Thomas and the Great War

Story Time

That evening, the engines realized that they had not given Christopher's first night on Sodor a proper introduction, so they decided to make up for lost time by telling him stories about their former lives and other memories before the war. Gordon was the first to tell his story as Christopher sat down on the track and listened to hear him tell the history of his days on the Great Northern Railway.

"When I was young and green," the A0 said. "I dreamed that I would pull the legendary Orient Express from London to Istanbul, formerly Constantinople, in just two days with no more than 20 round trips, but I came down from that cloud real quickly and I was soon pulling distant passenger trains with my brother Great Northern from London to Edinburgh and all the way back to Doncaster where I was built. It was because of my great speed that the Fat Director brought me here about twenty one years ago, and I haven't been to the mainland since then, but I am sure to return one day."

Edward told his story about the time Gordon got stuck on a hill. "When we reached the top, Gordon forgot all about me pushing his goods train and he didn't stop to say thank you."

Gordon felt guilty. "Well, that was then, this is now."

"But at least my driver was very pleased with me and that is how I became the smartest engine in the shed," finished Edward.

Henry told Christopher about the time he had been blocked in a tunnel for being afraid of the rain spoiling his paint and refused to move. "My fire had gone out, soot from the tunnel roof spoiled my green paint, I was cold, unhappy and I wondered if I could ever pull trains again," reminisced Henry. "But I guess I deserved a punishment, didn't I?"

Christopher thought it was unfair, but his mood soon brightened when Henry finished the story. "And that is how Edward, Gordon and I became great friends. Now how about we go to sleep?"

Christopher did not feel ready to go to bed just yet. "Do you think we have time for another story, Henry?"

"Three stories is enough for one night, Christopher," Henry said kindly.

"What about James?"

"I am not telling any of you the story about how the brake pipes in my coaches were mended with a pair of bootlaces," fumed James. "Any more of that story and my reputation could be ruined."

None of the other engines were willing to tell any more stories, so Christopher gave up. He removed his shirt and shoes and walked slowly over to the hammock.

"Good night," he whispered.

The engines said good night in return and the lights in the shed were turned off. Christopher tried to sleep in the somewhat uncomfortable hammock, he tossed and he turned as his thoughts went to his father and he began to dream.

In his dream, where everything was monochrome, Christopher was back home in his London townhouse bedroom with his father staring down at him, smiling. They hugged each other for a moment or two before a loud knock on the door broke their silent moments. Wilbert turned to leave but Christopher held him back by the arm.

"Don't go," he whimpered.

"I have to," his father left for the door and Christopher followed after him, he ran down the stairs and out into the front porch where Wilbert was greeted by a quartet of SS guards with two German Shepherds.

"Wilbert Awdry," the one with the cap began. "You are under arrest for helping the British resist our forces."

"NO!" screamed Christopher. "Father, look out! They're trying to kill you!"

But it was too late, the guard with the hard helmet pulled out a gun and shot Wilbert square in the chest.

"You're next," said the leader.

Frightened, Christopher tried to run back into the house, but the SS captain grabbed his arm and pulled him back outside where he unleashed a vicious looking cat o' nine tails from his belt. Christopher screamed in pain as the SS guard whipped him three times across his back and he was just about to do a fourth when his dream ended. He woke up with a scream that awakened Thomas.

"What is it, Christopher?" he yawned.

The boy was in a cold sweat and his chest was heaving to see that he was back in the engine shed. When he heard Thomas, Christopher tried to get the words out.

"Dad...London...he left me...I saw Nazis."

"Did someone say Nazis?!" Gordon was half asleep and he had heard everything.

"It was just a dream, Gordon," replied Thomas.

After Gordon went back to sleep, Thomas thought of a way to cheer up Christopher. "Why not I tell you a story?" he asked him.

Christopher sat down in front of Thomas, crisscrossed on the floor with the blanket on his back. "Which one?"

"The one about the time I got my own branch line."

"What did you do before then? Were you a dockyard shunter?"

"I was just a station pilot who wanted to see the world," Thomas replied kindly.

"I wanted to see the world too," murmured Christopher.

"Then that makes us even," said Thomas. "It all started when Henry got ill, so I decided to take his train and set off, only to realize that I had left the coaches behind."

"How did that happen?" asked Christopher.

"The shunter forgot to couple them," explained Thomas. "Anyway, after that little mishap, Edward offered me to take some trucks to his station, they proved be very troublesome and very difficult to deal with. When James came to the island, he had gone off the rails thanks to his old wooden brakes and some very troublesome trucks, so I took the breakdown train to help clear up the mess and the Fat Director gave me a branch line all to myself along with two coaches, Annie and Clarabel."

"Is that all?"

"Nope, I had many other adventures on my branchline after that. First, I left Clarabel's guard behind, then I met a tractor named Terence who helped me out of a snowdrift after I foolishly believed that I did not need a snowplough for the winter."

Christopher was surprised that even the road vehicles could talk as well, even though he had not seen one yet. "Wow, can I meet him sometime?"

"I don't know Christopher," remarked Thomas. "But I did meet someone else, a bus named Bertie. He was one of those motor cars who thought that roads were better and faster than rails, so we had a race and I won. We might do it again someday, but that is very unlikely."

Christopher was silent; he wondered about it for a second before Thomas asked, "Did you like the story?"

"Yes," replied Christopher. "But I'm tired; I think I'm ready to go to sleep now. Good night."

As Christopher crawled back onto the hammock Thomas whispered. "Good night, Christopher."

Thomas fell fast asleep and so did Christopher, he dreamt about his father again, but they weren't exactly dreams, they were memories...memories of just him and Father back home in London before the war tore them apart.

He remembered dancing with Wilbert during a school dance along with a girl he only knew for a short while, he remembered the times they went fishing and swimming at the beach, he even remembered that at the end of the week they would watch the express trains pulling in and out of King's Cross station. They would also watch goods trains whooshing through tunnels and the tank engines shunting trucks in the yard.

Christopher smiled at the happy memories, and maybe he knew that somewhere, wherever his father would be, was dreaming too about the moments they spent together before the war started, because they both knew that some things would never leave them. Then, another thing crossed into his mind, loneliness.

"Oh, Father," Christopher sobbed quietly. "Will I ever see you again?"