Murdoch was in a right state. "Get moving, you stupid trucks!" he shouted.
The long line of mixed trucks behind him didn't want to move, however. "Hold back, lads!" shouted one. They had been doing this all morning, and the heavy load combined with the lack of continous braking meant that Murdoch had only been able to move at a snail's pace. Unfortunately, it got worse. The trucks were also singing.
"Meet the gang, cause the trucks are here,
the trucks to irritate you!
T- R, U- C- K- S!
Trucks to irritate you!"
Vinyl whiped her brow and brought Murdoch to a stop. "It's no use," she said. "We might as well stop here and wait for a bit. They'll stop it eventually. Boy is that song irritating."
Just then, Donald arrived with a goods train from Barrow. "Hello there, Murdoch," he said. "Having trouble with your trucks?"
"You can say that again," Murdoch grumbled. "Why can't trucks come quietly?"
"Having trouble with your trucks?" Lyra asked, cheekily.
"Why are you asking the question again?" Vinyl asked.
"Well, Murdoch said 'you can say that again', so I did!"
"Do you have any advice?" Murdoch asked.
"Yes, actually," Donald replied. "Mine are very well behaved, and this new brake van is probably why." He puffed into the yard, revealing an LMS 20 ton brake van sitting on the back of the train. He was painted lime green with red lining, and his face had a scowl on it.
"Atrocious, what passes for goods trains these days," the brake van said, in a thick, deep Welsh accent. "Wait, is that you Murdoch?"
"Bradford!" Murdoch replied. "It's great to see you again. Why, I last saw you at Stranraer in 1958. What happened since then?"
"I was posted to a depot for a bit, and then ended up in preservation. I've been brought here to help get trucks in order, so that's what I'll do."
"I'll attach you to the back of my train," Murdoch replied. "Us celts must stick together, after all."
Moments later, Bradford was attached to Murdoch's train, and moments later he went into action. "RIGHT! LISTEN UP YOU HORRIBLE LOT! I'M IN CHARGE NOW! NO BUMPING, AND NO CHEEK! UNDERSTAND?"
"Well, we do ra-"
"SHUT UP! NOT A WORD FROM YOU, UNDERSTAND?"
The trucks fell completely silent.
"Thank you, lovely boys. Right, Murdoch, we're ready to go. Proceed carefully; partially unfitted, fourty five miles per hour maximum speed!"
"Roger that!" Murdoch replied.
"My name is Bradford, not Roger."
Safe to say, they had a very smooth run to Tidmouth marshalling yard, where Murdoch shunted the empties away into another siding, and then collected some loaded 16 ton coal trucks. The train was incredibly long, and Bradford was at the back.
"Right away!" shouted the yard foreman.
Murdoch began to move off, but Bradford shouted ahead. "Murdoch, stop!" he shouted.
Murdoch slammed his brakes on and stopped. "What's wrong?"
"Railway safety regulations clearly state that coal hoppers must not be loaded above the bottom of the grip plate of the unloading door! You'll either have to leave some behind, or find some more hoppers into which to put the excess load."
"We'll run late if we do that!" Vinyl exclaimed.
Bradford rolled his eyes. "Oh dear, how sad, never mind. Vinyl, following the rules is far more important than running on time. True, it is good to arrive on time, but better late in this life than early in the next."
It took them half an hour to transfer the coal into other vehicles, and by the time they got back to Vicarstown, they were running over an hour late. Sir Toppham Hatt was waiting there, and he did not look plased. "You're late," he said.
"Sorry for the delay!" Murdoch panted. "We had to move some of the coal around."
"Just get to your next job, and quick," Sir Toppham Hatt fumed.
Just then, Derek arrived. "I heard your brakevan was positively marvellous," he said. "Can we borrow him?"
"Be my guest!" Vinyl replied, and she and Murdoch moved off to collect some vans.
Derek backed his train onto the brake van. "Good evening!" he said. "I'm Derek."
Bradford scowled. "You're going nowhere until you've been cleaned up. You are in violation of British Railways Operations Code 24, Section 23, Paragraph 2, Subsection 6, Sentence 22; 'locomotives will not be operated unless they are in a presentable state'. Now go for a clean."
Octavia looked out of the cab. "Locomotives get dirty all the time. Besides, we'll run late if we waste time faffing about with a wash."
Braford scowled again. "But we'll run late if we waste time faffing about with a wash," he said, in a scarily accurate impression of Octavia's voice. "Now, you listen here, Mr la-di-dah Derek, orders are orders, and we must follow the rules and regulations, for without them where would we be?! Now, off to the washdown, LEFT RIGHT LEFTRIGHTLEFTRIGHTLEFTRIGHTLEFTRIGHT!"
Octavia sighed. "Well, bang goes that theory."
"Why are we referencing obscure British sitcoms?" Derek asked.
Henry also had trouble with Bradford. As he backed down onto the Flying Kipper, Bradford took offence. "Your centre lamp has a tiny crack in it," he said. "That will need replacing."
"But the depot is miles away!" Henry protested. "I'm certain it'll hold until the end of our run!"
"That's not the point!" Bradford interrupted. "Safety before timeliness, always. Now move!"
Henry sighed and puffed away. "Yes, sir."
Bradford smiled. "We'll have this place in order in no time."
At Tidmouth sheds, the engines and their drivers were all sharing their stories about Bradford, and none of them were positive.
"Henry and I ran so late that when we got to Vicarstown, we were 90 minutes behind schedule," Fluttershy finished. "The diesel that took over the train seemed very cross."
"He made me go and clean Derek up before we could take a mixed train out!" Octavia fumed. "Then he mocked our manner of speaking. It's not my fault I have a posh accent."
"He forced me to run at 25 miles an hour all the way from Arlesburgh to Tidmouth," Duck noted. "And he made Apple Bloom cry."
"He's causing this railway to run incredibly late!" Rainbow Dash fumed.
We don't have to work with him," Vinyl noted. "Hey, is Toad available?"
Murdoch paused. "It's a tricky one, Vinyl."
Unfortunately, they had a coal train to take out, with several overfilled trucks. And Bradford was the only brake van left.
"Now or never," Murdoch said. "I vote we go without him. As long as we keep to 45 miles an hour, we'll be fine."
"Agreed," Vinyl replied, and they set off, not hearing Bradford shouting after them.
Unfortunately, they soon ran into problems. A train had broken down ahead of them, and the signal was faulty. Murdoch slammed on his brakes, but skidded clean through the signal and without a brake van to provide extra braking force, he had no chance of stopping. He smashed into the broken down goods train and fell onto his side, splintered wood and bits of wagon frame going everywhere.
Sir Toppham Hatt arrived, and he was not happy. "Murdoch, Vinyl, what on earth were you two thinking? You know that you need a brakevan on a partially fitted train!"
Vinyl looked worried. "We were scared we'd be late and that you'd yell at us again!" she said quickly.
Sir Toppham Hatt sighed. "Firstly, I'm sorry for snapping at you yesterday over that. And second, following the rules is far more important than running on time. True, it is good to arrive on time, but better late in this life than early in the next."
"That's what Bradford said," Murdoch sighed. "Oh, I'm such a fool."
Later, when Murdoch was repaired and back in working order, he went back to the yard to apologise. "Hello, Bradford," he said. "Sorry for speeding off like that without waiting to hear what you had to say. You were right; following the rules is far more important than running on time."
Bradford pondered for a moment. "Well said," he replied. "But that wasn't why I was calling after you. I was calling to say goodbye. I'm going back to my home railway, and I don't know when I'll be back on Sodor- if at all."
Murdoch sighed. "It was nice to see you again," he said.
"You too, Murdoch. And your driver too, Vicarious?"
"Victoria. Or Vinyl. Either way."
Bradford was then hooked up to his train, and the formation set off. Unfortunately, the trucks began to sing.
"Picture a land where the sky is so blue, a storybo-"
"SHUUUT UP!"