It was a typical day in Canterlot. The Crusaders were getting up to fun, alongside Dinky and Cozy Glow. They had come back from a railway trip, when Scootaloo opened up her phone and noticed the date.
“Guys,” she said. “It’s August 11th.”
“So?” said Dinky.
Sweetie Belle suddenly looked sad. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
“Know what?” Dinky asked again.
“11th August is the day steam ended.” Apple Bloom’s tone was solemn.
“But there are still steam engines, aren’t there?” Cozy inquired.
“They did preserve them, yes. But that’s the day that mainline steam ended.”
Scootaloo was unusually quiet. “I wonder what that day was like.”
“So do I,” said a voice behind them.
The girls jumped round, to see Miss Cheerilee standing behind them.
“Mom, you scared us!” Scootaloo exclaimed.
“I overheard what you were discussing, and thought I’d join the conversation.”
Dinky’s eyes suddenly lit up. “I have an answer!”
“You do?” Sweetie Belle asked.
“Dad’s got a time machine, so we can ask him if we can go back to that day.”
“Oh golly, that would be exciting!” Cozy cried.
“What are we waitin’ for, y’all?” Apple Bloom asked. “Let’s go!”
They arrived at Dinky’s house, where the girl excitedly on the door.
Time Turner opened the door. “Hello dear!” he said.
“Daddy, can we borrow the TARDIS?”
“Whatever for?” Turner replied.
“My friends want to go back to 11th August, 1968, and witness the End of Steam.”
Turner looked concerned. “That day is a very sad one in history. Are you absolutely sure?”
Apple Bloom took up the conversation. “We’re certain. We weren’t there, so we wanna see what it was like.”
Turner nodded. “Very well,” he said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
They walked through the halls of the house, and came to a blue Police Public Call Box. There was a light on top of it, and the windows glowed with an unnatural energy.
“Ditsy!” Turner called. “We’re heading off in the TARDIS for a bit, see you in a second.”
“OK!” came the reply.
Turner opened the doors, and in they stepped.
The Crusader’s jaws dropped when they saw it. The control room spanned two levels, and a massive column marked the centre of the machine. Great pipes ran up the centre, and levers and switches surrounded the console.
Cheerilee gasped. “It’s smaller on the outside!”
Turner shrugged. “That’s new.”
He walked over to the scanner screen, and began punching in some numbers. “11th August, 1968,” he muttered.
The girls gathered on the control room platform as Turner through the switch. The column began to move up and down, and the control room began to move and shake. All the while this was accompanied by a strange wheezing and groaning noise as they travelled through time itself.
At last, the machine stopped. “Here we are!” Turner exclaimed. “11th August 1968. A sunny day, by all accounts. But it was also a busy time. ‘Mony Mony’ is Number One in the Charts, bleurgh.”
“Where have we landed?” Dinky asked.
“We’ve arrived at Liverpool Lime Street station. This is where the last steam passenger service departs, the ‘15 Guinea Special’. The platform is packed, and we’ll need to get moving if we want to see the sights!”
He threw open the door, to find they had landed on the street opposite the station. They sprinted to the platform as fast as they could.
Peter Beet looked over proceedings as 45110’s fire was lit. Soon, it was burning nicely, and the engine made a healthy dose of steam.
“She’ll run sir,” said the cleaner. “We take her as far as Manchester Picadilly, then 70013 takes over for the remainder of the run to Carlisle.”
“Very good,” Beet replied. He wiped something from his eye.
“Sir, are you OK?” the cleaner asked.
“There was just some soot in my eye, that’s all.”
“Do...do you think they’ll remember us?”
Beet thought for a moment. “Yes, they will. We are bringing to an end what Stephenson and Hackworth began all those years ago. Right away, driver!”
Meanwhile, the Crusaders and co had marshalled on the platform, waiting for the train. A pair of noisy, smelly diesels rolled through, horns honking loudly as they did so.
Cozy shook her head. “Never liked the diesels!”
“That’s the spirit kid!” said a man next to her. “Steam will live on!”
Scootaloo bit her lip. She had to watch what she said, or else disrupt time itself.
At last the passenger train pulled into the platform, and what a sight it was!
On the front was 45110, gleaming with a fresh coat of polish. Affixed to the smokebox door bracket was the headcode, upon which sat the letters 1T57. OK, 3 numbers and one letter, but let’s not be too pedantic.
Behind it were 10 coaches, a mixture of maroon and corporate blue. The engine came to a stop, and the doors opened. Passengers piled onboard, as this was the last chance to ride a steam service under BR.
On the footplate stood Dr Beet himself.
Sweetie Belle stared in amazement. “It’s Doctor Beet!” she cried. “He sa-”
Apple Bloom quickly put her hand over Sweetie’s mouth. “Nice to meet ya sir!” she said.
Beet stepped off the footplate. “Thank you, miss-”
“Apple Bloom.” Bloom extended her hand to shake his.
“We came to see the last train,” Scootaloo explained.
“That’s good of you,” Beet replied. “Because I’m not sure how well the preserved railways will cope. Soon the Keighley and Worth Valley will be the only steam in the Pennines.”
The guard’s whistle went. “We’ve got to go!” Beet called.
“Good luck!” Cheerilee called to him.
The Black 5 whistled, and pulled away, the noise wonderful as the sound built up into a two-cylinder exhaust beat. The train clattered over the junction, and away into the distance.
Returning to the TARDIS, they then flew to a different location. They stepped out onto the lonely moors, overlooking Ais Gill.
“Look!” called Time Turner. There, in the distance, was 70013, steam soaring into the air as it stormed across the viaduct. The safety valve lifted, and the whistle screamed as it roared past. Sweetie Belle had brought a camera with her, and recorded the train passing by her.
Alas, their time in the past was over, and they returned to the present day, heavy of heart, but glad to have participated in this most significant of historical events.
As they stepped outside, Time Turner spoke to them. “Remember, that day was not the end. Rather, it was the beginning of a new age. But that age can only endure if you let it endure.”
“Yes sir!” Scootaloo said.
Turner looked wise. “Who care if one more light goes on, in a sky of a million stars? Well, I do?”
“Sorry, what?” Cheerilee said.
“Nothing,” Turner replied, and walked back into his house. “Should be more careful, that hasn’t happened yet.”
Indeed, but the memory of the day hung true in their hearts, as they had been there. But something else was clear to them. The Golden Age had ended, yes, but the Platinum Age was here to stay.
Author's Note
This short story is a tribute to one of the saddest days in British history. But although it brought about the end of steam on the mainline, it lives on in preservation. The North and South Poles are the only places on Earth without preserved railways, so do please remember to support your local lines.
