Chapter Text
21 Dᴇᴄᴇᴍʙᴇʀ, 1966
Henrietta wasn't a fan of these arrangements. Her Toby was off at the Works, and filling in for him was Percy of all engines. Percy was a fine enough engine, but... certainly didn't have the decorum of Toby. Nor the shared history, really.
"Oh, I know," he huffed, bags under his eyes, "I'm not exactly fond of leaving my usual duties, myself. I've been working near you two long enough to more or less know what I need to do, though. I promise I won't be too obtrusive."
He did mean it, and offered her a small smile, eyes wrinkling at the corners and greying beard parting to show a small amount of teeth.
With a thinking sort of hum, eyeing him up and down with not so much suspicion; they had, after all, been working together for at least a decade and a half, but moreso a sort of skepticism you have when you think someone can't quite do things as well as you'd hope, the old coach agreed. So he puffed up to her lightly, buffers just starting to push in as he stops, a light haze of steam coming from his funnel as he waits. The clunk and ratchet of the couplings were nice and familiar at least, and as soon as he was given the clear, he puffed slowly out, driver maintaining a slow and steady speed as he dragged the coaches and van toward the station platform where Joseph had just started to pull away, Francis passing by with the morning run of water treatment.
It was still very early dawn, and the sun was only barely cresting the horizon, filtered through the clouds as a few rays shone through to light up little spots of the snowy ground, which meant Gordon wouldn't be here for a few hours, which was certainly good. All he really had to worry with was the workmen—he was pretty sure that one was Joe, and that one was Bill, and that one was Paul, but beyond that, hadn't known who was who.
While he wasn't exactly feeling like having small talk just yet, the adjustment period was already eating up much of his mental energy, one or two of the quarrymen certainly were.
Henrietta kept one of them busy by talking about the missus with him, the man showing her an instant photo of a quilt she'd recently put up for sale and the coach finding it quite good indeed.
That left the other one, who leaned on Henrietta's platform railing to talk to Percy. He thought this one was Paul, who had the same mole on him and similarly striking eyes considering the perpetual sooty film all over him. "Be honest with you," he started, "we get peanuts. I'd been coming up with a plan with Toby an' Henrietta to get something done about that."
Percy raised a graying eyebrow. He hadn't really the time to concern himself with the goings-on and happenings with any one company in the area, and even if he'd wanted to there were so many popping up these days that he couldn't; he'd always been taking things to and fro and setting up trains and handling the twice-daily mail route essentially without pause until he returned to the sheds at night.
"I see..."
He'd gone pretty quickly from dreading the small talk to invested. "So do you have a union?"
"Not at the moment—officially, anyway."
Percy's face crinkled in horror and disgust. "Fuck me sideways, cydymaith, were you all that desperate for work? I'm sure you've got at least a pot to piss in. Every new crewman I get assigned, first thing I ask is if he's joined ASLEF yet."
"I'm—we're working on it," the man defended, hand in the air as he looks away from the engine.
They kept talking about the matter as they waited for the clock to strike the half-hour, about when was time for them to set off.
Things went surprisingly well, and they were soon gliding across the curved bank down towards Dryaw, and he didn't get to see much of it at aill. His trailing truck was helping out with tracking, letting them go quite fast for how smooth the ride was, but that meant all he could see was Knapford receding in the distance as he took the curve, the downward bank letting him speed up and up coasting down the hill until eventually skidding to a stop just feet from clearing the station platform.
His brakes weren't fond of that, and made that fact known with a bit of a squeal that rang rather loud, anyone and everyone at the platform gritting their teeth and palming their ears to save them.
Bertie was stopped there too, having come up from the centre of town just a little bit before the train did, chuckling to himself something about how steel tyres are so bad at braking, a problem he'd never have with his nice rubber ones.
Percy agreed with the people at the platform. Henrietta wasn't happy much either, and the workmen's coach swore him out loud enough to hear, to which Henrietta called him out, as she always does, on his bad language in public.
Before they'd even stopped, the guard hopped off the little added brake section of the van and stumbled a little, almost falling from the extra momentum before setting all the coaches' brakes and walking off into the station for a cuppa. A few people got off, a few more got on, all the while Percy looked around himself at where he was, and realised something.
"Dave," he asked, looking back to his cab with a furrow to his brow, "why's there a station here? It seems... well, I dunno about Thomas, but if I'd been the one setting this line up—"
He cut himself off. No use complaining, it's been built, and given the line from Toryreck to the harbour might as well have been his, he was already familiar enough with the why, so he just filled his mind with his surroundings. The clearing they were in would be desolate enough, a few bushes and tall flowering plants, but they were stopped in a little channel cut into it with stone stairs to and fro, a good distance out from the last building he'd seen, but the smoke from the chimneys of houses a good flight of stairs and a hike away were still fairly visible, especially in the wintry air. A gust blew, sending the smoke billowing off toward the east, Percy's own steam from his safety valves hitting the station and shrouding it in a dense fog as the last few passengers boarded, but the guard was nowhere to be seen.
Everyone waited a little longer, looking from thing to thing, a sense of boredom growing around the edges of some and of anxiety they won't get to where they need to be in time in the others.
Bertie, in the silence, replied with a grin. "So buses like me can get work! Helps the economy, you see; more jobs!"
And with that, he got on with his route. The mud all over his rear bumper and spats certainly had suggested he hadn't been lazing about. Percy wasn't so sure he felt like that was a good thing at this moment, but he wouldn't dare say that, even if he'd already headed off.
The guard, meanwhile, was finishing off the last of his tea with the internal-use telephone nestled between his ear and shoulder, getting some modified orders. "Right," he said to the signalman, "I'll tell 'em."
He was pretty sure he forgot something. The little curled up tea leaves at the bottom of his mug reminded him, a little late. "And hopefully your missus is doing well too, Joe!"
As soon as the door creeped open and the guard's shoe made contact with the concrete, Henrietta's passengers erupted into a chorus of groans, grunts, and excited whoops as he made the walk back up towards Percy, hands up to get as much of the steam out of his face as possible as he walked through the plume toward the cab with the news:
"Signalling called. said we're to make a stop on the return trip at Quayle's pasture, and before then stop and wait at Ffarquhar for a train swap."
Percy's eyebrow raised with his crew's, having somehow never done that since coming to Sodor. Neither could ask for clarification as the guard just nodded and went on his way, unlocking the brakes of the two coaches until jumping back aboard Elsie, who gave a winded grunt as he did, taking off her brakes and blowing his whistle for the driver to start releasing Percy's. That alone got the train started, and they picked up speed without having to use what seemed like more than an ounce of steam all the way to their next stop, with regulator nearly closed and cutoff as little as it could be and the help of gravity they made it in good time, stationmaster handing them the first token and seeing off the last electric signal of their trip.
The train puffed their way to Ffarquhar late, after a holdup as Thomas had a bird fly into him on a single-track section, the resulting yelp and whoosh stopping them until they could assess the damage and get him onto a passing track. It wasn't too bad, just a bruise, but the bird did hit him in the eye, or maybe he hit the bird with his eye, so no doubt that Thomas was in a bad mood, and it wasn't too much consolation to the bird. Percy considered asking if the stationmaster could give the poor thing a proper burial, but decided not to, being late and knowing enough about the world to understand that's a part of the ecosystem in... some way. Maybe Henry would know the next time he saw him?
Either way they were there now, though the three tracks rather felt lonely with just the one train on them. Percy slowly drifted to a stop, coming within an inch of the buffers softly enough nobody noticed a thing.
The last of the non-mine passengers filtered out of the train, and Percy watched as they all made it down the steps and headed to their bicycles or cars, one man getting into a half-ton, and riding off to their homes, later-morning sun gleaming off some of them and making the others unbearable to look at.
Once the driver was sure everyone was off that was going to get off, he drained off the water in Percy's cylinders, checked the fire, and hopped off, shoes clacking against the concrete. "I'm not gonna wait here for Mavis, you want anything?"
"Oh, yes," the fireman said, "I was thinking a pie and some gravy chips, you?"
The driver grinned, and said "Curry, m'self. I'll be right back, and bring some 'salt tablets' with me."
Fireman just chuckled as he went to go tend to Percy's fire and make sure his water never got too low. He'd have topped off Percy here too, but without someone else in the cab that was a risky proposition.
Eventually, the diesel of the hour came prancing into the station yard with a good number of slate trucks and a honk. "Well, look who's early," she said somewhat oily once she stopped at the junction for the signalman to switch the points for her, "when we didn't get the call to go half an hour ago Tom decided we might as well clear out the yard!"
Percy rolled his eyes, but only Henrietta and the passengers could see that. "Really? I'd have thought you'd just gotten stuck again!"
"Oh please!" she yelled, "I did better than you could have what with that useless axle of yours! There's a good reason they went up from four to six drivers instead of settling on engines like you—" and then she stopped with a roll of her eyes. Percy didn't know it, but her driver smacked her control stand and said to behave herself.
Percy didn't get the chance to reply before she grumbled off to the top of the points, grumbling back once they were set to the furthest track from the station, which was always used for things like that. And there went her bell, dinging along incessantly as she backed herself in, had Percy's guard get her uncoupled, and pulled over to his track to grab his train. Rather unlike Percy's gentle touch, Mavis nearly smashed into the van, sending it and the coaches barreling into Percy and the passengers into their chairs, one even rolling his window up to yell at the diesel, who promptly ignored him.
"Hope you don't get too out of puff with that work!" she gloated as she honked and pulled away, face wearing a smile regardless, or perhaps because of, the green tank engine calling her many, many names, the most printable of which starting with the letter 'B'. Fireman just leaned out of Percy's cab and threw up a rude hand gesture to her.
But it wasn't much use. Eventually, the train was positioned right for her to turn around on the turntable and soot herself away to the mine.
It was a while still, but Dave came back with a paper bag in his arms to a smile and a light engine. He handed Andy, the fireman, the bag and stepped up onto the cab to dig in, pulling out the cartons of food, some more soggy than the other, and two amber bottles of The Toby's Special № 7 Ale. Andy's grin just got wider and he patted Dave on the back for a very successful breakfast run as they dug in happily.
They were back at Ffarquhar. O Lord, they were back.
Percy'd had the bright idea to send the train into a chorale on the trip west singing, quite loudly, of a sailor meeting a girl at a stop, and bell-bottoms. Of all the songs they'd had to sing in their repertoire, this was by far the most... well, had Thomas heard them sing, he might have a boiler explosion then and there and taken them with him. He wasn't exactly puritannical, but certainly cared more about propriety. This was a good and respectable railway, or now region, and every engine must reflect that. Percy, clearly, did not agree; even with all that taken into account, that was the most polite of the shanties he'd occupied the trucks with, immediately followed up with another rendition about what goes on between sailors on a ship at sea...
Andy seemed unfazed by it all, but Dave, mostly having only driven Daisy before, was ghostly pale the whole way through, as if he'd crashed into a trailerful of lime or something of the sort.
It was only barely now that they'd gotten back to the station for their return trip that he'd finally started getting over it, shutting off Percy's steam just in time as they approached the platforms once again, slowing to a stop just at the right spot of the turntable to turn around and watch as Mavis pulled in with his train.
Her face was an impressive shade of purplish-red and curled into a snarl, panting as the wet rails made the trip back up quite terrible. Behind her, the three-long train was in a total mess, with Henrietta at the back, Elsie in the middle pointed toward where Percy would be, and the workmen's coach at the front. It was almost impressive how she'd managed to stuff it all up with a train that short, it must have been intentional at that point.
"Come one, come all," she yelled sarcastically at the buffers she smashed into, shaking her and the passengers, a sickening creak and crack coming from the wood but no visible destruction, "ger yer rusty-wheeled rotboxes! Call now and ya may even get a drop 'a oil on one of them journal-boxes!"
Percy just rolled his eyes and wheels up to the last coach, looking down at his driver as he fastened the couplings. "Remember, we were supposed to stop by Quayle's."
Dave had forgotten, if him smacking his forehead was any indication, and thanked Percy for the reminder.
With that, he pulled himself up the cab ladder, dusted himself off, and turned himself around to face the sea, slowly pulling on the regulator to start as softly as possible.
The train had made good time, and the ride was smooth all the way to the pasture. Percy's pistons went from gliding to pounding as he picked up speed, and back again as he slowed and slowed, looking toward the lineside for who needed picking up. He didn't see anything on his left, but on his right, sitting just past the ballast on an overgrown and weedy plot of land, was a girl, maybe young woman, roughly a late teenager and wearing all the associated fashions of the time sitting in a wheelchair. She looked over her shoulder expectantly, and deflated when there was nobody there.
"Oh, right," she sighed to herself, pondering at what to do.
Percy was getting a little anxious as not a single soul walked up to help.
A minute passed.
Two.
Eventually, Percy got a little annoyed, and looked toward his own cab with a scowl.
"Dave? You gonna.... do anything?"
He looked back at her. "I'd help you up myself, but, as you can see—" he said, mentally wiggling around nonexistent arms, "—I'm not much use myself."
She sighed and waved his worry off, or tried to, but it didn't help much to ease him. It especially didn't ease him that she'd seemingly been judging how to grab at Henrietta's running board and drag herself up, reaching half-heartedly then letting her arm fall again...
Dave eventually jumped off Percy's cab, once he'd bothered to actually look at what's taking so long, crunching the gravel beneath him. With dragged feet, he ambled on over to Henrietta, opening up her gate, picking up the young woman and setting her on the platform holding herself up with her arms, folding up the chair and leaning it against Henrietta as he climbed up the ladder to her platform to pick the girl back up again and bring her to a seat before going back and setting the folded chair on Henrietta's platform.
Percy didn't brighten up much even with the, mind you very much prompted, action, wrinkles showing deeper than they had all day as his steely gaze bore through the driver somewhat.
He didn't stop staring until the man left his peripheral vision, then just looked ahead blankly, eyebrows still furrowed and mouth grim as he thought about what he'd just watched.
Boarding really was that difficult without good legs, huh?
Hm...
Should probably start looking to see what else might be difficult in a wheelchair.
He was deep enough in thought to not realise he was supposed to move, until with a jolt, he started picking up a little speed, wheels at once both digging into the rails and slipping right off them, or at least the dried leaves littered across them. Smoke billowed, shooting into the air with deafening force as he he scolded himself "oh come on, pull!". Henrietta went on the defence, at first, until she noticed he wasn't looking at her, and she went from confused-and-hurt to concerned rather quickly, just occupying herself by keeping an eye on the now second item left on her platform besides a bicycle.
Percy, eventually, found himself somewhat composed. Elsbridge came, stayed a little while, and went, and, looking at the platforms, there were ramps. Entirely too-steep ramps, he thought, but that was a good base to work from and someone assisted could probably take them just fine.
Someone unassisted...
His eyes rolled as hard as he could, as he tried to get himself to just make the rest of the stops without his safety valves reaching the Moon before either the Soviets or the Americans could manage. It was already a very close race, and bringing the space race home to the UK and Sodor in particular would be one good thing to come of the situation at hand.
Something similar happened again and again until eventually, with a bit of a grunt, he finally got to the top of the incline, rolling to a stop at Knapford's platform with James stopped opposite him, something he always looked forward to.
"Well," he said with a harumph, "at least you can keep to a schedule. I got delayed fifteen minutes because they had to wait for an engine to be available to take the eastbound!"
Percy rolled his eyes and tried to tune him out, as the passengers started one by one getting out of their coaches, some getting into James', some heading for the big catwalk, others slotting in how they did. All that left was one person, the owner of the bicycle, and the young woman. The occupant walked out the door, looked to the right, and saw both the bicycle and the wheelchair, and having not planned to, wheeled the chair into Henrietta so they could get her back on it. It only barely fit in the doorframe, but it did, and she managed to shimmy out, wheeling herself to Henrietta's open gate... and stopping.
The height difference was insurmountable. Henrietta's platform was shorter than the station's by more than the height of her front wheels.
All Percy could do was close his eyes and sigh, deeply, as the bicycle owner took some time to notice and help, angling the chair just right to clear the ledge, pushing it up to the platform with a grunt.
"Ay," James piped up, "could ya board a little faster? I'm already late as is!"
Percy wished he could see the glare he was shooting him. Actually, on that note, he wished he could shoot the bastard and have someone decent take it; he's heard good things about that new diesel engine, BoCo.
Boarding wasn't much easier the other way, with the curved body of the more modern coaches making a sizeable gap between the platform and the coach floor, which itself was higher up than the platform level.
With the first run of the day done, and the coaches not needed for another half-day, Percy got himself ready for shunting, mostly by taking deep breaths and thinking about trucks.
"Alright," he huffed, and slowly got Toby's train back to how it was, gently pulling the workmen's coach off Elsie and setting it aside to push between Henrietta and her, each gentle coupling getting a little bit more of his stress out as he returns to something familiar. With the train as neatly arranged as he could get it, he pushed it back into the coach shed with a final sigh, and said to Henrietta "see? Everything worked out."
She wasn't quite sure of that, but she wasn't in pieces, so things could be worse.
The guard put a record on as he started on paperwork, music emanating from Elsie's guard compartment as Percy puffed back toward the line for his next job.
The second, or he supposed third, pass through Dryaw brought his boiler pressure right back up as he realised not only was the way down to the town essentially all steps, but these platforms hadn't actually any ramps as the goods station was down in the valley, and after all, that's the only situation where wheeled things you can't just pick up might need to get off the platform, right? He couldn't possibly come up with any other situation where that might be an issue, right?
He just snorted into the air, around the same direction his eyes went.
Reminders kept popping up everywhere, from the station at Hackenbeck being angled just so as to let him see that the only way up was steps, to Ffarquhar having only a ramp on one side, the other having a manually-actuated loading and unloading lift.
The trucks, ordinarily quite happy to see him, grew more and more worried at the sight of him.
The next morning, everyone else found themselves rather blocked off. Percy's regular driver, a tall, fairly young man with an upturned nose and droopy ears covered by long black Beatle hair by the name Ted Danvers, was finally out of bed from his illness and able to help him with his plan earlier in the morning than anyone else was up after being filled in with the events of the day prior. He hadn't even needed to raise much new steam, he was only going so far, so a very small fire was enough.
"I won't stand by!" Percy chanted from the points leading from the branch line to the yard, "the railway must change! I won't stand by!"
The fire in his firebox may have been small, but the one in his eyes was a little less so. His face was steely, eyes looking straight ahead, and skin sunburnt, sun spots dotting his face from cheek to cheek more visible than they had ever had been.
Thomas tried asking him from the engine sheds what he wanted, but got no reply besides continued chanting. He and his driver had tried pushing Percy after he failed to get him to talk otherwise, but Percy's brakes were set. "Come on, ya fatarse," grunted Thomas as he tried, but it was no use.
Daisy couldn't get him to talk either, not that that was much of a surprise as she'd asked him what "pointless little steam engine squabble" he's gotten himself into this time. The bags under her eyes from getting interrupted as she was about to go to sleep were very pronounced, and they complemented her glare nicely. Even Annie couldn't get a word out of him.
Eventually, Ffarquhar's stationmaster came, his hand rubbing his forehead in frustration from the situation and pain from the repetition and moustache a spearpoint pointing to his big nose as the ends drooped with his frown. While he couldn't stop the chanting, he could interrupt it for a second thanks to his connections and hands, for Percy to give him orders. "Chuck, if you can't bring ol' King Charlie-boy here, see to it you get Billy and Jack," he told him, before his eyes flicked back forwards to let him resume his chant. "Billy and Jack" were William Scott Corkhill and Jack Abney, the chief mechanical engineer and head of the civil engineering division under Corkhill's engineering department, respectively.
The entire yard was happy, about an hour after Chuck left with a strained, brisk walk, to hear the sound of an automobile, engine rumbling some as it drew nearer.
Out of it stepped three men. Charles came out from the driver's door, with two more men, both in long wool coats, stepping out behind him on either side of the Ford Zephyr Six. Abney was more burly of a man, with bushy eyebrows currently covered with bangs swept to the side and a thunderous look even in his happier moments accented by his sideburns, while Corkhill was a bit more sternly genteel looking, silver thinning hair pulled back to reveal his various wrinkles. Neither seemed happy.
"You wanted us?" Corkhill asked, finally. He jammed his cane into the ground as the car door slammed shut loudly, leaning on it as the three walked up toward his smokebox.
Just seeing them somewhat instilled a little nervous tremble in the pit of his firebox, right near the brick, but he swallowed it down and gave them the works regardless.
"Have you seen how absolutely, unrepentantly dog shit the passenger station at Dryaw is?!" was the first thing to come from his mouth. "I had someone in a wheelchair yesterday and I swear to the Lord, it was..." he hemmed and hawed, trying to clear up his mind just enough to find the right word before an eye could pop out of its socket, which turned out to be "unconscionable!" as a shrill shriek. "What is someone like that supposed to do, find a way to hop themselves down?"
Many more things followed.
Only some were expletives, whether they ought to have been conjugated that way or not. Some Welsh and Cornish slipped in too, either properly or also conjugated like English words. More than that were complaints about the complete and utter mess that was the entirely unstandardised platform and coach heights, the lack of any sort of offered assistance for the disabled, and stations without proper ramp access.
The three men just stood there, waiting for him to get on with it, a thing that seemed like it would never come at this rate.
Eventually, he ran out of things to yell at them over.
"Now, I won't move from this spot until either you agree to better wheelchair accessibility, or you break me apart right here," he said, no longer screaming. "I've lived enough to be happy with it."
Some part of him, the side that loved the story of a martyr, rather liked the mental image of his regulator, all that's left untouched of him, buried in a small casket, with a simple wooden cross of his own near the harbour station.
The other engines liked it too, maybe then they'd get a bit of peace and quiet and could sleep.
Charles rubbed at the bridge of his nose, while the other two just looked at Percy, then him, somewhat blankly.
"Very well," he muttered, "alright, if you can point out all the changes you need made, then get on with it. There's been a crowd of people and a vanful of mail at Knapford for the last hour that are getting quite impatient and someone," he said, looking towards Thomas, "needs to fetch them."
Corkhill stepped up to the cab, and noticed there was nobody inside. Percy just let him fiddle with his controls, using up the rest of the steam inside him to get him parked in the sheds until later and hopping out to head back over to the car.
"First thing for you to do when you come back," Percy huffed severely, "is to come back with a wheelchair."
And with that, he walked off to join up with the other two in their car. Once in, Abney was the first to speak.
"Engines Peckett—er, picketing, that's gonna be trouble if you let it be."
Charles' eyebrows rose in amusement thinking back to the Big Engines' Strike as he headed back towards the town streets. "It has been before."
"Should probably find a way to nip that in the, erm... bloomed flower."
As the car faded off into the distance, Thomas just puffed away silently to fetch his coaches and hurriedly rush to the junction station to try to salvage the situation.
The inspectors' saloon arrived at the end of a goods train which was left at the inside platform track. Inside it was one of a set of portable radios, the other taped to Percy's front lamppost with a pebble taped taut to the broadcast button for him to speak whenever. Ted had initially been given the radio, but while he was certainly privvy to the situation, it wasn't his work to do. So he headed into the station and got out a pebble from the flower planter and a roll of paper tape and got to work getting things set up, with a confirmation that the setup works before anyone thought of leaving. And before anyone thought of leaving...
Percy put on as best of a nasal tour guide middle-management, and dare I say, Eastern voice as he could. "To your left you'll see exhibit number one, a platform where our Valued Customer was unable to engage in travel as the platform was too tall to disembark from Henrietta, and too short to embark into Coach 87546. It is my recommendation to find a suitable average boarding height and stick to it. In situations you can't, and I understand we're not really allowed to modify the Mark Is and Henrietta would need too much work for it, may I suggest installing fold-out ramps?"
He'd been satisfied until he looked around not long after.
"Oh, and if there's any possibility of installing a large enough lift to the catwalk, that should benefit both those who use wheelchairs, those with luggage, and goods traffic."
Abney sat at a sturdy, ornate oak desk placed in the light of the observation window, writing down what Percy says on one paper and more details on how exactly that might be done in the other.
A laugh came over the radio as they got clearance to start down the line, a dark one at that, one that knew the owner was really about to start tearing in, less so fading off as fading into increasingly loud puffs as Ted gets them rolling, leaning his whole back out the side of his cab and head pointed east.
The trip down the bank was quite smooth once again, with Percy making sure the trucks were, well, on what good behaviour they could be. Which for Percy amounted to not singing bawdily, and instead engaged in gossip and chatter low enough to not be too big of a nuisance to the man in the coach. Ted only noticed the points had been lined for the outer track not long before they were supposed to take it, so set Percy's brakes a decent bit, leaving the train brake alone because all he needed was a little slowdown to take the curves.
"Now," Percy said under his breath with a grin, "here's where the fun begins..."
"You'll see exhibit two to your right," he said, having slipped back into that voice with a broad grin slightly quivering in its unbridled excitement. "As it's not the goods station which is situated inside the valley, there are no ramps on the sides for goods offloading. Of course, as we both know, it seems to be the official policy of the North Western Railway that that's all they're good for. If anyone is to disembark at this station, it's through the station building, which as I've confirmed with my crew, has only stairs. Even if it hadn't, there's only stairs going up the hill to the airfield or Toryreck, or down the hill to Dryaw about a mile's hike. Now, I'm not thick, and I doubt you are either, of course the steepness is too great for wheeling down. Instead, I propose an electric platform on rails which can be called from either end, with a gate. Once again not only useful for those in chairs, but for any luggage-carriers too. If this disaster of a station is to exist, at least it ought to have some decency. Hell," he said, somewhat slipping on his prim-and-proper-for-the-executives act, "you could just do away with the stairs entirely and have two lifts, one for each direction. I'm sure all the passengers would appreciate."
Incidentally. Daisy had just come by with some of them. One of them, a man in his forties, turned around having overheard and yelled his assent.
"Aye!" yelled Percy back with a smile.
"Lord," he huffed, "I can't believe anyone authorised this shack in the first place! And I'd bet none of the counters, telephones, or anything else of the sort are low enough to be accessible, are they?
Eventually, they had clearance to keep drifting down the slope, and while Toryreck didn't have much to say about it, Percy did mention somewhere around Elsbridge, while setting the trucks slated for here aside to have their contents gone through, that none of the platforms' ramps were quite satisfactorily shallow, but they're the least bad thing here.
Somewhere a bit south of the Hackenbeck Tunnel, Percy asked Abney to look out to the side at the rolling hills coated in deep snow, glowing bluish-pinkish ultraviolet in the bright sunlight with any remaining pockets of green being at the bottoms of trees and shrubs. "Here's about where I picked up our Valuable Customer. While I don't expect to have a platform built at every little request stop, I think it may be reasonable to have some sort of boarding assistance built into rolling stock to make it easier. Maybe a rising lift, or a telescoping ramp?"
Eventually, surely, they puffed their way into the furthest track of the station at Ffarquhar, the rest of the goods being meant for either Ffarquhar itself or for Hackenbeck, both of which the engines here had watched start to blur together as streets linked them, then buildings came closer and closer until eventually one pair of buildings built side-by-side were from alternate towns!
"Now," he said, "I hope this presentation has been illuminating."
Certainly, the notebook he'd brought was already a few pages more filled on both sides, looking more like a scribbled mess of bright blue than a sheet of paper. Abney had to rub at his now aching wrist as the sudden absence of writing work made him acutely aware of how sore he'd become.
Soon enough, Percy was uncoupled from the train and ran around it, leaving the vans and wagons there and coupling up instead to the inspection saloon—itself already separated from the rest of the train—directly not the gentlest he could, but certainly enough not to draw any sort of attention, and puffed away.
The air in the sheds that night seemed thicker and heavier than usual as the little green engine finally puffed in, with little said, just listening to one of the night engines doing their thing.
Moths smacked against the lights, and a firefly drifted along in the distance. Neither of the engines present talked about much as Ted and Andy started winding theirs down for the night, filling his tank back up from the large tank next to the sheds as the fire died down on its own.
Thomas eventually grew fed up with the silence. "All that racket, just for that?! You held up the whole branch just for one passenger!"
Percy bristled, considered, then thought of something.
"Thomas, do you remember Edward's crew?" he asked, innocently, "the one he had when you two arrived here."
"Yes..." he said, not sure where this was going, but having a sneaking suspicion. Still, the thought of them again was nice, and he slowly drifted into his thoughts as he recalled good nights with them hanging around and engaging them with lessons or stories, oh so many years ago. Sometimes he gets worried about forgetting them after so long.
"Then you remember they were drafted."
Thomas hummed in confirmation, somewhat curious. They never did come back...
"What if one of them made it home from France, without the use of his legs?" Percy asked, looking directly at him, frown on his face unwavering, "Nevermind not getting work in the crew, he more or less couldn't interact with the railway at all. That's not a cane or crutches sort of injury, that's a wheelchair one."
Thomas' mind filled with images of one of the kindly men, that now he can see as young, almost babyish, just barely out of the teenage years but at the time seemed like such wise old authority figures, coming back home with an unkempt face, a distant stare like the ones he'd seen on many of the men who did come back, and disability. A life cut short while still being lived. His face fell from its puzzled annoyance as instantly as his mood did.
Percy kept on. "Wouldn't you try to fight for him like he did you? Wouldn't you have made a fuss that he ought to be able to get around the Island when he needs to, without needing someone to baby him? He wouldn't be able to if he did, and he couldn't now. I know you almost shut down the branch just because you didn't like how awkward that snowplough you were given felt, and if that's a bigger deal to you than your old friend, then..."
He couldn't find the words, looking around all over the star-studded night sky for them, so had to settle. "I-... Well, then so be it. I dare question that poppy in your cab if so. But it wouldn't be for me. I may not know that young woman, but someone does. And if it wasn't her, it would be someone else. That sort of thing doesn't just happen once and go away. I once knew a good, able-bodied man at a worksite in my own youth, when I was working in Canterbury, who misjudged his hammer and hit his own leg, it's a miracle he lived to be eighty. As the only engine onsite, I had to take him off as close as I could get to the closest hospital. I can still hear him from my cab in my dreams sometimes, Thomas. I know how quickly it can happen."
Thomas just looked down at his own bufferbeam with much to think about as Percy, exhausted, drifted straight to sleep.
While Toby's work was done, there was more work than usual and not as many engines as usual on the Kirk Ronan branch, so he'd had to stay there another day or two while Sharp had a piston remanufactured. While Percy wasn't so happy to still be stuck with the extra work a little bit longer, he brightened up quite a bit when the young woman returned, being rolled out of a Mark I pulled by Henry, whom Percy was also happy to see, but was a little too busy to talk and thus be asked about things more his wheelhouse.
"Ted," Percy asked, "is there any way you could head over and make sure the woman in the wheelchair is properly set?"
He nodded and hopped off the cab with the piece of plyboard under his arm, walking over to Henrietta's gate resting the plyboard between the two platforms for her to roll onto. Once she was on the platform, Ted just stood the plank up against the wall of Henrietta's shiny, well-polished cabin, opened the door, and said "by the way, you've been a bit of someone of interest as of late, so it's good to finally meet you in person."
With that, he turned and walked back to the engine's cab.
She was going to get herself situated inside the cabin when Percy spoke to her. "So I never did get to ask, what might your name be, young woman?"
Her body froze a bit, mostly in surprise. She wasn't exactly afraid of the engine, he'd seemed to be kind to her before, but it's not a question you usually get asked, and if you do, often not the most kindest-hearted folks do.
But still, she answered. "Mary Jean. Or, uh, I suppose Mary Jean Quayle to give the whole thing."
He'd figured she was a Quayle, being on their pasture and them not hiring any help. Percy thought about his next question a bit before finally asking, long enough she'd wondered if he was done.
"And who was that you were looking towards that wasn't there?"
Her face fell a little.
'That seemed to be happening an awful lot these days, didn't it?' crossed his mind.
"Oh, uh, my father, who was recently hospitalised but before then helped me a bit with mobility. I'm pretty sure I'm going to get the pasture, but, uh... I'm not exactly the best one to take care of it, as you can tell. I'm just the last one left..."
Hm, troubling.
"Well," he said, "I hope he recovers."
She hummed to the floor, gave a somewhat impassionate thanks, and went on her way to find an empty spot to park herself, in spite of one or two passengers offering her room closer to the door next to them. One or two more people boarded, the last one closing the door behind them, and just in time as the hourly bell rung and the engine was off with a stong billow of steam on his route for the rest of the day.
Henrietta could see him again, and he could see her again, and with her eyes pointed right at his she instantly started asking him for ideas.
"We can't rightly just leave her to it," she said, unsure of what to feel. "If nothing else, we ought to at least find some labourers to help out."
"Sure," he said, "but from where?"
"Maybe the Finneys have some relatives who need work, or we could set up a bulletin near the southern end of Ffarquhar, or at Knapford since there's more people there, askin' if anyone'd happen to need a job?"
"Hm, yes," he said, eyes up to their corners, "that'd work..."
Cʜʀɪꜱᴛᴍᴀꜱ.
Toby was glad to be back home, and Henrietta gladder. While Percy still hadn't exactly been sure what couples did to make them different from friends, he was sure that at least one of those things the two of them did once they met up with each other. Except that was a lie; he wasn't really sure at all as he'd been in Hackenbeck at the time; he'd just heard it from a truck who'd heard it from a coach who'd heard it from an engine. The fact that they were together in that way, besides being a clue that they might have, was already nearly incomprehensible to him, but what was it any of his business?
They were together again and that's what mattered. This Christmas day was certainly one the two would remember for some time as the one where Toby was her present, and she his, and he was happy for them.
There was a big Christmas party at Tidmouth, but the branch line engines decided not to go this year. The roundhouse there was getting somewhat crowded, and no doubt that crowd would reflect in anywhere else they planned on hosting it.
So the three engines stayed on the line. Every stop they'd make, if someone hadn't seen them that day, they were wished a happy Christmas, and as the day went on and the clouds rolled in, if the crews were all good or could use something to warm them, like a scarf or cocoa. Often they'd thank them for their kindness but say they're good, after all, the cab of an engine is an insufferable place to be at any time other than when it's blistery out, but some would accept and thank them, and neither scenario would play out without it capping off with a returned wish for Christmas cheer.
All the while, the engines were being hinted to and whispered at.
"I can't spoil the surprise," Ted said to Percy, "but you'll know it when you see it!"
Bill Hogarth patted Toby's cab and said "I know someone's comin' that'll be a nice change of pace from the quarrymen an' city folk."
The engines just kept on their work but had plenty of hope in their smokeboxes. Thomas was the last engine to be out, trimmed up and fussed about by the shed's barber to make sure his eyebrows and beard, grown out more than usual to be styled up like Father Christmas', were well kept and very clean, with a long train consisting of every coach that the branch line had—even Daisy who merely rolled her eyes and didn't say a word—strung up with coloured string lights and wreathes. It barely didn't fit on the platform, with Clarabel's rearmost door sticking out into the gravel, but the passengers heading out elsewhere were certainly still grateful to get the service, some thanking Thomas and his drivers for pulling such a long and heavy train, as were those folks returning home for the holidays. Ted and Andy were among the ones helping the elderly and disabled from one coach to the other, setting out temporary board ramps, and the like.
The cool twilight air may not have been good for them, but it wouldn't be Christmas without it, breaths fogging up in the air as snow crunches underfoot, the breath clouds lit up brightly with many colours from both Thomas' train and the station itself, its house and canopy both bedecked to the nines and a tree sat out front with many large fake gifts.
Thomas and Ewan, the night express engine headed east for England who reminded him an awful lot of himself, as if in another reality he could be one of his cousins, exchanged their own well wishes, as did Thomas and Henry, and Henry and Ewan as they all set off in clouds of steam.
Percy was already at the sheds, making sure that the event was as good as it could be. If something needed getting from town, he brought them there and back with it. Drinks and catering were free from The Toby as thanks to the railway, and though not as brilliantly as the stations on the Main Line, there was still some strung up lights and a tree, under which were everyone's presents. There was even a gramophone and a few records sat at one end of the sheds. Toby had been called away to go pick up a guest or two, leaving just Percy, the workers, and one or two wives.
Not long after, Thomas came puffing in with the huge train, pulling up to Ffarquhar's station and instantly uncoupling to run around the train, and once everyone's out, free Daisy from her sandwiching between mere rolling stock.
By this point, there weren't too many people left, but each one of them personally thanked the train, the crew, and Thomas before making their way into the lit-up station for cocoa and the community Christmas gathering. Daisy, once free, simply asked her driver to roll herself away to the carriage sheds, and Henrietta asked to be taken to be with the engines, while the other coaches (and Elsie) were quite happy to stay here in the blustery fog to talk and celebrate with the locals, of whom they were for the most part quite friendly with.
From the open door, the engines and coaches could hear singing, a rousing rendition of 'God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen', even if some of the voices were off key and some of the others were children.
By the time he'd puffed his way back to the shed with Henrietta, Toby had arrived with the delivery, as it turns out of a special guest, sitting just outside the sheds to give his spot to Henrietta. Everyone cheered as they arrived as the party was just waiting on them two to start, not the least happy of whom to see them was Chuck, who'd quite like to get it done with to get out of the cold.
"Now," he said loudly toward the sheds, "to introduce our... most esteemed guest of honour:"
He walked behind the shed to Toby's rear door, a few clanks and whooshes were heard, and steps came from behind the walls as a wheelchair poked into view.
"This is Mary Jean Quayle. The crews of Ffarquhar's engines have, after much deliberation, decided that this party is to be held in her honour."
Percy almost whistled, a grin plastered on his face from spotty cheek to spotty cheek.
Mary Jean, bundled in a few layers of whites and oranges and alligator-pear greens rolled herself to just right to see all four engines, and be seen by them, as Chuck continued. It was all a bit more than overwhelming... but seeing Henrietta and Percy giving her broad, warm smiles lightened her up some, and she gave one of her own to the engines in return.
"This has been decided as she was the kickoff to necessary change," he said with some resentment still tinging the sides of his mouth, "and a brighter future ahead. And with that being said," Chuck said, pulling his cap back on his head and leaning on his umbrella, "may the party begin now."
And with that he walked off for his home.
As soon as he'd gone, Bill put on a record, the Beatles' most recent Christmas disc, and another man, one of the cleaners, popped a bottle of champagne, with stout and rum and eggnog options on the table too.
The chatter was soon quite immense, and one man, an apprentice repairman, attempted to dance, if poorly. A woman giggled at him.
Percy and Henrietta called Mary Jean over to ask her what they thought of her plan.
She smiled, but half-heartedly.
"Thanks, but... to be honest, dairy farmer isn't want my heart's in for. I'm, well—" she laughed in recognition as the record played 'Please Don't Bring Your Banjo Back', "—I'd fancy being a paperback writer."
The two were caught off guard, but accepted it.
"Though," she went on, "I suppose if I could hire some help to run the day-to-day work to be done, and write when I'm not needed. If things don't go so well, it'd be a safety-net."
Percy laughed, and said "just don't give me any reason to picket, and we're good!"
Before Mary Jean could reply, a loud voice rang out, calling for a toast to be made.
"This one's for those of our friends whom are no longer here to hear they're missed," Thomas began, looking up toward the sky, as everyone raised their glasses or bottles.
"This one's for those who're here right now to hear they're welcomed," Percy continued, with a smile.
"And this'n's for the ones to come, who we hope our work helps have better lives than ours," Ted finished off, raising his glass with the crowd and drinking from it right after.
Eᴘɪʟᴏɢᴜᴇ.
Percy was only too happy to help out with a smile with the construction efforts as the new year kicked off, their Christmas and New Year's holidays now behind them. He hadn't needed to do a thing for Knapford, with scaffolding going up quickly and a lift car sitting in its tarpaulin waiting to be installed, a sight that got him a good smile. Dryaw was another matter entirely, as a train of materials nearly as long as the passing siding sat at the junction for him, just waiting for him to pull it there.
He had the largest smile on him that he'd had all 1967 as he did, getting to revel in the station's well overdue dis-en-shittifying. Maybe Bertie wouldn't like it so much, but he's got good wheels, he'll live.
Toby rang his bell as he passed with a few trucks of greengrocery headed for the mainline, the two engines giving each other a cheery hello.
Ted, who'd wandered off to the station for tea, came back with a newspaper in his hands. "Hah," he laughed, "you'll never believe it!"
On the front page, written by one M. J. Quayle, was a local interest story with top billing.
Percy felt like his cheeks could come off him at any moment, before he finally dropped his smile just enough to say to himself as much as he did to Ted, "Here's to a North Western everyone can be proud of."