The Island's Swansong

XVIII - Gordon's Last Gallop

This story has been rewritten from notes taken during Gordon's recital. It is now stylised like the classic Railway Series.

Times had changed on the Island of Sodor. There were fewer railway workers, and some of the Railway Board and others had begun to turn away from steam engines. The Fat Controller had moved much of the diesel traction to the main line, turning the branch lines into 'heritage' railways for steam engines.

Gordon idled in the station, his smokebox filled with ideas and opinions.

This is too big a change for the diesels to orchestrate. I wonder what's going on.

As one of the last steam engines working on the main line, his express had been renamed to the 'Wild Nor' Western' special, and now only ran once a day. His axles ached as he sat, ready for the final run across the island for the week.

Is it old age making me feel sore, or the lack of exercise? he thought to himself.

Clive the Works Diesel rolled up at the platform next to him. "Still hanging on are we, old chap?" he said, "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Gordon mumbled, not wanting to feel more like a old fish out of water.

"It's not fair, all these changes," Clive sympathised, "Sadly the world moves on, whether we wish to follow or not."

With a honk from his horn, Clive pulled away, towing a line of empty flatbeds behind him. Gordon sighed. As nice as the diesels were, their dominion stung his pride.

The stationmaster's whistle finally blew, and Gordon set off. He huffed, but didn't gather speed as quickly as he liked. His pistons felt sticky and his springs squeaked.

Hurry, hurry, he puffed, but instead of as a show of speed it was now because he was anxious about being too slow to make the stops on time.

Just as he reached a steady pace, a rattle from his boiler caught his attention.

Oh dear, oh dear.

As they drew closer to Crovan's Gate, his driver shut off steam much earlier than Gordon was used to. "My reactions aren't what they used to be," his driver called.

Nor are my brakes, thought Gordon

Rusty was at the station when they arrived. "You've had better sounding days," they said, "Is everything alright?"

"Just some mechanical noises," Gordon answered, quietly.

"Don't push yourself too hard," Rusty looked anxious, "Skarloey and Rheneas may have pulled through gallantly when they were wearing out. But they could never go as fast as you."

"Thank you," Gordon replied, though the worry was beginning to get to him, "How is your line doing?"

"We've had to put some engines up for sale," Rusty looked glum, "Three have been bought, though one's been lost at sea during a terrible storm. I fear this is just the start."

"You and me both," Gordon mumbled.

The stationmaster blew his whistle, and Gordon set off again.

He hadn't gotten very far before knocking began somewhere behind. "What's that noise?" he called to his crew.

"Something's loose on your tender," his fireman called back, "Not to worry, its not the couplings."

Soldiering on, Gordon thought about what Rusty had said. Other engines had proven gallant in dire circumstances.