Tales From The Other Railway

Diesel & Spamcan's Christmas Misadventure

Diesel & Spamcan's Christmas Misadventure

It's Christmas time again - and the Other Railway Diesels are on a mission to ruin it for everyone again!

If some day you should see Diesel the Diesel Shunter growling angrily along the line, he may be on his way to a town nestled deep in the heart of the Other Railway.

In this town is a business district filled with bloated bankers and selfish stockbrokers. Every Christmas they dined on solid gold turkeys and money salad, while the Thin Git and the Other Railway engines had to make-do with beans on out-of-date toast and Lidl-brand oil.

One December morning Diesel tooted to all the bankers, "It's nearly Christmas and I'll ignore all your letters and parcels!"

The silly bankers ignored him back. They were too busy throwing cavier to the ducks. They had no time for Poor Engines.

But a week later, the traditional winter storms came. The Other Railway was covered in thick slush. The engines found work more difficult than usual. Some had to help clear slush from the tracks with trucks full of salt (You don't want to know what they did to BoZo's boiler) and workmen hacked away at the frozen banks of ice to get their Christmas savings out of their accounts.

You might say that their 'assests were frozen'. HAHA!

Oh, give me a break, it's Christmas.

Diesel and Spamcan were collecting important post for Christmas. They were going to dump it in the canal and spend the day at the fuel depot.

"Driver says there'll be lots of post for the business district," said Diesel. "I'll need an extra drink for it all!"

Spamcan was feeling cold and bitter. "S'not fair.

You're not leavin' any post for me to ruin, ya greedy gronk!"

But Spamcan's chance had come.

"There's been a change of plan," said Diesel's Driver, "the Thin Git needs us at the Big Fat Station. Spamcan, you are to take Diesel's train to the town."

Spamcan was delighted, but Diesel was livid.

"I won't be able to say Crappy Christmas to all my enemies!"

"Don't worry," said Spamcan smugly, "I'll do it for ya."

"It's not the same," grumbled Diesel. "I'd written a song and everything."



Spamcan was making good time on his way to the town (Only twenty minutes late!) when suddenly:

"Putrid puddings, what's that?" called his Driver.

There ahead was a fogman by the line. He was holding a bundle of crimson material.

"The town's cut off by red tape!" he shouted. "Those bloody bankers have hired the entire town for their annual Christmas party and the Thin Git thinks it's time we taught those snobs a lesson."

Spamcan remembered when they snowed in Mrs Cruelly two years before and grinned broadly.

"We need snow, workmen and a helicopter," said the fogman, "leave your trucks in the sidings and go back quickly."

"Gladly," said Spamcan. "I was about to dump them anyway!"

Spamcan was soon growling to the airfield.

"Oi, Private Parts! Up and at 'em!"

Private Parts was an old military helicopter who lived at the airfield. He was a paranoid fellow, said by many to have more mustashe than common sense. He was discharged from the army after a disasterous mission where he mistook the QE2 for a German U-boat. Now he spends his days sleeping and accusing people of being spies.

"TOOT TOOT!" bellowed Spamcan. "Wake up, you old goat!"

Private Parts awoke with a start. "Whu!? Wuzzat!? Aha! Come to finish me off! You crafty Jerry, take that!"

He fired his guns, pelting Spamcan with snowballs.

"Will you stop that, ya mad fossil!" snapped the diesel. "The spoiled bankers are 'aving their annual piss-up! We're gonna ruin it!"

"Corking!" replied Private Parts. "I like a good bombing campaign to keep me warm," and he bumbled away, knocking down a windsock on the way.

"Now," groaned Spamcan, "what's next?"

Suddenly there was Diesel with Scrappy the Tractor and the works train.

"Get your arse in gear, Spamcan!" tooted Diesel. "Follow me!"

The two engines battled their way through the red tape. At last they reached the town. Private Parts was already there, busily dropping snow on people and animals.

"Have at you, you bally rotters!" he laughed boistrously, "give Uncle Fritz my regards!"

Scrappy quickly got to work. "Yucky stuff!" he snarled, as he pushed the snow into all the roads.

"D*mn you, Spamcan! D*mn you, Diesel!" booed the bankers. "You're the worst Santa Claus this town has ever had!"

"Wozza Santa Claus?" asked Spamcan stupidly.

Diesel rolled his eyes.

"Santa Claus is a fat b*****d who drops Coke down chimneys at Christmastime."

Spamcan looked at his exhaust.

"I wonder if..."

"No!" laughed Diesel. "Coke drinks, Spamcan, not coke powder! Speaking of crack, that reminds me, your silly sub-plot is still back in the siding, isn't it?"

Spamcan hurried back to dump them in the river.

Just then Derek arrived with the Brakefather. "We've brought lots of hard liquor and expired food for the bankers!" he tooted.

With all the expensive restaurants blocked off by snow, the hungry bankers swarmed around the train.

"That's our Christmas dinner!" exclaimed Diesel. "Have you got holly in your brain or something?"

"It's the Thin Git's orders," winked Derek. "I know what I'm doing. Trust me."

Diesel and Spamcan exchanged nervous looks.



That night all the engines had gone back to their sheds, drunk off their wheels, except Derek. The strong alcohol and expired food had left the bankers light-headed and sick. As they stumbled to and from the toilets, the workmen crept into their houses and gathered up their things.

They loaded sacks and parcels into the Brakefather, then they set off through the neon-lit industrial complex.

All the engines were fast asleep in the sheds as Derek spluttered noisily into the Yard. He knew exactly what the workmen were going to do, but he pretended it was going to be a big surprise anyway. Bless him, he still leaves a glass of oil out for Father Christmas every year.

When the engines awoke next morning they could not believe their eyes (And only partly because of their hangovers). The sheds had been repainted and redecorated with antique furniture, top-of-the-range games consoles and an entire forest of Christmas trees covered in fur coats. Money lay everywhere.

The engines tooted in delight and everyone agreed that it really wasn't a Crappy Christmas after all.

THE END.

Tales From The Other Railway - Series 3 / Story 13
Based on Thomas & Percy's Christmas Adventure - Written by Britt Allcroft & David Mitton