It was early morning in Falmouth, and Rebecca, Porter, and Salty were all looking at the morning sun as it rose through the sky.
"It's always remarkable the sorts of colours that are produced at the beginning of the day," Porter remarked. "Oranges and reds, and all of those sorts of things."
"You're being awfully philosophical today," Salty said.
Porter sighed. "It's hard to describe artistic ideas and concepts when you're fully awake."
"Besides, the people seem to be happy. Summer come soonest in the south."
Rebecca sighed. "We're being rushed off our wheels, though! First Charles and Sophie go gallivanting off to South America, and now Hitch disappears to Australia! Whatever shall happen next?"
"The sea air does provide a nice change of pace from big yards and factories," Porter admitted. "The railway just wants to ensure everybody can get to their holiday cottages on time."
"I doubt they'll be happy with the travel arrangements," Salty noted. "The trains are often overcrowded. What we need is another coach to help ease demand."
Rebecca's relief driver arrived, and moved her offshed to collect her first working of the day. "See you later!" she called.
"See you!" the other two engines replied.
Soon, Posey and another person arrived to start their days. This other person was a young man with cream skin and red hair that was slicked back in the manner of a fifties greaser. His outfit of jeans and a shirt coupled with a jacket was surprisingly appropriate for work on a steam engine.
"So, we ready to go?" he asked, as he found Porter already in steam.
"Not until we've received our work order we're not," Posey said. "We could be doing anything today, Rocky."
"Even a giant balloon?" Porter asked.
Salty laughed. "Who'd be daft enough to move a fully inflated balloon by rail?"
There are a set of old sidings not far from where the Newham branch diverges from the Falmouth branch. For a long time, these sidings were used to store old equipment, and today they were full of trucks and coaches that were very frail. No engine had tried moving them in a long time.
Porter and Salty had arrived with some old trucks to take to the harbour when they spotted something unusual in amongst the trucks. In the mixture of different objects and rail vehicles was an old bogie coach that looked positively Victorian.
"What is that?" Porter asked, surprised. "I haven't seen a coach like that since LMS days!"
"And more importantly, what is it doing in amongst that lot?" Rocky asked.
"It has a name, you know," said the coach. "I'm Clara, but most people referred to me as Old Slow Coach back in the day. Mainly because I was used on slow trains. It's been a very long time since I carried passengers. Nowadays only some mice are in my compartments."
An idea flew into Salty's exhaust pipe. "What if we were to dig you out and get you returned to service?" he said.
"What?" Posey said. "No. This isn't in the manifest."
The yard foreman then arrived. "Talking with Clara, are you?" he said. "Sad little case, she is. We've been trying to find a home for her for years, but nobody seems to be interested in purchasing an old coach."
"Are there any technical issues with the coach?" Rocky asked.
"Not that I know of. The woodwork is good and the frames are in good order. It shouldn't take too much work to restore."
Suddenly, there was a great commotion from the station.
"What's going on?" Salty asked.
Rocky sniffed. "It smells like... fire!"
It was most certainly a fire. Rebecca suddenly flew through, smoke billowing from underneath her wheels. There was a train of tankers behind her, which seemed to also be burning.
"What on earth?" Posey asked.
Porter clicked what had happened. "Her oil bath has caught fire!" he said. "Quickly, follow me!" He detached from the train (with Rocky's help, of course) and began to quickly run backwards down the line. Salty followed him a few seconds later.
When they got to Perranwell, there was nothing that could have prepared them for the scene. There was fire everywhere. The tankers had been dumped in a siding and the fuel onboard was burning. The flames had spread to lineside buildings, although Rebecca's oil bath fire had seemingly been put out.
The fire brigade had arrived, but were struggling to make their way forward through the smoke. "We need support!" a fireman called. "We can't see a thing in this smoky haze!"
"Why not use the water pumps to disperse the smoke?" suggested one.
"Then we risk not having enough water to put the fire out!" said the first fireman. Moments later, the fire revealed itself, and the firemen were forced back from the station building.
"We've got a problem!" shouted another fireman. "The diesel generator on one of the tenders has packed in! It's not pumping water!"
Salty had another idea. "Connect your pump to my engine," he said. "You can regulate the water pressure using my throttle."
"And use the water in Porter and Rebecca's tanks to help fight the blaze!" Posey suggested. "That way you can put the fire out faster!"
The firemen got to work, connecting up all the relevant pipes and wires. After more than half an hour and several thousand gallons of water they had put the fires out. But it wasn't looking good.
"Perranwell station building was completely gutted by the fire," said the station master. "It's not safe to use the building right now, so it'll have to be put as out of bounds until we can finish repairs."
"But where will the passengers go to buy their tickets and get refreshments?" asked Porter. "They can't have them in the open air!"
Rocky smiled. "I think I have the solution. Come on, Porter! Back to the yard!"
"Clara? As a mobile ticket office?" asked Porter. "Are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of any idea in my time here in Cornwall," Rocky said. "We can take her down to Falmouth for restoration, kit her out for her new duties, and on high season days she serves as extra capacity. It's a win-win for everybody!"
Clara was soon released from the sidings and taken to the workshop in Falmouth. Soon the work to return her to her former glory would begin.
But I shan't say anything else, or I shall spoil the next story.