Gordon's Trip
4 February, 1985
North Western Railway, Sodor, United Kingdom
"Obviously I'm better, I'm green! British Railways reserved green to the biggest and best!" Gordon boasted to Henry.
He scowled. "Of course. That's why one of my Horwich brothers, 44932 carried it?"
Gordon fell silent.
Emily looked toward Gordon. "You've got to take your express, remember? Ten ante meridiem, just like the Flying Scotsman."
Gordon did remember. He wanted to go, too. But his fireman wouldn't come. Neither he nor his driver knew, but his fireman called in sick the day before. Finally, it was 9:20 and they had only 35 minutes to get to the station.
Finally, he got tired of waiting, so Gordon's driver simply decided to do both jobs, hoping that he would get some help at Knapford.
He jolted the regulator, causing a small gasp from Gordon as he started with a spin. "Not so hard, not so hard!" the engine complained.
Gordon's driver had to do both jobs as they raced to Knapford, with Percy coupled behind Gordon's tender. Like Thomas, Percy groaned and complained, but could see where the driver was coming from with that decision. Percy's driver also groaned, but there was little they could do about it.
Finally, they entered the final stretch of track between Tidmouth and Knapford, with twelve minutes left. Percy uncoupled, ran to Gordon's coaches, and got them to the platform just in time for the customers to dismiss the wait.
Gordon's driver got down, and asked if any of the customers could help out in the cab. An older gentleman, in his early fifties, volunteered.
They got in their compartments quickly, and Gordon left the station with the motley crew of coaches painted in many liveries, spanning from maroon, to crimson and cream, to pre-grouping teak. The wind rushing against his face, he remembered the year he spent at London King's Cross, running some of the heavier expresses the C1s and C2s at the time couldn't handle up to York. The Flying Scotsman, the premier L&NER express from King's Cross to Waverly, was hauled by a C2 though.
Perhaps that's why, he thought, that they're so cocky, those Atlantics.
As he pulled into the Mainland station at Barrow, he caught his breath. It seemed today like the route was longer than usual. The passengers exited, and Gordon heard the familiar shuttering of doors. But, unusually, the coaches were empty. There were passengers on the other platform, though.
Huh, his driver thought, their train isn't here. He talked with the makeshift fireman, and they decided not to strand the paying customers. The fireman got down from the engine, switching the points allowing Gordon passage. He went on until the last bogie of the coach was on the track, and the points were again switched. As he closed in on the platform, he let off some steam. Fireman back in the cab, the passengers filled his coaches quickly and thoroughly, tourists, their children, and commuters alike boarded the train, headed for Carlisle.
Maybe if it was a good day for him, the Fat Controller would allow him to head to King's Cross with the last stretch of the train.
He let out a whistle to an old house with a camera pointing out, with the cameraman sitting in a chair near it. He waved back, and some passengers, hanging their heads out their windows, caught the wave.
Then, a short few hours later, they finally made it to Carlisle, somewhat off schedule. The passengers boarded their next train to London Euston, and Gordon stayed there for a while.
His driver and fireman entered the station, driver phoning in the Fat Controller. After a few minutes, he hung up.
"Well?" asked Mr Fritz, the man shoveling coal.
His driver responded with a grim face. "Keep Gordon's fire lit," he said, "the Controller's to see us."
And he did.
With a puff and a chug, the Fat Controller appeared riding in Spencer, whom he was loaned via a favour.
"Well," said he, "it seems that you've taken the passengers from Barrow." He thought it over in his mind, keeping watch of the apprehensive faces on all three of them. "Go get coal and water, and come back, and I'll have your answer." he ordered. They uncoupled Gordon from the train, and ran to get coal from a nearby preservation railway.
As they came back and coupled to the coaches, the Fat Controller made up his mind. "You can go, but Spencer will take your trains for one week."
He knew he had to decide, and made up his mind hastily. Making sure the crew was okay with it, he said he would do it.
When Gordon was ready, he blew his whistle and the coach doors shut. With a full load, he departed Carlisle and signed away the week's worth of work for another week's.
As he went southward, he couldn't help but want to go to King's Cross, rather than London Euston, or wherever Carlisle links to.
Well, he thought, at least I'll know where the diesel pulling the train goes.
Gordon's driver got down, and asked if any of the customers could help out in the cab. An older gentleman, in his early fifties, volunteered.
They got in their compartments quickly, and Gordon left the station with the motley crew of coaches painted in many liveries, spanning from maroon, to crimson and cream, to pre-grouping teak. The wind rushing against his face, he remembered the year he spent at London King's Cross, running some of the heavier expresses the C1s and C2s at the time couldn't handle up to York. The Flying Scotsman, the premier L&NER express from King's Cross to Waverly, was hauled by a C2 though.
Perhaps that's why, he thought, that they're so cocky, those Atlantics.
As he pulled into the Mainland station at Barrow, he caught his breath. It seemed today like the route was longer than usual. The passengers exited, and Gordon heard the familiar shuttering of doors. But, unusually, the coaches were empty. There were passengers on the other platform, though.
Huh, his driver thought, their train isn't here. He talked with the makeshift fireman, and they decided not to strand the paying customers. The fireman got down from the engine, switching the points allowing Gordon passage. He went on until the last bogie of the coach was on the track, and the points were again switched. As he closed in on the platform, he let off some steam. Fireman back in the cab, the passengers filled his coaches quickly and thoroughly, tourists, their children, and commuters alike boarded the train, headed for Carlisle.
Maybe if it was a good day for him, the Fat Controller would allow him to head to King's Cross with the last stretch of the train.
---
Puff by puff, the train started on its way to the city. Past homes built into thick woods, under stone bridges, and near green plains with dried plants, their trip was quite something to behold. Soon, he was at top speed, with haste, yet also ease.He let out a whistle to an old house with a camera pointing out, with the cameraman sitting in a chair near it. He waved back, and some passengers, hanging their heads out their windows, caught the wave.
Then, a short few hours later, they finally made it to Carlisle, somewhat off schedule. The passengers boarded their next train to London Euston, and Gordon stayed there for a while.
His driver and fireman entered the station, driver phoning in the Fat Controller. After a few minutes, he hung up.
"Well?" asked Mr Fritz, the man shoveling coal.
His driver responded with a grim face. "Keep Gordon's fire lit," he said, "the Controller's to see us."
And he did.
With a puff and a chug, the Fat Controller appeared riding in Spencer, whom he was loaned via a favour.
"Well," said he, "it seems that you've taken the passengers from Barrow." He thought it over in his mind, keeping watch of the apprehensive faces on all three of them. "Go get coal and water, and come back, and I'll have your answer." he ordered. They uncoupled Gordon from the train, and ran to get coal from a nearby preservation railway.
As they came back and coupled to the coaches, the Fat Controller made up his mind. "You can go, but Spencer will take your trains for one week."
He knew he had to decide, and made up his mind hastily. Making sure the crew was okay with it, he said he would do it.
When Gordon was ready, he blew his whistle and the coach doors shut. With a full load, he departed Carlisle and signed away the week's worth of work for another week's.
As he went southward, he couldn't help but want to go to King's Cross, rather than London Euston, or wherever Carlisle links to.
Well, he thought, at least I'll know where the diesel pulling the train goes.
---
It took many hours, during which he didn't find anything particularly of note to think about, but he finally made it. It really is a shame that he couldn't go faster, but he is getting old and safety is a railway's top priority, is it not?
In other news, he reached the station, the signpost reading London Euston exactly as he thought. He would have normally assumed that he was really that good, but in reality, it was more a mixture of lucky guess and hearing about it from other engines.
Around him were a couple of trains. Most of them were Class 101s, but there were some locomotive hauled trains as well, pulled by many different diesels of a variety of types. And, there was something Gordon had never seen before- an electric engine, new and improved, the latest model in locomotive efficiency built by British Railways.
The engine was friendly, and he and Gordon talked about their experiences and their childhoods. Gordon and the engine, whom he would later learn was number 76 020, learned about life where and when they were built. 76 020 was running a railtour, and when his coaches were full, he had to leave.
"Hope to see you again sometime!" he said to Gordon, and when Gordon agreed, he set off for Appleby.
The engine was friendly, and he and Gordon talked about their experiences and their childhoods. Gordon and the engine, whom he would later learn was number 76 020, learned about life where and when they were built. 76 020 was running a railtour, and when his coaches were full, he had to leave.
"Hope to see you again sometime!" he said to Gordon, and when Gordon agreed, he set off for Appleby.
---
Gordon enjoyed his time in England, and few days in, was caught up in the history of England since he's been there. His fireman arrived too, and when he came, Mr Fritz said his goodbye to the green engine. Gordon knew about the War, and was proud to have served a role in its victory, transporting troops from inner Sodor to the docks, to be sent to France and Belgium, both places Gordon couldn't help but reluctantly admit his curiosity for.
"Being in England is nice," he said, "but it would be better to be back home for a change. At least there, things don't change as much."
His driver agreed. "Hey," he thought afterwards, "at least you don't have to wonder now."
Gordon agreed.
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