Brothers In The Pits: Stories of Industrial Steam

Chapter Two: Unpleasant Introductions

Two weeks after Mr. Johnson had met with his friend, he arrived at the colliery on a chilly morning. The wind nipped at his face and hands as he approached the sheds, and he couldn't help but notice some of the workers grumbling about the cold. He was rather jealous of the engine crews, who had their nice warm fires and cabs to keep them safe from the biting winds.
Melissa was the only one still on shed at the time; Alan had been up early to take the morning workmen's train, and Mike was in the yards arranging the first train of loaded wagons. Mr. Johnson gave his best attempt at a smile as he approached the Austerity. "Morning Melissa," he said, "how are you?"
"Well enough, sir," the tank engine replied. "Today's the day, isn't it?"
"Yes indeed," Mr. Johnson said. "The Jinty will be brought up to Norwood Heath by the morning slow goods, so you'll have a few minutes to make sure the train you'll bring down is in order. The empties should already be at the station. Be sure to give him a warm welcome." And with that, he strode away to his office.
Half an hour later, Melissa was coupled to her train and being prepared to leave. She was talking to Alan, who had arrived back and was now sorting together a train of internal use wagons. "Did Mr. Johnson say what kind of engine this is?" He asked.
Melissa frowned, thinking. "He said it's a... Jinty," she replied, "whatever that means."
Alan wasn't impressed. "An engine from the big railway," he said disapprovingly. "Great."
"What's the matter with that?" Melissa asked. She'd never heard Alan speak so crossly about the main line engines.
The old engine sighed. "Before you two arrived," he began, "I was the only engine to work here on a regular basis. The previous manager was a penny-pincher, and figured it would be cheaper to hire out engines from the main line on a short-term basis than to keep more than one engine on hand permanently. So, the LMS would often send up older tank engines from the pre-Grouping days, along with the occasional Jinty. They were always dreadful. They would moan constantly about their new assignments and never pay proper attention to what I would try to tell them." Alan spit angrily. "'Just another common industrial,' they would say."
Melissa didn't have time to reply. "Come on old girl," her driver said, "we've got to get down to the junction!" With a blast of her whistle, the Austerity clanked noisily out of the colliery yard, the trucks rattling and grumbling behind her.
Before long, the train had arrived at Norwood Heath station. Melissa ran round her train, and shunted the wagons to the buffers, spotting the empties on the next track over. She had just stopped at the water column for a drink when there was a whistle. The morning slow goods rolled into the platform, a Standard 4 Mogul at the head. Just behind the goods engine's tender sat an LMS Jinty, the sides of his tanks hurriedly painted over with a dull orange coat. Melissa was able to make out the number on his bunker; 44720.
"Morning, Melissa," the Mogul said. "I've brought your new colleague. I take it that brazen Barclay got what was coming to him?"
Melissa chuckled. "Thankfully, yes," she said. "Isaac was a right old nuisance, no mistaking that. Just leave him there, Sam, I can grab him." Sam moved off, and Melissa coupled up to the Jinty. "Now then," she said, trying to give him a fair chance, "what's your name?"
The Jinty sniffed. "Why's it matter to you?" He asked crossly. "Do you have a name? I doubt a filthy industrial would have one. You certainly don't deserve it."
"That's enough, Kent," Sam called as he buffered up to his train again. "Consider yourself lucky you got a second chance. Goodness knows most of your siblings aren't going to be so lucky." Kent was silenced by this comment for a few minutes, but it wouldn't last long.
Kent complained all the way up to the colliery, moaning and griping about his downgraded status and how he was above such work. Melissa sighed. It seemed like Alan was right.
His tirade only got worse once the reached the mine. "Look at those ramshackle old things!" He said, looking at the workmen's coaches. "Have you ever thought of scrapping those horrid henhouses on wheels?" He then saw Alan. "God lord, he's still in service?! Should've been cut up ages ago, I can see why this place needs me so badly." Alan stared daggers into Kent, whilst the coaches tittered angrily to one another.
Kent didn't do much that first day; he was inspected and steamed up for some light shunting to see what he was capable of. He was what the colliery needed, to be sure, but all they needed was another engine. His personality was something that needed attention.
"Listen Kent," Mr. Johnson said sternly, "I know you aren't happy about this new change of pace or what have you, but you've got to stop with the complaining. You've upset enough people here as is, do you really want to make it worse?" Kent just snorted as he moved off. He didn't deserve this, he thought. He'd rather be scrapped than be stuck with these filthy commoners.
That evening, Kent was asked to move the last train of waste to the tip. Grumbling dreadfully, he banged into the wagons. "Oi!" They snapped. "Watch it!"
"Shut it!" Kent snarled. "I've no time for your nonsense and I want this over with!"
Mike was nearby. "You ought to be more careful with them," he advised. "Internal users are some of the worst wagons in the country, and-"
"I can manage, thank you," Kent said curtly. He shoved the trucks towards the tip. The tip was a place where the wagons would be unloaded of the waste, which was mostly rock. If not traversed carefully, trouble was sure to abound. Kent didn't realize this - he snorted onto the tip track, which was old and bouncy. The wagons bounced and shuddered, and then, with a loud crash, some of them fell over, their contents spilling onto the ground.
Kent watched the crash as a feeling of dread went through him. "Oh no," he whispered. He'd done it now.