Chapter Text
A very, very long time ago, there was a railway on an island to the East of England, named Sodor. This railway went north from a little station called Crovan’s Gate, and became a loop with two mines. The first engine of this railway was named Bertram, and he worked at the Cas-Ny-Hawin mines. He was a little red engine, with four wheels and a very small tender. Bertram was very strong for his size, and could pull a lot of stone. This was fortunate, because he had to pull trucks full of stone to the wharf at Balladwail weekly.
“Bertram will get it there on time.” His driver would say as they puffed away.
“I’ll get it done.” Bertram whistled, as the men coupled more and more trucks to him.
One day, the rain wouldn’t stop, and the earth had turned to mud.
“Bertram.” Spoke the manager. “I think we may need to delay our stone delivery.”
“Pah!” Steamed Bertram. “I can do it.”
“Please, sir.” Spoke his driver. “Can we try?”
“Alright, we can try.” The manager sighed. “But if anything goes wrong, you are to get to the Wharf. I shall meet you there.” And so, he got into his cart, and the horses pulled him away.
“Did you hear that?” Bertram’s driver asked. Bertram smiled.
“I did, sir. I did.” Bertram smiled. And so, he backed onto the trucks, blew his whistle, and puffed away. The tracks went past small villages and hills, and puffed along a cliffside. But today, the rain had made the rails slippery. While in a small valley, Bertram’s wheels slipped as he hauled the trucks along the line. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it.” He groaned.
“Come on, lad, you can do it.” His driver goaded, opening the regulator, and giving Bertram as much steam as he could. Bertram puffed on, trudging closer and closer to the wharf, where the large ships were waiting for their train of stone. But Bertram kept going, his wheels slipping on the wet rails.
“I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” Bertram grinded. But then, he stopped. His wheels kept slipping, and he couldn’t get a grip. His driver shut off steam, and walked up to him. “I’m sorry.” He wheeshed.
“It’s not your fault, Bertram.” His driver smiled kindly. “It’s these trucks.” He reasoned. “If they weren’t so heavy,”
And then, an idea flew into Bertram’s funnel.
“What if we took them three at a time?” Bertram wondered. “We probably won’t be able to get them all loaded, but we can get some.”
“By jove, I think you’ve had a brilliant idea!” His driver exclaimed, and ran back to tell the fireman Bertram’s plan. Before long, both were on board, and the guard put his brakes hard on. The fireman uncoupled the first three trucks, and gave a farewell wave, before Bertram and his driver puffed away. While Bertram was away, however, the guard grumbled in the rain. Rain had gotten into the stone trucks, making them heavier. But still, Bertram continued to run to and from the Wharf to get his trucks there on time. By the time they’d gotten down to the last three, the guard was soaked through to the bone.
“About time you got back!” The guard shouted, huddled in his brake van. “Almost caught my death.” He shivered.
“Well, how about I head back there, and you can warm yourself by the fire?” The fireman offered. The guard trudged his way through the muddy valley, and climbed aboard Bertram, trekking mud into his cab. But Bertram wasn’t mad, he knew that the guard had been busy.
When Bertram finally pulled into the Wharf, the ship was already leaving.
“Bother.” Wheeshed Bertram. “And we were so close too.”
“Oh well, Bertram, we got most of it on.” His driver soothed.
“And I am quite impressed by how much went on that boat.” The manager congratulated.
“But, sir. We didn’t get it all on time.”
“I know how hard you worked to get that stone here.” The manager smiled, despite the rain. “And I am very proud of you, Bertram.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.” Bertram beamed. His driver and guard felt proud of their engine too.
“Now, get back to the mine’s yard, before it gets even wetter.” His manager chuckled.
“Of course, sir.” Bertram smiled, before puffing back to the mine for a long rest.