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The Island of Sodor. A magical land where dreams come true. They didn’t come up with that line, but it’s good for tourism. It’s an island known for its railways, big, small, and smaller. Chief among them is the Northwestern Railway, and its varying branch lines. All of them, especially the Ffarqhuar, Wellsworth, and Little Western lines, are known to be wonderful lines run by some of the most famous and beloved engines in the world.
Odds are, you already know the stories about them. Trains with faces. That laugh, that quarrel, that learn various aesops about respect and kindness and all of that. It’s mostly thanks to a little blue engine named Thomas who turned out to be extremely marketable. Because of this, plus their obvious refusal to discontinue the use of steam trains in active service, the island is world-famous.
But then there’s the Peel Godred line. Sodor’s one electric railway. There was nothing wrong with it, and that was the problem. All those other branch lines have had plenty of, uh, issues, but Peel Godred didn't have much wrong with it. The engines were friendly enough, and they did their jobs efficiently and on time.
But they weren’t in the books. Which meant things were different.
At Killdane station, a black, rather cubic engine with pantographs stewed in a siding.
“James better not be late today,” grumbled Harrison, furrowing his brow. He was an electric engine- a New York Central S-Motor- imported from America for the war effort. He was far from the oldest vehicle on the island, but you wouldn’t know that talking to him. “If I never hear him complain about taking trucks again, it’ll be too soon.”
“It’s not like you’re the ones who pulled them in,” said Carrie with a smirk. She was an LNER Class EE1 and most commonly pulled trains from the line’s aluminum plant to the mainland transfer, as well as bringing back empties. Like the line she once called home, her coat was a solid green.
“Even so,” Harrison noted, “He never seems to understand why this stuff matters. He treats us like we’re no-”
“Harrison.” Carrie was stern, a serious look in her eye that said ‘Don’t start going down that path again.’.
“Fine, fine,” he said.“ Still, he’s a pain. You and I don’t complain when we have to pull trucks, we just do it.”
“You’re doing who?” asked a cheeky voice, approaching. The voice’s owner was Finnick, third and final member of the Peel Godred roster. They were a blue EMU, ex-Southern 405, and handled the line’s passenger service, because that was really all he could do. Have you ever seen an EMU pull freight? No, you haven’t. They only ever pull themselves. But that’s beside the point.
“Enough of that,” moaned Harrison. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Honestly,” said Finnick, who would’ve made another joke had he known the author had just used the word ‘moaned’, “have you ever been in the mood?”
Before Harrison could reply, a whistle sounded over the horizon. One could’ve mistaken it for James’, but it quickly became clear that the approaching engine was not him. Before they knew it, in rolled Henry. All three electric engines silently thanked the makers, as Henry actually liked to spend time with them, and, unlike James, he wasn’t a colossal prat.
“Good afternoon!” he said. “Have to fill in for James today. He had an accident in the yard over at Knapford earlier. It was charmingly karmic”
“Wish I could’ve seen it,” mumbled Harrison.
Carrie smiled. “You don’t have to mumble, we all wish we could’ve seen it!”
“Well in any case, I’ve overheard some news and I believe it pertains to you three!” Henry said, beaming. “Heard some dock workers talking about ‘new motive power for Peel Godred’. Due to come soon!”.
“Really?” exclaimed Finnick, curiosity piqued. “Any other details?”
“Something about them being some kind of trolley.”
“You mean a shopping trolley?”
“You know that ain’t it, Finnick.” groaned Harrison, whose emotion had quickly gone from optimistic to flat. “It’s what we called trams back in the States. Is that seriously all we’re getting? A streetcar?”
“Well,” Henry continued, “I think he’s supposed to be modified, at least a bit. To run at faster speeds.”
“Well let’s hope they can keep up with us,” said Carrie. “Finnick’s due for maintenance soon, and we’ll need the extra help.”.
A few more pleasantries were exchanged, and Henry collected the trucks and headed out on his way. After he left, Harrison sighed. “A streetcar?” he repeated. “All the work we do, and they send us the equivalent of a bus on rails? Does management really think that little of us?”
“I’m sure that’s not it,” said Carrie. “Whoever they are, they’ll make a fine addition. I’m sure of it.”
“Yeah!” chimed in Finnick. “Besides, tourist season is coming up, and then it’s all hands on deck!”
Indeed, the Culdee Fell Mountain Railway was due to begin its regular operating season any day now. The line, which went up to the highest point on Sodor, was a major tourist attraction. If anyone visiting the island used the Peel Godred line, it was to go there.
Harrison understood their optimism. But the thought still nagged at the back of his head.
Did they matter?
---
A few days passed before he came.
Sitting atop a flatcar was, indeed, a streetcar. And yes, he was modified, although not by that much.
The new rolling stock hailed from the Northeastern seaboard, and he certainly had the personality to match it.
Harrison wasn’t angry that he had arrived, as he doesn’t judge until he gets to know someone better. He had other reasons.
One was that Finnick had hit a set of buffers too hard at a terminal station, and now his own needed to be fixed, meaning that his already lengthy maintenance would last even longer.
The other problem was that James was the one transporting the new arrival. He had known James for years now and still hated his guts.
Rather predictably, James was bitching about his job.
“Ugh. I could be pulling passengers right now, and instead I’m hauling some tram to this podunk branchline!”
“I’m right. Here.” said Harrison, clearly in the hearing radius.
“I know,” smirked James, wearing an expression that may as well have said ‘PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PUNCH ME IN THE FUCKING FACE’. Harrison bit his tongue, as the last time he cursed out James, he was scolded by a station manager. Not because James didn’t deserve it, but because he had done it in front of a school field trip. There weren’t any kids here now, just some man who seemed to notice the newcomer and wrote furiously on a notepad, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
“Anyway,” continued James, “let’s see if this tram can help you much- but I think we both know the answer to that question already!” He chuckled as he left, not even bothering with a goodbye. Harrison questioned how he was still so egotistical when most of the stories he had appeared in had him as an unlikable prat that was given some kind of humiliating punishment by the fates due to how much of an unlikable prat he was.
“God, what an asshole,” said a new voice. Harrison looked and realized it belonged to the streetcar, now unloaded and sitting on an adjacent track.
“Oh, sorry. You must be…”
“Jeremy!” the trolley grinned. “PCC, Ashmont-Mattapan High-Speed Line, Boston, Massachusetts. I gotta-I gotta tell ya, I did not expect to- I didn’t think I would end up here. You know, on Sodor, here.” He had a very particular style of speech, rapid-fire and always self-correcting.
“I felt the same way forty years ago,” replied Harrison, matter-of-factly. “You’ll just be handling passengers, obviously. There’s a station here, obviously, then another down at Abbey, then a long stretch before Kirk Machan- that’s where the mountain railway starts- and then it just ends at Peel Godred. All that’s beyond that is the aluminum works.”
“Well are you gonna take me- aren’t you gonna show me around?”
Harrison’s motors turned on. “Suppose I should.”
---
The trip down the line was uneventful, like most days on this branchline. Harrison related its history: being built late in the initial major craze of electric trains, and how he and Carrie ended up being who ran it. Finnick didn’t enter the picture until the 60’s, and that was the last new member of the fleet they had.
Carrie rested in a siding as the two pulled up to Kirk Machan. “And here’s where the mountain railway is,” said Harrison. “You’ll be making a lot of stops here.”
The yard was empty of engines, although a few workmen milled about here and there.
“Ooh, nice,” said Jeremy. “I heard about, like, some stuff like this back somewhere in the States.”
“Well, it gives us a lot of traffic, so I suppose it’s nice. They should be up and running for the season soon, so be prepared to-”
“Actually, it’ll be next month.” interjected a workman.
“What.”
“There was some damage to the line in the winter.” The workmen continued, who, unlike a now-bracing-for-the-worst Carrie, was not thinking about how Harrison would react. “Sorry about that.” And then he just left, not realizing what he had just unleashed.
Jeremy, who was to the side of Harrison, had trouble getting a look at the engine’s face, but he could definitely make out an expression that combined fury with sadness.
The self-doubt.
The tiny amount of help they were getting.
James.
And now this.
Quietly, Harrison plainly stated, “You’ve gotta be shitting me”.
Carrie sighed sadly, already knowing where this was going. Jeremy was just confused.
“I can’t do this anymore. I JUST CAN’T! NOTHING works out for us! We just get screwed and screwed again, and it’s not fair! All because we weren’t in books! THEY DON’T CARE ABOUT US AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO ANYMORE I-”
Harrison lost his words. He looked like he was going to say more, but all that came out were sobs. It was all he could do now. Carrie didn’t know what to do other than reflect on the somber truth.
This was the truth, plain and simple. They had been denied a children’s book, which wouldn’t have been an issue anywhere else in the world. But they lived in the one place where it did. And so they were seen as nothing but a rail transport footnote to a far greater compendium. People didn’t come to the island for them, but they did for all the other engines. They had books about them. They had toys of themselves. They had fans. They were legends. The Peel Godred engines were just a utility compared to them.
That was the cold, hard, heartbreaking truth.
And then Jeremy said something no one expected.
“So? Fuck ‘em.”
The response was so out of the blue, it got Harrison to stop crying for a second. “What?”
“Fuck those guys! We shouldn’t care about them! If they don’t care about us, then we shouldn’t want them here! We-we’re too good for ‘em! Only people that should be here are the ones that give a shit about us!”
“But, what about everything else?”
“Pfft! I dealt with all kinds of shit in Boston! Passengers blame ya for stuff you didn’t-that you didn’t do, and parts of our line were always broken! And that was before everyone started getting cars!”
Carrie was puzzled. “I don’t think this is as inspiring as you think it is.”
“But we never let that shit get us down! We kept workin’ hard, kickin’ ass, and we’re still around today! And you guys are still around too, because you didn’t just give up. You may not realize it because it wasn’t in some dumb book, but you’re all really useful engines! People still ride your trains, right? What are t-what are they gonna do, take a bus? Hell no! They use you guys! You’re important! Own it! And if anyone like that red shithead from earlier, whoever the fuck he is, tries to tell ya differently, then just tell em’ to go fuck themselves!”
There was silence. Then Harrison let out a low chuckle. “I did say that to James once. Stationmaster was mad, but boy, it felt good.”
“Well, then I’ll tell him off next time. I’m new, they’ll let me off the hook!”
And they did.
---
A day or two had passed, and things on the line had settled into a general malaise. Harrison was sitting at Killdane Junction as Jeremy pulled up.
“Hey, Harrison! Y-you doing alright?”
“Yeah, I’m doing better. Thanks again, for the other day, I needed that. A bit of me still nags for a bit of attention though.”
“Heh. Don’t we all?”
Suddenly, with fantastic timing, Henry pulled up with a passenger train. Several men with notepads and cameras made their way over to Jeremy and started writing quickly. “Um, who are they?” asked a confused Jeremy.
Henry smiled. “They’re from some railway magazine. Apparently you’re the first American tram-er, streetcar in the country, and they want to write a story about you!”
“Would that be alright?” asked one of the journalists, prepping their camera.
Jeremy grinned. “Sure, ‘long as you cover my friend here too!”
The journalists noticed the taken aback Harrison, to whom a few wandered over to. The group asked the duo all kinds of questions, taking all kinds of pictures. They said it could be a cover story, or at least be mentioned on the cover.
The Peel Godred line deserved a lot more attention, the engines who worked on it knew that. But they also all knew that something’s better than nothing, and the whole day was spent talking and taking photos of their jobs. For the day, they finally knew what it was like for all the other engines on the island. It was tiring, but glorious.
As the sun set, Henry arrived again with an evening train to collect the journalists. Carrie was surprised. “Hm. I thought James usually pulled this train.”
“He asked not to,” said Henry, cheekily. “Seems he doesn’t want to be stopping by here for a while! Wish I could’ve heard what Jeremy told him!”
Carrie smiled. “Well I’d tell you, but there are children present!”
And the engines left as Henry departed. I’d say they slept well that night, but they spent most of it chatting happily about their day. Yes, the truth was that they were ignored. But truths can change. What seems true at one point in time may become false later. And that can be a good thing.
Most importantly though, for once, the engines knew that people cared about them. It was a wonderful feeling. Everyone, though they may not realize it, is cared for by another, whether it be these engines, or you and I. What’s important is they, and you, must always remember: people care for you.