It was Christmastime on the Island of Sodor. The sun shone, the snow fell, and Christmas Carols could be heard wherever you went upon that sceptred isle off the coast of Barrow.
Sadly, though, nobody was in the mood for celebration. Only a week ago, a mysterious Facebook account called ‘Anon-a-Miss' had started publishing personal information belonging to several people on the island, including information about leather bootlaces that James would have preferred to stay under wraps. Other reveals had included Sir Toppham Hatt’s apparent hat issues, and claims regarding the authenticity of Mrs Kyndley’s cake shop which were most distressing.
The whole affair had been designed to create the impression that Sunset Shimmer, a girl at Knapford Secondary School, was behind the affair. But it hadn’t been her at all.
It had been the Crusaders.
Scootaloo, Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle had been the architects of the entire sorry affair, and only that morning had the truth come out. There was uproar in the school, to say the least.
“Ah did it outa jealousy,” Apple Bloom admitted. “Ah was jealous that mah sister was spendin’ so much time with Sunset Shimmer, so Ah posted that secret to make it look like it were her.”
“I felt the same way,” Sweetie Belle continued. “So one night, when they were asleep, I snuck in, and downloaded all of Sunset’s pictures and videos.”
“It got out of hand,” Scootaloo admitted. “People sent us stuff to post, and we couldn’t stop. We didn’t know what else to do!”
“We’re really, really sorry,” Apple Bloom said.
“We-we-” Sweetie Belle broke down into a fresh round of tears. “We never meant for this to happen!”
“Crocodile tears!” a student shouted from the audience.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves, Rainbooms!” shouted another.
“They deserve nothing but suffering!” cried one and all.
Headmistress Celestia took the microphone. “I can assure you that they will be appropriately punished. But encouraging violence is not the answer, I’m afraid. We are breaking school up early in light of this event. I wish you all, in spite of all that has happened, a very Merry Christmas.”
It wouldn’t be merry at all for three individuals.
At Knapford Station that evening, Duck sat in the platform with the evening train of MK1 coaches to Arlesburgh. The Pannier Tank simmered in the platform as he awaited the departure. Unlike most of the North Western engines, he was painted in Great Western Railway Swindon Green, complete with the company lettering on his tanks. He also bore the number plate 5741, which had carried since he was built in 1927. He was a good dependable runner, even if he was a bit stuck in his old ways and insisted on doing things a certain way.
Suddenly, a crowd of people burst onto the platform. The usual school let-out. But what was odd was the sheer number of people on the platform. There was an absolute throng of people on the platform, shouting and jeering.
“What is going on?” asked Duck, with a confused look on his face.
“Haven’t you heard?” a passenger told him. “They’ve finally outed Anon-a-Miss!”
Duck, to be totally honest, had not been especially following the case at all. But he decided to contribute as best he could. “Who was it?” he asked.
“Apple Bloom, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle!” the passenger replied. “Now those three will get what they deserved!”
Duck was certain he had misheard what had been said, but simply said, “Well, it was most improper of them. As I say, there’s the Great Western Way, or the-”
Gordon suddenly whooshed through on the express, interrupting him. “Poop poop!” the big pompous A0 called. “Three cheers for the end of Anon-a-Miss!”
Several other engines started whistling as well, producing an absolute cacophony in the process, combined with the noisy crowd.
Duck was suddenly very nervous. He imagined that people would be keen to take matters into their own hands, and the last thing he wanted was a punch-up on his train. It would never do!
Just then, four individuals appeared on the platform. Duck immediately recognised one of them as his old friend, Apple Bloom, whom he saw regularly. This was because she lived down his branchline, and he usually pulled the train she was on to and from school. Their farm, Sweet Apple Acres, was in Arlesburgh, and Duck had regularly helped with pulling the many trains of 12-ton vans required to move the apples they produced each and every year. As a result, he had become used to the family, especially the youngest member, who would often help him out on busy days. Duck smiled as he remembered the good old days of adventures up and down his branchline on the Sudrian coast. But those days were gone now.
Granny Smith stepped over to him. “Well, hello mister Duck!” she said. “Our youngest one’s got herself into a mighty pickle, as you’ve no doubt heard.”
“Fleeting remarks, yes,” the Pannier Tank replied, looking concerned. “But how does this concern me?”
Applejack joined them, whilst Big Mac kept Apple Bloom restrained. “We need a train in order ta get her home without getting' hurt.”
“Ya mean getting' hurt now,” Apple Bloom remarked.
“Silence!” Big Mac snapped. In many ways he was like the Fat Cont-
“Sir Toppham Hatt to you!” Duck snapped.
“Sorry, what?” asked Granny Smith.
“Just talking to the narrator, that’s all. Why, you can use the compartment right next to me!”
“Thank ya kindly Duck,” Applejack replied. “Now get in there!”
Apple Bloom needed no prompting, and the family soon climbed aboard. The guard put on a ‘Reserved’ notice, to prevent anybody else from getting onboard. The passengers scrambled into the other compartments, and the guard blew his whistle and waved his green flag.
Duck pulled away as smoothly as he could, producing a solid Collett bark as he did so, rolling toward Arlesburgh.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the island, Oliver was pulling a train of SECR Birdcage coaches. The 14xx was also painted in GWR Green, but this time with the ‘shirt-button’ logo and the number plate 1466. He was down on Edward’s Branch Line to the sea at Brendam, as he was helping to cover a locomotive shortage. BoCo, who would normally be working here, had to get his traction motors replaced, and as a result he was being used down on the line. He didn’t mind the change in scenery one bit, and it meant he got to see more of his friend Scootaloo. The purple-haired girl shared his own love of speed, and they had become close over the years. He always looked forward to them coming over to the Little Western, even if it was simply to chat with them, or in some cases help them with their work.
Duck rolled along the coast, taking in the sea views and beautiful vistas. Ever since being rescued from scrap in 1969, he considered himself truly lucky to be living on such a beautiful island as Sodor. He steamed through a tunnel, and arrived at long last at Brendam station. This was situated in the heart of the docks, where giant cranes and large ships resided, bringing in cargo that couldn’t be brought in at Tidmouth.
The doors on his carriages opened, and Oliver quickly ran into the run-round loop in order to position at the other end of the train. When he had finished backing up, he coupled onto the other end of the train, to see Scootaloo standing there.
“Hello Scootaloo!” the engine said. “Why so glum?”
“I was part of Anon-a-Miss,” she sighed. “I don’t think I’ll be let out of the house in a while.”
“Not even to see me?” Oliver asked. “Because surely they will understand that interaction matters?”
Oliver’s enquiry soon answered itself, as a pair of women stormed up the platform. Oliver immediately identified them as Aunts Lofty and Holiday. He knew them well enough to know they were absolute terrors.
“Whatever were you thinking?” one of them boomed. “Don’t think you’ll go unpunished for this!”
Scootaloo quaked in her boots, shivering in spite of the winter clothing she wore. “Y-yes Aunt Lofty!” she squeaked.
“You’re grounded and not permitted to see anyone!” the other woman boomed.
Oliver had had enough. They reminded him of the diesel hydraulics that had lorded it over him shortly before he was withdrawn. “Surely you’ll let her come to the platform to have a chat with me now and then?” he asked. “Having nobody to interact with is bad for human development.”
“I did not ask your opinion, tinplate!” Lofty snapped.
“I’m from Somerset,” Oliver replied flatly.
“Let’s go,” Holiday said, pulling Scootaloo’s arm so fiercely it nearly came out of its socket.
“Bye Oliver!” the girl called back.
But Oliver was worried.
That night, he returned to his shed in Tidmouth, to find Duck and Stepney, an LBSC A1X, waiting there.
“Good evening Oliver!” Stepney called.
“It’s not a good evening at all,” said Oliver.
“I know,” Duck added flatly.
“What do you mean?” the Terrier asked.
“Our friends are being grounded and isolated,” Duck said. “I dread to think what they are doing to poor Apple Bloom in that farm. They’re probably going to work her until she can barely stand!”
“And Scootaloo is being banned from seeing anyone,” Oliver added. ”She’ll go mad!”
“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” Stepney said. “I imagine they’ll be punished for the holidays, and then all will be back to normal.”
“I only hope so,” Duck noted.
“Me too,” Oliver sighed.
And so, the three engines drifted off to an uneasy sleep.
Stepney rolled down the line the next morning, resplendent in LBSC Improved Engine Green. Like the others, he had survived scrap and ended up here. He was fairly close to Sweetie Belle, as she had helped restore his paintwork that time after the collision with the sugar truck, and they had bonded from then on.
As he rolled into the platform with his train of Stroudley four-wheelers, he saw a mountain of baggage being loaded into the guard’s van of the Wild Nor’Wester. Standing next to it was Rarity and Sweetie Belle.
Stepney whistled to them. “Good morning!” he called. “How are you?”
Rarity walked over. “We’re just loading Sweetie Belle’s bags.”
“Where’s she going?” asked Stepney.
The younger girl walked over. “I’m being sent to the mainland,” she said sadly. “Our parents have decided that Scootaloo and Apple Bloom are bad influences on me, and I’m to live there until graduate.”
Stepney was shocked. “But what about life on Sodor?” he asked.
“I’ll probably never see you again,” she said sadly.
You could see the fire in Stepney’s eyes go out. “You can’t do this!” he snapped at Rarity.
“It’s for her own good,” the fashionista flatly replied.
“How is it good to tear someone from the only place they’ve known, and from their friends, and send them to live somewhere with nothing but fear and hate?”
“You seemed to cope pretty well,” Rarity said sardonically.
The Terrier was lost for words. “But-but-you can’t!” he stammered, as his eyes started to brim with tears.
The guard suddenly blew his whistle.
“That’s your cue!” Rarity shouted.
Sweetie Belle was crying too. “Goodbye Stepney!” she sobbed. “I’ll miss you!” She climbed aboard the train.
Gordon sounded his whistle, and pulled away from the station.
Gordon soon vanished into the distance, and Rarity walked away. “I hope we never see her again,” she snapped, and walked off.
For the poor Terrier it was too much, and he collapsed into tears. “No!” he whimpered. “I’m being torn from my family again!”
“She did bad things,” said a person next to him.
“But families are supposed to forgive and forget!” Stepney protested. “Are they really so stone-hearted they cannot see she regretted her actions?”
“Of no relevance to us,” the person said. “I’m just glad she’s gone.”
When Stepney returned to the shed that night, he spoke to the others.
“You were right,” he said. “They’ve been separated.”
“What are we going to do?” asked Oliver.
“They’ll go mad without one another,” Duck solemnly noted.
“I have a plan,” said Stepney. “This is what we shall do...”