//------------------------------// // Saved from Scrap // Story: Thomas and Friends: The Retold Adventures // by The Blue EM2 //------------------------------// As usual, it was a busy day on the Island of Sodor, and Sir Toppham Hatt was working both the engines and their drivers hard. It was tough on some of them, given how old they were, but it was all made worth it when they were called ‘really useful engines’ or ‘really useful employees’, or variations on the above. One morning, Edward pulled out of the shed and rolled to a stop next to Thomas. “I’m going to the scrapyard today,” he said to the little blue tank engine. Thomas looked on in horror. “WHAT? But surely Sir Toppham Hatt would never scrap an engine!” “Who’s Shirley?” Twilight asked, confused. Percy rolled by, and Pinkie Pie smiled. “Don’t worry Thomas,” she said, “you’ll be the focus of many episodes on that topic.” Applejack facepalmed. “Twilight,” she said, “Ah think Pinkie’s weirdness is startin’ ta get ta Thomas.” “I’m not weird!” Pinkie Pie said. “She’s just perceptive!” Percy added, as he pulled away. Before the conversation got even more bizarre, Applejack took the opportunity to open Edward’s regulator and get away. They then came to a place of horror and sadness for most lovers of transportation. The scrapyard. A scrapyard is a place where old machinery is broken down and recycled, so it can be made into something new. The only problem was, most of this old machinery, such as cars and lorries, was self-aware, which effectively led to the place being a crematorium. Once the bits were broken down, they were loaded into wagons, and engines pulled them to the steelworks so that they could be melted down and used once more. In the yard lay a surprise for Edward and Applejack. In the yard sat a piece of old machinery. It had two small wheels at the front, and two large ones at the back, connected to a steering wheel by chains. It had a small boiler, a water tank underneath the boiler, and a large flywheel mounted on the left-hand side. It also had a network of gears connecting the flywheel to the boiler and rear wheels, and also had a back bunker where the driver would stand. It looked very sad, and so Edward spoke to it. “You’re not old and broken up!” he said. “What are you?” The machine looked at Edward sadly. “My name is Trevor,” he said. “I’m a traction engine. Thanks for asking, but forget about me. Next week, all I shall be is a mass of broken parts. They’re breaking me up next week, you see.” “Well that’s just terrible!” Applejack said. “You look ta have years of life left in ya!” “Indeed,” Trevor replied. “According to my driver, I only need some new parts and some paint in order to run again. But my owner claims I’m old fashioned.” “Rubbish!” said Edward. “I’m old fashioned, but that doesn’t make me useless. Sir Toppham Hatt says quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.” Applejack looked at Tevor. “Who was yer owner?” “Farmer Finney,” Trevor answered. Applejack nodded. “Thanks, fer that, Trevor. What did ya do in the old days?” “All sorts of things,” Trevor replied. “I was used for whatever was needed, whether that be ploughing fields, planting corn, hauling logs. Anything you can think of really. The children loved seeing me at work, and whenever the town fairs came around, I was always used for rides around the square.” The traction engine shut his eyes, remembering. “Yes, I always enjoyed giving them rides.” Sadly, Edward and Applejack could stay no longer, and they set off for the main line. “Broken up, what a shame! Broken up, what a shame!” said Edward as they steamed down the line. “I must do something to help Trevor in any way I can!” As he rolled along, he thought of any friends of his who liked engines. But none of the ones he thought of would have space for a traction engine in their collection. “It’s a shame, it’s a shame!” he hissed. “Ah know Eddie,” Applejack said sadly. She had been thinking too, in case any of her friends had room for a traction engine. But much like Edward, she couldn’t think of any either. That evening, after having finished work, Applejack stepped into her home at Sweet Apple Acres. Located on a fruit orchard near Arlesburgh, it was a large, two story wooden house with red paint and a porch painted white, upon which a rocking chair sat. There was also a red barn nearby, with a road leading out of it toward the place where the trackbed of the Arlesburgh branch was, thankfully untouched. Applejack sadly hung her hat up and sat down at the table. “What’s wrong Applejack?” asked her father, Brian MacIntosh, or Bright Mac, a man with yellow skin, red hair, and wearing a white shirt, a red jacket, blue jeans, and a pair of brown boots. “Ah’ve never known ya this quiet and sad,” her mother added. Pauline Brynna, or Pear Butter, was the matriarch (for the most part) of the Apple clan, and was dressed in a blue chequered shirt and blue jeans, with a pair of brown boots. “Well,” Applejack said, “When Ah was out at work today, we went by the scrapyard and saw that they are gonna be breakin’ up a traction engine next week. And he’s in perfectly good shape too!” “What’s all this about traction engines?” asked a voice, as a man with yellow skin and brown hair with white strands stepped in. He was dressed in a grey chequered shirt, blue jeans, and boots. This was Goerge Perry, or Grand Pear to his friends, and he was Applejack’s grandfather. “Applejack was just tellin’ us they’ll be breakin’ up a traction engine at the scrapyard next week,” Pear Butter told him. “My goodness!” Grand Pear exclaimed. “Applejack, did ya ask the name of this traction engine?” “Trevor, and he used ta be owned by Farmer Finney.” Grand Pear stepped over to the table. “Tomorra, we’re headin’t ta the scrapyard and buyin’ Trevor!” he said. “Ah’m not lettin’ an old friend die.” “Ya know him?” Bright Mac asked. “And isn’t Farmer Finney the fella that Big Mac works for? The one with that shiny new tractor?” “Of course, Ah know Trevor!” Grand Pear smiled. “Back in the old days, Ah lived on Sodor for a few years, and worked with Trevor for those years. He’d be perfect here!” The next day, Grand Pear arrived at the scrapyard, and with a large can of anti-rust spray, not to mention his toolbox, cleaned Trevor up and got him ready to run. “Grand Pear!” Trevor laughed. “I thought I’d never see you again! Of course, you’ve aged a bit since we last met, but that’s no problem.” “Yer too kind Trevor,” Grand Pear smiled, as he hopped onto the footplate and lit Trevor’s fire. They soon had a lovely fire going, and to ensure he still had what it took, Grand Pear ran Trevor up and down the yard a few times to ensure everything was in order. A few minutes later, the scrapyard owner came out to see him. “The traction engine’s yours for fifty pounds,” he said. “It’s a better price than I could get for him for scrap.” Grand Pear didn’t hesitate paying the money, and he headed over a happy man. “Yer safe now Trevor,” he said happily. “You’ll live at Sweet Apple Acres with my daughter, son in law, and mah three grandchildren. Boy will they be excited to see ya.” Trevor could only beam, as Edward arrived with a flatbed to take Trevor to the mainline junction and onward to Tidmouth, where the line stopped. It took a little getting used to, but the Apples grew to love the newest edition to their family, even if he was a mechanical one. The children, especially the youngest, adored him, and rode on him whenever they got the chance. He now has green paint and red stripes, and his brass shines like gold. He is used around site to tow heavy machinery across the farm, and he makes apple picking a lot easier as he is used to operate the family shaker. This means they no longer need to hire in a diesel generator, saving money and time. But the happiest day for Trevor is always the Arlesburgh town fair. With a wooden seat attached to his bunker, he gives rides to the children, under the watchful eye of Grand Pear, rolling up and down the field and town streets as he gives them untold happiness. At the end of the day, when the other members of the Apple family have gone to bed, you can see him resting in the barn, with his eyes closed. “Thank you, Applejack,” he whispers to himself. “And thank you Grand Pear. Thanks to you, I have a loving family, and a place to call home.”