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@edwardthomasnw
It appears I have taken a tumble..
So, hi.
Been occasionally lurking about thomas tumblr for a while, and thought I might as well actually join the thing
Gonna be primarily using this as a dumping ground for headcanon things, though may not actually post them often as I need to make them understandable to anyone else first :P
Let's see how this goes then
Yes yes i know love is love. But they are still killing CHILDREN. over this.
Edit: muted this post, simply bc im sick of the transphobes and homophobes in the comments, and they're pissing me off ❤️
it’s fun to stay at the Y
YOUNG MAN
THERES NO
It’s fun to stayy at the Y
UONG MAN
MOTHMAN
STEAL A MAN OFF THE GROUND I SAID MOTHMAN
Hi again, it's me :)
Just dropping by to promote the last (for now, at least) of the Photo CharTRs - 'Vintage Van-Guard'!
If you're coming down for Heritage Weekend, see if you can make it a bit sooner to join u- oh, hang about, where's the van?!
Hi again, it's me :)
Just dropping by to promote the last (for now, at least) of the Photo CharTRs - 'Vintage Van-Guard'!
If you're coming down for Heritage Weekend, see if you can make it a bit sooner to join u- oh, hang about, where's the van?!
Hi again, it's me :)
Just dropping by to promote the last (for now, at least) of the Photo CharTRs - 'Vintage Van-Guard'!
If you're coming down for Heritage Weekend, see if you can make it a bit sooner to join u- oh, hang about, where's the van?!
Once again, sorry for not posting much here
It will happen again
(Admittedly I literally forgot I had this. Whoops)
Anyway, as part of the Talyllyn's celebrations of 75 years of preservation, we're doing Photo CharTRs!
Unfortunately, "A Day in the Midlands" is now closed for bookings. Sorry!
However, next is "Wagons On The P/Way" on Sunday 12th April!
Even have Military re-enactors for it!
Recommend looking ahead to "Running Well!" and "Vintage Van-Guard" too, just calling out the second here as it's booking deadline is Thursday 12th March - that's two days!
Only need four more to book!
Gonna just stress at the end here please only book if you can. I recognise these are rather pricey, and getting to Tywyn/finding accommodation may be awkward. Please don't feel pressured or upset if you can't make it, just trying to help throw as many eyes as possible at this!
'ap new
Ay up I'm still about
Also
Back here for a few weeks
Stirling Single
Here's what I've been able to ascertain from that research I referenced with the "Stirling Double" post.
Suppose the TLDR is: It is bloody difficult to research them, so, grain of salt yada yada.
@thunderxleafart oh ABSOLUTELY agree
and, also? lemme see if i can express it — yeah, i wanted to draw eyes to this distinction between the brothers because, once you grasp it, you really appreciate what donald did here on a whole new level. there's no sign that donald is clumsy. he's also rather more cool-headed than douglas, is never in danger of getting lost in his feels as we've seen douglas do in moments of anxiety or panic. he has some big advantages that his brother doesn't.
we as readers barely (and the sodor engines for the most part i don't think at ALL) notice any of these distinctions because donald threw in his lot with his klutzy younger brother 1000%. blurred and muddied all those lines until now they are both perceived as one "practical, peppery, and proud" unit.
in their opening arc there's that shift from the conflict being "the fat controller would need to decide which one to send away" to by the end it's "he's gonna send them both away." this surely has nothing to do with the fat controller and everything to do with the fact that donald wasn't sticking on sodor in safety without douglas. fat controller doesn't have enough bricks and tunnels to hold donald. it's not going to happen that way and, even before the engines' suspense is relieved, they know that much.
am i making sense? i said once that i sort of don't imagine donald and douglas were considered 'twins,' because being identical members of a larger class is normal for engines, there were hundreds of these things. but when the world of steam was going straight to hell, and the moment his brother was marked down for the queue of death, that's the moment donald and douglas became twins. chose names, coupled to each other so tightly that there was no separating them, became virtually indistinguishable to anyone but their very nearest and dearest... and except to the eye of charles topham hatt lolll. that's just bad luck. he's too damn good! but it's a remarkable act of love and solidarity nonetheless.
This was the kinda "oh
oh"
bit for me
The Fat Controller shows up to Donald's accident being all "... Donald? Fuckin' Donald? This is the sort of klutzy dumbassery I'd expect from Douglas but not from you 😤"
And then before the end of the same story he shows up to Douglas's accident like "it is Douglas, isn't it? i just know this level of fucked could only be.... yeahhh it IS you, ya six-wheeled disaster 😠 i fucken Knew It"
Mind you, this dynamic continues to the last RWS book. Sans Controller this time, but the workers treat Donald slipping and smashing a buffer as "ehhh, shit happens. anyway it was icy."
Douglas does it and he gets this:
also remember Douglas was apparently in danger of being scrapped in 1960, which was actually a bit early for that class.
apparently some new manager came into the Caley sub-region and was like "... yeah that lot are still useful, they can just run out its time. except 57647. get that engine outta here before he sets my whole damn sector on fire."
anyway, i say all this not to bully Douglas, myself! i just think he's canonically kind of a klutz, in addition to all his other recognized qualities. and i just kinda wished that was incorporated into his characterizations more.
he's not even a chronic disaster for Thomas or James or Percy-esque reasons, he's just kinda clumsy. but he works around it with resilience and good humor. i like this about him. i relate.
Slightly au-ing the CFR?
This is more gathering thoughts together than proper headcanon post tbh
Watched this video, and then had a bit of a dive back in to Culdee Fell/Snowdon stuff
And that's resulted in changing up how I see the Culdee Fell Railway.
Traintober25 Day 26 Disaster
Day 26-Reflection
Other Stories
Other Days
Henry thundered down the line, the vans swaying behind him with his speed, the cold air streaming past him with biting force. Steam raced from his funnel in a straight line from the force of the wind. He barely restrained himself from whistling with joy, they had climbed the hill, and he hadn't lost steam.
He had pulled a train at speed all the way from Tidmouth and he hadn't lost steam.
The snow reflected his lamps ahead of him as he raced ahead, the green glow of signals racing past.
He finally felt whole. He wasn't strangled for breath, he wasn't weak. He was an express engine, as his builders had intended.
The stars shone overhead brightly, his breath billowing out as steam from the cold. The world was all quiet beneath snow and starlight, only the sound of his train reaching him. He raced through Cronk, with a whistle to the electric engine at the platform, although he didn't have time to see which one it was.
He had always secretly wondered how Gordon felt at speed, and now that he knew, he felt he understood the Gresley Pacific better.
he raced into the curve heading towards Killdane, the signals all green, they were making good time. At this rate they would be…
The points were set to the siding.
SREEEEEEEEECH
Henry slammed his brakes on, blasting his whistle, even as he realized it was far, far too late. As he fought to slow his train, using every trick he had heard from Gordon's many lectures to check his train, anything for a mile slower, anything to lessen the impact, some small part of him couldn't help but admire the sight of the sparks from his brakes against the snow.
Another part noticed the engine at the front of the long slate train in the siding try to start their train, steam erupting from their funnel, even as he saw their crew diving from the guard's van. He appreciated the attempt, but their train was far, far, too heavy, and it was too late.
He called for his crew to jump, knowing it was their only chance.
He closed his eyes, right before he hit, knowing he was still going far too fast.
PAIN
He felt wood splintering, slate cracking, metal bending, and his wheels leaving the rails before everything went mercifully dark.
He flickered to for a moment, hazy and dim, his driver in front of him screaming “Run Tidmouth, Run!” before the No.3 fell under again.
Brief flashes of awareness.
Edward working with a crane to clear the wreckage.
Tidmouth swearing through tears.
His driver begging him to stay.
He struggled awake, Sir Topham Hatt was knelt in the snow before him framed by the dawning light. Henry was finally aware enough to realize he was laid on his side in the snow.
“The…the signal was down, Sir.” he managed to force out.
Hatt laid a hand on his cheek, “It wasn't your fault Henry.” The Fat Controller said firmly, “snow and ice forced the signal down, even though the points were frozen in place. “
“My…my crew…” Henry rasped.
“Safe, thanks to you. You slowed the train enough for them to jump clear. You did wonderfully.”
“I.. I did, Sir?”
“No one could have asked for more. I'm very proud of you Henry. I'm sending you to Crewe. A fine place for sick engines, they'll repair you. You'll finally have a new shape and a larger firebox. You won't need welsh coal any longer. You'll be strong enough on your own. Won't that be nice?”
Henry faded out before he could answer, at peace, knowing he had made his controller proud.
He was dimly aware of being lifted and then lowered onto something, Gordon’s frantic whistle sounding in the distance.
Wind racing by his face, Emily’s strangled whistle as they thundered past.
He came to, wind racing by fast enough his eyes watered, the scenery a blur between the speed and the wind. Gordon’s exhaust thundering just in front of him, the mighty Pacific’s valve gear screeching from the abuse.
“Come on come on come on come on come on,” the pacific panted.
Henry couldn't muster the strength to answer, to let Gordon know he heard.
As Henry lost his grip on the waking world once more, Henry had the strangest realization.
He'd never heard Gordon crying before.
There was a raucous noise all around, workmen calling, and the sound of engines being worked on. Beneath it all Henry almost didn't hear Gordon whisper, “You're gonna make it Henry, you are not leaving me to deal with James alone.”
Pain.
Cutting, welding, forging, hammers rising and falling. Young Charles’s voice. He didn't know for how long they swirled together.
A fire. Steam. Life pouring back into metal, some old, but so much so very new… but still,
Henry woke.
A/N: Hello loves! You didn't think yesterday was standalone, did you? Love Y'all!
TrainTober Day 25 - Plinth
'Thank you for Everything'
[2011]
Toby chuffed through the big station. He was glad to see it empty. Most of the time, the big station was packed with engines and passengers rushing from place to place. It was almost eerie to see it this empty. But that was what he’d hoped for.
He pulled to the end of the platform and stopped. The bust of the good Reverend was still standing in the station. It was almost as if he was watching over the big station.
“Sam? Phil?” He asked. “May I have a moment alone?”
“Huh? Oh, sure.” His driver said, quickly. Together, the crew stepped back to give their engine the space he needed.
The old tram engine took a breath.
“Good evening, reverend.” He murmured. He knew full well the statue hadn’t the capacity to hear him, much less know what he was saying, but he couldn’t exactly visit the reverend himself - for multiple reasons.
“I know it’s been a while since I last saw you…” He paused, taking a breath. “Hmn. I didn’t think this would be…” he briefly trailed off, “I didn’t think this would be this difficult. Henrietta’s guard said this sort of thing helps him.”
The statue stood in the middle of the platform, wearing the same smile the man it was made after had.
“I… I wanted to thank you.” Toby said at last. “For everything. I don’t know that I ever… properly expressed my gratitude. I still remember the day you visited East Anglia. You paid a visit to our old line- er, what was left of it, that was. You rode with me and Henrietta, be it in Henrietta, or empty trucks…” He began to choke up. “You… saw us. You still cared for us. And… at the end of our visit, you told me how you knew someone far away who might be able to help.”
“I had no idea who that old friend of yours was. Before your visit, I had all but given up hope. I’d resigned myself to the fact that we would probably become livestock housing… or worse. But… but the way you spoke to us, it made me want to give hope a chance again. I think Henrietta did, too.”
Toby blinked. His eyes grew misty. He took in a breath, and continued.
“I couldn’t have guessed that the friend you were referring to was Sir Topham Hatt of the North Western Railway. He never told me that you’d encouraged his holiday to our little line, but after a while I was able to put it together. So, thank you for that. He gave us a generous sum of money - it might’ve been enough to put us through the winter, but we didn’t need to worry. He purchased all three of us - me, Henrietta, and Elsie. And now we’re safe. All because you happened upon that little dying tramway.”
“And you showed me how to hope again. So thank you. Thank you for everything.”
The bust statue remained, unmoving. Its unblinking stare didn’t seem cold or lifeless, even if there wasn’t any life to be found in the cold marble it’d been chiseled from.
Toby looked back towards his crew. They were saying something, but he couldn’t make it out. His driver had his hands clasped and his eyes closed.
“I’d probably better get back to work, before Miss. Volley wonders where I am.” He chuckled.
“Goodbye, Reverend. And thank you.”
His crew returned a moment later, and together, they headed home.
Traintober25 Day 25 Unsaid
Day 25-Plinth
Other Stories
Other Days
There's been an accident.
The news spread up and down the line, slowly at first, then like wildfire.
In the years to come things wouldn't be said.
It wouldn't be said how the news came from solemn trucks, pulled by a shaken engine. Every engine was immediately on edge. Trucks loved accidents, for them to be so grim…
Years later when pieces of scrap from the accident were placed upon a stone slap to memorialize the accident, Tidmouth’s desperate run to the nearest signalbox was left out.
When the good Reverend retold the stories years later, he left out how every signal on the line dropped to danger almost as one.
It was left unsaid how the fastest engine was being readied for the run when the No.1 came sliding into the yard, fast enough they barely cleared the points before derailing. Cutting off the yard master's demands of ‘just what do you think you're doing!?’ with a desperate plea of just one word through shining golden tears.
RUN
It was never told how the workmen dove from the express engine without being told, how the pacific started with a roar, racing into the night.
Stanier never told how Sir Topham Hatt had called him in the middle of the night on bended knees, begging for someone, anyone to try to save his engine. He only told his bosses he owed Hatt a favor from their Swindon days.
It's never said who holds the record for the fastest climb up the Marion Incline, how it wasn't by any express before or since, but by a desperate Pacific.
Hatt's words to Henry at the scene of the accident are said in the books, but never that Hatt was on his knees again in the snow as Henry’s face flickered and faded.
The LMS never told how a southbound express pulled by one of their brand new Princess Royals was passed by a Gresley Pacific hauling a wreck on a flatbed in the morning light, the younger Pacific being quickly left behind despite their best efforts. They never said it inspired their rebuild of said Gresley four years later.
It was never said how the No.4’s valve gear was never the same after this run. That his desperate run was far faster than it had been built for.
Sir Charles Hatt would admit he had been unsure of following in his father's footsteps when he was younger, even as he took an apprenticeship at Crewe under his father's old friend Stanier.
He never said the sight of his engine racing into Crewe Works behind Gordon, battered, bent, and fading on a flatbed, was what had convinced him.
It was never said that the engines surrounded Tidmouth during the No.4s desperate run, the railway brought to a standstill as they pleaded with the Lady to grant him speed, to spare their No.3.
Lady Hatt never said she held her husband as he fell apart that night for his white elephant.
It was never said that a young Charles Hatt worked around the clock to save his engine. Such a thing would be against regulations.
It was never said word spread through the LMS engines, of a desperate race against time, of the first Pacific racing death itself along their rails. It was said the LMS coveted the North Western, that they believed it should have been theirs by right. It was never said this meant the LMS engines considered the stricken engine as one of their own, that prayers to the Lady spread across Midland metals.
It was never said the Princess Royal told the Greselys in London of their brother's flight. It was never said the timings for the LNER trains were shattered in the days to come, the Pacifics of the North Eastern making their offerings of speed to the Lady so that their brother's effort would not be in vain.
It was never said that Gresley drew a copy of stolen blueprints from long ago from memory, that Silver Link himself was sent thundering towards Crewe with plans.
Stanier was not a sentimental man towards his engines. That did not mean he was uncaring, or unmoved. It was not said that his genius and guile, bolstered by the faith of his engines, forged a miracle.
It was never said the Lady heard the engines prayers, or that she guided the hands that reshaped iron and steel, to turn wreckage into living metal.
It was never said that the enginemen, bound to their steeds of iron as they were, turned to their God as their engines had turned to their Lady.
It was never said the trucks of the North Western held a watch for those lost in the accident, more at once than had been destroyed since the war, for trucks are said by many a railway man to be faithless things. It was not said they asked Caomhnóir to stand before the Lady for their fallen kin.
It was never said the sparks from the hammers and axes of Crewe shone with Golden light as they worked, that the air grew heavy with what was wrought.
None of this was said.
That didn't change the truth of it.
A/N: Hello Loves! *Cackles* I've been waiting for a *month* to post this. Love Y'all!
reblog if you're an actual person IRL who gets genuinely upset if you catch someone using ChatGPT and view it as a serious moral failing
