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One evening, Sir Topham came to the sheds to announce that an important railway inspection was imminent. He asked that they all be on their best behaviour for the next few days.
“Let's show that Dr. Beeching what a properly run railway looks like.”
The engines murmured among themselves after Sir Topham had gone. The only engine who didn't seem bothered was James, who bragged most of the night and was still at it the next morning.
“The inspector won't find anything wrong with me,” he declared, as crews arrived to prepare their tired engines for work. “I'll put you scruffy lot to shame.”
“Put a sock in it, James,” sighed Thomas. “You'll probably crash right in front of him.”
A ripple of laughter went around the sheds.
“You're just jealous,” said James with a cocky grin. “Wait until they replace your branchline with a road. You'll have to come back to the yards and shunt my coaches.”
“I'll shunt them right through your-” began Thomas, but was drowned out by Henry weeshing loudly as he left the sheds.
Later on, James found Gordon parked in a siding near Knapford Station, waiting for his crew to finish their tea break. He rolled up alongside and whistled to wake Gordon up.
Gordon was understandably furious.
“Are you excited about the inspection?” James grinned.
The big engine scoffed. “Do I look like it? They won't find anything wrong with me. I'm practically perfect.”
“Really? Well, the inspector will be so impressed with my sparkling red paint he’ll probably give me a medal,” James looked up at the sky as though the clouds had gathered just for him. “Even if Dr. Beeching got rid of this whole railway, he'd surely have me preserved.”
Gordon rolled his eyes.
“Nonsense. They'd preserve me first, as the finest example of an Express engine you've ever seen.”
James laughed. “You'd be first at the smelters, a big hot air balloon like you. I'd probably get my own Heritage branch line or something like that.”
Gordon glanced sideways.
“Sparkling red paint, eh? Not with that scratch.”
When James spoke again, it was as if a tiny mouse had invaded his smoke box.
“What scratch?”
“Right there, under your beautiful brass dome.” Gordon coughed politely.
If it were possible, James would have gone pale all the way from his face, now drained of oil, to his tender.
“Why didn't anyone tell me I've got a scratch?”
Gordon rolled his eyes. “I expect they all want to watch you embarrass yourself in front of the inspector.”
“But-,” James gulped, “why would they do that to me?”
“Because you're insufferable.” Gordon yawned. “Now go away and let me sleep.”
“Driver,” wailed James, unwilling to drop the subject, “have I got a scratch?”
His bemused driver leaned all the way out of the cab, then moved to the other side, leaned out and shielded his eyes.
“Not a thing, old boy. Splendid as always.”
“You didn't look properly. Try again!”
“Trust me, James. There's no scratch.”
“Engines notice things that people don't,” said Gordon with his eyes closed.
“I'm his driver. I notice everything about him.”
“Apparently not…”
“Look, James- Gordon’s just winding you up. You're fine.”
But James was not fine. James was spiralling, as though the buildings themselves were sneering and all the signals were cocked in his direction.
“Come on, old boy,” his driver soothed. “Pay no mind. A bit of work will soon take your mind off it, although I can't see a single thing wrong with you.”
“Engines notice things that people don't,” James argued.
“And people notice things that engines don't, like the lengths Gordon will go to to get other engines off his back.”
“Maybe you're right,” conceded James as they left the yards and headed for the docks.
Soon they were surrounded by green fields full of summer flowers where cattle grazed and butterflies danced over hedgerows. James and his driver usually enjoyed the passing scenery, but the red engine continued to worry. He couldn't be seen as less than splendid when an important inspection was due. As he chuffed along, he began to think that every engine he passed was secretly staring at a scratch he wasn't even sure he had.
By the time he arrived, he was second-guessing his own shadow. He bumped the trucks, who screeched and rattled in a threatening manner. The docks were busy and an audience gathered.
“Mind your paintwork, James!” shouted Percy from the sidings. “You want to look nice for the Inspector!”
James couldn't look at Percy for fear of seeing mockery on that small, round face. He kept his eyes down and bumped the trucks again.
There was a sudden, sharp crack.
James' driver slammed on the brakes and jumped down. He walked over to look for damage and heaved a great sigh.
“Nice work, James. Now your buffer is broken.”
James looked down. His driver was right. His right front buffer now had a large chip in it. The trucks cackled spitefully. They enjoyed making engines miserable and James was an easy target.
“I want to go home,” he whimpered.
“You're going to the Steamworks,” his driver said crossly. “Honestly, James. All this because you listened to Gordon instead of me.” He climbed back into James’ cab where the fireman shook his head in sympathy.
At the Steamworks, James' broken buffer was removed, and, at his insistence, his paintwork was thoroughly checked. They found nothing, but they washed and polished him anyway, just to try and make him feel better.
The replacement buffer was attached, but James found to his dismay that it didn't quite match the other one. He began to protest but it was all they had at that moment. According to them, he wouldn't even notice the difference once he returned to work.
But he did. And to James, the difference was glaring.
“It's not the same size,” he insisted.
“It's barely noticeable,” his driver replied.
“It's hideous! Look at it, it's not even the same shape!”
“It's perfectly adequate for a mixed traffic engine like you” said an engineer, gruffly. “Or are you questioning our ability to do our job?”
“Engines notice things that people don't,” said James in a small voice, almost to himself.
The engineer raised his clipboard and scribbled some notes with a pen. “I'm signing you off as fit for work,” he muttered. “Don't let me see you here again today.”
James left the Steamworks feeling miserable. The sun was a spotlight on his mismatched buffer and he wished it would cloud over and rain. For once, he didn't want to be looked at. But the day went on and he had work to do.
Presently he had to stop at a junction to let the Express through. His driver braked him gently and took the opportunity to jump down and tell him everything was all right. But James just kept staring at his buffer.
“It's a good, strong buffer,” the man said, carefully. “If anything, I like it better than the old one.”
“You would say that,” grumbled James.
“I don't lie, James. Unlike Gordon, I actually care about you.”
James gave a weak smile but said nothing.
The air shimmered and the rails began to tremble as the Wild Nor’wester carved its way through the countryside.
“Here he comes,” said James’ driver, returning to the cab.
Gordon thundered into view and gave James a huge grin as he approached the junction.
“Nice buffer, James,” he shouted. “Now people won't notice your scratch!”
James spluttered indignantly as the Express coaches rushed by, but Gordon was already too far away to hear anything he might have said in response.
“See, driver? You can see it from a mile away!”
James' driver rubbed both hands over his face as the roar of the Express faded into the distance. “I should've been a doctor like my mother wanted,” he told the fireman, who made himself busy shovelling coal.
Back on the mainline, James’ crew tried in vain to make conversation but received only grunts in return. Eventually they gave up and travelled in silence for the rest of the journey.
When James finally arrived at Knapford Station his dour expression caught the attention of Emily, who was waiting at the platform for her passengers to board.
“Are you all right, James?” she asked.
“Don't look at me,” he said morosely.
“Why? What's wrong?”
“I said don't look at me,” James repeated.
Emily closed her mouth. James continued through the station, barely hearing the guard's whistle or the sound of Emily pulling away. Nothing mattered except the inescapable blemish on his buffer beam.
Later that day, he was sent to Anopha Quarry to collect a line of coal trucks. While he was taking on water, Thomas rolled up with a smile.
“Hello, James! Come to visit my branchline before they replace it with a road?”
James remained sullen.
“Hello, Thomas, nice to see you too,” said Thomas.
“Go on, have a good laugh,” said James abruptly. “I'm sure everybody knows by now.”
“A good laugh at what? You being ridiculous as usual?”
James couldn't help himself- despite their occasional tiffs, Thomas was one of his closest friends and neither of them had ever held back. “This stupid new buffer!” he snapped.
Thomas peered at James’ buffer beam, which made James exceedingly self-conscious. “It hardly looks any different,” he decided. “If anything, it's big and sturdy. Just right for biffing coal trucks,” he added with a chuckle.
“See? I knew you'd laugh. You don't know what this means to me.” James narrowed his eyes. “Or perhaps you do.”
James went on his way, leaving a very puzzled Thomas behind.
At the quarry, James ignored the friendly greetings of Mavis, Toby and even Hector. He collected his trucks and left without saying a word to anyone. There was nowhere he could go to escape the scrutiny and by the end of the day he was very fed up. He crawled into his berth and barely said goodbye to his crew. Hiding in the shadows at the back of the shed, he was already asleep by the time the other engines came home.
In the morning, the engines were quiet as their crews readied them for work.
“Are you lot worried about the inspector?” one of the drivers asked. “Because we're not. Coming up here in their fancy suits like they know what's what.”
“When was the last time any of ‘em stood on a footplate?” added a fireman. “They have trouble lifting a cup of tea, let alone shovelling coal all day.”
“Aye, well they won't find anything wrong with us. This is the best railway in the land, right lads and lasses?”
A few engines laughed, and left the sheds in good humour. But James just stared at his buffer. He was quite certain it had grown during the night, like a grotesque steel mushroom bursting with bad intentions.
“Come on, old boy,” his driver said, trying to coax a smile. “You're on the Limited today. Isn't that better than coal trucks?”
The Limited was a passenger service with more stops than the Express but fewer than the Local. James usually enjoyed puffing into busy stations but now he dreaded the attention. Passengers wouldn't think him splendid anymore. He wasn't even out of the yard and he was already cringing with shame.
Throughout the day stations came and went, and passengers boarded and got off. In James’ mind they were all inspectors now, poised with red pens ready to strike through his name. That once splendid engine, now ruined. He tried to smile, but he wanted to cry.
Soon he had to stop for the Express again. This time, when Gordon thundered into view, James refused to look up. As the big engine roared through the junction he called out in a booming voice, “Still admiring yourself, James?”
The Express roared past, clicking and clacking, its turbulence rocking James from side to side.
“Big show off,” he muttered.
And then something caught his eye.
A metal fishplate holding the rail ends together had come loose, its bolts rattling ominously under the combined weight of Gordon and his coaches. James watched the gap between the rail ends open up, and knew they wouldn't hold together under the weight of many more trains. So, when the Express was gone, he shouted at his driver to take a look.
His crew jumped down and made their way to the Express line. They hunkered over the rail joint for a moment, then the fireman ran to the signalbox and James’ driver climbed back into James’ cab.
“Well spotted, old boy!”
“I wouldn't have seen it if I hadn't been staring at my buffer,” admitted James.
“Then we have your buffer to thank for it, don't we?” James’ driver leaned out of the window and patted the side of his cab. “Funny how things work out, isn't it?”
James hesitated for a moment, then looked down at his buffer again.
“Funny,” he said softly. “I still hate it though.”
The stretch of line was promptly closed to traffic and emergency repairs were called in. Sir Topham Hatt quickly arrived with the maintenance crew and spoke to James after checking the rails for himself.
“I'm very proud of you, James,” he said with audible relief. “You’ve prevented what could have been a very nasty accident. Thanks to you we can get this mended before the inspection.”
James’ mood lifted a little.
“I'm glad I could help, sir,” he replied. After the stress of the last two days, he welcomed the reassuring presence of Sir Topham Hatt. The two of them stood in silence, watching the repair team at work.
Presently the man turned to face the engine again.
“You know, James- a little bird told me you've been rather down lately. What's on your mind?”
James took a deep breath.
“This new buffer, sir. It's just… it's just not me.”
Sir Topham stood back and stroked his chin.
“Well, James. I agree that it's not a perfect match for the other one, but there's nothing wrong with it in terms of quality.”
“That's what I said,” called James’ driver from the cab.
Sir Topham smiled, a warm smile that James couldn't help reciprocating.
“I do understand, James. Appearance is important to you, and there's nothing wrong with that either. I shall ask the Steamworks if they have another one like this and you shall have two gleaming new buffers exactly the same. It's the very least I can do to show you my thanks.”
James felt a bit embarrassed.
“I don't want to cause any trouble…”
“It's no trouble, I promise,” Sir Topham assured him.
“Then yes, sir. I'd like that very much. I want to look my best for the inspection!”
“As do we all,” the man replied, dusting off his lapels. “Very good then, James. Gordon can pull your freight train this afternoon, and you can go to the Steamworks. I'll tell them to expect you.”
“Thank you, sir,” said James. He was so happy that he nearly started crying in front of all the rail workers.
“Perhaps Gordon can pull your other freight train later this evening,” Sir Topham went on, as though he were thinking out loud. This piqued James’ interest again.
“But what about the Express?”
Sir Topham turned to James with a twinkle in his eye.
“I imagine you'll want to show off your splendid new matching buffers?”
James gasped, then whistled loudly and unexpectedly with joy. The men put their hands over their ears and shouted, “put a sock in it, James!”
“Thank you, sir! Thank you! It's been ages since I pulled the Express!”
“And it's been ages since Gordon pulled freight. It's just the thing to knock some humility into his puffed-up smokebox and teach him a lesson for lying to you.” Sir Topham took out a handkerchief and began wiping dust off James’ buffer beam. “Understand, James, this doesn't mean I want you to show off about it. I don't want to start this whole process again.”
“No, sir. I won't, sir. I suppose I did overdo it the other night. Gordon needs lots of beauty sleep, after all.”
They shared a chuckle between them.
“As high-maintenance as you are, I'm very fond of you both. But is it any wonder I'm bald after all these years…” Sir Topham laughed, shaking out his handkerchief before tucking it back in his pocket.
A few days later, Sir Topham received a large brown envelope in the post. It was stuffed with inspection reports. He took a deep breath, sat down, and began to read. His worried frown started to lift. He smiled. He read further. He stacked each page to his left, licked his thumb, and continued reading. His smile grew. Creases appeared at the corners of his eyes. Finally, when he was done, he took the stack of papers to the engine sheds.
“Good news, everyone!” he announced. “The NWR lives to fight another day!”
“Does that mean we passed the inspection?” asked Percy, his voice trembling.
“With flying colours! Specifically red!” Sir Topham selected a few sheets and looked mischievously at the gathered engines. “Listen to this.” He cleared his throat and began to read aloud.
“Special mention must go to the splendid Express engine, James. From his gleaming new buffers to his brightly polished brass dome, this shining red engine meets all the demands of a busy railway with cheerfulness and ease.”
James beamed with undisguised pride while the others congratulated him with shouts and whistles.
“I just love my new buffers!” he exclaimed. “I want everyone to see them!”
But Gordon wasn't happy. At all.
“Express engine indeed,” he grumbled.
“He saved you from a serious accident,” Sir Topham reminded him. “Possibly saved your life.”
Gordon rolled his eyes. “More like prolonged it,” he muttered.
Sir Topham chuckled quietly and drew out another page, continuing to read.
“In the main, the engines of the North Western Railway are polite, friendly, and industrious. However, the big Gresley no. 4 engine ‘Gordon’, appears to have an attitude that can only be described as ‘cantankerous’. Recommendations: a trip to the Steamworks for a good clear-out.”
Henry burst into muffled laughter, rocking at the end of the sheds.
“Canta-what-er-us?” asked Percy.
“Means he's grumpy,” offered Emily, helpfully.
“We don't need a report to tell us that!” shouted Thomas.
Gordon had heard enough. He slunk to the back of his berth and demanded the doors be closed.
“I'll show you grumpy,” he uttered.
“And I'll show you splendid,” laughed James.