Gate Control
Admiral Biscuit
When the railroad first came to Broomfield, it was not with the intention of picking up passengers or cargo, nor even watering the locomotive. The nascent town was simply on the shortest path between two destinations that the railroad did want to visit.
And for a few years, not much changed. Trains passed through without even slowing, and the small population of the town learned that they sometimes had to wait at the crossing.
An enterprising pony built a platform alongside the rails, and all of a sudden Broomfield became a whistle stop. With this new access to trains, demand increased, and a team track was built and a decade later what had once been mostly fields and dirt tracks had turned into a small town with a train station and one cobbled street.
It was only cobbled for two blocks, but that was a start.
Peony Petal marveled at it all. It seemed like every moon a new family moved to town, built a home, started a business—this town was going places.
The only problem were the trains. There had been one mixed train each way when the railroad was first built, and then that had morphed into two freight trains and two passenger trains by the time the Broomfield platform had been constructed, and now there were six or more trains per day that rushed through town.
The passenger trains stopped often enough that ponies started to assume that they were going to stop every time, but they didn’t. Peony herself had seen a wagon just barely make it across the tracks before the passenger train rushed through.
“We need to have crossing gates,” she announced at the next village board meeting. “Not just a sign. Last week I saw the back of Crystal Flash’s wagon almost get clipped.”
“And I’ve seen foals barely make it across,” Meadowsweet said.
White Oak shook her head. “There are signs, ponies know to stop and wait for the train.”
“It’s hard to know how fast it’s going,” Peony said. “If the passenger train isn’t going to stop, it goes through town faster than the freight trains. If it is going to stop, it’s slower.”
“And there’s a curve in the track south of town, so you can’t always see it until it’s close,” Meadowsweet added. “I’ve just about jumped out of my fur when I don’t see it coming and then the engineer blows her whistle.”
“Plus it’s too easy to stand close to the tracks.”
“And we’ve got a cobbled street, we ought to have gates.”
A month later, Peony Petal walked up the steps of the gatehouse for the first time. She had been elected to operate the gates, which was a great honor.
The gatehouse was small, but offered a commanding view of the burgeoning community. She could see over the tops of all the houses, and look down the tracks in both directions, so she’d spot trains in plenty of time to lower the gates.
She paced out her new territory, and then stepped aside as the village council joined her in the tower, one at a time. Even though they’d all stopped by during construction, they ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at the finished product, still smelling of fresh-cut timber and whitewash.
After they’d all had their tour, they—and a few curious onlookers—gathered as Peony cranked down the gates for the very first time. They were handsome gates, their red and white paint glistening in the sun.
When both gates were down, there was a short speech by the mayor, a round of hoof-stomps, and then Peony cranked the gates back up so as to not to impede the flow of traffic.
•••
An hour later, Peony got to use the gates for real for the first time. She could see a column of steam and smoke off in the distance and watched as it got closer, then trotted down the stairs and lowered the gates, crossing the tracks to access the first one and then crossing back to lower the second.
For all the time that construction had taken, apparently some ponies were completely oblivious. A mare towing a cart stopped at the gate and then looked over at Peony. “What’s this for, then?”
“It’s a crossing gate,” Peony said. “To keep ponies safe from the train.”
“What train?”
“The one that’s coming right now.”
“I don’t see it.” She craned her neck out to get a glimpse at the tracks, and then jerked her head back as the passenger train roared by.
Peony waited until it had passed, and then cranked the gate back up, crossing the tracks to crank up the other one. The mare who hadn’t gotten squished by the train trundled off with her wagon, and Peony returned to the tower.
•••
It took a couple of weeks before ponies got used to the gates, and before Peony got good at estimating train speed and distance.
•••
Just after the pegasi brought the first snow, an official from the railroad stopped by, walking along the newly-cobbled street. The street was only cobbled for three blocks now, but Broomfield was making progress.
Peony didn’t recognize him; she recognized all the regular ponies but now there were occasionally tourists, and of course more new ponies moving into town. She didn’t concentrate on him; instead she turned her attention back down the tracks, watching for the telltale plume of smoke, and when she turned around again he was standing at the gatehouse door.
“May I come in?”
“Of course!” Peony delighted in showing ponies her little guard shack. She’d personalized it with flowerboxes and a collection of paintings the schoolfillies and colts had made.
“I’m with the railroad,” he said. “We would like to offer you a telegraph.”
Her eyes widened. Even the train station didn’t have a telegraph yet, although maybe they were going to install one.
“That way you’ll know when trains pass the stations and when they’re likely to arrive,” he told her. “And if you see any trouble on the line, you can telegraph the nearest tower and they’ll stop the trains.”
Peony nodded. That would be very convenient. Sometimes the northbound trains didn’t make much smoke or steam, if they were slowing down for the station. It was a long downhill grade into Broomfield, and she worried she’d miss one.
Usually the trains alternated directions, but not always. She couldn’t count on that, she just had to stay vigilant.
And one time a freight train had been delayed until nearly dusk and she hadn’t known it was coming at all. She’d been eating dinner at her house and had to gallop all the way to the crossing to get the gates down before the train arrived, and she wouldn’t have if she hadn’t heard its whistle and if it hadn’t been moving slowly.
“I don’t know how to read telegraph code,” she admitted.
“We can teach you,” he promised, and looked around the room. “Over there, in that corner, we can put a telegraph in.”
•••
She hadn’t expected to go to a railroad school. The railroad had provided a relief gate agent for her tower and then given her free passage on the train to the school.
That was exciting: she’d never ridden on a train before, just watched them go by. It was jerky and loud, but the coaches were comfortable and once she got over her terror of traveling faster than anypony could gallop, it was pleasant.
Learning telegraph code was hard, Peony decided. Not as hard as letters, since there were only two symbols: longs and shorts (or hooves and hearts). She wasn’t expected to telegraph a response back unless there was a problem with the tracks—and in that case, just telegraphing ‘BR GATE STOP TRAINS’ was enough to get the newly-minted station agent to investigate.
The telegraph itself was a strange companion. It was constantly beeping, chattering like a gaggle of goldfinches. Not only had learning it been difficult, but trying to extract the train numbers she needed to know from the overall noise was also difficult.
With time, and familiarity with the general schedule, she got better and better at recognizing patterns, to the point that she could trust herself to pay a little less attention up and down the line and instead perform other tasks.
•••
All the main roads in Broomfield were cobbled, and Peony had an apprentice. A second crossing had been opened a few blocks away. It didn’t rate a guardhouse, so her apprentice—a filly who wanted to work as a telegraph operator—spent her time in the gatehouse, galloping down the path alongside the rails to operate the gates as needed.
There was talk of converting to remote-operated gates; levers and rods could be fitted in the tower, but there wasn’t quite enough traffic to justify it—not road traffic or train traffic.
Her apprentice taught her more telegraph code, and would interpret distant messages for her. That was fun, it was like getting postcards.
•••
“Well.” Peony’s mane and muzzle were streaked with grey, and her eyes were not as good as they had been: she couldn't always spot the trains off in the distance like she used to be able to.
Had the stairs to the tower gotten steeper, too?
All the gates in town had been converted to automatic operation: all but hers. Whether that was out of respect or the frugality of the railroad, she didn’t know.
There was no big ceremony for the closing of her gate tower.
A young colt, wearing a bright yellow railroad vest, was putting the finishing touches on the automatic gate operator.
The telegraph chattered and her ears perked. It was a through train on her route.
She didn’t see the smoke until it was close to town, but she could see the gates the next street over as they lowered to protect the crossing, and then she started down the stairs.
She was halfway down when her gates started moving, jerkily at first. The crank spun on its own, slowing as the gates reached their horizontal position.
“Looks like it works,” the technician told her.
Peony nodded. It did work, and as long as it stayed working, she was out of a job.
That didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would. She’d never wanted to be a gate operator, she’d just wanted to keep ponies safe.
She was back in the tower before the gate went up, and she looked out the windows at all the gate arms in town, now all standing high: she could see them all from her tower.
Maybe one day one of the gates would malfunction, and if it did, she’d be up in her tower, ready and watching.
Author's Note
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