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Part 32 of The Extended Railway Series
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Published:
2022-09-22
Completed:
2022-09-27
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4,860
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6/6
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Modern Railway Engines

Summary:

Dear Friends,
In 1994, British Railways was privatised by the government. As a result, the Other Railway was carved up and sold to various companies. Not wanting to be left out, The Fat Controller decided to buy the Furness Line between Barrow and Lancaster, extending the Mainline all the way to the WCML. As part of the deal, the Fat Controller bought two diesels and a HST – and you’ll never guess who they were!
The Author.

Notes:

Please do not put this story into an AI for any reason or copy it elsewhere without my permission. Thank you.

Chapter 1: 1994

Summary:

The year is 1994, and British Railways is breaking into new, private companies. Having spent years waiting for this moment, Sir Stephen is not about to let the opportunity pass...

Notes:

I was so tempted to call this a Sodor Special. Six stories in one book - this one is big. And I loved writing it so much! I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

And a big shout out to Fintastica for correctly guessing the premise!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The Other Railway was going through some startling changes. The old, single system was being privatised and handed to smaller companies all over the country. From end to end old liveries were repainted with sparkling new coats, stations were redecorated and engines sold to the highest bidder.

Sir Stephen and Bridget Hatt both also wanted to gain something out of the privatisation of the Other Railway. They went all the way to London one morning, and headed for the massive headquarters for all rail traffic in the United Kingdom.

“We wish to make a purchase,” Sir Stephen announced, stepping into the board meeting. Several doddering old people in grey suits rolled their eyes and tittered amongst themselves. Bridget stepped forwards.
“We will be buying the Furness Line from Barrow-in-Furness to Lancaster, infrastructure inclusive, and run our trains into Lancaster,” she said crisply, laying the plan the pair had drafted on the table.

The chairman picked it up and handed it to a secretary. Less than a week later, the Fat Controller had bought the Furness Line from Barrow-in-Furness to Lancaster, finally connecting the North Western Railway to the West Coast Mainline.

***

The North Western bought two platforms at Lancaster: platform five and the disused platform six, as well as a plot of land beyond the station for a yard. They gained two platforms at Carnforth, as well as the yards and the old former Steamtown museum, and then the Furness mainline all the way along the coast to Barrow, and then to also to the port. Eleven stations, 28 miles of track, two bridges and definitely more faulty signalling than they’d expected.

“We will need engines to run it,” Bridget warned as the pair watched the scenery go by. They were on a British Rail DMU that was rolling along, the line still under the Other Railway’s control for the time being.
“I’d say we need a shunter for Barrow, the harbour, and Lancaster-Carnforth,” agreed Sir Stephen. “And maybe one or two more mainline engines.”
“We will have to look then,” agreed Bridget.

When they got to Carnforth, they were stunned to see a familiar face growling about the yard, shunting trucks together.
“Arry?!”
“Oh great, the Fat Controller,” groaned the diesel shunter.
“I suppose he is already here,” murmured Bridget.
“But he—!”
“So long as he stays somewhere like Lancaster, Bert will never have to see him,” reminded Bridget Hatt. Sir Stephen grimly nodded.

Then they spotted two forlorn tank engines over in the Carnforth Steamtown yard.
“You two look familiar,” Sir Stephen murmured, wandering over. Bridget chased after her wayward brother, ranting about safety under her breath.
“Sir Charles?” the two asked, squinting to try and make out the man.
“His son, Sir Stephen. What are your names?”
“Jinty, sir.”
“And Pug!” Sir Stephen raised an intrigued eyebrow.
“Jinty and Pug, eh? Do you two know Percy by any chance?”
“Yes sir!” the two beamed. The Fat Controller chuckled.
“Well then, I think we know who else to pick.”
“Not quite,” reminded Bridget. “We still have to buy some mainline engines.”

Sir Stephen groaned.

“How about we ask the board to send us… three in the deal. Two diesels and a High-Speed Train.”
“I suppose that could work,” agreed Bridget Hatt.

Douglas was called out to pick up the three shunters for transport to the Works, shooting the Fat Controller a curious look when Arry was loaded onto a flatbed alongside Jinty and Pug – and then they were heading back to Sodor.

It was another month before the mainline engines arrived. In that time, the NWR had taken control of the Furness Line, with Bear, BoCo and Derek working the majority of trains over the newly-bought line while coal and water facilities were built at the stations. The Sodor Railway Repair was sent along the line to replace the old rails and ballast with new ones, and some of the sharper curves were eased slightly, letting the Fat Controller increase the speed limit along the line.

“It’s not easy,” panted BoCo one evening. The three diesels were at Barrow sheds with Murdoch, Henry and Duck. “Running that entire line alone.”
“I can imagine,” sympathised Duck. “Hopefully they send the new engines soon.”

As if Duck had summoned them, at that moment they heard a trio of horns blare out in the darkness.
“Perfect timing!” chuckled Duck. The four looked out into the inky night as headlamps glowed in the yard. One set kept on going towards Tidmouth, while the other two broke off to rumble over.

“Wait…”
“I know you!” exclaimed Duck. “Bowler? Spamcan?! What are you doing here?!”

Notes:

Okay, okay - on the surface, this seems like a crack headcanon, I know. But dig a little deeper, and it begins to make sense. In 1990, BR ended the sleeper service from Barrow to Euston - which would have connected with Gordon's evening express. That gone, how many trains to London still connected with Sodor? Not many. Second, a link with the WCML would be imperative for Sodor's growth - quick access to the busiest rail line in Britain at a main station like Lancaster would do wonders for the railway. And finally, there's the competitive worries the Sir Stephen may have faced. If a private railway company tried to enter Sodor's market via the Furness line, it would have been a threat.

Woo! That was a lot to say - but my point stands. This is my 'slightly' insane headcanon for how Sir Stephen acted during the early days of British Rail splitting up. Hope you enjoyed this first story - and I'll be back tomorrow with the next! Kudos, comments and shares are an author's coal and water!

Chapter 2: Swansong

Summary:

Gordon the big engine has been the express locomotive for the North Western Railway for generations, but he is also getting on in years.

Notes:

This is perhaps my favourite story I've written for this book. I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it!

Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Gordon the big engine has been the express locomotive for the North Western Railway for generations. He has watched the railway transform from a small, nowhere railway into a bustling, thriving network that sprawls across the island. He has pulled the express on a daily basis across the island, always speeding along the line with the wind rushing by.

But he is also getting on in years. Gordon passed seventy long years in service back in 1992, and was beginning to feel the strain. Over the decades, he’d been rebuilt to help him handle heavier loads, but the trains kept getting longer, and the timetable kept constricting as the Other Railway made unrealistic demands of the A1 prototype.

It was therefore of no surprise to Gordon when he spotted a familiar shape in the platform. He drew alongside, and raised a pointed eyebrow at the HST power car.
“Hello Gordon! Remember us?”
“Pip?” Gordon ventured carefully. “Or is it Emma?”
“It’s me silly!” Phillipa the High-Speed Train laughed. “Well done. Emma is at the back today.” Gordon mused quietly for a moment, then looked at the pair quizzically.
“You are here to take the express, aren’t you?” he asked slowly. Pip looked apologetic.
“The Other Railway sent us to the Fat Controller as part of the deal for the sale of the new stretch of line. We’re to run the express all the way to Lancaster, stopping—”
“Only at the Works Station and Barrow on your way. You will connect with a West Coast Mainline engine at Lancaster I presume?”
“That’s correct!” called a voice from the other end of the HST.
“Hello to you too, Emma!” Gordon called back. Just then, the big engine spotted the Fat Controller striding towards him.

“I see you’ve met Pip and Emma then,” he said.
“Yes sir. These two are really useful engines, and… I suppose it is time for me to retire. I have pulled the express for plenty long enough.” Sir Stephen nodded.
“That’s very poetic of you Gordon,” he said. “And I am glad you are being so gracious about it. However,” went on the Fat Controller, “Pip and Emma have yet to be checked over at our Works. I want them up to our standards before they take over.” Pip and Emma honked their horns, and the HST rumbled out of the station.
“There’s something else, isn’t there sir?”
“You’re a clever engine, Gordon,” chuckled Sir Stephen. Yes. The official reopening of our part of Lancaster station is in a few days – and I want you to pull in the first train. The Other Railway officials are expecting Pip and Emma, but…”
“If I keep to their timing for one journey and arrive on time, you’ll be able to prove how useful we are,” Gordon finished. Gordon smiled. “I would be glad to sir.”
“That’s a good engine,” grinned the Fat Controller.

He turned to walk away, only to stop.
“And Gordon – it’s more because I want to see the looks on their faces.”

***

The big day came too fast for Gordon’s liking. He woke up early, and was polished to perfection, his paint shining. He had a special headboard attached to his lamp irons, and a pair of vintage headlamps fixed in place.
“These look like the…”
“Very lamps you wore on you first journey,” chuckled Edward, puffing alongside. “I kept them – I thought one day you’d want them again.”
“Thank you,” said Gordon firmly, smiling warmly at Edward. Then, he headed to the station. Thomas bustled in with Gordon’s coaches, and stayed in place to give the big engine a push.

It was packed – everyone wanted to see their old express engine off. Passengers swarmed into the train, the guard blew his whistle, and then Gordon was off.

He picked up speed quickly, Thomas’ push helping him as he stormed beyond the station limits and along the mainline. Towns flashed by in a blur, and engines whistled to him as he roared past. He charged up the hill that bore his name, not even slowing, then flew down the other side, smoke and steam bursting from his funnel and cylinders to create a halo of white. He thundered across the viaduct, picking up speed all the while.

In the cab, Gordon’s crew gaped at the speedometer. Further back, the reading from a special coach the Fat Controller added to the train pulled up similar numbers, stunned officials staring at the number reflected up at them in black ink.

“Last run, make it good. Last run, make it good,” Gordon hummed to himself. Finally, he slowed for Crovan’s Gate Station. Sir Handel was waiting at the platform.
“You’re early,” he mused.
“Am I?” quizzed Gordon, glancing over at the station clock. He was early – and by a good ten minutes. Sir Handel gazed up at the big engine.
“So, you’re retiring, eh?”
“I am.”
“I’ll see you on the slower trains then. Enjoy your last day.”

Gordon did. As soon as he left Crovan’s Gate, he was picking up speed heading towards Barrow – and after Barrow, on towards Lancaster. He had to go slower here – the track wasn’t as well-built as on Sodor yet, and the hammering of pistons against the rails could have badly shaken them. Luckily, Gordon was early enough to be careful.

At Lancaster Station, a group of officials from the British Railways Board and the office of the Rail Regulator stood waiting. At the moment the clock struck the hour, a loud, booming whistle echoed through Lancaster. The Rail Regulator turned to Sir Stephen Hatt.
“You didn’t…”
“I did,” grinned Sir Stephen. “And he’s early too.”

With a triumphant flourish, Gordon rolled into the station, stunning the assembled guests. He beamed at them, and several of the British Rail Board had to clap.

“Your engine is certainly impressive,” one said to Sir Stephen. “Able to keep to a modern railway timetable.”
“My engines are the finest in the world,” agreed Sir Stephen. Gordon felt grander than he had in a long time.

And when it came time, at the end of his return run, to hand his express over to Pip and Emma; Gordon did not fuss. He simply smiled at the pair.
“Do it proud,” he said.

Gordon’s swansong with the express was over, and now it was Pip and Emma’s turn. 

Notes:

What an ending to an era. Gordon is perhaps one of the most inspiring engines in my opinion - for all of his rudeness and grandeur, he also runs a high-speed express service every day through the year, and has done so since 1922. Even in 1994, that would make him one of, if not the, longest-running top-link express engine in the world. It's longevity, it is - and a pretty impressive feat.

Kudos, comments and shares are an author's coal and water!

Chapter 3: Bowler's Plea

Summary:

Bowler's been doing some soul-searching on the mainland...

Notes:

Hello, and welcome to Story Three. I hope you enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Bowler and Spamcan sat off to one side in the yard. They could hear the Fat Controller’s yelling all the way from the other end of the yard, and watched as he had paced angrily back and forth across his office.

“He’s going to send us away,” whispered Bowler.
“Whatever, we’ll be fine,” huffed Spamcan. “Just wanna get off this horrible railway and back to where things make sense.”
“They make sense here,” argued Bowler. “I’d like to stay, so don’t screw this up for me.”
“I don’t need to. The steamers here hate you enough as it is,” snorted Spamcan. Bowler flushed red and grumbled away to be refuelled.

By the time he returned, Spamcan had already snorted away with a heavy goods train. Bowler looked about the yard. It was silent. Good.

He dashed to the station, and came to a stop outside the main office. His driver hopped down and strode inside.

The Fat Controller glared at the phone on his desk.
“For the last time,” he grit out. “I specifically included the numbers of engines I could not have back on the island.”
“We must have misunderstood,” came the oily voice of the Chairman. “If you wish to exchange them, then you will need to speak to a scrap merchant. Goodnight!” The line went dead.

Sir Stephen resisted the urge to scream as there was a knock at his door.

“Come in.”
“Hello sir,” said the man, stepping in. He was holding his cap in his hands and looking quite sheepish. “D40061 wishes to speak to you sir. He says it’s urgent.”
“Of course it is,” groaned the Fat Controller. “I’ll meet him over at the carriage sheds.”

The driver hurried out again, and when the Fat Controller looked out his Barrow office window, he could see Bowler rumbling over to the carriage sheds. He looked oddly… relieved? Was he that interested in speaking to the Fat Controller?

Curious to find out, the Fat Controller put on his hat and stepped outside.

He found Bowler waiting for him, a relieved look on his face.

“Please sir, you have to let me stay! I’ll do anything!” burst out the diesel before Sir Stephen could even speak. Sir Stephen stared up at the Class 40 in shock.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“I promise I’ll be a good engine,” Bowler said desperately. “But I can’t go back – there’s nowhere safe on the Other Railway. They kill diesels – not even scrap them – but kill them.”

The Fat Controller raised a confused eyebrow.
“Your class was almost completely withdrawn years ago, and yet you are still here – what are you talking about?”
“I was departmental stock sir,” Bowler replied. “Track maintenance and the like. So was Spamcan. He thinks we can go back – but I know better sir.”
“Do you?” asked the Fat Controller, sitting down on a crate to gaze up at the big diesel. 

Bowler went silent for a moment, before a far-off look appeared in his eyes.

“Do you remember Operation Smash Hit sir?” asked Bowler quietly. Sir Stephen looked up in alarm.
“I do remember – the engines wouldn’t speak for weeks. It was very upsetting for them all.”
“I was there,” Bowler whispered, as if he was afraid to speak any louder. “I… I can’t… they want to scrap us as soon as we return to the Other Railway. D46057 doesn’t understand that yet. He’s…”
“A bit gruff,” finished the Fat Controller. Bowler quietly hummed in agreement. “Well…” Sir Stephen began. He watched as Bowler’s expression went pale. “I will give you another chance. But this time, you will prove yourself to be useful. Your new number will be D8, but is there a name you—”
“Bowler is good sir. I… I took it as a name when I returned. I… needed to learn my lesson.” Bowler paused, staring off into the distance.

“I won’t let you down, sir.”

Notes:

For those who don't know: Operation Smash Hit was a demonstration to show how safe the flasks used to carry nuclear waste by road and rail were, by running a 239 ton train into a flask at 100mph. It was the final part of a series of tests that the Central Electricity Generating Board (predecessor to the National Grid) completed, and involved Class 46 (D46 009). Note that D199 is a Class 46 - but by some miracle is not aware of the accident (that'll come up in a different book).

With that noted, have a great day and remember to leave kudos and comments and to share!

Chapter 4: Reunited

Summary:

Jinty and Pug have spent years waiting for their chance to truly live their lives in preservation - and a trip to the Crovan's Gate Works shows them that it's finally beginning...

Notes:

Jinty and Pug deserve some love. And I'm gonna give it to them. So there!

Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jinty and Pug had lived at Carnforth Steamtown for almost thirty years. They’d gotten lucky, working as the shunters at the old shed when the preservation society arrived, the group buying the two tank engines and saving them from the scrapper’s torch.

But the Carnforth Steamtown museum had been unable to rebuild them when their boiler certificates expired, and then the two became static exhibits inside the shed, watching day after day as tourists wandered by and stared at them. They had been repainted a couple times – but never repaired. At least, not until Sir Stephen Hatt collected them with Douglas – who was new to them – and took them to the Works.

It had been years since either engine had been on the island. It seemed so familiar, and yet different all the same. There was an engine who looked almost like Edward, but wasn’t. There was a 9F hauling a great long goods train. And there were vintage diesels rumbling along, pulling trains along the new section of line the Fat Controller had bought.

Finally, the pair arrived at the Works, being shunted into the enlarged workshops and unloaded from their flatbeds. The diesel that had come with them was pushed to another part of the works, and they were left to gaze in wonder. The Works were massive – there was machinery from all the former major steamworks in Britain there, and a good number of unfamiliar engines. The Works Diesel chuckled.

“Sir Stephen rebuilds engines for heritage railways, in return for a fee. It keeps the Works busy – and we are the largest of our kind left in Europe.” Gazing about, Jinty and Pug could tell the diesel wasn’t lying. The site had been extended from what they remembered, with a new carriage works off to one side, a new boiler room, and a multitude of other pieces. It was nowhere near the size of Crewe or Derby – but it was certainly well-equipped.

The diesel they had come with was finished first. He grumbled out of the works and picked up some supplies, then left late in the evening. Sir Stephen strode out after him, a grim look on his face. Neither questioned it. 

They took a long time in the works. A few familiar faces popped in during that time: Duck needed a new whistle after his driver tried to boil an egg on it and Henry’s tyres were replaced after his brakes locked in place.

And then, just after the pair had finished their last boiler test, they heard a very familiar whistle.
“Is that?” asked Pug, peering into the distance.
“It is!” cheered Jinty. A small, squat green engine puffed around the bend and into the works – then stopped dead as he recognised the two freshly repainted tank engines sitting on the line next to him.
“Jinty? Pug? You’re here?” asked Percy quietly – as though the two would vanish if he spoke too loud.
“Hello Percy,” said Pug softly. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Pug! You’re green like me!” exclaimed Percy. “And Jinty! You’re blue like Thomas! What are you doing here?! When did you get here? Where have you been?”

“Calm down Percy,” laughed Jinty. “We’ve just been bought by the Fat Controller to work as shunters on his new extension.” Percy beamed.
“So you’re Sodor engines now?”
“We are,” grinned Pug. “We got new liveries – and don’t we look smart? – and they’ve almost finished our overhauls.”
“And then,” said a third voice, “I want the two of you to go to Thomas’ branchline for the week to reacquaint yourselves with shunting.” The three looked over to where Sir Stephen was standing.
“Yes sir!” chorused the engines.
“Good to hear. Now, I have to go catch a train to my new station. I have a mess to sort out.” With a grim look, Sir Topham Hatt strode away.

As he did, the three grinned at each other. It seemed that their waiting had finally paid off. They had found a safe home, and their lives in preservation were only just beginning.

Notes:

One thing I want to explore in the future is how engines see preservation. I mean - yay you survive, boo you end up in a museum, never to move again, or on a heritage line that is a few miles long or shunting about a yard. How do engines feel about preservation?

I will endeavour to answer this question in my 2004 book - which no one has guessed the nature of yet!

Kudos, comments and shares are awesome and amazing, thank you all so much for your support so far!

Chapter 5: Traitorous Engine

Summary:

Arry hated the Island of Sodor with every bolt in his engine - but he also knows when the writing's on the wall. So he makes a decision that betrays all his feelings...

Notes:

An Arry-based story? In this series? It's more likely than you think...

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Arry hated the Island of Sodor. He hated every time he had to set wheel on the island. It was full of engines that were weak, that refused to embrace the future – his twin amongst them.

And yet…

Arry was not a dumb engine. He knew his class was being replaced. Slowly, but steadily.
“D08508 was withdrawn last week,” his driver told him one morning. Arry groaned.
“Great, so they’ll be heading this way next. Driver… can you put in my transfer now?” Arry’s driver raised an eyebrow, but agreed.

The next week, Arry began his trek across the country to shunt at Carnforth.

Arry had changed hands consistently since leaving Sodor. He’d worked for several scrap merchants – and then Sir Charles had almost scrapped him for trying to ‘steal’ another of his hunks of scrap. So he was sold to a chemical plant, which went bankrupt, then to the new Sodor Ironworks company – which was run by the Hatt family, and thus he was sent packing very quickly – and finally to British Rail.

But British Rail was breaking up. So Arry made what he considered to be the most traitorous decision of his life, and got himself transferred to Carnforth, just near Sodor. And like Arry suspected, Sir Stephen bought the Furness Line the very next year and Arry was lumped in with the deal.

After a quick overhaul – and a lot of stern words – Arry was sent to aid in the construction of the new Lancaster shunting yard.

It was nothing fancy – there wasn’t much space, even if the Fat Controller had bought a large chunk of unused land. The plans asked for a refuelling station for both steam and diesel, a turntable, a shed, a few sidings for coaches and trucks, and a goods shed. The locals were certainly interested as Arry delivered the first line of trucks to Lancaster station, leaving them on the formerly unused platform six while he went about getting the crane. He’d been given a little under a week to put in a turntable so Gordon could arrive on the Grand Reopening. BoCo and Bear had already fitted the points into the new yard, so it wasn’t hard for Arry to get to work.

Arry worked hard, determined to secure his spot on the railway. He just needed the safety, he told himself. It had nothing to do with how nicely Bear spoke to him, or how much cleaner he was. It had nothing to do with the better fuel he was given, which meant his engine didn’t splutter, nor did it have anything to do with the parts they’d fitted making him run without groans from his gears.

It all came to a head one morning.

Arry grumbled into Lancaster station to collect a line of trucks Derek had left him. Gordon’s grand run had been only a few days prior, and already the big steam engine Murdoch (he’d been one of the scrap engines – but he looked so… powerful when in steam) had passed through with a massive goods train that the British Rail diesels had goggled at while Arry silently laughed.

“Stinking steamie sympathiser,” grunted a voice from the next platform over. Arry looked – and there was a Class 90 electric engine glaring at him.
“Buzz-face,” grunted Arry. “What’s your problem?”
“You work for the North Western – what happened to you diesels and your revolution? It’s cut out – and now us electric engines have to take over,” purred the electric, an undercurrent in their voice.
“As if!” growled Arry. “Us diesels are plenty useful.” The electric engine scoffed.

No one is quite sure what happened next, but both the signals for the electric engine and Arry changed to green at the same time. Arry started first, and sped up so he could quickly cross over the mainline and into the yard. The Class 90 started a moment later when the guard blew his whistle.

“Oi!” shouted Arry as soon as he noticed the other engine moving. “You’re running a red!”
“No, you are! Get out of my way, Gronk!” shouted the electric. Realising the electric engine wasn’t going to stop, Arry slammed on his brakes, but the heavy trucks propelled him out over the points – and right into the path of the Class 90.

The Class 90 wasn’t going fast – but it still hit Arry and knocked both engines off the track. All signals were instantly set to danger. Arry growled.
“This was your fault,” he snapped.
“Mine?! You ran the red…”
“I did not! You must have – my signal was green!”

The argument was deafening! And during it, Arry could be heard defending the railway he hated. Bear would have been so proud. 

Sir Stephen had to head out to stop the fighting, and direct the clean-up. The electric engine was towed away by a Class 37, while Arry was shunted back onto a flatbed by an incredulous Douglas and pulled back to the Works.

He was not pleased about any of the incident, and complained about it to Douglas. Loudly.

Notes:

Arry is not an idiot. Dangerous, and not to be allowed anywhere near a smelting yard - but not stupid. He's also a bit like a cockroach: no matter how hard I've tried to shake him off, he still won't die!

Hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you for the finale tomorrow! Kudos, comments and shares are incredible, and the response this story has gotten is just... awe-inspiring. Thank you all so much!

Chapter 6: Saving Stupid Spamcan

Summary:

Spamcan isn't even trying to fit in - and Bowler is absolutely done with it...

Notes:

Last story! Who's excited? I can't believe I wrote a six-part story to introduce this lot - and there are at least twelve more stories feeding off of it. Quite literally, I've already written the next book in the series.

So, get excited - because this expansion is shaking up everything! Enjoy this last story!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Spamcan still wasn’t trying to fit in. Bowler could only groan as the silly big engine went and insulted yet another one of the steam engines, before turning his ire on Bowler.
“Why have you changed like this?” asked Spamcan disdainfully. “You used to be one of us, but now all you do is talk to the steam engines and act like some goodie-goodie steamie.”
“Why haven’t you changed?” rebutted Bowler. “We have been gifted a special chance, working here. Don’t waste it!”

But Spamcan wouldn’t listen.

Bear wouldn’t talk to the diesel, calling it a waste of his time, and left the difficult diesel to BoCo, Bowler and Henry to take care of. Soon, only Bowler was actually tolerating Spamcan.

One morning, Spamcan was being especially annoying.
“I am the pinnacle of British Diesel evolution!” he proclaimed. “So grand they named us after military regiments!”
“And yet your name is Spamcan,” huffed Henry. “So what?” Spamcan glared at the green engine.
“You know,” he went on. “It is high time we diesels finally modernised the railway, don’t you agree D40061?”
“No, I do not,” grumbled Bowler. “And I have a name.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“I chose it.”
“Engines don’t choose their own names,” Spamcan sneered. “We are gifted them for great feats! I should be named ‘Most Honourable Artillery Regiment’ – it is a name worthy of my ability!”
“Oh shut it!” snapped Bowler, losing patience. “Stop being so stupidly uppity before you get yourself scrapped!” Several of the steam engines stared at Bowler in surprise, not expecting the diesel to stand up to Spamcan.  

Spamcan said nothing more, and the engines headed out for their days’ work.

Spamcan was furious to see a line of tank wagons that needed delivering. Deja-vu…
“I won’t do it.”
“You must do it,” replied his driver – and Spamcan begrudgingly set off. But it didn’t stop him loudly complaining all the way along the mainline, even as his driver tried and failed to drown him out with the radio.

The Other Railway hadn’t taken very good care of Spamcan or Bowler – but where Bowler had chosen to head to the works and get repaired and repainted into Brunswick green with his new number, Spamcan hadn’t. Without that important maintenance, it wasn’t long before, with a splutter and a cough, Spamcan came to a stop in the middle of the mainline. Thankfully, this time there were no steam engines around.

Bowler was sent to rescue the stranded train. As he had suspected, Spamcan was just grumbling about a fitter and not even trying to move the train, while the signalman shot glares at the engine while rifling through his desk for his tin opener.

Bowler dragged Spamcan away, waiting until they were moving before speaking.

“You’re a damn idiot,” hissed Bowler.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are squandering a chance to live!” snapped Bowler.
“What do you mean? We had the Maintenance Department,” huffed Spamcan. Bowler groaned.
“The Maintenance Department sold us to Sir Stephen because it was him or scrap, you stupid hunk of metal! Our classes are completely withdrawn and there is no other railway in the country interested in us! Every heritage railway in Britain wants nothing to do with the two engines thrown off of Sodor, D46057. Do you even know what happened to your brother?”
“What?”
“He was… he was – argh!” Bowler cut himself off, and took several deep breaths. “I have been trying to protect you for years. You need to grow up and accept that this is the safest place for us. I know what British Rail was going to do with us. Stop ruining your own future and try to get along with the steam engines before you are sent away. Cause the moment you don’t have the protection of the North Western Railway, you will be scrapped.”

Bowler drew to a stop at the Works, and left Spamcan to be mended while he took the tankers onwards.

Spamcan was left with a lot to think about.

***

Spamcan did return to the sheds – but he was painted NWR blue and had the number D10 on his side, as well as a nameplate proclaiming him to be ‘Spamcan’.

“Guess your stupid name stuck,” grumbled Spamcan.

Spamcan is still a gruff engine, and he can still be very rude – but nowadays he is much more careful with what he says. Thankfully, Bowler seemed to have an effect on him. The two diesels often sleep at the other end of the line – at Lancaster with Arry. Arry settled into his role well, keeping to himself and saying little. He didn’t incriminate himself like Spamcan, but he never opened up like Bowler either. Bear's having an effect though, or so he says. 

Jinty and Pug became the point station pilots and dock-shunters at Barrow, becoming a friendly sight to all the Fat Controller’s engines, especially those they’d met when they had taken over for Thomas and Percy decades prior.

And finally, Pip and Emma took over the express, giving Gordon time to look after slower trains.

Oh, how the North Western Railway continues to change!

Notes:

Spamcan managed to stay by the skin of his teeth, I swear. You know, in my original notes D40125 (Old Stuck-Up) was meant to return in this book - but then I threw that idea away, as a little research actual pulled up that D40125 was scrapped (if we say James and the Diesel Engines happens in 1981) literally the moment he arrived back on the Other Railway. Yes, D40125's accident was serious enough that they withdrew and scrapped him. Bit of trivia for you there.

I hope you liked reading through this adventure with me, and get ready - next week is high speed week! Yes, Pip and Emma are getting the next book, and it's already written! Give this story a kudos, comment and a share, and I'll see you all next weekend!

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