literature

Oliver's Escape

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We had been travelling for oh so long now, but we had come so close to our goal that our current situation made our hearts freeze over with sadness. We were in a railway yard, easily hidden behind a row of trucks, and all around us were the dark  shapes of diesels as they growled menacingly around the yard. At least we were well hidden. In my cab, my driver and fireman were sat together, not speaking, but praying. Praying for a miracle that we never thought would come. My coach, Isabel, was sniffing quietly. I tried to comfort her, lest her weeping give away our position, but I could hardly comfort her when I myself needed comforting. Behind her, my reliable old brakevan Toad, was standing perfectly still, but I knew he was scared, nay, terrified at the prospect of being scrapped. Weren’t we all?

We had come up from our old line in England, somewhere in the West Country. My driver and fireman had learned our line was to be closed and we were to be scrapped. But we escaped. We packed Isabel and Toad with boxes of wood and coal and some oil drums full of water as well as supplies for my driver and fireman. We had got out just in time, for the breakers came the next day, all carrying sledgehammers and blowtorches to turn us into twisted steel and broken wood. We had been stuck for a while in an old quarry, but escaped from that as well. Lucky us, we called ourselves, ‘The Resistance’. But there was nothing we could really do, it was clear that there was no future left for steam on the railway. Resistance seemed so pointless. There was one place however, the one place our current mission was taking us to. Sodor, the small island of the coast of Barrow-in-Furness, which had it’s own railway where steam engines were still running strong, run by a kindly man commonly known as ‘The Fat Controller’. There were other places, such as the Bluebell Railway, but there was no one to preserve us, so we made up our minds to go to Sodor, and appeal to this 'Fat Controller' to let us stay. But the journey was tough. Coal and water were of course a major problem. We also had to run at night, and arrange with friendly signalmen, whose livelihoods were also being taken from them by electrically operated points, to let us pass through thier sectors. But it wasn’t the supplies or the conditions that were the worst thing. It was by far the sights. Wherever we went we saw the symbols of a golden age destroyed, turntables lifted out of their wells, ashpits filled in with concrete, water towers and coal hoppers pulled down with glee by the menacing diesels, anything to do with steam, gone. But it was the engines that were worst to see. I saw countless engines being dragged to their demise, the looks of fear and misery embedding itself in your mind. Engines, without even the steam to whistle for help. Of course, some were preserved by heritage groups, but not all of them, and many whole classes of engines met their demise as a result of dieselisation. And here we were, stuck in the middle of a huge rail-yard who-know-where, and we had almost given up hope. We could see no silver lining, no light at the end of the tunnel. Our demise seemed eminent

A sudden thundering and clanking noise brought me back to attention. Trucks were being hastily shunted around the yard with much clanking of buffers and squealing of wheels. Two diesels came close to our hiding place. I warned Isabel and Toad, and shrank back into the shadows. As they passed, I heard pieces of what they were saying, that chilled me to my frames “Don’t see what the point is of using steam engines for anything anymore”, said one diesel scornfully as it was coupled to some trucks. “Aye, I agree”, said the other, also back onto a line of trucks, “I here there’s one coming here soon for a goods train. Them Sudrians never learn do they?”. They both laughed evilly, and growled away. I stood there, breathing heavily. I could hardly believe it. A steam engine. From Sodor. Coming here, tonight. I told the news to Isabel and Toad, then immediately wished I hadn’t. If this steam engine wasn’t coming, or it couldn’t help us, then I had given them false hope. It burned me from the inside, from my firebox to my blast pipe.

But I was unable to dwell on it, because at that moment, I heard a sound, the most welcome sound to a steam engine in distress. The deep toned whistle of another engine. This was good for three reasons. Firstly, it was another steam engine. Secondly, if it was whistling, it had steam, and if it had steam, it could help us. And thirdly, I was sure it was the engine I heard the diesels talking about. The sounds of hissing steam and clanking pistons was coming towards us. I shrank back into the shadows again, hardly daring to breath. I could see a few diesels parked right next to us, but they scuttled away, sneering as the engine came closer, and I could see it more clearly. It had six large black wheels, and sky blue paint with red stripes. It’s smokebox was jet black, but it had a brass nameplate bolted to the side, which read ‘DOUGLAS’. It was a tender engine too, a large, coal filled tender with a number 10 on it was coupled behind. He reversed to take on water, and scowled at a passing diesel shunter, who smirked back and mouthed something that looked like ‘scrap’. We were very close now, us and this new engine. I knew I had to catch his attention somehow, but without risking getting us spotted by diesels. Cautiously, silently, I gave a small ‘hisssssss’. I saw the engine look up suddenly. He had heard me. “That sounds like a steam engine”, I heard him say. From his accent I could tell he was Scottish, but that made little difference, if he 'thought' he had heard us, then maybe if I tried again, he would merely think of it as some figment of his imagination. I gave another, despairing ‘hisssssss’. This time, I got a reply. It was so difficult to contain my hope and excitement, but I remained silent so I could clearly hear his reply. “Who’s there?”, he asked into the night. From somewhere within my boiler I was able to pluck up the courage to reply, “Are you a Fat Controller’s engine?”. “Aye, and proud of it”, he replied, and I could here a deep sense of pride in his voice, and a gruff kindness that calmed me of any worries, at least for the time being. “Thank goodness”, I whispered, “I’m Oliver, and we’re escaping to your railway. But I’ve run out of coal and have no more steam. I’ve got my coach and brake van with me, and we need help”. My voice began to shake at this point, but I held back tears in order to secure our hidden position. “Is it from scrap ye’re escaping?”, asked Douglas. “Yes”. “Then I shall be more than glad to help ye laddie. I was once in yer position with ma brother. But we’re gonna have tae work fast. If our crews work together, we may be able to pull it off”. “How?”. I couldn’t help myself from asking, I’d always been inquisitive. “Well, we’ll make ye look like yer goin’ for scrap. Crovan’s gate is the nearest locomotive works around here, and that’s on Sodor, so if anyone sees, it’ll look like I’m taking ye tae be broken up”. I thought about this. I t seemed a good plan, but I shrank from the thought of being scrapped as soon as I was on Sodor.

Our crews got together, forged documents, removed my connecting rods, placed a bag over my funnel and much more to make me look as if I was bound for the scrapheap. “Right, while they’re doing that”, said Douglas, “I’ll move some trucks in front of ye lest some diesel come sniffin around, and I’ll go and make a distraction to keep them away”. “You’d do that for us”, I asked incredulously. “Aye lad, like I said, I was in yer position once”, he smiled, “Now, wheesht and I’ll get to work”. He pushed some coal hoppers in front, shielding me from view. I heard him steam away across they yard. I could see everything well. He went up to his goods train to marshall it into position, or at least he would have done if the trucks had been sorted out. I heard his voice very clearly as he shouted at the diesels. “These trucks are a disgrace. They’re all messed up. They should be in lines. Oi you!”, he yelled at some diesels, “Come and sort these trucks out, unless ye want me tae get my controller onto your Head Office, and believe me he will!”, he finished, with a menacing look. I watched as the diesels shifted out of their siding and growled towards the trucks, and began shunting them into position. I couldn’t believe it! They were obeying his every word! I was filled with admiration for this no-nonsense, heroic Scottish engine. He may have spoken gruffly, but his words were not those of someone cruel and harsh. They were that of an old warrior who refused to give up fighting, even when the end seemed near.

Suddenly, I noticed one of the shunters had broken away and was coming towards me! I panicked and whispered a warning to my crew, who jumped into Isabel and hid. But there was hardly any point, this diesel was going to find us and there was nothing we could do. As the diesel came nearer, it’s growl deafening me, the horrible realisation that I had failed gripped me. I had promised myself, Isabel and Toad that we would be safe, but even I knew now, that this would not be the case. “OI YOU, LEAVE THOSE TRUCKS ALONE. THEY’RE MINE. NOW GET OVER HERE, AND GET THESE TRUCKS…BACK…INTO…LINE!”, roared Douglas, not a minute too soon. The diesel growled defiantly, but scuttled away back to the shunting. I close my eyes and sighed with relief.

A few minutes later, Douglas had marshalled his goods train behind us and brought us into the open. Our crews had been busy. My driver had found some chalk from somewhere and wrote ‘SCRAP’ in big letters wherever he could all over myself, Isabel and Toad. Douglas, not having enough time to turn around, was coupled facing me, so we would be face-to-face the whole time. We were just getting ready to go, when a shireking horn sounded as a diesel hauled train thundered past us. It noticed us and yelled out, “A steamer’s escaping. A steamers escaping!”. I heard Isabel squeal in fright, but Douglas simply ploughed on with grim determination. “Take no notice”, he growled, “Tell yer lassie that Oliver. No harm can come tae ye now”. I believed him for that moment, but then I heard a shunter’s horn sound. The Yard Foreman had found us! He came out of a little shed on the side of the line, shining a torch in my face, with a bull terrier at his side, barking loudly. I was terrified. “What’s all this then?”, he demanded, fixing me with an icy stare, “A Western engine”, “His light flickered back to Isabel and Toad, much to my horror, “A Western auto-coach and a goods brake too, you can’t take these. Put them back where you found them now!”. “Can we not?”, asked Douglas’ driver, jumping down from the footplate, “They’re all fer us, see fer yerself”. He gestured towards Douglas’s guard, who was coming over with the forged documents. It was a tense moment as the foreman looked through the papers with the aid of his lamp. His dog had stopped barking but was still baring it’s teeth menacingly at us. My crew where hiding in Isabel, not making a sound. Isabel was trying to keep silent, but I could here little whimpers coming from behind me. Toad was scared too, I could tell. So was I, even more than when the diesels were coming towards us. If we failed now, if we were discovered as fugitives, then I had failed all over again, I waited, impatient for answers. Douglas was also waiting, with a look of grim expectancy on his face. “Seems in order”, said the foreman grudgingly, “But it’s odd so it is”. “Aye”, said the guard sharply, “But I could tell you odder than this...”. “So could I!”, barked the foreman, interrupting the guard halfway through, “Right away guard!”. Shocked, the guard hurried back to his van and blew his whistle before he had climbed up properly. Douglas gave another blast on his deep toned whistle, and we were off again, the foreman still looking at us with a frown on his face.

“That was a near thing”, said Douglas as he picked up speed. I agreed, the relief of our escape filling me with hope. I couldn’t believe it. We were free! If I’d had steam I would have whistled for joy. Douglas grinned at the happiness obviously displaying itself on my face, and I grinned back. Soon, we came to a bridge across a small body of water that separated Sodor from mainland England. We rumbled over it just as the morning sun poked up from the horizon, bathing the bridge in a glorious orange light. As we came to Sodor, Douglas whistled, and behind me, I heard Isabel ringing her bell with a little ‘ting-a-ling’ as we came to the first station. We had to stop here, while a big green engine with a number 3 on it’s tender came into the station with a train of fish vans. Soon we were off again. As we sped through beautiful countryside and past pretty little towns and villages, I realised I would be here for a long time, long enough to call this place ‘home’. Isabel and Toad would be happy too, I could tell. I sighed, and yawned, my tiredness finally taking over. Douglas smiled at this, and gave a gentle hiss of steam as I finally gave in and closed my eyes, for dreams of endless happiness and a future for steam engines.

The End
This is a little thing I thought of ages ago. It's basically about Oliver and his escape to Sodor along with Isabel and Toad. I know that a few people like Oliver, especially Raymangirl and Sherri-Kitsune :D Anwyas, thts all from me now, but please enjoy this and let me know whar you think.
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FiremanHippie's avatar
This is great. A way better back-story. (In my opinion)