Chapters Thomas and Friends: The Caretakers
Salty was sad that Sunny had gone away. He had enjoyed working with her very much despite the interesting times they found themselves in, and Falmouth was a place he felt safe from the chaos of the world that existed outside the harbour. So Sunny being elsewhere in the world felt a bit strange, to say the least.
It didn't help that the person who had been asked to look after him did not have a high opinion of engines. Posey Bloom had been asked to help out with running the dockside whilst the others were away, and she indeed was not fond of the engines. In fact, given that her last real encounter with them was an engine popping through her wall, you could say the situation was rather frosty.
One morning, Salty was out shunting in the yard. It was clear to anybody watching that Posey was yet to get the hang of the diesel shunter's controls, as he jerked about like a hyperactive weasel.
"Careful!" he said. "We don't want to damage the stock, do we?"
Posey groaned. "Why did I agree to this?" she said. "This place is really smelly. And all this fish!"
"I take it you don't like fish," Salty said.
"No. Or beaches. Or the seaside. Or children."
Salty was confused. "Then why did you settle next to the sea?"
Posey huffed. "I'll have you know my house is set a fair way back from the sea, not next to it. And on top of that I bought it because property around here was cheap. As irritating as some aspects of life are in this town, it beats being stuck in a tiny flat in Exeter."
As they moved into some vans, Salty looked about. "Shiver me cylinders!" he said. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Posey asked. "It's hard to hear anything considering the racket you make."
"Something different," Salty answered.
"I can't hear anything different from the normal," Posey said.
"Exactly," Salty replied. "Everything looks the same, sounds the same, and seems to be the same. Which is exactly how I like it."
Posey pondered for a moment. "So, you're not a fan of fast change?"
"I wasn't saying as much as that!" Salty exclaimed. "Change can be a good thing, but when everything changes so fast it can be overwhelming."
"That's precisely how I felt when the magic returned," Posey answered, as she attached the coupling. "Hold on. Did we just agree on something?"
Suddenly, a member of dockside staff appeared with a notice. "You two are to report to the Harbourmaster immediately," he said. "Leave the trucks here and head to his office."
Posey uncoupled Salty again and got back in the cab. "Couple to the trucks, uncouple from the trucks, go here, go there. Sometimes I wish people would just make up their minds."
Salty had no comment as they rolled backwards through the harbour to the main building. The Harbourmaster was there to greet them. "Good morning!" he said. "We've got a bit of a shortage in the main yard, as Porter is needed to assist at Perranwell. You two will therefore shunt the trucks in the main yard. Assemble them into the order shown in the manifest." He handed them a piece of paper with a series of numbers on them.
Posey nodded. "Understood." As they began to reverse, she spoke again. "What are all these numbers?"
"Wagon numbers," Salty explained. "They indicate type and position. It is important to assemble them in the order written down."
Rebecca was sitting there when Salty arrived, and she had some advice. "Don't be rough with the trucks!" she said. "They misbehave if they get bumped. So don't bump them."
"Thanks for the tip, dearie," Posey replied. "Where are you off to now? Collecting your pension?"
Rebecca fumed. "I'll have you know I've worked more heavy trains than you've had hot dinners."
"How do you know how many cooked meals I've eaten in my life?" Posey asked.
"It's a figure of speech," Salty explained.
"I know that it's a figure of speech. And it's a silly figure of speech if you ask me."
Rebecca puffed away with some coaches. I am sorry to say that it wasn't long before things began to go wrong. Posey struggled to understand the shunting instructions, and the yard was soon in an absolute mess, with trucks stuck everywhere and rail vehicles arranged illogically.
Ray was particularly annoyed. "I had this place perfectly sorted out this morning!" he said. "And you've gone and turned it into a complete pigsty! Now we'll have to clean this up!"
Jazz looked out of his cab. "I don't know a huge amount about shunting," she admitted, as she nervously adjusted her hairband. "But I don't think coaches and trucks should be mixed up."
By the time the afternoon train was needed to depart the mess still wasn't cleaned up. When the coaches were placed into the platform the public was cross. And the train ended up departing more than an hour late.
The Harbourmaster was not particularly happy. "That messy shunting has slowed everything down," he said. "It was a mistake assigning Posey and Salty to that yard. We should send them to the quarry. It'll be virtually impossible for them to mess that up."
Afternoon was still going, and Salty was shunting trucks in the yard beyond Lighthouse Tunnel. There was lots of heavy machinery rolling about, and the quarrying machines were throwing up a lot of dust.
Posey had pulled on an oxygen mask to avoid inhaling noxious fumes. "It amazes me that anybody can work in a place like this!" she complained. "How this doesn't violate local pollution rules I have no idea!"
Suddenly, there was a bang, and something shook. The top of the cliffs seemed to be moving.
"What's that?" Posey asked.
Salty looked nervous. "Oh, not again."
Alarms began to blaze within the quarry site. "ATTENTION. ATTENTION. CLEAR QUARRY AREA. LANDSLIDE IN PROGRESS. ATTENTION. ATTENTION. CLEAR QUARRY AREA. LANDSLIDE IN PROGRESS."
Men began running for cover as the machines began to retreat towards nearby structures. Some dived into the trucks, which were currently empty.
"Posey, we have to get them out!" Salty called.
Posey nodded. "Just need to get them assembled first!" She back Salty over the first set of points, switched them, then moved forward into the yard and attached Salty to the first line of trucks. She then attached him to the second line. They were just about to pull away when-
"STOP! WAIT FOR ME!"
A workman had been hit on the head by a rock. His helmet had saved him from any serious injury, but he had been dazed, and rocks were falling all around him.
Posey had attached her oxygen tank to her back, and in one swift motion hopped out and ran over to him. "Come on! This way!" She helped him along to the truck and assisted him in climbing in. She then made her way back to Salty, and gunned his engine in reverse as he backed out of the quarry and into Lighthouse Tunnel.
They got out just in time. As they left the tunnel, rocks began falling on buildings and knocking structures over. A roof collapsed under the weight of all the stone, hitting the ground with such force the set shook. A water tower fell off a hill and landed on the ground, disintegrating upon impact. Water went everywhere.
Everybody was shocked at the mayhem that had just unfolded. But luckily, the Harbourmaster was understanding. "As much as you two did make a bit of a mess earlier, you have just saved a lot of lives," he said. "I think it fair to say that you two are heroes for your actions at the quarry. Of course, it will take a while to dig all the mess out, but you two should be able to help, correct?"
Salty smiled. "Of course. Cheer up, me lads, let your hearts never fail!"
Author's Note
This is the opening story of a new miniseries which occurs during the events of Thomas and Friends: New Frontiers. The focus is on what was happening in Falmouth at the same time. This story is loosely inspired by Heroes , an episode of the third season of Thomas and Friends. In the time-honoured tradition of this series, I referenced a few of the goofs encountered in this episode.
Thomas and Friends: The Caretakers
Jasmine, or Jazz to her friends, is a girl who lives in Falmouth, England. A teenager with blue skin and red hair, the latter of which often creates the impression she had no ears, she works at Mane Melody alongside Pipp Petals, specialising in high quality manicures. Most days are similar and common, and the world around her comforting and familiar. Jazz follows routines, and likes the predictability such a way of thinking brings.
Unfortunately, now was not one of those times. The Havens, not to mention several others, had vanished off to other parts of the world, and the engines needed looking after whilst they were away. Jazz had been asked to look after Ray, as the two were considered to be similar in temprament- logical, focused on order, and keen on following procedures the proper way.
Jazz, of course, did not want to let them down, so was determined to do her best. And today was extra important. It was the annual Jazz festival in Falmouth, and already the town was being set up for a big party. There were cakes, food trucks, a large tent (inside which several kegs of beer sat), and a stage set up on the front of the harbour for the various jazz and concert bands to perform their music.
That morning, Jazz was getting Ray up to temperature when the manager of the Festival arrived to see her. "Good morning, Jazz!" he said. "You certainly have quite an apt name, given the day!"
"Thank you!" Jazz said, nervously, trying to hide her nerves at the same time. "I do my best!"
"Of course," the manager replied. "I have just received news of the arrivals. The first of the jazz bands will be arriving in about an hour, so you two will need to collect them. It's part of your normal run, so it shouldn't be too challenging."
What the manager didn't know was that Jazz was relatively new to this. He had assumed that Lady Haven paid her to drive Ray, and wasn't aware Her Ladyship normally drove Ray herself. Even so, Jazz was determined to do a good job.
"We'll get the jazz band here safe and sound," she said. "Right, Ray?"
"Of course," Ray said. With a wheesh of steam, they were on their way to the station.
Ray went and collected some coaches to take with him to Truro. Whilst he waited in the platform, he decided to engage in some conversation. "So," he asked, "what types of jazz do you like?"
Jazz paused for a moment. "I'll admit I don't know a huge amount of jazz," she admitted. "I know of some of the big names- my dad likes Glenn Miller-"
"Which isn't jazz," Ray interrupted. "It's pop, really."
"As I was saying," Jazz said. "One of my great grandparents saw him performing live during World War 2, and mom has a few Stan Kenton records. If I had to pick a favourite, it would probably be Duke Ellington."
Ray mused. "I'm surprised you didn't mention Louis Armstrong."
"Didn't he go to the moon?"
"That's Neil Armstrong. I suspect Louis Armstrong would have found the moon a bit disappointing." Ray paused. "I always preferred the more experimental stuff. Perhaps try giving John Coltrane or Charlie Parker a try. The scalic runs and arpegaic passages they incorporate into their music are quite something to behold, not to mention the chromatic sections. In fact, where the metre varies..."
Jazz tuned Ray out as he rambled on about the technical aspects of jazz for about 10 minutes. "Right," she said. "Just got an important job to do. Try not to mess up."
Just then there was a whistle. The last door on the carriages banged, and the guard waved a green flag. "Departure time!" Jazz called.
"Let's go!" Ray said. "Any salt peanuts?"
"What?" Jazz said, confused. The train rumbled away up the line, ready to complete its stops.
At the end of the line in Falmouth, Jazz detached Ray from the train and ran him round in preparation for the return journey. The station was very busy. Trains were coming and going constantly, and from the bay platform it seemed as though they would never get the clear line.
Ray glanced up at the signal. "Red," he said. "Oh well. Better to run safely and be late than to run dangerously and be on time. I just wonder where the jazz band has gone?"
Just then, a group of people walked down the platform. They were carrying instrument cases and boxes and equipment, loading it all into the guard's compartment in the brake coach (which was now at the front of the train as there had been no chance to move the brake coach to the other end). After a few minutes, it seemed as if all was done and they climbed aboard.
The signal dropped and the points shifted into position. Jazz heard a guard's whistle. "Right, off we go!" she said. The train started off down the line.
Unfortunately, she hadn't heard the correct whistle. The whistle had been from the guard of another train heading for Plymouth, and the Falmouth train wasn't supposed to leave the station until later.
This had serious consequences. A man, who had taken the opportunity before departure to browse the local newsagent, ran down the platform, shouting. "Stop! Stop!" he shouted. "I haven't gotten on the train yet!"
But it was too late. Ray and his train vanished into the tunnel and were soon out of sight.
The train continued to rumble along, but there would soon be trouble. Not far out of Truro was a red signal, and this meant danger. Jazz saw this. "Looks like we're stopping!" she said, and applied the brakes.
They stopped just as a goods train rolled through, with Porter at the head. "Hello!" he said. "You're a bit early, aren't you?"
"We heard a whistle to depart," Ray said.
Jazz then checked her watch, and her heart sank. "Oops." Her face was red with embarrassment. "We appear to have departed early!"
"And look!" called Rocky from Porter's cab. "There's something approaching!"
Sure enough, it was Nigel, reversing at speed towards them. He stopped next to them, and looked over. "You left something behind," he said.
Onyx leaned out of the cab window. "I know a thing or two about jazz. You'll struggle to get any beat rolling without a drummer."
Sure enough, it was the drummer from the band. Luckily, he wasn't cross. He simply got onboard and caught up with his fellow bandmates.
Mercifully, the rest of the journey down to Falmouth proceeded without incident, and the brass band arrived ready to perform. And I am happy to say that they played excellently.
After they had finished their set, Jazz went to apologise to the bandmaster. "I'm sorry for leaving your drummer behind," she said. "I was nervous, and wanted to get things right. But I messed up pretty badly."
The bandmaster smiled. "It's no worry," he said. "We all make mistakes. I've played plenty of wrong notes in my time. What matters is how we respond to those mistakes, and all things considered we got here in the end. So thank you for a smooth ride, miss..."
"Jazz."
The bandmaster smiled, spotting the opportunity for a pun. "You could say our journey was jazzed up!"
On the other side of a computer screen, readers groaned at the dreadful pun.
Author's Note
This story is a combination of Thomas and the Guard and Thomas and the Tuba , although condensed as the latter had incredible amounts of filler in it. There are also plenty of music jokes in there; see if you can spot them all!
Thomas and Friends: The Caretakers
It was early morning in Falmouth, and Rebecca, Porter, and Salty were all looking at the morning sun as it rose through the sky.
"It's always remarkable the sorts of colours that are produced at the beginning of the day," Porter remarked. "Oranges and reds, and all of those sorts of things."
"You're being awfully philosophical today," Salty said.
Porter sighed. "It's hard to describe artistic ideas and concepts when you're fully awake."
"Besides, the people seem to be happy. Summer come soonest in the south."
Rebecca sighed. "We're being rushed off our wheels, though! First Charles and Sophie go gallivanting off to South America, and now Hitch disappears to Australia! Whatever shall happen next?"
"The sea air does provide a nice change of pace from big yards and factories," Porter admitted. "The railway just wants to ensure everybody can get to their holiday cottages on time."
"I doubt they'll be happy with the travel arrangements," Salty noted. "The trains are often overcrowded. What we need is another coach to help ease demand."
Rebecca's relief driver arrived, and moved her offshed to collect her first working of the day. "See you later!" she called.
"See you!" the other two engines replied.
Soon, Posey and another person arrived to start their days. This other person was a young man with cream skin and red hair that was slicked back in the manner of a fifties greaser. His outfit of jeans and a shirt coupled with a jacket was surprisingly appropriate for work on a steam engine.
"So, we ready to go?" he asked, as he found Porter already in steam.
"Not until we've received our work order we're not," Posey said. "We could be doing anything today, Rocky."
"Even a giant balloon?" Porter asked.
Salty laughed. "Who'd be daft enough to move a fully inflated balloon by rail?"
There are a set of old sidings not far from where the Newham branch diverges from the Falmouth branch. For a long time, these sidings were used to store old equipment, and today they were full of trucks and coaches that were very frail. No engine had tried moving them in a long time.
Porter and Salty had arrived with some old trucks to take to the harbour when they spotted something unusual in amongst the trucks. In the mixture of different objects and rail vehicles was an old bogie coach that looked positively Victorian.
"What is that?" Porter asked, surprised. "I haven't seen a coach like that since LMS days!"
"And more importantly, what is it doing in amongst that lot?" Rocky asked.
"It has a name, you know," said the coach. "I'm Clara, but most people referred to me as Old Slow Coach back in the day. Mainly because I was used on slow trains. It's been a very long time since I carried passengers. Nowadays only some mice are in my compartments."
An idea flew into Salty's exhaust pipe. "What if we were to dig you out and get you returned to service?" he said.
"What?" Posey said. "No. This isn't in the manifest."
The yard foreman then arrived. "Talking with Clara, are you?" he said. "Sad little case, she is. We've been trying to find a home for her for years, but nobody seems to be interested in purchasing an old coach."
"Are there any technical issues with the coach?" Rocky asked.
"Not that I know of. The woodwork is good and the frames are in good order. It shouldn't take too much work to restore."
Suddenly, there was a great commotion from the station.
"What's going on?" Salty asked.
Rocky sniffed. "It smells like... fire!"
It was most certainly a fire. Rebecca suddenly flew through, smoke billowing from underneath her wheels. There was a train of tankers behind her, which seemed to also be burning.
"What on earth?" Posey asked.
Porter clicked what had happened. "Her oil bath has caught fire!" he said. "Quickly, follow me!" He detached from the train (with Rocky's help, of course) and began to quickly run backwards down the line. Salty followed him a few seconds later.
When they got to Perranwell, there was nothing that could have prepared them for the scene. There was fire everywhere. The tankers had been dumped in a siding and the fuel onboard was burning. The flames had spread to lineside buildings, although Rebecca's oil bath fire had seemingly been put out.
The fire brigade had arrived, but were struggling to make their way forward through the smoke. "We need support!" a fireman called. "We can't see a thing in this smoky haze!"
"Why not use the water pumps to disperse the smoke?" suggested one.
"Then we risk not having enough water to put the fire out!" said the first fireman. Moments later, the fire revealed itself, and the firemen were forced back from the station building.
"We've got a problem!" shouted another fireman. "The diesel generator on one of the tenders has packed in! It's not pumping water!"
Salty had another idea. "Connect your pump to my engine," he said. "You can regulate the water pressure using my throttle."
"And use the water in Porter and Rebecca's tanks to help fight the blaze!" Posey suggested. "That way you can put the fire out faster!"
The firemen got to work, connecting up all the relevant pipes and wires. After more than half an hour and several thousand gallons of water they had put the fires out. But it wasn't looking good.
"Perranwell station building was completely gutted by the fire," said the station master. "It's not safe to use the building right now, so it'll have to be put as out of bounds until we can finish repairs."
"But where will the passengers go to buy their tickets and get refreshments?" asked Porter. "They can't have them in the open air!"
Rocky smiled. "I think I have the solution. Come on, Porter! Back to the yard!"
"Clara? As a mobile ticket office?" asked Porter. "Are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of any idea in my time here in Cornwall," Rocky said. "We can take her down to Falmouth for restoration, kit her out for her new duties, and on high season days she serves as extra capacity. It's a win-win for everybody!"
Clara was soon released from the sidings and taken to the workshop in Falmouth. Soon the work to return her to her former glory would begin.
But I shan't say anything else, or I shall spoil the next story.
Author's Note
This story, based on Thomas, Percy, and Old Slow Coach, is the culmination of a request from longtime reader SciSetShimmerEvan, as this episode is a personal favourite of his. It was an honour to not only bring this to life, but to turn Old Slow Coach's story into a trilogy of sorts.
The Merchant Navies and Light Pacifics, as built, used oil baths to lubricate their chain-driven valve gear. Unfortunately, the oil baths were often poorly made owing to substandard metal available after WW2. Leaks would sometimes lead to oil catching fire, as happened here.
Thomas and Friends: The Caretakers
The restoration of Old Slow Coach was proceeding very nicely. The elderly wooden coach was found to be, on a mechanical level, in good order, and the only real challenge was the paintwork.
Rocky looked at the coach in a level of surprise and puzzlement as he closely studied the bodywork. "What type of livery would go well on this type of coach?" he asked himself, more on a rhetorical level than anything else.
Jazz, who had just arrived, had some thoughts of her own. "I was doing some research," she said, "and it turns out Clara here is a former Great Western coach. This would suggest she should be painted in chocolate and cream colours, as that was the livery the company used in that time period."
"I like the sound of that!" Clara said, which caught them by surprise. The concept of a talking coach was still somewhat new to them. To be precise, the entire idea of talking rolling stock and vehicles was still pretty new to everybody, it only having been about a year since the magic had returned to Britain.
Rocky took Jazz to the side. "Well, here were some paint pots I found," he said. "These are different shades of brown and cream respectively. We'll also need some undercoats and heavier layers on top of that, but overall finding the layers and shades we need shouldn't be too complicated."
Jazz sniffed. "What type of paint did you buy?"
"Oh, I got this down at the hardware store. It should be fine, right?"
Jazz leaned down and read the label. "Water based paint. You are aware Clara will be out in the open air most of the time, right?"
"I assume we then need another type of paint," Rocky said.
"Emulsion, to be precise," Jazz replied. "This will probably work if used on something inside, but outside I would advise something else be used."
"Looks like I'm back off to the shops, then," Rocky sighed. "They'll be wondering why we're purchasing so much paint!"
By the time Rocky returned, things had already changed a bit in the shed. Jazz had changed into protective gear and had pulled on a gas mask. She was currently at work removing dirt and old paint from the bodywork. In order to be repainted, they had to try and get back to the original wood. Otherwise, they would be painting over the top of old paint, and this could cause some technical issues going forward.
Once all the old paint was removed and they were back to bare wood, the first of several coats of paint were applied, with the coach looking a very odd shade of yellow at first.
"Looks like a vehicle in a Network Rail formation," Rocky observed.
"This is only the first coat," Jazz replied. "We've covered over the windows so we don't paint those by mistake, and each subsequent layer will help the paintwork really shine and glow."
"Maybe the paint will show us its sparkle?" Rocky asked.
"Sorry, not following you there."
"Oh well. Everybody, unite!"
After close to a day's work, the paintwork was finally ready. Clara gleamed as she hadn't in a long time, with her paint looking as fresh as it did when she first emerged from Swindon carriage works all those decades ago.
This just left another challenge- the interior. Rocky had already thought of this. "I was thinking of this as a proposal," he said. "When either stationary or on the move, the seats provide a nice, homelike atmosphere, and the tables can have things on them like local adverts, flyers, and even a selection of local food."
"The cafe segment will be in the guard's compartment, to be folded away if Clara is needed for passenger service," Jazz pointed out. "But the chairs and tables idea is perfect. The interior design is a good one. Let's get to work!"
"That's the problem. I haven't ordered the furniture yet."
After another day's work, Clara's interior was now ready to go. To say the coach looked marvellous was an understatement. Chocolate and cream paintwork gleamed in the summer sun, and light flooded into the interior, making the coach feel spacious and inviting.
The interior was nicely laid out as well. The pair had taken inspiration from an early 20th Century sitting room, and had placed items suitable to that time period. Rocky had also installed a bathtub, for some reason.
As Salty was attached to the coach, Jazz and Rocky took their seats onboard the coach to test the features. "I'm glad we don't have to do this in period dress!" Jazz said. "Me and a corset do not go well together."
Rocky picked up his radio. "Alright Posey!" he said. "You can begin your pull!"
"Understood," came the reply. Sure enough the train began to move off- and the two passengers were almost immediately launched backwards by the acceleration.
Rocky glanced down as he saw the chair had rocked back. "Bolt chairs to floor," he noted, as he saw plates and cups had also gone flying. "Otherwise we may have injuries."
Once they had sorted that out, it was time to bring the coach up to speed. As Clara rattled along at about twenty five miles an hour, they suddenly ran into a problem- another one.
"Did we secure any furniture to the floor?" Jazz asked.
"No," Rocky said. "I thought it was heavy enough to stay in the same spot!"
Sure enough, the furniture was sliding about. Pots and pans fell off the tops of drawers and landed on the floor. Crockery broke and shattered as it hit the ground. It was a frightful mess.
The furniture and fittings weren't the only things sliding about. Jazz and Rocky were being thrown back and forth as the fittings moved about.
"Regain control of the office!" Rocky shouted as they were thrown against the wall. Moments later he landed in the bath.
"Looks like you fell right into that one," Jazz joked, the ridiculousness of the situation starting to get to her.
When they got to Perranwell, they were glad to get out. Rocky had been keeping a list of all the things that had gone wrong. "Well," he said, "apart from the fact that things weren't nailed to the floor, and we got thrown about a bit, and there were a few design flaws, and the bath I fell in, I would say that was a resounding success."
"It works as an interior for a passenger carriage," Jazz said. "Provided the carriage never actually moves. I'll go get some nails."
Author's Note
This chapter is loosely based on an episode of Top Gear (S8E4 for those interested), where Jeremy Clarkson redoes the interior of a car in the style of an Elizabethan cottage (quickly rendering the car unsafe to drive). Seeing as I have seen similar conversions of stationary coaches in the UK, it seemed like an obvious combination.
Thomas and Friends: The Caretakers
It was once again holiday season in Cornwall, and this meant the annual flood of tourists returning to the county to visit holiday homes and enjoy the scenic delights that the friendly little county had to offer.
Porter had no involvement with such a train. Instead, he was on goods duty. He rolled down the slope into the harbour with a short train of vans. These were bound for various sidings within the harbour, and it was Porter's job to shunt them all.
Porter was uncoupled from his trucks by Rocky, and was then run round the formation in preparation for shunting duties. Just before he was about to set off, a member of dock crew walked over.
"Greetings my fine lad!" he said. "It's a nice day for it, isn't it?"
Rocky was confused. "Nice day for what, exactly? There are many things one can do on a sunny day, such as surfing, swimming, enjoying an ice cream, getting heat stroke... were you thinking of one in particular?"
"Isn't your aunt getting married today?" the docker said.
Rocky's eyes widened. "Ooh. That's what you meant. Yes, she is. It's not until the afternoon, though, so I can get some work done here, do some styling at Mane Melody, then scoot up to Falmouth for the ceremony. Nice and easy."
"I didn't know you had an aunt," Porter said.
"I have an aunt, not an isn't," Rocky replied.
"Still, let's get this lot put away instead of dawdling about on points of grammar," Porter sighed. And away they went.
Putting the vans away took less time than expected, and this gave Rocky time to pop into town to ensure all was in order. He was about to collect his clothes when suddenly his phone buzzed.
He picked it out of his pocket, and saw it was his mother. He answered it. "Hi mom! Is everything OK?"
"If only it were," his mother replied. "As you probably know, it is convention to give the bride a good luck package. There's only one problem- the person we assigned to take it to the post office wrote the wrong address down. Last I heard it was in Thurso, not Truro."
"How do you manage that? Mix up Truro and Thurso?" Rocky asked.
"You do if you're the sort of person who thinks York and Edinburgh are a stone's throw away from each other." There was a pause. "We'll have to find something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue at very short notice."
Rocky glanced about for anything that might be considered any of those. "Well, we've got plenty of old things to choose from down in Falmouth, if you know what I mean!"
"Perfect! Bring one of them with you!" The line then closed.
Rocky placed his suit in a suit bag and place that in a waterproof travel bag. He wasn't get this one dirty for anything, even if he looked ridiculous in it. When he arrived at the shed to take Porter back into duty, he noticed Rebecca had pulled in. "So, we're sorted for something old-"
"Hey!" Porter said.
"But we're missing the others."
"What's the problem?" Rebecca asked. "You looking for old things?"
"Short version of the story; my aunt's good luck package for her wedding got delivered to the wrong end of the country. Mom's asked me to scrape one together out of stuff we can find. I'm missing something new, something borrowed, and something blue."
"They're probably staring you in the face," Rebecca smiled. "I'm off to take some guests up to Truro. See you later!"
As she puffed away, Porter had an idea. "I assume you're using me as the old thing," he said.
"I hope you don't mind," Rocky said.
"I'm only 95, so I'm hardly an antique," Porter said. "And something new could be something like... now what's that over there?"
A DMU was sitting in the carriage sidings. It was a Sprinter, to be exact, and its blue paintwork gleamed in the summer sun. "What are you two looking for?" it asked.
"Could we borrow you for a good luck package?" Rocky asked. "We need something new, something borrowed, and something blue. You're a lot newer than most of the rolling stock here, you're borrowed, and you're blue, so you fulfill all three remaining criteria."
"For a wedding?" the DMU said. "Of course, dear boy! When's the event?"
"This afternoon."
"I think I should have the time. I'm not due back at Fishguard until tomorrow morning, so that's plenty of time."
The time came, and this increasingly wacky formation began to make its way up towards Truro. The DMU was doing most of the work, and keeping pace proved to be remarkably simple with the light timetable in force that day. As they rolled through Perranwell, they heard a voice.
"Hello, you two! Off somewhere?"
"Yes, actually!" Porter said. "Good luck package, mobile edition!"
"Could I come with you?" Clara asked. "I would qualify as both old and borrowed."
Rocky liked the sound of that. "Let's take you with us!"
The increasingly bizarre train continued on its way towards Truro, pausing at the signals at Penwithers Junction to let a passenger train pass through. When the signal had cleared, they rolled into the platform and stopped.
"Looks like somebody beat us to it!" Porter said.
On the facing platform was Ray, who was coupled to Salty, a modern looking diesel, and some blue trucks. Jazz looked over. "Two good luck packages?" she said.
"Yeah, what's going on here?" Rocky asked.
"Your mom asked me to try and put one together in case you didn't manage to assemble one in time," Jazz explained. "In our case, the blue trucks are something blue, and Salty is the something borrowed. The diesel is something new, as that was built in 2019, and Ray is the something old!"
"Looks like the bride is going to be doubly lucky today," Porter said. "Just how are we supposed to get this lot to the cathedral?"
Luckily, they didn't have to take them anywhere. The crew had gone to attend the service, after having changed into their best clothes, and then returned to the station afterwards.
"I know it's not quite what you were expecting," Rocky said to his aunt, "but here's two good luck packages. Multiple things of old, new, borrowed, and blue."
His aunt smiled. "It's not the exact objects that matter. It's the thought that counts. Now then, I believe that one important task remains- travelling to the reception!"
"Well, we've got plenty of space in these formations," Porter said. "Take your pick!"
As the gigantic cavalcade set off, back towards Falmouth, the people involved were happy. And never once did it ever occur to them that complete chaos was breaking out with the others. But that's a story for another day.
Author's Note
This story is an adaptation of Happy Ever After, an episode from the Fifth season of Thomas and Friends. Seeing as Old Slow Coach is a key character in the story, adapting this one was a no-brainer. Although the internal logic of the narrative is a bit wonky at points, it's still a good deal better than anything Sharon Miller wrote.
The aunt/isn't conversation is a reference to British pronunciation conventions. In some parts of the country, aunt is said with a long A, as in aardvark. In some parts of the country, it is said with a short A, as in app. As aunt, when said with a long A, is identical in pronunciation to the word 'aren't', this led to a joke where Northerners would ask Southerners how their isn't was doing.
Finally, the two diesels are these:
Thomas and Friends: The Caretakers
Keith Whickam - Salty, Assorted voices
Thomas and Friends: The Caretakers
Fimfiction Proudly Presents
A Story by The Blue EM2
Sponsored by the Guild of Equestrian Railroaders
And Based on an Idea by Thomlight Sparkle
Starring the Voices of:
Kimberley Ann-Truong
Keith Whickam
Rachel Miller
Johnathan Tan
James May
Samantha Bielanski
Toby Jones
And Richard Hammond
Animation by Boulder Media and Arc Productions
Model Effects and Sequences recorded at Ellstree Studios
A Hasbro and Mattel Co-Production, Copyright MMXXIII
