Sodor Island Parody Pack

Mountain Engines - Parody Adaptation


Sir Handel had had a bad day. Heh, 'had had' looks funny. The old coaches, Agnes, Ruth, Lucy, Jemima, Beatrice, the Professor and Mary Ann, had been 'awkward'. You know what I mean, right guys? Right? They'd made him slip to a standstill twice. He was furious with rage and anger.
"Those cattle-trucks should be scrapped," he fumed. "And I'm also dissatisfied with the coaches."
Skarloey was so shocked that his mouth formed a consumate v. You can't see it in the pic, but it's there. "I won't have it," he protested.
"Come on Skarloey, you need to take this medicine for your memory," said his driver.
"I'm not having any of it, so there. The only thing I dislike more than that medicine is Sir Handel's name callery."
Callery is now a word.
"Absolutely right," said Rheneas. He winked at Skarloey. Skarloey did not wink back. Rheneas' feelings were hurt, but he didn't let it show. You be thankful, Sir Handel, that we're not a mountain railway."
"What's a mountain railway?" asked foolish Sir Handel. Many readers breathed a sigh of relief that an old joke had not been used.
"Oh well gee, let me think, could it possibly be, oh I don't know, a railway which climbs mountains?"
"But it can't," said Sir Handel. "Its engines' wheels would slip! And then it would fall down the mountain. Just like that time when I was Falcon and Duke and I..."
"But it can," said Rheneas firmly, preventing us from learning about Duke for 7 or so more years. "We've heard of one quite near here."
"We have?" asked Skarloey, who was beginning to regret not taking his memory medicine.
"You haven't!"
"We have!"
A noisy argument started and ended just as Donald shunted a flat truck to the siding nearby. If you can't guess what this is then you don't know how the RWS works.
On the truck was a queer-looking engine. He had six small wheels and a stove-pipe chimney, like Abraham Lincoln's hat, except it was tilted, like drunken Abraham Lincoln's hat. Actually it was the boiler that was tilted, and his cylinders were, relatively speaking of course, 'back to front'. He also had a face...on his behind!
"Wheesht!" whispered Donald hoarsely. You're the one using exclamation marks, Donald, why don't you wheesht? "Dinna wake the wee engine. It's tired he is. He's away back from England after being mended. Ye ken how it is. I'm Scottish, you know."
"We understand, barely; but what manner of two faced freak is that?"
"Well he may be any number o' people. As it turns oot, he's called Culdee, after the moonten his rayalway cliyambs."
I write Scottish accents better than Awdry.
"Oh well, I never, did you ever, see such a cat as magic as Mr. Mestopheles?" exclaimed the two old and apparently musical engines. They laughed at Sir Handel's ignorance.
"I categorically deny that!" said a pouting Sir Handel.
Donald didn't even dignify that with a response. Well he did, but I can't be bothered to type out any more Scots today. Then he left in a huff. The huff broke down so he left in a taxi. Groucho's got nowt on me.

Culdee woke up to find the engines gazing at him.
"Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer."
A railway enthusiast did so.
"Just where in Jamaica am I?" Culdee asked.
They told him. "Oh good," he replied. "Nearly home."
"Do you really climb mountains?" asked Skarloey.
"Nah mate, that's just what we tell the tourists. Truth is I actually just float up there on my magic carpet."
"No, not really. 'Course I climb mountains! Wouldn't be much use as a mountain engine if I couldn't climb mountains, would I?"
"How do you do it?" asked an amazed Rheneas.
"Oh it's very technical mate. You wouldn't understand."
"Doesn't it get dangerous though? I mean, sometimes on our railway our coaches do silly things like push us downhill. Some engines certainly can't handle them very well. *Cough* Sir Handel*cough*!"
Sir Handel suspected that Rheneas could be referring to him.
"Our coaches are smarter than your coaches," said Culdee smugly. "And they know that they shouldn't risk people's lives. I've never had that sort of accident. But there was one time when I was very frightened indeed."
"Tell us!" said the engines.
"Oh alright then."
Before we turn over, I'd like to point out the illustration on page 13. See that handsome engine in the foreground? That's Alaric, which means he appears in two pages! Eat it, Ryan and Loey!
(R&ER meeting in-joke. You wouldn't understand. You're not 'in the know'.)

"One day, long ago when the Earth was young...younger, anyway...before our line was even opened, our drivers made all 5 of us engines stand ready outside our shed."
"5?" asked Skarloey. "Who are the other 4?"
"Shut up, this is storytime, not question and answer time. Anyway, it turned out the Inspector was coming to test one of us. Of course he chose the most handsome engine there, me, and made me push two coaches to the summit.
"'Yes yes, exceptional so far. But then again, I expected nothing less of such a magnificent engine as this one. Why, he's an example to all who see him!'"
The little engines suspected embellishment.
"So he rolled me onto the steepest part of the line, where the mountain sharply fell, and a nasty curve stood at the end overlooking a precipice.
"'Brakes off, Driver. Let him roll.'
"'Are you daft, man?! We'll die if we do that!'
"'Do it! Do it, or so help me, I'll see thee hanged!'
"The coaches nudged me. We gathered speed. Of course I wasn't scared at all. Nosiree. Even if I did oil myself.
"My driver went for the brake. The Inspector punched him in the chin.
"Fortunately, I stayed strong in the face of the crisis, and managed to stop the train all by myself."
"Rubbish!" claimed Sir Handel. "Without anyone pulling your brakes? We've got proof that can't be done! See 'Branch Line Engines', at your local bookshops across the nation!"
"Ah, but you see, we mountain engines have automatic brakes," said Culdee.
"Automatic brakes, eh?" said a passing Sir Topham Hatt. "I must look into those."
"So of course I saved the day with my quick thinking. Everyone was all, 'Oh Culdee, you're so great!', and I was all, 'Yeah, I know it', and then all the ladies were like, 'I want your babies!', and I was all like, 'Sweet!'"
"Showoff," said the little engines to themselves.

Next morning, Skarloey, Rheneas and Culdee were having a right old natter when Duncan stormed up, followed by Sir Handel who lightly drizzled up.
"Uh oh, here comes trouble," chuckled Rheneas, who obviously secretly (oxymoronically) revels in other people's misery.
"I nearly came &^%*$ off!" fumed a foul-mouthed Duncan. "Those @$!%& coaches *^&$* pushed me! And that *%^$&& Thin Controller says it's my fault! Even when I showed him the CCTV footage clearly showing it was those coaches who pushed me. Thin &^$**! He says I kept a Bad Look-out, the *^"&"^$%! Thet've no money to mend me, he says, and he's threatening to stick in the back of the *^&($) shed! I swear sometimes that man is out to get me!"
Skarloey, shocked at the crass words and Dolly Parton lyrics, went into a coma, neatly explaining his lack of activity in this story. But before he did, he winked at Rheneas like this:
That was the closest thing I could get, sorry. What's with these engines and winking, anyway? First it's Rheneas, now it's Skarloey. Is there a lot of dust in the air or something?
"As you were saying, Culdee," remarked Rheneas. "You had two coaches on your trial trip. Do you ever take more?"
"Keep up, Rheneas. We stopped talking about that yesterday. But in answer to your question, we only usually take one with the line being so steep."
"Now hold on a &*$&^ minute!" cried Duncan. "Who is this freaky fellow anyway?"
Once Duncan was brought up to speed, Culdee continued.
"Each of us have our own coaches on my line. Mine's called Catherine. She's great."
Boom boom!
"I know her well. That's most important."
"Why?" asked Sir Handel. "They're only coaches. They don't have feelings. They exist only for our pleasure."
"I shall ignore your misogynist comments. Our coaches have to watch the line for us because we push them from behind, which believe me is a lot easier than pushing them from the side. Obviously the Guard watches too, but when he's had a few too many I have to rely on Caroline alone."
"That must take a load off your mind," said a comatose Skarloey.
"But not off my buffers! Ah ha ha, I'm so funny! But it is hard climbing up those steep mountains. Not like going downhill. Then we can just roll and, hopefully, stop rolling at some point."
Sir Handel sighed. "Some engines get all the luck. With your automatic brakes, that must be easy peesy lemon squeezy."
"That's just the mistake that Godred made," said Culdee mysteriously.
"Godred? Who the blazes is Godred?"
"Ooh, congrats on not swearing Duncan," said Rheneas. Duncan beamed as Culdee began his story.

"Godred was our number one, and named after a king, which might explain his ego problem. And coming from me, that's saying something. He was so conceited..."
"How conceited was he?"
"He was so conceited, that he'd never keep a good look-out. He'd just roll down the track looking everywhere but the rails."
"I don't get it," said Sir Handel.
"I tried to warn him, but he wouldn't listen to me.
"'Pith and pithlewick!' he would say, because he was that sort of engine. 'Is it not the case that I have automatic brakes? And has my driver not also got his air brake? What more couldst I possibly require?'
"'More brains for a start, thicko,' I would reply. 'No engine can stop at once if his head's not in the game.'"
Skarloey would have made a remark about young engines at this point, but he was now deeper in his coma and so could not.
"Godred never learnt sense," Culdee continued. "Everyone tried to tell him, but he'd never listen. They even took him to pieces for some reason, I think to see if anyone was wrong with him, but it might have been to rescue a sandwich a workman had dropped in his tank. But no matter what they did, he would still act like a plonker.
"One day I was waiting at a station for Godred to pass me."
"Were you going up or down?" Rheneas asked.
"Who cares? Anyway, as I waited, so it happened. One moment he was on the track; the next, his Driver and Fireman jumped clear as he rolled over."
"What, that's it?" asked Duncan. "He just fell?"
"Yep. His coach stayed on the track, and the Guard braked her to a stop, but Godred just fell down the mountain."
"That's a *^*% story!" said Duncan.
"Ah, but I'm not finished. You see, they couldn't afford to mend him, so they stuck him at the back of the shed."
"Hey, that's just like what the Thin Controller said to Duncan!" said Sir Handel.
"Really? I hadn't noticed. Anyway, as time went on, poor Godred just kinda...vanished. Do you want to know why?"
"Not really," said Duncan.
"I thought you might. You see...our drivers used Godred's parts to mend us," said Culdee in a spooky voice.
"...You're a *%&&@!@ maniac!" exclaimed Duncan.
He and Sir Handel were unusually loud for long after Culdee had gone home, shouting about the psychotic engines of the mountain.
Neither Skarloey (who by that point had got out of his coma) nor Rheneas ever mentioned that Culdee had made the story up. Because he hadn't. Or maybe he had. Or maybe he only made up the beginning. Or the ending. Or bits of both. Or maybe he stuck together bits out of context.
That one sentence has been murder for the fandom to explain.

London, home of the Underground, the London Eye, and the baguette. Don't believe those French liars. It is here in a post box in Baker Street that...
Wait, that's 'Danger Mouse'. Sorry.

Donald brought Culdee up the valley to the exchange-siding, where he exchanged him for 200. No, of course he didn't. Actually, Culdee was off-loaded by a crane. The crane had those sticky-out rods like on the ERTL Breakdown Train, which for years I thought was to stop other engines from passing along the tracks either side of the crane. Now I realise it was just to steady the crane. Ahh, to be young...
Everyone thankded Donald, who went on his merry way, and as they waited for Culdee to steam, they looked him over carefully.
"Nice engine, shame about the face," they said.
Culdee ignored them and trundled to his shed. Trundled. That's a funny word.

Catherine was pleased to see him...Catherine. Funny, that's just one letter off Katherine. The girl who broke my heart. The girl who made me finally experience happiness, only to have it dashed on the rocks of despair. Why, cruel woman?! Why did you torture me so?! And why, oh why can't I get over you?! More importantly, why did they not inlude the interrobang on my keyboard when I could really use it right now?!
Catherine was pleased to see him. "I've had to go out with Lord Harry," she said as they took a short run. "He takes risks and frightens me. When I warn him, he laughs."
"Wait wait wait," Culdee interrupted. "You've been seeing other engines?"
"Oh Culdee, I didn't want to do it, but the manager, he made me do it!"
"The manager, eh? Don't worry, baby. I'll see he gets his!"
Later, he met two old friends, Ernest (No. 2, and not the engine car, before you even get started) and Wilfred (No. 3, and coincidentally, the name of my favourite Bash Street Kid). After some happy gossip and settling of debts, Culdee asked, "Who is Lord Harry?"
"He's one of the new engines," they said, "who came while you were away. He's No. 6."
"I thought Patrick McGoohan was No. 6."
"Shut up, that programme hasn't even been created yet. There's two others as well. There's Alaric, No. 7, who's a funny, charming, handsome engine who makes all the coaches hearts flutter, and there's Eric, the coolest engine in the entire fleet. What a guy that Eric is. Much better than old Harry."

Next afternoon, Lord Harry rolled by with a reluctant coach, on his way to the platform.
"I say, by George, these coaches are most ridiculous," he grumbled poshly. "Why, they're all a' frightened of coming with me."
"That's because you're ugly," said Culdee, and according to the picture, he was telling the truth.
"Stuff and nonsense! I'm highly sprung and right up to date, by thunder! I could easily exceed speeds double that of yours and stay in perfect safety."
I know I'm repeating a gag here, but come on, it's worth it, right? Right?
"We don't take kindly to risktakers in these here parts," said Culdee in his best South States accent.
"Poppycock! What 'risks'? Why my dear fellow, with my super-heat..."
"Oh, super-heat? I thought it was conceit!"
The studio audience laughed and laughed. Lord Harry snorted furiously away.

"Oooooh!" screamed the coach as her wheels ground on the curves. "This is no way to treat a coach!"
"Pooh!" snorted Lord Harry. "I like things to be exciting, eh wot?!"
Every wise mountain engine fact, everyone in their right mind knows not to act like a plonker on a steep mountain. But Lord Harry was being a right twollop.
"And now it merely remains to storm that final slope, and I shall show everyone in the world, especially that salamander Culdee, that I, Lord Harry, am the greatest engine of all!"

The telephone rang in the Shed, and Culdee's crew were joined by the Manager. "Lord Harry's 'off' at Summit, and you'll have to go rescue him" he said. Somewhere, a trombone made a 'wah, wah, waaaaaaaaaah' sound.
Culdee collected some workmen (including an ultra rare 'shiny' workman) and the tool-van, and set out at once. Culdee's back face was most annoyed.
When they reached Lord Harry, they could see that he had fallen at the points, blocking both roads of the station, preventing Wilfred and his passengers from going down the mountain (when she comes, yeehaw!). The passengers buzzed around Lord Harry like busy little bees, cute, fuzzy, stingy bees. He was feeling very harassed! He was tempted to sue, but being an engine he was not entitled to such rights.

The Manager used alliteration to pacify the passengers, while Culdee and the workmen did some stuff that you don't care about.
"Oi, Wilf," said Culdee. "Who's this wreck?"
"It's Lord Harry; didn't you know?"
The rest of this page is pretty much the same as that joke Toby makes about James in 'Dirty Objects', which is pretty lazy writing on Rev. Awdry's part, but it gets bonus points for calling Lord Harry fat.

(Did you know: Culdee Fell is the highest station on Sodor? It's true, just look at page 41)

They pushed Lord Harry out of the way and took the passengers on an all-expenses paid trip to the Bahamas. Then Culdee helped him back to the shed.
"It was that rotten old coach, Sir," blustered Lord Harry. "She never..."
"No tales," said the Manager sharply, cutting Lord Harry on the cheek. "It was your fault, and you know it. You upset the passengers and damaged yourself. And worst of all, you made me have to pay for 120 people to go on a holiday in the Bahamas! We cannot have that on our Mountain Railway."
Have you grasped that this is a mountain railway yet? Good.
"This is a rotten swiz, Sir!"
"Stop talking in that ridiculous accent! You will stay in this shed until I can trust you again!"
He turned, and walked sternly away. The effect was lost somewhat when he walked straight into the side of Ernest.

As a punishment, they took Lord Harry's name away and put him away at the back of the shed. "I am not a number, I'm a free man!" he exclaimed. But no one listened to him.
He soon heard Culdee's story about Godred, which once again may or may not be made up.
"Pooh!" he said. "That couldn't happen to me. I can fly!"
"Oh no you can't," said Culdee.
"Oh yes I can!" No. 6 argued.
"Oh no you can't!"
"Oh yes I can!"
"Stop this pantomime behaviour!" said the Manager, entering the shed.
"Please, Sir, I'm ever so sorry," No. 6 grovelled. "I'll try to be different."
"The passengers don't trust you," said the Manager. "You shouldn't have tried to get them involved in that pyramid scam."
"It wasn't a pyramid!" No. 6 protested. "I mean, it wasn't a..."
"Silencio, por favor," said the bi-lingual Manager. "You will take the 'Truck' instead."
So No. 6 took supplies to Summit Hotel, and he took gangsters...sorry, gangers to work in the morning. Although it would be a lot more exciting if it were gangsters. As it was, he found it very dull.

"It's important work," protested Wilfred, "and tough too."
"Tough! That little lot?"
"Yes, tough," said Culdee. "Have you ever been across Devil's Back in a gale?"
No. 6 was bemused. "That sounds like a great metaphor for something," he snickered.
A mile below Summit, the line runs along a rocky ridge. Always there is wind. Gentle, it sometimes is; fierce and dangerous it is at others. Yoda, this story has written. *Ahem* Then all passenger trains stop at Devil's Back station, officially the coolest-sounding station on Sodor, but whatever the weather, stores and rescue trains must get through. And the post. Think of the post.

A few days later, No. 6 reached Devil's Back at 5.15. This time has no importance whatsoever. He was on his way back to fetch railway staff from Summit. Summit fierce. Heh, 'cos it sounds like...never mind.
"All clear now," said the Stationmaster, as the last 'down' train left the loop. "Don't waste time. The wind's rising. We'll have a gale in half an hour."
"Blimey, that's quite specific," said No. 6's driver. "You can tell you used to work at the Met Office."
The Stationmaster went inside to set the points, but the telephone rang, and he came back looking worried. "There's trouble," he told the crew.
"I should hope so," said one of them. "We're nearly halfway through the story and nothing's happened yet."

They filled the Truck's big tank with water, and sandbags ballasted the Van. Wait a minute, who's this Van? He's not been mentioned 'til now. Oh well, who cares?
"What's this all about?" asked No. 6.
"Well lad, there's been an climbing accident," his driver explained. "Culdee and Catherine are bringing up a Doctor and a Rescue Team, but she'll never make it through this gale. Our mission, and we've no choice but to accept it, is to get that team through. We've the best chance of anyone. Think you can do it?"
"I'll have a jolly good try, by Josephine!" No. 6 beamed, briefly allowing himself to go back to his 'Lord Harry' persona.

When Culdee arrived, the Doctor and the Rescue Team changed trains. There was a brief bit of kerfuffle when they started heading back down the mountain (They'd taken the wrong train), but it was soon sorted out. The Manager was there too.
"Splendid!" he said, when he saw the preparations. "I always do like seeing people getting prepared. My wife may find it strange, but the Devil with her. Now No. 6, it's up to you."
"A real job at last!" crowed No. 6 exultantly. If anyone could explain to me how someone 'crows', I would be very grateful. "Come on chaps, let's save those mountaineers!"
Leaving the shelter of the Station, the full force of the gale struck him like a blow. "Blooming hell," he shouted, "is it too late to turn back?"
"Sorry," said his driver, as they battled on up the track.

The vicious stinging wind seemed to come at No. 6 from all directions. The Truck lurched and swayed as the wind tore at it, her groans and whimpers echoing in the engine's ears. But was he scared?
"You bet your bunker I am. But I can't go back now. I must save those mountaineers. Otherwise this volume will end on a very depressing note."
Slowly, doggedly, he struggled on, til in shelter, again on the other side, they climbed the final steep ascent, and rolled triumphantly into Summit Station. And there was much rejoicing by all.

They bought the climbers safely down (the details of which shall not be told to you), and an ambulance whisked them to hospital. They certainly felt battered after that. Boom boom. Next morning, their leader came to say 'Thank you'.
"My friend Patrick," he said, "hurt himself helping me, but he's mending now, thanks to you and your brave engine, and also the fine paramedics at the hospital. We'd all be proud if you'd call the engine Patrick, too."
The Manager frowned. "What, Patrick 2? As in Patrick the Second?"
"No no, I mean Patrick...too. As well."
"Oh, I see. Well then No. 6, would you like that?"
"Oh, Sir! Yes, sir! It seems...appropriate somehow."
Patrick and the others are all good friends. Look at them all, smiling away in that last picture. Although it looks like Culdee could do with a bit of work. Patrick is still brave, still ready to take risks when needed, but he knows now that it is stupid to take them just for the sake of showing off!
Unless you work on a show like Jackass. Then it's OK.

Sodor Island Parody Pack