Island?”

“They tried to build a motorway across the island once. I’m told that the blueprints were so beautiful that the road decided to stay on them.” Gordon boasted. “So instead, we trains take the strain of travel.”

“I’m sorry, have I gone back in time to the War? Is there still fuel rationing?” 

“Caerphilly, I think you will find that we do things quite a bit differently on this island.” Gordon was approaching almost radioactive levels of smug self-satisfaction, and his crew was in mild agony listening to it. 

Not that Caerphilly noticed in the slightest. 

“I’m beginning to see that.” She said with a hint of eagerness, excited smoke rings puffing from her funnel. 

After a few more minutes, the shunter came back. Gordon and Caerphilly watched him roll past. 

“Gordon?”

“Yes?” 

“Don’t take this as a slight, but I don’t think any engine could get twenty coaches started on their own.”

“That is not an incorrect statement.”

“Can you teach while we both work?” 

“I can believe I can give adequate instruction - provided of course, that you can listen while pulling the train?”

“I think that you’ll find that I am just as good at learning as you are at teaching.”

“This is somehow worse than them fighting.” A voice crackled over the radio. 

“Shut it!” 

“Be quiet!” 

--------

Later 

The run was going so much worse than the crews ever could have anticipated. Instead of fighting with each other, or trying some childish game of one-upmanship, Gordon and Caerphilly were working together, puffing in not-quite-perfect unison to get the train up to the absolute maximum speed limit any section would allow for. Station stops got earlier and earlier, and by the time the train stormed out of Killdane station like they’d left most of it behind, they were almost three minutes ahead of schedule and gaining fast. This fleetfooted pace was suiting the engines just fine, but the crews were less than enamored with the footplates getting progressively bumpier and less workable as the two engines bounced off of each other's buffers high-spiritedly. 

“Gordon!” The driver yelled, holding onto the throttle with a white-knuckled grip. “Just because the signal is green doesn’t mean the next one won’t be!” 

“You never complained like this on the express!” Gordon bellowed as they careered through Cronk station. 

“This isn’t the express!” 

“Tell me, how many more stops do we have between here and Tidmouth? Is it zero? The timetable said zero!” Gordon sounded like he was smiling. This was very bad. 

“Is an express run now?” Caerphilly whistled at the front, her voice distant and distorted from the wind roaring past as they crossed the Cronk viaduct.

“Only the midday limited stops in Wellsworth!” Gordon called ahead to his trainee. “The morning and afternoon trains would conflict with Edward’s local services!”

“Do we have to worry about any local trains being in our path?” 

“Not at all! We’ve got an express path to the big station, non-stop!” 

 “Excellent!”  Black smoke poured from Caerphilly’s funnel, and she lunged forwards, sending the fireman stumbling into the coal pile with a yelp. The train continued to pick up speed as it made the uphill charge towards Maron. Gordon’s driver advanced the throttle like it might hurt him, and the bouncing on the footplate took on a new sideways element as they thundered over the crossovers just outside the station. 

“Gordon! What are you going to do about the hill?!” The driver shouted. “We’ve got to slow down for it!” 

“Cut off steam and coast once we’ve hit the summit! Don’t you remember how we did it with the express?” 

“Gordon, the express was seven coaches, not twenty!” The fireman was not thrilled at this plan, screaming at his engine even as he tried to get the coal in the firebox.

“Chaps?” Caerphilly’s driver sounded remarkably calm over the radio. “Should we be concerned about that storm in the distance? Any rain or leaves on the line?”

Looking ahead, Gordon’s driver felt yet another surge of dismay. The “storm” on the horizon was a towering wall of thunderclouds that reached thousands of feet into the sky. High-spirited engines, pulling a heavy train, in the driving rain?  Oh, spiffy. 

“The storm will hold!” Gordon crowed. “Can’t you feel the air? I’d say we’ve got at least half an hour before it really kicks off!” 

Maron station had come and gone in a flash while they discussed the storm, and Gordon’s crew shared a look of wide-eyed horror as Caerphilly whistled to the signal box just before the summit. 

Anyone watching from the lineside must have had the most incredible sight - a GWR Castle and a Gresley Pacific, whistling fit to burst, roared over the summit of the hill like they intended to fly to Tidmouth, twenty coaches clattering along in their wake and a trail of leaves and dust dancing in the slipstream. Above them, thunderclouds towered over the landscape, the first bolts of lightning streaking through the black mass. 

In seconds the train was gone, whistling into the distance like a banshee, the red light on the rearmost coach vanishing down the steep slope of the hill into the pre-storm darkness. 

 -----

It was perhaps fortunate for both engines’ reputation that no other engine was present when the Limited screeched into the big station a full seven minutes ahead of schedule. Gordon and Caerphilly were laughing and whistling like newly-built tank engines as they let off steam. Behind them, the passengers began to stream out of the coaches, and the silence of the platform turned into a dull roar of people and staff. 

The disheveled, bedraggled crew staggered out of their engines, waiting for the world to stop shaking. 

“What happened to you?” The yard crew, there to take the train back to the shed, looked with confusion between the cheerful engines and the haunted-looking crew. 

“Shut up.” Gordon’s driver said, slapping some paperwork against the other man’s chest before staggering off to the station offices.

-------

A little later, the two engines were parked at the coaling stage. The yard crew had taken one look at the sky above, with lightning arcing through the sky, and had decided that there were far safer places to be than directly under the steel structure that jutted fifty feet into the sky. 

“You were right.” Caerphilly said. “The rain hasn’t come yet. How did you know?” 

“The one advantage of age,” Gordon said, eyes never leaving the sky. “Is experience. I can feel the pressures in the air. Once it starts to drop, then we have our rainstorm.” 

“Yes, but,” Caerphilly looked away from the sky and back to him. “Barometric pressures often drop hours beforehand, not minutes. It’s basic weather science. How can you put such a fine timeline on it?”

“What are we, if not vessels containing water, wind, and pressure?” Gordon mused. “After a certain point, you just begin to know. Truth be told, I’m far more surprised that you don’t know. Usually ignorance of instinct is left to the dunderheads like James.”

“You forget that I’ve been indoors for forty years.” Caerphilly watched as a distant bolt of lightning streaked through the clouds. “In a science museum. I could tell you all about textiles, rockets, agriculture, even medicine.” She looked wistful. “But weather? I can talk about cyclones and pressure systems until I am blue in the face, but it won’t change the fact that I’ve forgotten the feeling of the rain.” 

The wind picked up, and the air shifted noticeably. “Did you feel that?” Gordon said knowingly. 

“A little.”

In the distant staff room, a radio snapped on, and a soft song began wafting out over the yard. 

“Focus on that.” Gordon advised. “It means you’re about to feel something you haven’t in years.” 

“What-?” Caerphilly started to say something, and then stopped as the first drops of rain fell onto her. “Is that-?

“Oh yes.” Gordon’s eye had a tiny hint of a sparkle in it. 

The rain began to pour down from the heavens, joined by the winds and the lightning. 

Caerphilly’s glee could be heard across the yard.

-

“Oh what is that idiot doing now?” James scoffed. “He’s getting the new engine all wet!” 

“I don’t know…” Henry said thoughtfully. “They look too happy to be wet. Maybe they’re under the coaling stage enough that they’re dry.”

“What are you talking about? Look at them! They’re shining like they just got waxed!”

“Well they could have been-”

“No they haven’t! What do you know about rain on paint? The last time you tried to develop an opinion on that you got locked inside a tunnel!”

“Well maybe they don’t mind getting their paint wet, unlike some engines I could name in this shed…”

“Gordon? Not mind something? Pah!” 

“Are they always like this?” Samarkand whispered to Delta and Bear on the other side of the shed. 

“No,” Delta replied at a normal volume, knowing that neither engine would notice her. “Usually Gordon is in here and then it’ll go on until tomorrow.” 

“But it’s ten in the morning?” 

“That’s nothing,” Bear rolled his eyes, voice colored by many years of experience. “One time they kept going for two whole weeks. By the end of it they didn’t even remember what they were arguing about.” 

“Are you being serious?” Samarkand looked like she was reassessing her life choices.

“Oh yes. They’re very tenacious when it comes to things like that.” 

“The worst part,” Delta said with a faraway look in her eyes. “Is that after a while you start to find it incredibly charming.” 

“Yep…” Bear had the exact same look. 

“What?” Sam looked from one diesel to the other. She found no clear answer. This was very disconcerting.

[hazel-of-sodor]

My Hall class got an update!

4900 Saint Martin is was transfered to the the North Western Railway in 1959 and is allocated to Harwick.

5952 Cogan Hall was rescued from Barry Scrapyard in 1981 and is operated from Tyseley Locomotive Works.

4953 Pitchford Hall was saved from Barry Scrapyard in 1984 and is preserved on the Epping Ongar Railway.

6902 Butlers Hall was puchased privately in 1961 and donated to the Severn Valley Railway a few years later.

4965 Rood Ashton Hall was pulled from the scrapyard in 1970, intially thought to be 4983 Albert Hall, the engine's actual identidy was realized once she arrived at Tyseley Locomotive Works.

No.3 Tidmouth is Henry from my Great North Western Railway Au (he's sent to Swindon instead of Crewe).

5967 Bickmarsh Hall was pulled from Barry in 1987, and is preserved on the Llangollen Railway.

W59 (5912) Queen's Hall was transferred to the Denbigh and Wrexham Railway in 1962.

4970 Sketty Hall was saved from Cohens Morriston Scrapyard in 1964, and is preserved on the Kingsbridge Branchline.

5901 Hazel Hall was sold to the London New Eastern Railway in 1964.

4983 Albert Hall was saved by the Tyseley Locomotive Works in 1971 following their rescue of 4965 Rood Ashton Hall.

4976 Warfield Hall was sold to the Chester and Holyhead Railway following her withdrawl in 1964.