#rws culdee

[edwards-exploit]

It's 4/4! Say hello to the number fours of their railway!!!! ... and frank

[duskstargazer]

[1899]

“For the sake of your passengers, you have got to keep a better look-out.” Culdee warned.

“No need - I know this railway like the back of my smokebox.” Godred declared.

“…Have you ever seen the back of your smokebox?”

“W- no, but I know it as well as the back of my buffers!”

“We don't have buffers.”

“Regardless,” Godred continued. “You worry too much, Culdee. I've got my automatic brakes, and my driver had his controls in my cab. What more could you want?”

“More common sense from you.” Replied Culdee, trying to sound stern like Ernest.

“Peh - Hah!” Godred barked out a sharp laugh. “What need have I for ‘commoner cents’?”

“That's not what I sai-”

“Honestly, Culdee. You may be named after the mountain our railway was built upon, but you needn't be as thick as it.”

“The size of our mountain cowers at the size of your ego.”

Godred only rolled his eyes.

“Juuust you wait, Culdee. Come opening day, I'll make this railway the best on the island. No. The best in the COUNTRY.” Godred declared. “I'll make sure of it - I'm taking the first train.”

“I suddenly have a strong sense of worry about opening day.”

“Why? Afraid I'll be too great an act to follow? You can always give the job to Ernest or Wilfred. Ernest may have a pin or two wound too tightly, but she at least shares my desire for perfection. Wilfred, however…” Godred paused. “He could use the toughening up.”

Culdee groaned, having had more than enough. He could only hope that Ernest could talk sense into Godred before it was too late.

[togetherness23]

and what if i HC that the culdee fell railway has multiple purple liveries for its engines like the magazine stories 🏃💨💨💨

[traintrainingmontage]

[March Prompt Event related] HELLO >:3 CONGRATS ON YOUR 150 FOLLOWERS AND ALL THE WORK YOUVE GOT DONE SO FAR, TE!! For my prompt, Godred being visited by his CFR brothers one by one, after they discover that he is, in fact, alive [but not well]

THANK YOU, COLE!! 💖 I've been looking forward to doing this one for quite a while, and now, IT'S TIME!!

The organization that rescued Godred, Toby (the OC), and some of the story beats included herein have been borrowed from Cole (with permission)!

The language that Culdee speaks at the end is Zurich, keeping in line with where he was built, and I had to use Google Translate, so apologies for any incorrect translations!

(CW: Engine injury; mentions of engine death)

(Have an idea for a prompt I should write? Want to see what I've written so far? Details are here!)

Someone fixed Godred, and they want to bring him here.

Such was the terrifying, tantalizing thought curling within the smokeboxes of the eldest four engines of the Culdee Fell Railway once the news had broken that morning. Their Controller, Mr. Alistair Richards, had delivered the announcement in a rather unsteady voice, as though even he couldn't quite believe the contents of the call he'd received, although his disbelief was quite understandable. His grandfather had been the Controller when the... initial decision had been made, and Godred's name had long been scrubbed from all official documentation and tourist pamphlets, leaving it only to linger as a lump in the back of his brothers' throats.

All of the engines had thought about and considered this particular situation for the rest of the day, each of them feeling some kind of way about this particular announcement. Now that night had fallen and they were all back in their sheds, finally alone, it was time to discuss.

As the other six engines began to talk about the recent news, Culdee was silent. He in particular had always had the strongest feelings about Godred. He'd been the one to try and convince his brother of his foolishness. He'd been the one keeping the eldest's name alive though telling others of his demise, only for all the rest of the world to assume he was telling a ghost story or, even worse, making it up.

Now that had been an unpleasant conversation, the one he'd had to have with Skarloey and Rheneas of the Skarloey Railway. Once Duncan and Sir Handel had left, they'd so genuinely complimented him on his "made-up" story. It was the perfect thing to teach their younger engines a thing or two about safety, and no story of theirs could have been nearly as effective. Their faces so earnest, their laughter that of being in on some kind of joke. It had made Culdee want to vomit, should he have had the ability.

Instead, a long-dormant anguish, donning the guise of wrath, had erupted up from his boiler, filling his body from his tubes to his cylinders so quickly that for a moment, Culdee had forgotten how to breathe. The other two engines' good cheer had so quickly fallen away at the stony expression that stole away his smile, at the glint of steel in his once-affable gaze, leaving them both staring at him in wide-eyed confusion. "You think that I made that up?" he'd rumbled in disbelief, volcanic anger and chilly disappointment battling for dominance over each word. "You think that I would sully my brother's name and memories by lying about him? I had not realized that you both thought so little of me."

"No, it's not like that at all!" had come Skarloey's predictably panicked reply, and nearby, Rheneas had been struck silent, eyes overflowing with the clear desire to do damage control but not quite knowing where to start. "We didn't mean anything like that!" Skarloey had continued to plead, a note of desperation in his voice. "We'd heard about the accident, but all we'd heard was that Godred had been scrapped! Not anything about... his parts being... recycled..."

Culdee had taken a deep breath at Skarloey's clumsy attempt at delicacy, but decided to take the other engine at his word. "Very well. But please understand that I did not entrust you all with my brother's story just for it to be reduced to some tale. It is a tragedy, from beginning to his eventual end, and because nobody else will speak of it, I must. Otherwise... everything he died for will have been for naught."

Such a statement had struck the other two engines dumb, and thus, not another word on that particular topic had been shared for the rest of Culdee's visit.

"Culdee... y'alright?" came the quiet rumble of Shane Dooiney beside him, shaking him loose from the decades-old memory.

"Yes," Culdee muttered, willing himself to calm. In a louder voice, he started to address the rest of the shed, all of the other engines quieting themselves and listening closely as their de facto leader spoke. "Listen, everyone. Ernest confirmed that our Controller looked into the claims, and confirmed their authenticity himself. Godred is... in fact... alive."

A strong hush fell over the shed as the engines of the Culdee Fell Railway all shared glances, some of which were rather unsure, while others held deep dread. In the pit of a boiler, in the teeth of a wheel, in the base of a chimney, a certain tension had come to rest.

Culdee took a breath, and continued to speak. "Godred will be escorted here sometime next week. Patrick, Alaric, Eric, I know that you only know of Godred through our stories about him. However, I will ask that you reserve your judgement for when you actually meet him; we don't know what kind of... condition he will be in."

Nervous glances, followed by affirming sounds answered Culdee's instructions, and the No. 4 engine took one more breath before adjourning the meeting. As all of the engines settled into their berths, Culdee couldn't help but share glances with his two older brothers, as well as Shane Dooiney. All of them seemed as though they weren't quite inclined to sleep just yet, thoughts still stirring about the apparent revival of their eldest brother, long thought to have been scrapped.

Ernest had taken up the mantle of eldest ever since Godred's passing, and while Culdee had ended up becoming the leader of their little fleet, Ernest had taken it upon himself to be their representative to the management, not wanting to burden his little brother with more than he had to.

Wilfred's usual good-natured smile was nowhere to be seen; usually, he acted as the moodmaker of the group, and could reliably be counted on to bolster everyone's spirits during their worst days, but this time, he seemed remarkably somber, eyes staring off into years tinted in sepia.

Shane Dooiney, always one to make his thoughts plain, wore a deep scowl, clearly rattled by this turn of events. While he could be grouchy on the best of days, his candor and loyalty to his brothers had always been his best qualities, as well as his distaste for "nonsense and theatrics," and it was clear to see that he was less than thrilled about the return of one who'd caused them all so much grief.

As for Culdee himself... well. He still felt somewhat responsible for Godred's accident, and that feeling was likely to never go away. He also felt responsible for the rest of his brothers, both the older and the younger, given how he'd somehow ended up becoming their leader. However, as always, he would do the best he could do to get them all through the day, and that would simply have to be enough.

As each engine closed his eyes, one by one, all of the mountain engines fell into a fitful slumber. Certainly, Godred's return was something to be excited about, ecstatic even. It wasn't every day that a supposedly already-scrapped engine got a new least on life, much less one in Godred's condition. However, nobody quite wanted to admit that along with the joy they were supposed to feel, a looming trepidation skulked along in its shadow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As promised, the next week, Godred was delivered to the sheds at Kirk Machan for what his new owners had stated would hopefully be something of a warm reunion. All service had been cancelled for the day in order to allow the engines some "peace and privacy with their dear brother," meaning that all they could do was wait. A team of representatives from the group that had rescued Godred, known as PeCos, had already come by to introduce themselves. This particular group was being led by a woman named Melinda and her assistant Toby ("Hi; my name's Toby and I'm the vice-leader of this excursion. No, I wasn't named for the NWR's No. 7."), who gave their greetings and introductions to the Controller and the assembled engines. The team then performed a quick survey of the area before giving the all clear, and now, there was nothing to do but see this through.

All seven engines internally steeled themselves as the flatbed pulled up, a tarp covering what was supposedly their brother. Ernest and Wilfred put on what they hoped were warm, welcoming smiles, as Culdee and Shane Dooiney looked on with carefully neutral facades, and the youngest three couldn't hide their curiosity, tinged with no small amount of nervousness. With them stood their Controller, an expression of grim dignity on his face. Who could know his thoughts, now that he would be coming face to face with what was perhaps one of the most infamous incidents in his family legacy?

All four of the original engines remembered how Godred had looked, from start to finish. How could they not, especially when he'd been dismantled, cannibalized, piece by piece in front of their eyes? When he'd waffled between angry and apologetic, blaming them all one moment and tearfully wailing the next, cursing God and all above before pleading and praying that his salvation might still come. Telling his brothers how much he loved them in one breath and cursing them to fates as horrific as his in the next. However, whether or not any of his wishes were answered was unknown to them as his cries became softer and softer with time—up until his tubes were removed to fix Ernest. With that, Godred, the CFR's No. 1 engine, was silenced forever, his husk unceremoniously dumped in the pile to be taken to the scrap yard the very next day.

The image of such a gruesome, mangled mockery of a steam engine, a fate that no engine deserved, really, had bubbled up to the forefront of the eldest four engines' minds. Thus, they could only brace themselves, hoping and praying that seeing Godred in a supposedly "fixed" form meant that the guilt they felt building up in their borrowed parts would soon alleviate.

With the help of a crane, Godred was placed onto the tracks before them, and the tarp lifted by members of PeCos. Before the engines' eyes, there he stood: it was certainly Godred, and much to his brothers' deep and overwhelming relief, he appeared to be whole, all of his parts intact, with not even a chip on his paint to indicate that he was anything but immaculate. The only slightly odd thing was that his eyes were closed as if he were asleep, but perhaps he'd had a long trip; it seemed that only the Controller actually knew where this organization was based.

In unison, four mountain engines took a deep breath, feeling the pressure they'd carried for many a day now disperse. Finally, it was Wilfred who finally worked up the courage to call out to their brother. "...Godred?"

At once, the eyelids fluttered open to reveal an achingly familiar gaze, which bored itself into each of the assembled engines in the shed, taking in the smiles, the steady gazes, and the looks of curiosity before his eyes began to take in the sheds themselves. Although he hadn't yet spoken, the other engines couldn't hold themselves back any longer.

"Godred! You're back! Thank god!"

"I can't believe it! It's been so long! I thought... well, it doesn't matter. You're alive!"

"Can't believe how lucky you are, getting saved from scrap like that!"

"So this is Godred? After Culdee's story, I thought..."

"Well, what else were you expecting? A zombie?"

"Oooh, that might have been cool..."

"Everyone, quiet." This command had come from none other than Culdee, who was staring at his eldest brother with appraising eyes. Immediately, the chatter around him ceased, all eyes quickly settling upon him before shifting toward Godred, who still had not yet spoken, but was shaking in his frames, looking around the sheds with wide eyes and naked panic on his face. "Ha... haah... haaaah..." His voice was barely intelligible, so quiet that his panting could have been passed off as the laughter of the wind, but this was no laughing matter; from every angle, it appeared as though Godred was having a panic attack.

"Godred..." one of the PeCos members began, and reached out to touch him, just as Culdee yelled "NO!"

Yet, despite his warning, it came a moment too late; the touch was enough to push Godred over the edge, and with wild, unfocused eyes that clearly weren't seeing the present, Godred forced himself backwards, away from all assembled.

Unfortunately, when he'd been unloaded, his brake had apparently not been applied, because the jerking motion that Godred made was more than enough to send him careening backwards, off the track, and sending him skittering back down the bend toward where their rails met the NWR's main line.

"GODRED!" the PeCos members shrieked, and they hurried over to the prone engine, with Toby shouting orders as the others scampered to comply. The other engines could only watch on dumbly, not entirely sure how to parse what had just happened; even the Controller appeared to be at a complete loss for words.

Suddenly, biting through the silence as surely as a pinion against a track, one solid, steady command rang out amongst the cacophonous quiet. "Sir. Please steam me up. We won't be going far."

Mr. Alistair Richards' eyes swung towards Culdee, who was staring back at him with steep determination, and amidst the rest of the confusion, it comforted the Controller somewhat to know that at least someone had a plan amidst this... this farce.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After about an hour, it became abundantly clear that Godred was in no condition to be either moved or touched, given the way his crazed gaze landed on anybody who dared approach. Not a word had escaped his lips, but his discomfort was clear enough to be understood by all assembled. Toby, the vice-leader of the visiting PeCos team, was roundly scolding his subordinates, particularly the poor soul who'd made the mistake of touching Godred during his panic attack and another who hadn't secured the brake properly, and was clearly trying to get the situation under control while Melinda, who was supposedly leading this team, simply looked overwhelmed.

With such a mess on their doorstep, Culdee was steamed up by the Controller himself and driven down a short ways to the site of the wreckage. After taking in all there was to see, the No. 4 locked eyes with Melinda. "Excuse me, could you please tell me what's going on? You said that my brother was coming to visit for a warm reunion, but now he's in this poor state. Please explain."

Culdee's tone was polite, but his eyes were stone cold, and Melinda seemed to shudder as she looked up at the engine and his Controller. "Well, you see... ever since we finished his repairs, Godred has been... less than communicative. We've tried everything we could think of, but after nothing appeared to work, it was suggested that we organize a visit here, to his old railway, to help him open up more. However, it seems that—"

"It seems that you miscalculated," Mr. Richards cut in, his words pretending politeness although his tone was ice-cold. "I would think that for billing yourselves as an engine rescue organization, you would do your research before exposing an engine so clearly in need of help to a place that was a source of such great trauma to him."

Melinda had no ready retort, and so could only bite her lip and nod her head at the criticism. "I understand. We will take full responsibility—"

"Of course you will," the Controller once again interrupted. "What shall we do now, Culdee?"

"..."

After a moment, the No. 4 sighed. "Please bring me closer to him."

The Controller silently obliged, with Melinda and the other PeCos members getting out of the way as Culdee trundled steadily forward.

Once Culdee was about as close to Godred as he could get, the CFR's No. 4 licked his lips and began to speak.

"Godred, ghöred Sie mich?" [Godred, can you hear me?]

One moment passed, then another. Godred continued to pant on the ground, but his eyes seemed to slowly blink back into clarity at the words.

"Ich bin's. Din chliine Brüeder." [It's me. Your little brother.]

"...Culdee..."

The reply was scratchy, forced out through a voice raspy with almost a century of disuse, and the listeners were barely able to make out that he'd said a word at all. However, for the first time since his rescue and overhaul, Godred, the CFR's former No. 1 engine, had spoken.

Culdee's eyes widened with delight, and for the first time that day, a small smile found its way to his face.

"Ja, da bisch du. Ich han gwüsst das es schaffsch. Du hesch dini Stimm wieder." [Yes, there you are. I knew you could do it. You have your voice back.]

"...Ich scho?" [...I do?]

"Ja. Ändlich chani dini Stimm wieder ghöre. Es isch so lang här..." [Yes. I can finally hear your voice again. It's been so long...]

There was a long silence for a moment, Godred's eyes fixed solely on Culdee and his gentle, sweet voice, before, to the amazement and sorrow of the onlookers, tears slipped out, running freely down the downed engine's cheeks. Those eyes, once so full of ego, had been broken, mellowed out by time and circumstance, to be softer now. It was a look Culdee wasn't used to seeing on such a proud face.

"Äxgüsi. Es tuet mer so leid. Bitte verzeihed Sie mir. [I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.]

"Ich het sölle zuelose. Ich hetts müesse wüsse." [I should have listened. I should have known.]

Culdee's eyes fluttered closed at the admission, trying to stifle the tears welling up behind his own eyes. After all these years of wondering what he could have, should have, done differently, of blaming himself for pushing too hard, and for not pushing enough, the simple acknowledgement so neatly cut through the cluttered emotions entwined around his heart. All at once, he'd been freed, from just a few simple words.

"Ich bin nur froh, dass du no läbsch." [It's alright. I'm just happy that you're alive.] Culdee replied sincerely, his smile growing slightly wider than before. In front of him, Godred's sobs continued, although they seemed to be tapering off, his gaze never leaving Culdee's as the No. 4 stared at him with a gentle expression.

"Es tuet mer Leid, dass ich so hässig uf eu gsi bin. Es isch nie eui Schuld gsi." [I'm sorry that I was so angry at you all. It was never your fault.]

"Muesch so viel Schmerz gha ha. Mached Sie sich kei sorge." [You must have been in so much pain. Don't worry about it.]

"..."

There was another beat of silence as Godred seemed to process all that Culdee had said, no longer shaking as the worst of his panic attack finally seemed to pass. As Godred's breaths evened out, his voice, despite still being in such poor condition, seemed to be a little stronger as well.

"Segeds mer. Bin ich eu allne nützlich gsi?" [Tell me. Was I useful to you all?]

At such a question, Culdee couldn't help but regard his brother with eyes warm with appreciation, mixed with what could only be heartbreak.

"Meh, als du jemals wüsse chöntsch." [More than you could ever know.]

Godred must have seen the pain in Culdee's face, but he didn't ask for clarification. Instead, he just continued to stare before a tiny smile crossed his face.

"Dänn langets ja." [That's good, then.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After another hour of discussion between the two brothers, Culdee finally turned to Melinda and Toby, who'd finished cleaning up as best they could. "It seems that my brother is ready to go back now," Culdee announced to the two, and both of them nodded, grateful smiles on their faces as they directed the crane to lift Godred from his position. "But please... let there not be a repeat of this."

"We won't let this happen again," Toby nodded solemnly, shooting a pointed look at Melinda. It seemed that someone might not be staying at PeCos much longer. "We'll keep you updated on his progress, and thanks to you, we have a much better idea of treatment options moving forward."

"That's good to hear," Culdee smiled, watching on as Godred was carefully transferred to the flatbed once again. "This place is no longer his home. I sincerely hope that he can be happier with you all."

As the PeCos staff worked to get him settled, Godred's eyes didn't leave Culdee, and Culdee's eyes didn't leave Godred.

"Chönnte mir..." [Could we...] Godred croaked, his expression hesitant, but he left the thought unfinished. Culdee, however, already knew what he wanted to say.

"Mir chönd rede, wenn immer Sie wend. Ich bin da." [We can talk whenever you would like. I'll be here.]

Thus, Godred was safely transported back to his new home. As the weeks passed, several calls came in to the CFR from PeCos headquarters, all asking for Numbers 2 through 5. Ernest's calm, steady voice told their brother about all of the interesting passengers he'd met and fun gossip he'd heard along the line. Wilfred performed his most recent rendition of his catchiest mountain-climbing songs, which earned him a round of applause from his many listeners. Shane Dooiney grumped about the weather, the trucks, and ridiculous passenger demands. Even the newer engines got their turn, introducing themselves to Godred and telling him about their most famous exploits.

For Culdee himself, however, he actually had very little to say. Instead, the CFR's No. 4 was perfectly happy to listen as his brother spoke about PeCos and his brand new life, smiling all the while.

[toast-com]

Gathering (11-26-23)

"Stonepaw? Are you in here?" The gray tom looked up to see Flowerpaw's head poking into the medicine den.

"I am. What is it, Flowerpaw?" He finished sorting the small pile of herbs at his paws.

"We're getting ready to leave for the Gathering," Flowerpaw mewed. "And Lakestar wants to know if you'd want to come." Stonepaw mulled on the question for a moment, and then nodded, rising to his paws.

"Sure, I've got to tell Splashpoppy that we're out of coltsfoot first." The two apprentices left the medicine den.

Flowerpaw headed for the small group of cats that were going to the Gathering, and Stonepaw padding to where Splashpoppy sat, talking to Badgerfur.

"...The medicine cat gathering is in half a moon..." Splashpoppy was speaking in a quiet mew. "Last gathering, Littlewatcher was telling me about an herb he found on his territory..." He paused talking to look at Stonepaw, who fidgeted a little.

"I'm about to go to the Gathering, Splashpoppy," He mewed. "I wanted to tell you that we're out of coltsfoot." Splashpoppy nodded.

"Thank you for telling me, Stonepaw." The light ginger tom mewed gratefully.

[ferlost]

art trade for @glowynviator of their design for culdee

he must be going on an early morning climb to the summit!

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 26-Loss

Traintober 2023

Other Stories

Day 26-Summit

Loss

Culdee quietly pulled up to the platform at top station as the sun neared the Atlantic.

His crew walked away, leaving him to his privacy.

The autumn wind was strong up here, but Culdee did not fear the wind.

"Hello Godred." He said.

The wind turned, curling around his boiler reassuringly.

Culdee stared at the ground, "they're building a new number one." He finally said. The wind stopped for a long moment then curled lightly around his cab in an embrace.

"It's to celebrate the line's 100th birthday...and ours I suppose."

Culdee gave a broken laugh, "I don't like it." He said bitterly, "You are our number one. We don't need another."

The wind swirled around his funnel, blowing away the steam he'd let off in frustration.

He looked over the island for a long moment, letting the view and the wind calm him.

"They're gonna use the parts you gave us in the new engine." Culdee mused quietly, "But it isn't gonna work is it? You're long gone."

The wind stopped for a moment, then resumed, blowing away Culdee's tears.

"Happy Birthday brother," Culdee whispered.

***

CLANG

Culdee groaned as he pulled to a stop. He had been looking forward to reaching the sheds, now they had and inspect him. The ravens in the mountain loved attention and had figured out at some point that if they dropped something on the engines they would stop.

The culprit swooped down, landing on Culdee's buffer beam and looking quite pleased with herself.

"You just couldn't let me get home, could you?" He asked dryly.

The raven just preened under his attention.

"Uh...Culdee..."

"Yes, Driver?" Culdee asked, hoping nothing had been damaged.

His driver stepped around, and in his hands was an old weather-worn whistle.

[duncandonuts06]

Now that's what I call Rock N' Roll!

my side of an art trade with @glowynviator !

Decided to draw your awesome Duncan because his design is too perfect. I just HAD to give him his RAF jacket because I am a sucker for anything aviation related, and I love how it ties into his punk like personality.

Got a little creative and designed him an electric guitar. I based it on Elvis' to stick with the classic Rock N' Roll theme you gave him. We'll call it his "Pop Special Tour" wink wink nudge nudge

I also threw in a little doodle of Godred because I love your Culdee Fell boys!!!

Their trench coats are really fitting and the piping around the collar accents it so well. Thank you so much for the art trade! This was so fun!

[sudriantraveler]

Stargazing - Traintober Day 26: Summit

A school’s astronomy club had chartered a special night time train up the Culdee Fell Railway.

Shane Dooiney was chosen to take it.

So that night, as the other mountain engine sat asleep in their shed, Shane Dooniey climbed up the mountain, with his single coach ahead of him.

Night running was rare on the Culdee Fell, and he took in the opportunity to see the familiar sights bathed in only the dim light of the moon and the stars.

They reached the summit station in good time, and the children and their teachers scrambled up the last climb to the mountain’s peak.

It was a perfect night for this sort of thing. The sky was clear, and the air calm.

As the school group went about setting up their telescope, Shane Dooiney sat at the platform and looked up at the magnificent scene of countless stars twinkling in the night sky.

The mountain engine smiled.

“You know” he sighed wistfully, “We engines climb this mountain everyday of every summer. From here we can look out and see the world stretching out before us”.

“How marvelous” he continued, “to look up from what you think of as the top of the world, and to see the universe staring back at you, it’s endless expanse of stars and galaxies, distant worlds separated by unthinkably vast emptiness… to have laid out before you just how little your understanding of the world is… and to just, sit with the wonder of it all for a little while”.

[number1spongebobfan]

RWS-Exclusive Characters

[edwards-exploit]

it's still april even if its not 4/4, so here's four of them!

(derek being d4 was inspired by @.mean-scarlet-deceiver's fic, which you should totally read if you like gordon having character development but still being fundamentally Gordon and derek existing)

[togetherness23]

i don’t want to jump to conclusions but lord harry’s intro is reminding me of duncan (culdee being the counterpart to skarloey)

[dragons-and-magic]

This story is doing thing to my brain.👀✨

Traintober 2024: Day 23 - Beyond

What Lies Beyond Peel Godred:

Duke sat at the end of a works train, trying his best not to grumble at the boring task. The Mid Sodor was expanding beyond Peel Godred, planning on extending into the mineral-rich foothills of Culdee Fell and around to Kirk Machan, where the start of the railway’s new tourist attraction was taking shape. It was a mountain railway, one which would run right the way up to the peak of Culdee Fell.

Duke wasn’t sure if he liked either plan. His driver certainly didn’t. “It’s not right,” Duke’s driver muttered crossly as the steel rails stretched out beyond the walled city and curved down through the thick woodland towards the base of Culdee Fell. “We are trespassing on it’s land.” “On who’s land?” asked Duke curiously. “Lord Barrane owns the most land around here. Is this part not his?” Duke’s driver just shook his head. “No, no – they say something far older and wilder is the true owner of the lands around here. Anything beyond Peel Godred and to the North-East of Culdee Fell is its home, and it does not take kindly to outsiders.”

Duke thought his driver was being very odd indeed – but he still listened. His driver, after all, was a local to this part of the island. He often ducked back to the farm where he had been raised for lunch while Duke was at Peel Godred for a water break. If anyone knew the local legends and tales, it was Duke’s driver.

Part way between Peel Godred and the hamlet where the mountain railway was being built, a spur split off. It was being built by a mine, searching for minerals further around Culdee Fell. Duke’s driver called them insane; Duke was just thankful he didn’t have to go down the little line. It looked very rickety, as if the mining company had simply slapped down the track on the ground with no care at all.

Duke wondered how far off he was, considering how greedy some of those companies could be.

The mines owned a large tank engine named Freddie, who ran the works trains out towards the new construction site. Freddie was a pleasant sort, if not a tad too boastful for Duke. “Fastest in the hills!” Freddie would chirp every time he arrived ahead of schedule. “You should worry less about your speed and more about being careful,” Duke would warn him, but Freddie took no notice. Duke, remembering the fate of Albert, kept on trying to get through to the young engine, especially as the mining line grew closer and closer to rounding the base of Culdee Fell.

The workmen said odd things about the land out there. Apparently, no one lived out there, beyond the edge of Peel Godred. Not even a lonely goat herder made their living on the rocky slopes – it was just… nothing. There were animals of course – but even they seemed to cower in fear of the mountain itself, wary of the lands upon which the railway now intruded. Still, the work pressed on. Sometimes, Duke would even deliver supplies part way along the line, to where a camp had been set up.

Every time they did, his driver would recite something under his breath, speaking in the old Sudric tongue. “What is that… little thing you keep saying, every time we go near Culdee Fell?” asked Duke one day, curious about his driver’s odd little habit.

“It’s a prayer of protection,” replied the driver. “This is Fell-y-Deighan, after all.” Duke knew what that meant. “Driver, that can’t be,” Duke spluttered. “This is Culdee Fell.” “It’s both,” replied the driver darkly. “On the far side of Culdee Fell stands the Gob-y-Deighan. Stay far from there, or else it will come after you. The prayer keeps the devils away, and don’t you forget it!”  

Duke decided to trust in his driver, and asked to learn the little prayer that same evening. His driver was more than pleased to teach his engine the same protective prayer which he entrusted his own safety too.

Then, the new engines for the mountain railway began arriving. Engines two and three – Wilfred and Ernest – arrived together first. They were pleasant chaps, quiet and unassuming but with a good sense of humour. The end of the extension reached right to where their new railway was to be, and so Duke helped to unload them from the carts used to drag them up the valley. “It’s a lovely place!” grinned Wilfred. “Oh yes,” agreed Ernest. “The people are great here,” promised Duke. “Just… be careful up there. There are old legends which tell of how dangerous this mountain can be.”

Ernest and Wilfred heeded Duke’s warning, as did Culdee and Shane Dooiney when they arrived.

But it was the engine who arrived between these four – the line’s Number One – who stuck out to Duke. He was named for the ancient king of the island, Godred, and took to the name and its meaning like a duck to water. He grew very conceited very quickly.

Duke’s driver thought it very worrying, especially as opening day for the new Culdee Fell Railway loomed.

“He’ll anger it,” Duke’s driver hissed in the evenings. “Not even Thorfinn the Mighty attempted to explore that part of Sodor.” He sounded almost… fearful of what potentially lay hidden on that side of the island.

Just then, Freddie returned from his evening run. He looked oddly excited. “We just found the strangest thing!” he exclaimed. “You’ll never believe it!” “Oh?” quizzed Duke. “What did you find?” “There’s a giant boulder up behind Culdee Fell!” Duke’s driver went deathly pale. “It’s angered,” he gasped. “I won’t go up there again!” Freddie seemed confused by the outburst, and even more so when Duke’s driver practically sprinted away, muttering the prayer under his breath.

Duke wondered just what exactly the Boulder represented.

Weeks passed, and everything seemed normal. The Culdee Fell opened on time in a grand ceremony that was attended by thousands of people, all excited to climb the infamous Culdee Fell.

What struck Duke as strange though, as he picked up the passengers that afternoon, was that none of them mentioned a boulder. Considering how excited Freddie had been about the thing, he had half expected that the tourists and locals would have been able to see it from the summit.

“Didja miss the darn Boulder?” a voice snapped. Duke looked up, watching as Godred and Culdee got into yet another argument. The two were like oil and water – where Godred was conceited and difficult, Culdee was kind and cautious. Duke knew which he would have rather had working on his railway. Still, it was Godred talking about the Boulder, and not Culdee.

“No Godred, there was no boulder,” replied Culdee gruffly. “Now if you don’t mind, I want to go to my shed, and not listen to your irrational fantasies.” Godred just huffed indignantly. Duke sidled alongside.

“I’d be careful if I were you youngster,” he murmured. “That boulder is a bad omen.” “Pah!” exclaimed Godred. “Boulders aren’t omens and I’m named after the greatest king this sorry island ever had! Nothing will hurt me.”

Duke rolled his eyes, and puffed away.

It was only a month before Duke would be proven right. Godred was flung from the side of the mountain – no one ever knew how; people thought he must have hit a stone lodged in the rack system. But Duke feared that that was not the case. The little purple engine was barely a bucket of bolts and bits when the traction engine dragged him back to the sheds.

Godred was gone.

The line to Kirk Machan closed the next day – people were terrified, they didn’t want to go to the Culdee Fell Railway at all. They quickly ripped up the rails and took them away; they could be used elsewhere. Now, only Freddie went down that line. Duke continued to fret – the fearless engine was going beyond the end of the line every single day and bringing back tales of odd accidents happening all around the construction site. On some days it would be mild – candles blowing out, tools moving from one place to another – but on others it would be dynamite exploding on its own, destroying mineshafts before they could be reinforced. And every single time, Freddie just barely dodged the threat.

Duke tried to warn Freddie, but the little engine would hear none of it. “I’m too fast for anything to catch me,” grinned Freddie. “They call me fearless! Fearless Freddie, fastest in the hills!” “Fastest is not best,” reminded Duke sternly. Freddie just chortled.

And then Freddie was gone too. He’d left in the morning as usual, but didn’t return come nightfall. Duke watched as another mining engine was sent out to search for Freddie, and he watched as it came back with nothing.

“The miners are gone,” the engine gasped. “And so is Freddie, and all the rails, and the tools and dyna—” There was a massive explosion in the distance, so powerful it could be felt from the sheds at the bottom of the valley.

Duke feared that he knew exactly what had happened to Freddie. He hadn’t been able to outrun this particular threat.

Officially, the Mid Sodor Railway terminated at Peel Godred, in a little station just outside the city walls.

Duke knew better. Beyond Peel Godred, there was more to the Mid Sodor Railway, even if no one used it. Indeed, the section of line was half-buried under weeds and greenery, all but left to the whims of nature despite how young it was. It was nearly impossible to find the entrance to this abandoned section, as it was now bricked off with a goods shed stealing the original siding. But Duke knew it was there, knew that the navvies had been too terrified to go back and rip up the rest of the rails. He knew exactly where the track ended too, near an insignificant little wooden trestle bridge.

All Duke wished was to know what truly happened to Freddie that day.

Back to the Master Post

[traintrainingmontage]

Somehow it's 4:30 AM here so here's a sleepy headcanon for an engine that I love but never talk about: Sir Handel.

I think that out of all of the younger generation of engines, Sir Handel is the one who actually has the most potential to lead the various engines of the Skarloey Railway should Skarloey and/or Rheneas no longer be around to do so. Why? He goes through a lot of growth as a character over the course of the books, and unlike Peter Sam, who is rather happy-go-lucky and just has unfortunate things happen to him, Sir Handel is humbled time and again by his own ego and mistakes. As we've seen over the course of the RWS, it's the humble engines with level heads who are the most successful, and just as Skarloey started foolish and became wise with time and experience, Sir Handel undergoes a similar arc.

There's countless instances of Sir Handel being bratty and getting his comeuppance, but over time, this particular trait seems to be tempered more and more. In the stories in Four Little Engines where he throws tantrums, doesn't get along with the coaches or trucks, and is not terribly keen on working, he's clearly still in his bratty phase, testing the limits of what he can get away with and hoping to only do the jobs he wants. There's consequences for his actions, certainly, but they don't seem to stick too well until he's shut up for a few days. He then tries to get along better with the coaches... and they run him off the rails instead. However, when Skarloey takes his train and earns his respect at the end of the book (a far cry from Sir Handel calling him rubbish at the start), we start seeing his character begin to change for the better... at least a little bit.

In The Little Old Engine, we have Sir Handel feigning being ill to skip work on Gordon's advice and the consequences come back to bite him hard. What's interesting about this particular story is that it really feels like Sir Handel actually internalizes this lesson in a way that he may not have previously; he realizes for himself that he hadn't thought this plan through--even before he's punished for it--once he sees what's happened to Peter Sam. That's growth right there; he's never been shown to have that sort of self-reflection before now.

In the next book, Gallant Old Engine, we finally have our beloved story "Steam-roller," where Sir Handel gets his special wheels and Skarloey goads him into facing off against George. He's more insufferable than usual at the end, up until the kids claim that he was almost beaten by George, and so he shuts up about it. It's clear that Sir Handel is starting to get that there are always consequences for his ridiculousness, particularly when he least expects them.

Once we get to Mountain Engines, though, Sir Handel's demeanor has settled down quite a bit. When he has a bad day in "Mountain Engine" and he badmouths the coaches, Skarloey calls him out on his behavior and he actually blushes and feels a little ashamed after Rheneas' subtle admonishment while talking to Culdee. A younger Sir Handel certainly would have leapt to defend himself (although his comment about scrapping the coaches really does feel rather cruel given that he basically said, out loud, that just because they were "awkward" with him, they should all be sent to die).

Finally, in Very Old Engines, Sir Handel is rather well-behaved, although he's also in the spotlight less. He goes to get his trains when he needs to and stops making a fool of himself. Moreover, he acts in concert with the rest of the engines and really feels less like the troublemaker of the bunch. (And of course, we get to see him being rambunctious in his youth once more in Duke the Lost Engine.)

By the time we get to the Chris Awdry books, Sir Handel has mellowed out a lot. He feels more reliable, even though he's still impatient and a tad foolish. He does pull a prank with his firebars, but it's because he thinks Peter Sam doesn't deserve to laze about—something of an improvement over not wanting to work himself. It's clear to see that while he's still Sir Handel and still has an ego, he's learned from his mistakes, and now that he's over 100 himself, he's not quite as full of himself (or stupid) as he was in his youth.

While I do think that Sir Handel's personality lost some definition after Mountain Engines, I also enjoy that his character arc has been defined by lessons taught by the three older engines (particularly Skarloey) on the railway. It feels like an inheritance of sorts, a passing of the torch, which is appropriate given the mentor/mentee relationship established all the way back in Four Little Engines.

(Sequel post: Sir Handel and Peter Sam's Inherited Roles)

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 29 A-100 Years

Day 29 A-Start

Other Stories

Other Days

The frames for the new Culdee Fell Railway No.1 were cut one hundred years to the day the first rail was laid. They were being built in-house, rather than at Crovan's Gate, so it would take longer, but the plan was for the engine to be steamed on the anniversary of the Line's opening.

Culdee was still uncertain how he felt. Godred’s spirit clearly had no issues with his replacement, but part of Culdee’s spirit rebelled at the thought of another engine taking the No.1. No matter his faults, Godred was their brother, and Culdee could help but feel he would be forgotten in time if his spot in the rooster as a testament to his existence.

Culdee sighed, maybe Shane was right and that was for the best. Godred was gone, had been since before the metal he'd once been made of had come to rest at the bottom of the mountain. He was with the Lady, Caomhnóir had confirmed as much after his whistle had been recovered. Perhaps it was best to let sleeping engines rest.

He shook himself, he would come to terms with it. No matter his feelings on their number, a new engine would join the fleet in time, and by his frames he would greet them with all the love and affection he Godred had never had the chance to receive.

A/N: Hello Loves! This is a follow up to last years Day 26 Loss. Love y'all!

[anonymousboxcar]

“Topham Hatt, #influencer parent” cracked me up when I first read it — and it’s still very funny — but now I’m sitting here with a sort of dawning horror. I’d always thought that either he or the Thin Clergyman consulted the engines first, but…

You’re completely right. I can only imagine how everyone feels about having their old screw-ups codified in print, and later in television broadcasts, for generations of children around the globe. Your headcanon about the Christopher books being milder and fewer in number because of Sir Stephen’s familial bonds makes total sense.

In light of that, do you think there could be a similar in-universe reason for the CFR only having one RWS book? Dredging up the Godred incident again and more recent mishaps might not have gone well for them. I can see passenger traffic taking hits, as well as the engines reeling from reopened wounds and fresh embarrassment (which can’t be good for the quality of their work). Mr. Richard might see the fallout and decide to never do anything like this again.

also, and this is secondary. almost a sidenote. but let's be real for a sec: the framing device for RWS makes the "look at this dumbass engine getting his comeuppance" so much more fucked up

because you have these beings who are literally property, see? and they can't depict their own experience, it's filtered through a human author, a one-time employee of their railway who publishes all these stories about them with the fat controller's aid and permission

and the stories are nearly all "here's this schmuck on one of the worst days of their life and/or making one of their worst ever decisions. we're going to publish them so they can be read by the whole world. the Daily Mail-reading public can comment. i see no problems here."

i mean it's delicious. it's hilarious. but it is fucked up.

topham hatt, #influencer parent