Post by Pete on Jul 15, 2010 14:06:51 GMT -5
Fed up of having to wait until December for the next episode of 'Doctor Who'? Worry not! This fanfic will serve until then! Here's the first part!
Doctor Who: The Gift of Steam by Pete
OCTOBER, 1942
"Christopher," said a calm, gentle, soothing voice. "Daddy's home."
Christopher looked away from the window, all thoughts of which train would come past next temporarily erased from his mind. The door to his bedroom opened and in came his father, his reassuring, young face soothing the young lad's feelings.
"How's the measles?" he asked.
Christopher fumbled around in his bed. His mother kept telling him not to scratch at them, but temptation kept poking him in the stomach.
"Still itching, are they?" his father agreed. "Never mind. Let me cheer you up."
His father had carried with him a piece of paper and a piece of black charcoal. He started to sketch something out on it, and all the while he was singing:
"Early in the morning,
Down at the station,
All the little engines
Standing in a row.
Along comes the driver,
Pulls the little lever
Puff, puff! Chuff, chuff!
Off we go!"
It was Christopher's favourite nursery rhyme, and usually he giggled and joined in with the 'puffs' and 'chuffs'. But those measles were just begging to be itched, and so he fumbled around more.
"What are you drawing, Daddy?" he asked.
"It's a tender engine." replied his father.
"Like one of the engines in the rhyme?"
"Why, yes, he could be." his father said, an idea forming in his head. "He could be one of the engines."
"He looks sad, Daddy. Did he have the measles, too?"
"No, Christopher!" laughed his father. "He was sad because all the other engines got to go out. 'The Driver won't choose you again!' they would tease. 'He wants strong engines like us!'"
"What was his name?" asked Christopher.
"Let's call him... Edward." decided his father. "That sounds like a nice name for a tender engine."
And as his father began to tell him a story, Christopher soon forgot to stop fumbling around to try and ease his itchy body, and soon began to listen with awe at his father, telling him about Edward, the guard who was late because he was preparing his sandwiches, and all the nice people who rode on Edward. And as he listened, he thought he could hear a whistle and an engine going past. But Christopher thought it was his imagination.
Had Christopher been paying attention, he would've realised that, yes, it WAS a steam engine going past his house. But there was something wrong with the engine's whistle. It sounded half like a whistle, and half... alien. If Christopher could've seen inside the cab, he would've found it to be empty. And had Christopher been able to look at the front of the engine, he would've found a dark, twisted, snarling face half-printed onto it...
MAY, 2010
"Sixty-five!" cried the Doctor as he marched past crowds of busy shoppers one hot spring's day. "It's hard to believe that this year, this glorious year of 2010, he is sixty-five years old!"
"Who is?" asked Amy, desperately attempting to keep up with her best friend in her crimson high heels.
"You'll soon find out!" the Doctor replied, looking up at a sign. "If I can find the right bookshop."
"Well, hurry!" smarmed Amy, stopping to rub her feet. "These shoes aren't fit for running in! Trust you men with maps!"
The Doctor had decided to take Amy out shopping, at the Merry Hill Shopping Centre in Dudley, and it was while he was looking at a poster in Superdrug whilst waiting for her in New Look that a thought buzzed in his head. A sort of childish, happy thought. And as soon as he'd found out where the ideal spot to show his companion what he was thinking was, he would show her something far more interesting than the latest make-up kit or the trendiest ladieswear.
Ignoring Amy's last remark, the Doctor took a sharp right and, beckoning Amy into a nearby lift, travelled up to the next floor.
"Why are we in the lift? Where are we going? Who is sixty-five?!" questioned Amy, who was already hot and bothered as she was because she had a lot of shopping bags to carry!
"You'll soon find out!" repeated the Doctor, marvelling at the scenery buzzing past them as they travelled upwards. People going about their business. Men laughing. Women with lots and lots of shopping. Children probably up to mischief.
As soon as they got out of the lift, the Doctor led Amy left, right, then left again. Finally, they came to a Waterstone's shop, its logo embossed in gold.
"Ah! I knew this was the right one!" he smiled, entering.
"I still don't get you." gasped Amy. "Right, next stop, YOU'LL carry these bags while I have a nice sit down and a cup of coffee!"
The Doctor didn't pay much attention. Instead, he simply walked Amy past the Drama, along the Humour and TV Books, and into the Children's Section at the back of the shop.
"You're kidding me." Amy said, full of embarassment. "You made me run in high heels and carry quite heavy shopping just so you could look at kids' books. How OLD are you?"
"907." the Doctor quickly replied, kneeling down near one shelf and taking out a small, postcard-sized book. "Ah! Here we go!"
Amy looked down at the book. It had a picture of a steam engine on the front, pulling some coaches. It was blue with red stripes and had a quite content face. A tender was affixed between the engine itself and the yellow coaches. The words 'THE THREE RAILWAY ENGINES' stuck out like a sore thumb at the top.
"Thomas the Tank Engine?" Amy gasped in both shock and nostalgia. "HE'S sixty-five? I used to watch that when I was a wee girl!"
"Yes. Although, that's technically Edward, as Thomas is in the second book. But, still, you're right. Thomas wasn't just a TV star. He became one thanks to this book." the Doctor explained. "It was first published in 1945, sixty-five years ago. Since then, he has become one of Britain's finest children's book characters, quite possibly the first to be recognised across the world."
"But surely it's something adults wouldn't read." Amy pointed out. "To their kids, maybe, but not to themselves."
"Yes, true, but there's something magical and influential about this book, and all the others that followed it." the Doctor replied. "Whether it's the accuracy in which the author brought the railway of Sodor to life, or the detailed illustrations of each picture, illustrated by some of the unsung illustrators of their time, like C. Reginald Dalby. Quentin Blake could never capture the magic and dexterity that Dalby did. You'd never believe it, Amy, but some adults have formed online message boards on the Internet JUST to talk about Thomas, Edward, Gordon, Henry....ALL the engines on Sodor!"
Amy took the information in. "You mean....YOU'VE read the Thomas books?" she gasped.
"Yes. I have the entire collection in the library." the Doctor replied smugly. "All of them when they were first published."
"Well, why didn't you show me them the last time you took me round?" Amy asked.
"You never asked me."
"So, who wrote these books?"
"The Reverend Wilbert Awdry. Born 15th June 1911. English clergyman, railway enthusiast and, before 1943, one of the greatest British children's authors. Educated at Dauntseys School, West Lavington in Wiltshire, St Peter's Hall in Oxford, and Wycliffe Hall in Oxford. Ordained into the Anglican priesthood in 1936." the Doctor informed her.
"Wow." Amy gasped. She never knew that a book for young boys and girls could be so educating in its background. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could find out how he managed to publish that book and become famous?"
"We've got time, haven't we?" the Doctor said with a smirk.
Amy didn't mind the long walk back to the TARDIS in her high heels and carrying lots of shopping bags (the Doctor had parked it in a little alcove between some shops on the ground floor near Burger King), and as soon as she had stretched her legs and changed her footwear into something more suitable, she was ready to accompany her 'Raggedy Doctor' into yet another adventure through Time and Space...
JULY, 1943
The quiet, desolate Sunday morning was shattered at the railway station when a wheezing and groaning noise echoed across the platform. Birds flew away from the unearthly noise and a stray cat looked up from its mousing as the TARDIS, that wondrous time machine of the Doctor's, materialised. The Doctor stepped out and took in the crisp Spring air.
"Amy Pond, welcome to 1943!" smiled the Doctor, watching Amy look round. She had dumped the shopping near the TARDIS' central console and was now hands-free.
"Where is everyone?" she asked. "Not in the Air-raid shelters, are they?"
"No." replied the Doctor. "If I am right, this is Kings Norton railway station in Birmingham. If there was a warning, we wouldn't have seen the ARP warden at his post." He eyed the empty hut at the 'overflow' station. A man in his 50s was reading a newspaper and drinking some tea.
"HOI!" yelled Amy at the man. "EXCUSE ME, PLEASE! WHAT'S THE DAY?"
The young man nearly dropped the tea in shock! "What the blazes do you think you're doing, young lady, shocking an Air-Raid Patrol warden like that?!"
The Doctor gave Amy an admonishing look, then called: "Sorry! We've just arrived in Brum. My companion here's a little lively after our little train journey yesterday."
"Oh, I see." the warden gave a wheeze. "Well, it can't be helped. Even though we haven't a clue if the Jerries will strike again after their little fun ended two years hence, it's still nice to see the young try and get society running again."
"So, what's the day?" asked Amy.
"Sunday." replied the warden. "And a peaceful one at that. Hopefully it'll last before the Ghost Train comes."
"Ghost Train?" Amy asked.
"Aye." replied the old man. "Started two years ago. 'Tis been a local legend since. They say a train passing through the Vauxhall and Duddeston station got caught in an air raid bombing, not far from Brum, and after they heard the crash, they saw the ghostly image of the train attempting to finish her journey. But when it got to Barnt Green, she disappeared. A policeman spotted it near this very line, just as the bobbies were clearing away the bodies of the crew from the rubble of the station. But then, the next day at exactly the same time, the train appeared again. And like before, it disappeared soon after. It's been doing that every day at 9pm ever since."
The Doctor didn't listen much to the story. He was busy checking the timetable.
"Odd." he muttered. "It says 'normal service at weekends during war', but there's no-one around. Almost as if they're frightened of something. But what?"
Amy waved goodbye to the warden and walked off with the Doctor.
"A Ghost Train?" the Doctor seemed curious.
"Yeah." replied Amy. "Y'know, all white and creepy. The sort that goes 'Woooooo!'"
Amy and the Doctor were now in Kings Norton, trying to find W. Awdry's house. Amy had related the Ghost Train story to the Doctor.
"But something's not quite right." the Doctor replied. "Usually, ghosts, or afterimages of events played back, don't appear after the crash. It takes months or even years for them to appear. It sounded as if the Ghost Train appeared seconds after the bomb exploded and crashed the train."
"Well, perhaps the warden had too much to drink." Amy proffered. "Or it could be dementia. Old age. He could even be delirious if he was patrolling the streets to all hours."
"Very good ideas." said the Doctor. "But not one of them seems right. Is the Ghost Train a ghost? Or something far worse...?"
Amy decided to change the subject. She could see that the Doctor was looking a bit worried, and after all, they still hadn't found the man they had travelled back in time to meet in the first place.
"If the Revd. W. Awdry was a cleric.... and it's a Sunday..." Amy jogged the Doctor's mind.
"....then he must be at the church!" the Doctor smiled, racing off towards the green.
The curate watched as a gaggle of children ran past, free from being cooped up learning about God and His Ways and now ready to play at soldiers and build things with their Meccano kits. He looked down at one young man declaring that he would be the Brigadier of the troop and that everyone should respect him.
"Ah, Gordon...!" he smiled. "Let's hope you don't get stuck up hills like the Gordon in my stories!"
He then saw a dexterously clever man who looked quite young but felt old, festooned in a bland jacket with a noticeably big bow tie. With him was a red-haired, somewhat hot-blooded young woman with bright, eye-grabbingly catchy clothing running across the green, around the children playing. The man braked near the church and looked at him.
"Reverend Wilbert Awdry, I presume?" the Doctor asked "We're from the London, Midland and Scottish Railway Appreciation Society, established recently. I'm Mr John Smith, founder and railway enthusiast, and this is Miss Amelia Pond, fellow railway enthusiast. This is our membership card and proof of identification." He flashed the psychic paper in Wilbert's eyes.
"Oh! Fellow railway enthusiasts! How did you know about me?" the curate asked.
"News gets around." replied Amy. "You know what they say: birds of a feather flock together!"
"We would like to get to know more about you." said the Doctor. "Doing an article in our recent newsletter on Like-Minded Individuals."
"Well, I'll be happy to invite the both of you to my house after my work's done for the day." smiled Wilbert.
"That would be great. Thanks!" smiled Amy.
Doctor Who: The Gift of Steam by Pete
OCTOBER, 1942
"Christopher," said a calm, gentle, soothing voice. "Daddy's home."
Christopher looked away from the window, all thoughts of which train would come past next temporarily erased from his mind. The door to his bedroom opened and in came his father, his reassuring, young face soothing the young lad's feelings.
"How's the measles?" he asked.
Christopher fumbled around in his bed. His mother kept telling him not to scratch at them, but temptation kept poking him in the stomach.
"Still itching, are they?" his father agreed. "Never mind. Let me cheer you up."
His father had carried with him a piece of paper and a piece of black charcoal. He started to sketch something out on it, and all the while he was singing:
"Early in the morning,
Down at the station,
All the little engines
Standing in a row.
Along comes the driver,
Pulls the little lever
Puff, puff! Chuff, chuff!
Off we go!"
It was Christopher's favourite nursery rhyme, and usually he giggled and joined in with the 'puffs' and 'chuffs'. But those measles were just begging to be itched, and so he fumbled around more.
"What are you drawing, Daddy?" he asked.
"It's a tender engine." replied his father.
"Like one of the engines in the rhyme?"
"Why, yes, he could be." his father said, an idea forming in his head. "He could be one of the engines."
"He looks sad, Daddy. Did he have the measles, too?"
"No, Christopher!" laughed his father. "He was sad because all the other engines got to go out. 'The Driver won't choose you again!' they would tease. 'He wants strong engines like us!'"
"What was his name?" asked Christopher.
"Let's call him... Edward." decided his father. "That sounds like a nice name for a tender engine."
And as his father began to tell him a story, Christopher soon forgot to stop fumbling around to try and ease his itchy body, and soon began to listen with awe at his father, telling him about Edward, the guard who was late because he was preparing his sandwiches, and all the nice people who rode on Edward. And as he listened, he thought he could hear a whistle and an engine going past. But Christopher thought it was his imagination.
Had Christopher been paying attention, he would've realised that, yes, it WAS a steam engine going past his house. But there was something wrong with the engine's whistle. It sounded half like a whistle, and half... alien. If Christopher could've seen inside the cab, he would've found it to be empty. And had Christopher been able to look at the front of the engine, he would've found a dark, twisted, snarling face half-printed onto it...
MAY, 2010
"Sixty-five!" cried the Doctor as he marched past crowds of busy shoppers one hot spring's day. "It's hard to believe that this year, this glorious year of 2010, he is sixty-five years old!"
"Who is?" asked Amy, desperately attempting to keep up with her best friend in her crimson high heels.
"You'll soon find out!" the Doctor replied, looking up at a sign. "If I can find the right bookshop."
"Well, hurry!" smarmed Amy, stopping to rub her feet. "These shoes aren't fit for running in! Trust you men with maps!"
The Doctor had decided to take Amy out shopping, at the Merry Hill Shopping Centre in Dudley, and it was while he was looking at a poster in Superdrug whilst waiting for her in New Look that a thought buzzed in his head. A sort of childish, happy thought. And as soon as he'd found out where the ideal spot to show his companion what he was thinking was, he would show her something far more interesting than the latest make-up kit or the trendiest ladieswear.
Ignoring Amy's last remark, the Doctor took a sharp right and, beckoning Amy into a nearby lift, travelled up to the next floor.
"Why are we in the lift? Where are we going? Who is sixty-five?!" questioned Amy, who was already hot and bothered as she was because she had a lot of shopping bags to carry!
"You'll soon find out!" repeated the Doctor, marvelling at the scenery buzzing past them as they travelled upwards. People going about their business. Men laughing. Women with lots and lots of shopping. Children probably up to mischief.
As soon as they got out of the lift, the Doctor led Amy left, right, then left again. Finally, they came to a Waterstone's shop, its logo embossed in gold.
"Ah! I knew this was the right one!" he smiled, entering.
"I still don't get you." gasped Amy. "Right, next stop, YOU'LL carry these bags while I have a nice sit down and a cup of coffee!"
The Doctor didn't pay much attention. Instead, he simply walked Amy past the Drama, along the Humour and TV Books, and into the Children's Section at the back of the shop.
"You're kidding me." Amy said, full of embarassment. "You made me run in high heels and carry quite heavy shopping just so you could look at kids' books. How OLD are you?"
"907." the Doctor quickly replied, kneeling down near one shelf and taking out a small, postcard-sized book. "Ah! Here we go!"
Amy looked down at the book. It had a picture of a steam engine on the front, pulling some coaches. It was blue with red stripes and had a quite content face. A tender was affixed between the engine itself and the yellow coaches. The words 'THE THREE RAILWAY ENGINES' stuck out like a sore thumb at the top.
"Thomas the Tank Engine?" Amy gasped in both shock and nostalgia. "HE'S sixty-five? I used to watch that when I was a wee girl!"
"Yes. Although, that's technically Edward, as Thomas is in the second book. But, still, you're right. Thomas wasn't just a TV star. He became one thanks to this book." the Doctor explained. "It was first published in 1945, sixty-five years ago. Since then, he has become one of Britain's finest children's book characters, quite possibly the first to be recognised across the world."
"But surely it's something adults wouldn't read." Amy pointed out. "To their kids, maybe, but not to themselves."
"Yes, true, but there's something magical and influential about this book, and all the others that followed it." the Doctor replied. "Whether it's the accuracy in which the author brought the railway of Sodor to life, or the detailed illustrations of each picture, illustrated by some of the unsung illustrators of their time, like C. Reginald Dalby. Quentin Blake could never capture the magic and dexterity that Dalby did. You'd never believe it, Amy, but some adults have formed online message boards on the Internet JUST to talk about Thomas, Edward, Gordon, Henry....ALL the engines on Sodor!"
Amy took the information in. "You mean....YOU'VE read the Thomas books?" she gasped.
"Yes. I have the entire collection in the library." the Doctor replied smugly. "All of them when they were first published."
"Well, why didn't you show me them the last time you took me round?" Amy asked.
"You never asked me."
"So, who wrote these books?"
"The Reverend Wilbert Awdry. Born 15th June 1911. English clergyman, railway enthusiast and, before 1943, one of the greatest British children's authors. Educated at Dauntseys School, West Lavington in Wiltshire, St Peter's Hall in Oxford, and Wycliffe Hall in Oxford. Ordained into the Anglican priesthood in 1936." the Doctor informed her.
"Wow." Amy gasped. She never knew that a book for young boys and girls could be so educating in its background. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could find out how he managed to publish that book and become famous?"
"We've got time, haven't we?" the Doctor said with a smirk.
Amy didn't mind the long walk back to the TARDIS in her high heels and carrying lots of shopping bags (the Doctor had parked it in a little alcove between some shops on the ground floor near Burger King), and as soon as she had stretched her legs and changed her footwear into something more suitable, she was ready to accompany her 'Raggedy Doctor' into yet another adventure through Time and Space...
JULY, 1943
The quiet, desolate Sunday morning was shattered at the railway station when a wheezing and groaning noise echoed across the platform. Birds flew away from the unearthly noise and a stray cat looked up from its mousing as the TARDIS, that wondrous time machine of the Doctor's, materialised. The Doctor stepped out and took in the crisp Spring air.
"Amy Pond, welcome to 1943!" smiled the Doctor, watching Amy look round. She had dumped the shopping near the TARDIS' central console and was now hands-free.
"Where is everyone?" she asked. "Not in the Air-raid shelters, are they?"
"No." replied the Doctor. "If I am right, this is Kings Norton railway station in Birmingham. If there was a warning, we wouldn't have seen the ARP warden at his post." He eyed the empty hut at the 'overflow' station. A man in his 50s was reading a newspaper and drinking some tea.
"HOI!" yelled Amy at the man. "EXCUSE ME, PLEASE! WHAT'S THE DAY?"
The young man nearly dropped the tea in shock! "What the blazes do you think you're doing, young lady, shocking an Air-Raid Patrol warden like that?!"
The Doctor gave Amy an admonishing look, then called: "Sorry! We've just arrived in Brum. My companion here's a little lively after our little train journey yesterday."
"Oh, I see." the warden gave a wheeze. "Well, it can't be helped. Even though we haven't a clue if the Jerries will strike again after their little fun ended two years hence, it's still nice to see the young try and get society running again."
"So, what's the day?" asked Amy.
"Sunday." replied the warden. "And a peaceful one at that. Hopefully it'll last before the Ghost Train comes."
"Ghost Train?" Amy asked.
"Aye." replied the old man. "Started two years ago. 'Tis been a local legend since. They say a train passing through the Vauxhall and Duddeston station got caught in an air raid bombing, not far from Brum, and after they heard the crash, they saw the ghostly image of the train attempting to finish her journey. But when it got to Barnt Green, she disappeared. A policeman spotted it near this very line, just as the bobbies were clearing away the bodies of the crew from the rubble of the station. But then, the next day at exactly the same time, the train appeared again. And like before, it disappeared soon after. It's been doing that every day at 9pm ever since."
The Doctor didn't listen much to the story. He was busy checking the timetable.
"Odd." he muttered. "It says 'normal service at weekends during war', but there's no-one around. Almost as if they're frightened of something. But what?"
Amy waved goodbye to the warden and walked off with the Doctor.
"A Ghost Train?" the Doctor seemed curious.
"Yeah." replied Amy. "Y'know, all white and creepy. The sort that goes 'Woooooo!'"
Amy and the Doctor were now in Kings Norton, trying to find W. Awdry's house. Amy had related the Ghost Train story to the Doctor.
"But something's not quite right." the Doctor replied. "Usually, ghosts, or afterimages of events played back, don't appear after the crash. It takes months or even years for them to appear. It sounded as if the Ghost Train appeared seconds after the bomb exploded and crashed the train."
"Well, perhaps the warden had too much to drink." Amy proffered. "Or it could be dementia. Old age. He could even be delirious if he was patrolling the streets to all hours."
"Very good ideas." said the Doctor. "But not one of them seems right. Is the Ghost Train a ghost? Or something far worse...?"
Amy decided to change the subject. She could see that the Doctor was looking a bit worried, and after all, they still hadn't found the man they had travelled back in time to meet in the first place.
"If the Revd. W. Awdry was a cleric.... and it's a Sunday..." Amy jogged the Doctor's mind.
"....then he must be at the church!" the Doctor smiled, racing off towards the green.
The curate watched as a gaggle of children ran past, free from being cooped up learning about God and His Ways and now ready to play at soldiers and build things with their Meccano kits. He looked down at one young man declaring that he would be the Brigadier of the troop and that everyone should respect him.
"Ah, Gordon...!" he smiled. "Let's hope you don't get stuck up hills like the Gordon in my stories!"
He then saw a dexterously clever man who looked quite young but felt old, festooned in a bland jacket with a noticeably big bow tie. With him was a red-haired, somewhat hot-blooded young woman with bright, eye-grabbingly catchy clothing running across the green, around the children playing. The man braked near the church and looked at him.
"Reverend Wilbert Awdry, I presume?" the Doctor asked "We're from the London, Midland and Scottish Railway Appreciation Society, established recently. I'm Mr John Smith, founder and railway enthusiast, and this is Miss Amelia Pond, fellow railway enthusiast. This is our membership card and proof of identification." He flashed the psychic paper in Wilbert's eyes.
"Oh! Fellow railway enthusiasts! How did you know about me?" the curate asked.
"News gets around." replied Amy. "You know what they say: birds of a feather flock together!"
"We would like to get to know more about you." said the Doctor. "Doing an article in our recent newsletter on Like-Minded Individuals."
"Well, I'll be happy to invite the both of you to my house after my work's done for the day." smiled Wilbert.
"That would be great. Thanks!" smiled Amy.