My name is Scotsman, but most folks call me Scot. I was built in Doncaster on February 24th, 1923, by a British engineer named Sir Nigel Gresley. I, of course, was not the only engine created by this brilliant man; soon, most of my relatives were built alongside me. Some of which include Fergus, Audrey, Oliver, The Garratt, and many more. Oh, and the "Magnificent Mallard," I could not possibly forget about him.
We worked in Doncaster for many years until the late thirties when Mr. Gresley had arranged to have an important meeting with us. We were all gathered in the sidings, curious as to why we were here. I could see in the distance Gresley talking to two workers as he took out a long piece of paper from his coat pocket. I focused on the conversation amongst the three gentlemen and overheard Mr. Gresley telling them that he would sell us to other railways. I was feeling excited but also nervous since this would be the start of a new chapter in my life. I had never worked outside of Doncaster before; none of us have. I started speaking with the other engines about where we would possibly go to start our new work. "I hope to work somewhere in the countryside," said Audrey. "It would be a nice change to work in a more peaceful area than this town."
"Well, I would rather work in the hustle and bustle of London since that is where a proper steam engine belongs." spoke Oliver
"Can you stop going on about this "proper engine" nonsense!" shouted The Garratt.
"Huh, that is funny coming from the least proper engine of this lot. I'll be surprised if anyone decides to purchase you of all engines." Responded Fergus rudely.
Garratt angrily shot a big puff of steam from his piston right into Fergus's face.
"OW! You "cough" rusty little steam pot!” screamed Fergus.
"That is enough! You are all acting like idiots. Is this the final impression you all want to make to our creator before he sends us off?" Announced Mallard.
"Well… no, not at all." The other engines said quietly.
"Good, I hope so. Now be quiet; he's coming,” said Mallard.
Sir Nigel Gresley quickly walked over to us with the paper.
"Right, as most of you have overheard my conversation with the workmen, I have decided that you engines are finally ready to be put to work," Mr. Gresley said proudly. "Mind you that this was not a very easy decision to make. I have been thinking about this for many months. But seeing how well some of you have performed with test runs down the mainline with the small passenger trains, I think that it's time that your work expands beyond Doncaster, wouldn't you say?" Mr. Gresley said, smiling. We all agreed in a chorus of cheerful whistles. "Alright, alright, settle down. It is time to read off the list.” Mr. Gresley said, trying not to laugh. We all stopped and stared at one another. All of us were anxious in the boiler as Mr. Gresley read off the first name. "Oliver, you will be working down at the London Northwestern Railway! Audrey and Fergus, you will be working down at The Great Western Railway!" Announced Mr. Gresley.
"So much for the peace and quiet," Audrey mumbled.
"Oh, don't be like that, Audrey. My driver said that the Great Western Railway is a lovely place for steam engines to work." I said, trying to make him feel slightly better.
"Eh, I guess I can give it a go, as long as Oliver is not such a pain in the tender," Audrey said quickly.
"Well, hopefully, you two will be able to end this rivalry of yours,” I told him.
"Scot, now you are up" announced Gresley. I immediately focused all my intention on him. I could not help that I was getting more and more nervous with each second. "You will be working down at the Edinburgh Waverley," said Gresley.
"Edinburgh? "I'm going to be working in Edinburgh?" I thought to myself.
I was the first to wake up the following day to see the sunrise. I was still hesitant about Edinburgh, but Gresley assured me I would have a lovely time. I took one more look at all of the engines in the shed, knowing this would be the last time I would ever see them, but I hoped we would meet again someday. Eventually, my driver and fireman arrived to start me up. It did not take long until I was ready to go. With one final blast of my whistle, I was off for Scotland. As I puffed out of the sheds, I heard Mallard's whistle go off as one last farewell.
Soon I finally picked up speed as I rushed out of Doncaster.
"We should get there an hour or two after tea time," my driver said. At around 5:30, we finally arrived in Edinburgh; it was very different from Doncaster since it had a medieval look. We soon made it to the Waverley, and I rolled into one of the sidings near the big station to wait for the work orders. There were other engines in sidings, and like me, they came here to work. I was about to talk to them when a workman from the station came running up to us.
"Right," "I have a list of trains that I need you all to take,"he said. "First, we have a small goods train waiting at Haymarket. Would anyone like to volunteer?" he asked.
Without hesitation, two E2 class tank engines raced right passed me out of the sidings.
"Those two seemed eager," I said, chuckling.
"Next, two passenger trains are waiting in the big station. The first train goes from here to South Gyle." "The second train goes all the way out to London," said the workman.
"The city of London!" I thought. The majority of my siblings worked there now, and if I took that train, I would most likely see them again. "I'll take the train to London, sir!" I said without any hesitation.
"Then it's settled," said the workman.
I rushed out of the sidings just like the two tank engines did.
"Seems like you're the eager one now," my fireman laughed. I backed down onto my coaches and could not believe how many passengers were on the platform.
"There are so many!" I said in shock.
"Well, you are pulling the express." My driver said.
"The express!" "That means we don't have to stop in between stations!" I noted in even more shock.
"New to express, I see," said a voice. I saw a BR black five steam engine back down onto her train.
"Why, of course, I am!" "I have never taken it before." I replied.
"I have, I used to take the express a few times on my old railway during the mid-thirties. It was always so nice rushing down the line without stopping and listening to all the lovely compliments from the passengers. My advice is to make a good first impression on the passengers and the railway." Said the engine.
"I will take that advice," I said willingly.
"All aboard!" Announced the guard.
"Well, that's my cue; good luck with your train, umm….What is your name?" I said, confused.
"Alice. And what is yours?" She asked.
"My name is Scotsman, but most people call me Scot for short."
"Well, good luck with your first express run, Scot," said Alice. Soon the passengers finished boarding, the guard blew his whistle, and I set off out of the station down the mainline.
I rushed down the line at tremendous speed. We were soon out of the medieval town and entered the countryside. I kept going faster and faster, and eventually, I had done the impossible.
"Scot!" "You have just beaten your speed record!" My driver shouted.
"What?! I have?!" I shouted.
"Yes, you just reached a new record of 125 miles per hour!" said my driver excitedly. I could not believe it; on my first day pulling the express, I had just set a new record. It was not long until I finally pulled into London. I arrived at the platform to let the passengers off. They flooded out of the coaches and ran straight up to me and told me nothing but how I had given them one of the best express experiences of their lives. Some of them even took out their cameras and took pictures of me. I did feel like the ruler of the railway. My attention stopped when a whistle was heard in the distance; I recognized it instantly.
"That's Mallard!" "He is here in London!" I shouted. Soon enough, Mallard pulled in with his express train.
"Scot, never thought I would see you again, old chap. How is Edinburgh?" He asked.
"Oh, it is gorgeous; you should take a visit." I also broke my speed record today. I went at 125 mph on my run!" I said.
"Hahaha, I'm afraid I may have beaten you there, Scot. I broke my speed record today, too, at 126 mph." Said Mallard.
"Oh, you big showoff," I said sarcastically. Despite the jokes, we were both very proud of our accomplishments and that we had reunited once again.
"Well, I must be off, unfortunately. Good luck, Mr. Flying Scotsman." He said as he puffed away.
"Flying Scotsman? That has a nice ring to it." I thought. A few days later, back in Edinburgh, I was sleeping in sheds until I heard the sound of footsteps. I woke to see both my driver and fireman standing in front of me with big smiles.
"Scot, we have some great news. We got so many compliments from the passengers about how well you pulled the train that the railway board is wondering if you would like to pull it full time from now on,” they both said.
"Oh yes, most definitely. I would love to continue pulling the express!" I said, beaming. For many years I continued to pull the express from Edinburgh to London. I never got bored of it. If anything, I had more fun with the routine each day. I saw many more of my relatives in London and made new friends along the way in Edinburgh. The passengers never gave one complaint. Everything seemed to be going great for us steam engines. That was until the early 50s.
On one cloudy morning, I slowly rolled out from my shed. I was still feeling exhausted.
"Come on, Scot! You're going to keep the passengers waiting at this rate," said my driver. I tried to pick up the pace, but I was not in enough steam to do so. I soon made my way into the station, but to my surprise, my coaches were not there.
"Where is the pilot engine?" Surely he should be here by "HONK." My sentence got cut off by a sound I had never heard before. I could see my coaches come into view, but the sound of rumbling came along with them. Soon I saw the engine come into view as well, but as I looked closer, I could tell this was no steam engine. The engine eventually pulled right alongside me with my coaches. "Who are you? Actually, what are you?" I asked.
"I am a diesel locomotive, and I'm here to replace you rusted metal scraps."
"Metal Scraps!?" I shouted. I was highly offended.
"Don't bother with him. Let's just focus on getting to London," said my fireman. A few hours later, when I arrived in London, I hoped that seeing a relative would cheer me up. Unfortunately, the only other engine that arrived at the station was another diesel. This one was much bigger than the other diesel in Edinburgh and twice as rude.
"I can not wait until you all get sent to Barry Scrapyard. It is where you puffed up tin machines belong!" She said furiously. I could not believe what I was hearing.
"I must say those diesel engines make a bad first impression. Why are they being so cruel?" I asked my driver.
"Well, unfortunately, times are changing fast. Diesel engines have started running on British Rail and are replacing a lot of the steam engines."
"Well, certainly British Rail can not replace my LNER family and me," I said with dignity. "I am sure they won't do that, Scot," reassured my fireman. Unfortunately, he could not be more wrong. The following day as I woke up, I was moving slowly along the line, but my wheels were not touching the tracks! I looked around to find myself on top of a flatbed and saw that a big long diesel pulled me along the line.
"What is happening! Driver! Fireman!" I shouted anxiously, but they were not there. The diesel suddenly responded.
"I'm taking you to Barry Scrapyard in Wales. If I don't, my controller will rip out my engine." The diesel said. It was not long until we were in Barry Scrapyard. The diesel was uncoupled and quickly sped out of sight. I looked all around; there were dead steam engines everywhere I looked. Their faces were replaced with empty, shallow holes. It was then that another diesel shunted in a small tank engine right next to me. The tank engine was in terrible shape, his paint was all rusty, and his cab was completely missing. We then noticed many men surrounding the tank engine, all of whom had giant torches. The small tank engine begged and pleaded, but that did not save him from the cutter's torch. I horrifically watched as the small engine was getting torn apart. His buffers and wheels were ripped off, and soon his funnel and his dome. I tried closing my eyes to ignore it, but the sound of the engine's scream made it impossible. Then all of the men set their torches to the smokebox, where the engine's face was located. I tried looking away, but my eyes could not move; I was completely frozen. I stared intensely as the engine's smokebox came loose, and his face landed directly on the tracks. I could not believe it. He was dead. I was in that scrapyard for many decades, waiting until it was my turn to be put down. I did not have to witness another horrific murder while I was there, but being surrounded by the same dead trains only made me feel sicker to my boiler. I was also worried about my relatives.
"What if they have all been scraped?" I thought. Many days and many nights kept going by. I had begun to rust over the long period and knew that once I was as rusty as that tank engine, it would be the end of the line for me. Then on one surprisingly sunny morning, I woke to see that I had a visitor.
"Hello, who are you?" I said, slightly confused.
"Goodmorning Scotsman, my name is Alan Pegler, and I am here to get you out here," he said.
"What?! You are?!" I said in surprise.
"Yes, of course, so many people, including myself, would be unfortunate to hear that the Flying Scotsman would be put to waste. However, now that you're in the hands of Alan Pegler, that won't be the case," he said sympathetically.
"Will I be able to run again?" I asked.
"Unfortunately not, but what will happen is that I will preserve you at the National Railway Museum. Your cousin Mallard is waiting for you there." He said.
"Mallards still alive?!" I shouted. I could not believe it. I felt extremely relieved that he was ok and was in good hands. Eventually, after an overhaul and a new paint job, I was placed inside the museum along with Mallard. We were both extremely grateful to see each other again. Mallard told me he had been left to rust on a siding for decades until Mr. Pegler saved him. I told him about my experience in the scrapyard shortly after.
"I am so sorry you had to endure that horrific imagery." He said, trying to comfort me.
"It will stick with me for a long time, Mallard. I can not do anything to change what happened and could not in that moment. Hey, Mallard? Are all steam engines going to be replaced? Are more steam engines going to be sent to the scrapyard? Are our relatives…are we really done for?" I asked rapidly.
"Scotsman, I have been able to answer any question imaginable, but this one? I don't know Scotsman. I don't know." He said as we both shut our eyes. It was time for us to rest.