It was a beautiful morning in the city of Sondon but the Fat Controller was not happy. "My really useful engine is in the wrong place and its all the fault of those nasty conservationists." He harumphed, stamped his foot and clenched his fists.
The previous day, Thomas, a cheeky, fussy little engine, had delivered letters to local residents saying the Fat Controllers' contractors were coming to clear the banks of the rail-line just after midnight. Similar work nearby had already been stopped by angry passengers who were worried baby birds had been killed during the work.
Thomas was worn out and needed a rest. On his way back to the yard, he spotted a red-faced man peering over the trackside wall. He remembered seeing the same man leaning over a bridge taking photos of the trees and shrubs earlier in the evening. The Man had been on a bike. That explained the red-face thought Thomas as he puffed along the track, saying "good-day" to a pair of jays nesting in a trackside oak.
Overhead crows and magpies squawked from the tree canopies and blackbirds could be heard from the scrub. Thomas was so taken by the wildlife that he accidentally turned off down a branch line. Some hours later he came gently to rest against some buffers and promptly ran out of steam and fell asleep.
While Thomas slept, the red-faced man had hastily pedalled off to talk to the British Transport Police.... Safety comes first he told the Inspector, and in the bird breeding season the law is clear. If safety is threatened, the right paperwork can be sought. The birds' must be allowed to raise their chicks and add their song to the soundtrack of trains that so charm Thomas, that cheeky, fussy little engine.
Meanwhile Thomas was fast asleep. He gave off occassional whistles as he dreamed about a perfect rail line. Scrub and trees were managed in rotation outside of the breeding season. That kept leaves off the tracks dreamt Thomas. In summer, the banks and station approaches were a riot of colour from wildflowers. Birds and bees patrolled the tracksides and passengers smiled at the nodding cornflowers, which glowed blue, mimicking Thomas's blue bodywork.
"What a really useful engine I am," Thomas murmered to himself. "I must share my vision with the Fat Controller in the morning." And with that, he drifted off into a deep and restful slumber.
The author stresses that this story bears no resemblance to events which recently took place in north east London.