The Island's Swansong

XIV - Feeling Blue

The palette of greys adorning the skies made it impossible to tell the time. Unusually for Sodor, there was no sun. It would've be out of place, even if it were shining. Glancing at my watch, late afternoon was fast approaching. I'd wasted so much time moping around in self-guilt. A day gone, meaning I'd need to accumulate provisions from the abandoned island for at least one more day.

Passing an orchard filled with apple trees nestled in overgrown, waist-height grass, I paused to snatch a few, wondering where Trevor was now. As I munched on one to keep me going, the sweetness failed to lift my spirits.

The main line junction approached, the tracks widening out as three lines ran parallel to each other. Up ahead, the first of two bridges came into view over the tracks. In between them sat Wellsworth Station and yard.

Seeing a familiar Sodor sight soothed my stressed mind. It looked as it should. Two station buildings and platforms, one either side of the trio of tracks, with a yard off to one side consisting of sidings around a turntable. Minus the encroaching vegetation, the yard looked neatly organised, as if tidied before shutting down. Old wagons were shunted perfectly under the cover of an iron shed, whose legs and corrugate sides had rusted into an autumnal orange livery. On the side of the yard, closest to me, sat a stone engine shed.

The skies overhead continued to darken, reigning in the little light that slipped by the clouds. Getting to Crosby before the day and weather gave out felt like too much of a gamble. While the station would've made decent accommodation, for some reason I gravitated towards the sheds. The chance of company with whom I could share my solemn mood was too alluring.

Barging the sticky shed doors open with a hefty shove, I tumbled into the darkness within, half expecting to not find anything. But what I stumbled across took my breath away.

It was so obvious. Why hadn't the possibility crossed my mind?

Stone dust dampened the blue paint, but he remained in wonderful condition. The shed must've been built to last. Perhaps I'd stepped through a time loop, or into a time capsule.

His face sported a couple more wrinkles around the eyes and mouth than I expected. The engine yawned, blinking as he awoke from a long, uninterrupted (until now) slumber.

Edward peered down at the peculiar, trespassing creature that was me. "Well I've not seen one of you around here in a long time," he spoke in a slightly hoarse, wise voice.

"One of what?" I squandered my first words to the original star of the Railway Series.

"A person," Edward clarified, "I thought your kind left this railway to the hands of time long ago."

"They- we, did," I answered, "I'm unrelated. An urban explorer who-"

"Remembers us from the books," Edward caught on, quick despite his age, "How marvellous it is that those tales are still in circulation, albeit with more falsehoods than truth now, I bet."

I kept quiet, not wanting to dampen his spirits. He was right about the second part. Circulation... it had been some time since Thomas & Friends had been in the public conscience.

"How's your exploring going?" Edward asked with a genuine eagerness to hear about Sodor.

"Well," I dropped my bag, "Okay, up to a point."

"What point would that be?"

"I've found clues as to what happened, but not much to string it together. And you're not the first engine I've found. Others remain, and..."

"They're struggling," Edward frowned, "Lonely? Wearing out? It's the common feeling now the magic is gone."

"The magic?" I blinked. I thought I was done with the mystical Sodor malarky. The Man in the Hills and the Magic Lamp were just (one) myth. Tennant dispelled the Magic Railroad tale. What magic was Edward on about?

Edward dodged a direct answer, "I can see its missing from you too. Did you lose it on the way?"

"I don't know if I brought any."

"Perhaps up to a point."

I caught his drift. "I found the Island's Records Office, but it was destroyed during the night. Sodor's history is gone. I'll never uncover what happened. I'm almost out of supplies and now its best just to accept failure and get off the Island."

"Is it now?" Edward offered a cheeky smile. "You really think you found more in that office than you did by travelling the Island?"

I stood, stumped into silence. The wisdom he held... it was almost magical.

The records had simply reaffirmed what I knew so far...

"If you read the Reverend's wonderful books," Edward continued, "You likely knew more than those people who worked in that office did. Accounting. Keeping files on record. That's all they did. The heart and wonders of Sodor that brought you here were never in there."

I thought, remembering the images I saw as a child. The engines. The island's scenery. The conversations and personalities of all of Sodor's characters bouncing off each other. That's what gave the stories their heart of gold.

Thunder rumbled again outside. Another summer storm was gearing itself up. "Mind if I camp here tonight?" I asked.

"Of course not! Make yourself comfortable," Edward answered.

I heaved the door closed, straining it on its sticky hinge.

"I want to hear all about your adventures."

After some fruit and raw veg left over from the day before, with my sleeping mat and bag laid out, I balanced my torch on my bag to light the shed the best I could. I relayed everything to Edward so far: Rosie, Abigail, Arthur, the Little Engines, Tennant, Caroline, the storm and Brendam. He listened as a grandparent would to their child's first week of school, absorbing every syllable. "You've had quite the adventure!" he said at the end, "Including some near misses and setbacks. I'm sorry about Caroline."

"Me too," I sighed, "Sodor's not all it was cracked up to be. I knew I'd likely find something wrong here. But my poor planning and blind strings of hope weren't enough to dampen the shocks that have piled up."

"You know," Edward paused, "The books are only half the story. Not every day was fun and games, or adventure. Nor were they all sunny, or fond memories. Not every tale that played out here would be to a child's liking. You just saw the reel of highlights from our glory days. In fact, not even all of our finest moments made the cut."

"They didn't?" I lifted my head from my knees.

"Sodor had periods of darkness and despir like everywhere else. Some fleeting, some lingering," Edward expanded, "We faced real issues. Issues not suitable for the eyes and ears of children."

I was about to suggest he was alluding to the cannibalising of engines, but that was rumoured to have happened to Godred in the books.

"You never heard the time Gordon was painted black, did you?" Edward threw one anecdote at me.

"Black? Never!" I gasped.

"During the war all kinds of changes had to be made. The express still had to run, but as discretely as possible. Gordon temporarily renamed himself 'The Black Stallion', though it never caught on. But the war years were when our characters were really tested. Henry got over himself. Falling bombs were scarier than rain; they'd have ruined more than just his green paint."

"There were never any stories about Sodor during the war!" I fell into the new topic, completely engrossed.

"Because war stories are not for children," Edward sharpened his voice, "But... as it's just the two of us, how about I give you the one I always wanted to be told?"

"Really?" I scrambled for my notebook.

"Yes," Edward smiled, the torched capturing a glint in his eye that sat between pride and sadness, "It was the most scared I'd ever felt..."