Thomas the Propaganda Engine

[Cross-posted to radegund and plan_survive]

I was very upset by something I read this evening.

It was Oisín's bedtime, and he asked for a bedtime story from one of the Thomas the Tank Engine annuals (which K buys for him online). We picked one at random and turned pages until a story called "James Gets Cracking" received the nod of approval.

    It was a bright, spring morning when James puffed importantly into the yard. The Fat Controller had an unusual job for him today.
    "Well done James," he said, "I see you have plenty of steam already."
    "Yes Sir," replied James eagerly.
    "That means you can set off right away," said the Fat Controller.
    "Where to Sir?" asked James.
    "To the battery farm," said the Fat Controller.

At this point I stopped reading, skimmed disbelievingly ahead, confirmed that this really was a story for small children that unironically featured an actual battery farm, and burst into tears. I explained to Oisín that I couldn't read the story because it upset me; he asked me to read it anyway, but I said I wouldn't. We found another story instead (about how silly Mavis thought she could do her job without Toby's help), and peace was restored. Then we went up to bed, where I was still so rattled that I shouted at Oisín when he didn't move fast enough for me, and he had a meltdown. Eventually everyone calmed down, and he was asleep by 9:00.

The punchline of "James Gets Cracking", you'll be intrigued to hear, has nothing to do with debeaking, or permanent tracheal damage from the ammonia given off by large volumes of excrement, or dead birds left decaying in cages. It doesn't even involve James and the Fat Controller performing a heroic rescue of the beleaguered hens from their vile oppressor, Farmer Finney. No, it's about James thinking that the crates he's carrying are full of batteries, when in fact they're full of eggs, which he's delivering to a school so the children can make pancakes for Shrove Tuesday.

(The publication date of the annual, incidentally, is 1995.)

I've tolerated the strike-breaking episode ("Trouble in the Shed"), and I've tolerated the rampant sexism (e.g. anything to do with Mavis), but I do not want to have to explain battery farms to my three-year-old son. And I do not want to read to him about them as though they were unremarkable, either. I'm generally upset and enraged by bad art directed at children, but this evening's encounter is in another league altogether.

I cannot deintroduce Thomas, much though I might like to. This particular annual, however, will be disappearing.