Sunlight gleamed on the rails of Ddraig Goch station, polished by the passing of countless wheels. Two engines waited importantly side by side.

One was Mallard, an A4 class engine, large, proud and blue. His streamlined casing and nameplates shone and sparkled in the bright morning sky. From buffer to buffer he stood eager and ready at the station, steam drifting from his valves in impatient sighs.

Beside him stood King Edward the VIII, a hardworking King class engine painted a deep, dignified green. He was broader and heavier, built for strength, and his brass snifting valve glowed warmly in the morning sun. He too was eager to start the days work.

Both engines had passenger coaches to pull that day—holidaymakers heading for the coast, and shoppers and business people heading to the city. While Mallard and and King Edward were good friends, they each secretly liked to be thought of as the finest engine on the line.

Mallard said this smoothly, while he glanced at his reflection in the signal box windows.

King Edward chuckled, his buffers bobbing back and forth.

The stationmaster blew his whistle. “Right, you two! Mallard, you’ll take the coastal express. King Edward, you’ve got the city service. Mind the timetable—and no racing!”

“Yes, sir!” they chorused, though both engines felt a tingle of competition bubble in their boilers.

Mallard set off first, gliding away with barely a sound, his coaches whispering along behind him. He couldn’t resist opening his regulator just a little more than necessary. “Plenty of power to spare,” he thought proudly.

King Edward followed with a confident chuff-chuff, hauling his heavier coaches up the hill. The climb was steep, but he dug in, pistons pumping steadily. “This is real work,” he said to himself. “And I’m made for it.”

Further along the line, the two routes ran close together. Mallard spotted Edward on the parallel track and gave a jaunty whistle. King Edward replied with a deep, cheerful blast of his own. Both engines tried just a touch harder—Mallard smoothing his run, King Edward pulling with extra determination.

But showing off has a way of causing trouble. Mallard, going just a bit too briskly, felt his wheels slip on the curve by the river. He slowed quickly, embarrassed, hoping no-one had noticed.

At the same time, King Edward felt one of his coaches riding roughly over the point of a switch, he gently eased his pace to keep his passengers comfortable.

At the junction where one line headed towards the coast and the other to the city, they met again at the signal.

Mallard agreed.

Later that day, Mallard arrived on time at the coast, his passengers spilling out happily onto the platform eager to start their holiday. Arriving in the city, King Edward safely delivered his passengers, who smiled and waved as he departed for the return run home.

Back at the Ddraig Goch engine shed the engines rested side by side, fireboxes ready to be emptied into the ash pit after the hard days work.

Mallard answered firmly.

And the embers, still warm from the day’s work, seemed to agree.