A story
Lumo the Little Night Train Who Hummed the Valley to Sleep
Far away, in a valley full of soft green hills, there ran a little railway line. It curled around the hills like a ribbon, past farms and sleepy villages, over a stone bridge and along a silver river.
During the day, big busy trains rushed along it, carrying people to work and boxes to the market. They whistled loudly. They puffed and clattered. They were always in a hurry.
But when the sun went down and the first stars came out, a different train came out of the little station at the top of the valley.
His name was Lumo. He was the night train.
Lumo was small and round and painted the deep blue of the evening sky, with tiny golden stars along his sides. He had a soft yellow lamp at the front, like a friendly eye. And he pulled only three little carriages behind him, with cozy beds and round windows and curtains the color of warm milk.
Lumo did not whistle. Lumo did not clatter. Lumo hummed.
"Hmmm-hmmm, hmmm-hmmm," he hummed, as his wheels rolled gently along the rails. "Hmmm-hmmm, hmmm-hmmm."
It was the job of the night train to carry sleepy travelers home through the dark, so quietly and smoothly that they could sleep the whole way. And Lumo was very good at it.
But one evening, as he stood at the station waiting for his passengers, Lumo heard the big day trains talking.
"That little night train is so slow," said the biggest one, a long red engine called Brisko. "And he never even blows his whistle. What use is a train who hums?"
Lumo's lamp flickered. He felt small. That night, as he set off, he wondered whether he should go faster, and whether he should blow a whistle too.
In his first carriage was a tired grandmother, coming home from visiting her new grandson. In the second carriage was a family with two little girls in matching pajamas. In the third carriage was a young man with a guitar case, who had been playing music at a wedding until very late.
Lumo took a deep breath of night air. He decided to try being a big, fast train.
He pushed his wheels faster. Clackety-clack, clackety-clack! He blew the little whistle he never used. Wheeeeep!
In the first carriage, the grandmother sat up with a start, and her knitting fell off her lap.
In the second carriage, the two little girls woke up and began to cry.
In the third carriage, the guitar case slid off the rack with a bump, and the young man rubbed his eyes.
Out in the valley, lights clicked on in the farmhouses. A dog began to bark. The cows in the field lifted their heads and mooed in surprise. An owl in a tree said, "Hoo! Hoo!" in a very cross voice.
Lumo slowed down at once. His lamp dimmed with embarrassment.
"Oh dear," he whispered. "Oh dear, oh dear. That was not right at all."
He rolled gently to a stop beside the silver river, where the water lay smooth as glass and the moon shone in it like a round white plate.
He thought about the grandmother, and the little girls, and the tired young man. He thought about the farmers and the cows and the owl. They did not need a fast train or a loud train. They needed a train that would carry them softly through the night.
They needed him. Just as he was.
So Lumo began, very gently, to hum.
"Hmmm-hmmm, hmmm-hmmm."
He started to roll again, slowly, smoothly, along the curve of the river. His wheels went round and round, soft and steady, like a heartbeat. His carriages rocked from side to side, gently, the way a mother rocks a cradle.
"Hmmm-hmmm, hmmm-hmmm."
In the first carriage, the grandmother picked up her knitting, smiled, and leaned her head back against the soft pillow. Her eyes closed.
In the second carriage, the two little girls stopped crying. Their father tucked a blanket around them. They listened to the gentle rocking and the soft hum, and their eyelids grew heavy, and they fell asleep holding hands.
In the third carriage, the young man lifted his guitar case back onto the rack. He listened to Lumo's hum for a while. Then, very quietly, he took out his guitar and began to play along. Just a few soft notes. A lullaby. Then he too lay down and fell asleep.
Out in the valley, the lights in the farmhouses clicked off, one by one. The dog curled up on his blanket. The cows lay down in the cool grass. The owl ruffled her feathers and settled on her branch.
"Hmmm-hmmm, hmmm-hmmm," hummed Lumo, rolling over the old stone bridge, past the sleeping villages, through the dark, quiet hills, with his little yellow lamp shining the way.
The whole valley was asleep.
Just before dawn, Lumo rolled gently into the station at the bottom of the valley. The sky was turning pale pink at the edges. His passengers woke up rested and smiling.
"What a wonderful journey," said the grandmother, patting Lumo's blue side. "I haven't slept so well in years."
"Thank you, Lumo," said the two little girls, waving.
The young man with the guitar crouched down by Lumo's front wheel. "You hum in the key of a lullaby," he said. "Did you know that?"
Lumo's lamp glowed bright and warm.
Just then, Brisko the big red engine came rumbling into the station, ready for the busy day.
"Morning, little night train," said Brisko. "I heard there was a lot of noise in the valley last night. Was it you?"
"For a moment," admitted Lumo. "I tried to be like you. But I am not a day train. I am a night train."
Brisko looked at the happy, rested passengers stepping off Lumo's carriages. He was quiet for a moment.
"Do you know," said Brisko, "I have never once sent anyone to sleep. That's a special kind of job."
Lumo smiled his little train smile and rolled slowly into the shed to rest. As he closed his lamp, the sun rose over the valley and the day trains began to whistle.
"Hmmm-hmmm," hummed Lumo softly to himself. "Hmmm-hmmm."
And then the little night train fell asleep too.
During the day, big busy trains rushed along it, carrying people to work and boxes to the market. They whistled loudly. They puffed and clattered. They were always in a hurry.
But when the sun went down and the first stars came out, a different train came out of the little station at the top of the valley.
His name was Lumo. He was the night train.
Lumo was small and round and painted the deep blue of the evening sky, with tiny golden stars along his sides. He had a soft yellow lamp at the front, like a friendly eye. And he pulled only three little carriages behind him, with cozy beds and round windows and curtains the color of warm milk.
Lumo did not whistle. Lumo did not clatter. Lumo hummed.
"Hmmm-hmmm, hmmm-hmmm," he hummed, as his wheels rolled gently along the rails. "Hmmm-hmmm, hmmm-hmmm."
It was the job of the night train to carry sleepy travelers home through the dark, so quietly and smoothly that they could sleep the whole way. And Lumo was very good at it.
But one evening, as he stood at the station waiting for his passengers, Lumo heard the big day trains talking.
"That little night train is so slow," said the biggest one, a long red engine called Brisko. "And he never even blows his whistle. What use is a train who hums?"
Lumo's lamp flickered. He felt small. That night, as he set off, he wondered whether he should go faster, and whether he should blow a whistle too.
In his first carriage was a tired grandmother, coming home from visiting her new grandson. In the second carriage was a family with two little girls in matching pajamas. In the third carriage was a young man with a guitar case, who had been playing music at a wedding until very late.
Lumo took a deep breath of night air. He decided to try being a big, fast train.
He pushed his wheels faster. Clackety-clack, clackety-clack! He blew the little whistle he never used. Wheeeeep!
In the first carriage, the grandmother sat up with a start, and her knitting fell off her lap.
In the second carriage, the two little girls woke up and began to cry.
In the third carriage, the guitar case slid off the rack with a bump, and the young man rubbed his eyes.
Out in the valley, lights clicked on in the farmhouses. A dog began to bark. The cows in the field lifted their heads and mooed in surprise. An owl in a tree said, "Hoo! Hoo!" in a very cross voice.
Lumo slowed down at once. His lamp dimmed with embarrassment.
"Oh dear," he whispered. "Oh dear, oh dear. That was not right at all."
He rolled gently to a stop beside the silver river, where the water lay smooth as glass and the moon shone in it like a round white plate.
He thought about the grandmother, and the little girls, and the tired young man. He thought about the farmers and the cows and the owl. They did not need a fast train or a loud train. They needed a train that would carry them softly through the night.
They needed him. Just as he was.
So Lumo began, very gently, to hum.
"Hmmm-hmmm, hmmm-hmmm."
He started to roll again, slowly, smoothly, along the curve of the river. His wheels went round and round, soft and steady, like a heartbeat. His carriages rocked from side to side, gently, the way a mother rocks a cradle.
"Hmmm-hmmm, hmmm-hmmm."
In the first carriage, the grandmother picked up her knitting, smiled, and leaned her head back against the soft pillow. Her eyes closed.
In the second carriage, the two little girls stopped crying. Their father tucked a blanket around them. They listened to the gentle rocking and the soft hum, and their eyelids grew heavy, and they fell asleep holding hands.
In the third carriage, the young man lifted his guitar case back onto the rack. He listened to Lumo's hum for a while. Then, very quietly, he took out his guitar and began to play along. Just a few soft notes. A lullaby. Then he too lay down and fell asleep.
Out in the valley, the lights in the farmhouses clicked off, one by one. The dog curled up on his blanket. The cows lay down in the cool grass. The owl ruffled her feathers and settled on her branch.
"Hmmm-hmmm, hmmm-hmmm," hummed Lumo, rolling over the old stone bridge, past the sleeping villages, through the dark, quiet hills, with his little yellow lamp shining the way.
The whole valley was asleep.
Just before dawn, Lumo rolled gently into the station at the bottom of the valley. The sky was turning pale pink at the edges. His passengers woke up rested and smiling.
"What a wonderful journey," said the grandmother, patting Lumo's blue side. "I haven't slept so well in years."
"Thank you, Lumo," said the two little girls, waving.
The young man with the guitar crouched down by Lumo's front wheel. "You hum in the key of a lullaby," he said. "Did you know that?"
Lumo's lamp glowed bright and warm.
Just then, Brisko the big red engine came rumbling into the station, ready for the busy day.
"Morning, little night train," said Brisko. "I heard there was a lot of noise in the valley last night. Was it you?"
"For a moment," admitted Lumo. "I tried to be like you. But I am not a day train. I am a night train."
Brisko looked at the happy, rested passengers stepping off Lumo's carriages. He was quiet for a moment.
"Do you know," said Brisko, "I have never once sent anyone to sleep. That's a special kind of job."
Lumo smiled his little train smile and rolled slowly into the shed to rest. As he closed his lamp, the sun rose over the valley and the day trains began to whistle.
"Hmmm-hmmm," hummed Lumo softly to himself. "Hmmm-hmmm."
And then the little night train fell asleep too.
