On the Eight by Four Railway — with extensions — early morning mist curled around the sleepy steam engines and mingled with the first wisps of steam as the firemen coaxed their fires into life for a new day’s work.
One by one, the engines gently woke on their sidings at Caerphilly Yard, their boilers bubbling as they stirred from sleep.
Pickle, a small green tank engine with a bright brass dome, yawned a cloud of steam. Today was his first day pulling the milk tankers to the Cheese and Gate Creamery, and his wheels quivered with excitement.
Old Granite: “Mind the timetable!”
The old quarry engine rumbled.
His green paint was chipped and faded, but his wisdom was as solid as stone.
“Milk likes smooth journeys — butter is made at the creamery, not on the journey!”
Pickle: “I will!” he promised.
Eagerly, he collected his empty tankers, setting off with a cheerful choo! The rails hummed beneath him, and the leaves on the trees, still damp from the morning dew, brushed his tankers as he passed.
But near Dyffryn Bend, Pickle noticed the signal set at danger.
In his hurry, he had left the yard a minute early — bother! Just a minute — and now the line ahead was busy.
Pickle: “I can make it, I can make it!” he thought, puffing faster than he should.
Steam hissed. His wheels slipped on the damp rails, and the empty tankers bumped with a hollow clang.
At the bend, he met Scarlet, a red tank engine, waiting patiently at the Dyffryn coal siding.
Scarlet: “Easy there,” she said kindly.
She had never once missed her coal siding slot in over twenty years.
“Rushing only tangles the timetable.”
Pickle felt his funnel droop. Heat rose in his boiler — and not from the fire this time. Embarrassed, he slowed, listened, stopped, and waited. When the signal cleared, he rolled on, steadier and calmer.
At Stanley Halt, Pickle stopped for Farmer Evans to load churns full of creamy milk into the waiting tankers. The rest of the run went as smoothly as the polished rails beneath him. From halt to halt, farm to farm, Pickle collected his milk, the tankers steadily becoming fuller and heavier.
As the train grew heavier, Pickle had to work harder, his fireman shovelling briskly as steam drifted back along the line of white tankers.
Now steaming prodigiously, he climbed the long grade up to the old four-arched Glenfiddich Viaduct.
When he arrived at the Cheese and Gate Creamery, he was tired but very pleased to have completed the delivery.
Pickle peeped his whistle with relief.
The milk had arrived safely, and the farmers were pleased.
Back at Caerphilly Yard, Old Granite chuffed approvingly.
Old Granite: “You’ve learned the line today.”
Pickle: “I think I understand now,” he beamed. “The line runs best when we do.”
That evening, as the sun painted the sheds and sidings gold, the engines’ fireboxes cooled with contented sighs. Pickle drifted off into a peaceful sleep, proud to have learned the line.
The rails would be waiting again tomorrow, and this time Pickle would be ready for them — wiser than he had been that morning.
Well, most likely… but that would be another story!
Screw Pile Developments 