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A Visit to Brasston

It was, not surprisingly, young Molly who found the book first.  She’d read her way through everything in the Steampunk-Shrunk library  – even the Suffragette newspapers – and had been on the lookout for something new.

the group are becoming excited

“Excuse me, Lady Cholmondeley,” she said, dropping a pretty curtsy to Josephine, “But do you think your husband, seeing as how he’s the Lord Admiral of the High Fleet, could take me on one of his sky ship machines to Brasston?  They’ve got a perfectly splendid aerodrome and I’m sure they’d allow him to dock there.  Let me show you the pictures.  They’re in colour!”
“Why I’ve never heard of the place, my dear. Are you sure you’ve got the name correct?” smiled Josephine.
“Oh yes, Your Ladyship, Ma’am. I think it must be very famous. It won the ‘Most Cosmopolitan City Award’ in 1850.”

Josephine started to look through the book – a most difficult process since, unlike the inhabitants of Shrunk Towers, this book had not been shrunk to one twelfth of its original size.  She had to obtain assistance from several other members of the community and they in turn became mesmerised by the splendours of Brasston.

“Good lord!” Barnaby Balsover exclaimed, “There’s a chap there having his shoes polished by a clockwork automaton!  Quite remarkable!”
“Certainly,” agreed Ava Brassfeather, “And it says they do tours of the clock factory and provide cake and tea.”
“I believe it says you have to pay extra for cups and saucers, though, Ma’am,” Molly whispered, jumping in alarm when Ava made a loud tutting sound.
Molly wasn’t sure whether this was aimed at herself or the facilities available at the works, but she didn’t venture to speak again.

A touching moment for the valiant couple

When Algernon returned from a successful raid on a troublesome bunch of sky pirates who had been terrorising the airways above Penge, he was met by a mass of pleading faces.
His wife took his arm, gazed alluringly into his eyes and purred, “My dearest…”

“Hmm,” he said finally, once he’d had a strong cup of gunpowder tea and an opportunity to peruse the book.  “I strongly suspect that this is a work of fiction, created by this rather splendid gentleman on the back cover, Mr Ashley G.K. Miller.  I’m not convinced that the city exists.”

“Well if anyone can find it, it’s you, Old Boy,”  announced Lord Horatio Backgammon, and the others joined in a chorus of agreement with his Lordship’s sentiment.

And so, as I write, the entire group is busy packing and preparing for an epic journey in one of the fleet’s most capacious dirigibles, while Algy is earnestly poring over his charts, in search of the city of Brasston.

 

Should you wish to discover this remarkable location for yourself, dear reader, I suggest visiting Mr Miller’s Facebook page, where you will find all the details you need.

 

 

Steampunk Christmas?

The two terms don’t sit particularly comfortably together, I feel.  As I pondered the possibility of adding seasonal items to Steampunk-Shrunk’s stock for the upcoming Christmas sales, images of rusty Santas and welded junk Christmas trees felt less than inspiring.

I’d more or less given up, when I opened a draw and found some of these little creatures, bought in last year’s January sales, peering hopefully up at me.

There was already a box of vintage watch parts sitting on the desk, and the two seemed to fit together perfectly.

So now there are some steampunked reindeer, some with tiny cogs for eyes, while others have real (industrial grade) rubies – Rudolph the red-eyed reindeer?

By now some modicum of Christmas spirit was seeping into my veins and I started hunting around the studio for other items that could be combined to create something festive.
“How would one decorate a steampunk Christmas tree?” I asked myself.
Idly I began twisting wire around needles to form coils and threading them with whatever came to hand – vintage beads from an old necklace, cog wheels and watch parts, bells, charms and even miniature teapots. The copper coils were bent and twisted at crazy angles and the weird, dangling objects that emerged were hung from lengths of ribbon.

Who can say whether others will share my concept of a steampunk Christmas?  Time will tell.

These One Of A Kind oddities will be on display at the two December stalls where Steampunk-Shrunk is exhibiting.  See home page on this site for details of dates, times and venues.

Autolycus

Sometimes we like to push ourselves a bit – yes?

I fell in love with this image on Instagram and decided to try and make something similar at 1/12 scale... I had these cheap old prams kicking around, so they were the starting point. 
www.steampunk-shrunk.com 
#steampunkshrunk #steampunk #miniatures #modellingSo I was staring at this gorgeous picture on Instagram – yes, this one here – and thinking how much I’d like to create something like it.  Now I don’t have a soldering iron or any other metal-working skills or equipment.  My woodworking ability stops at cutting up coffee stirrers and lolly sticks with a junior hacksaw.  In fact, I’m strictly a glue-and-cardboard person if I need to make anything rigid.  It didn’t look particularly hopeful.

Then I remembered that I had a couple of cheap 1:12 scale metal prams.  I put them next to the photo and decided the larger one might just work.  Well, it was worth a try.

First part mounted on the chassis. 
www.steampunk-shrunk.com
#steampunkshrunk #steampunk #miniatures #modellingFirst there was much measuring, pattern cutting and trial and error with some nice brown card I had lying about.  Next each piece was lined with card-backed fabric in a subdued floral pattern and the centre part of the body was glued in place.  It looked roughly the right shape.

Putting together the dashboard, steering wheel and brake was easy, as was the little padded leather seat.  My horseless carriage was coming together.

If it was going to be horseless, it needed an alternative power source.  Steam – obviously.  I cobbled together a little steam engine to go on the front and used a drinking straw covered in copper tape for the funnel.

The basic bodywork in place (cardboard with several coats of clear gloss varnish)
www.steampunk-shrunk.com 
#steampunkshrunk #steampunk #miniatures #modellingIt was at around this point that the vehicle’s name came to me.  In Shakespeare’s A Winter’s Tale, there’s a character called Autolycus.  He describes himself as ‘A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles’ and that is exactly what this vehicle was becoming.  A spring from a ballpoint pen, the stick from a cotton bud, several small rubber washers, along with beads, chains, charms and jump rings from my junk jewellery collection all went into it.  So The Autolycus it would be.

The boot was turned into a strong box, with tiny nail art crystals for the rivets.  The windows were cut from clear acrylic packaging and set into suede strip seals.

Finally – and very nervously – I put the whole body together.  A couple of coats of clear gloss acrylic varnish gave it look not too unlike polished wood, and strips of leather thong worked well for trims.  The roof frame was – obviously – made from coffee stirrers!  The door was attached with a strip of cotton tape and some faux hinges made of beads stuck to the outside.  More beads and some earring wires made a pair of suitably ancient-looking lamps and at last The Autolycus was finished.

Obviously it lacks the beautiful clean lines of the vehicle that inspired it, but I’m not unhappy with the overall result and I’m sure the ladies and gents at Steampunk-Shrunk will be rather interested in this strange vehicle, despite the fact that it’s the steampunk equivalent of a smart car and only the skinniest and most agile contortionist would be able to get inside and steer the thing. No automatic alt text available.

 

The Autolycus will be on display at various Steampunk days and miniature fairs in the New Year.  Check the home page on this site for details of dates and venues.

 

 

The Case of The Globe

A complete change from steampunk, and a huge challenge… but a friend commissioned me to put Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre into one of my little cardboard cases.

To begin with I just gawped at her, but she had it all figured out.  The audience would go on the back wall, there would be some Tudor theatregoers in boxes to the sides of the stage and the fold-down tray of the case would provide the stage itself.
“I’d like a scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” she said. “Titania in her bower, with Bottom wearing his ass’s head and Puck nearby.

My first impulse was to run screaming from the house, but gradually I began to see it emerging in my mind’s eye and once that happens, I start making.

So here is the basic box layout.  All my spare miniature people – the ones awaiting transformation – had to dress as extras and be photographed many times to make the audience backdrop!

And here is a wealthy member of the audience.  One of Mr Shakespeare’s patrons, perhaps.  He certainly has one of the finest seats in the house.

Titania’s bower is a mix of wire and artificial flowers, with velvet cushions the colour of moss and grass.  The fairy queen herself has glittering wings, a floaty silver and translucent dress, a crown of opals and rose gold chains and long golden hair.

The portly Bottom, by contrast, wears rough hessian clothes, as befits a ‘rude mechanical’.  His donkey head is removable.  To be honest, I think he looks better with it on!

Finally Puck – my favourite – has cropped green hair and feather wings.  He carries the purple herb he used to bewitch Titania, who is now hopelessly enamoured of the ‘translated’ Bottom.

There’s a little more to do – some scenery to depict the woodland and another gentleman to watch the play, but this – roughly – is how it will look.

 

A Point of Honour

Freddy.
Www.steampunk-shrunk.com 
#steampunkshrunk #steampunk #miniatures #modellingFreddy Huntington-Groff casually selected one of the silver-handled screwdrivers from his breast pocket and lifted the bonnet.

“Hang on, old chap,” Tobias cried, leaping from the driving seat and vaulting over the door.  “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Fan belt needs tightening. Can’t you hear it when you start her up? Won’t take a jiffy. There. that should do it. Start her up again old boy. She should purr like a kitten now.”
“I’ll check later. Got some pressing business to attend to right now,” muttered Tobias savagely as he strode away.

Yes, tensions were building. Tobias had always viewed the car as his ‘Angel’ but now, with Freddy’s arrival on the scene, he appeared to have a rival.

Freddy was quietly spoken, handsome, suave – some would say oily. He knew all there was to be known about cars, and when he slipped on his driving goggles, took his place at the wheel and tossed his top hat on to the passenger seat, he looked as if he belonged there.
“Don’t mind if I take her for a spin, do you?” he’d enquire, casually, while Tobias stood by, smouldering.

It happened that the Admiral’s wife, the lovely Josephine Cholmondeley, was observing these events.
“Gentlemen,” she murmured sweetly, when Freddy returned from his drive with a barely-concealed smirk playing around his lips, “Surely there is a dignified way for you to settle your differences?”

Both men turned to look at her. It was difficult to look anywhere else when Josephine was in the vicinity.
“What are you suggesting, Madam?” asked Freddy, somewhat cautiously.
“I believe Lady Josephine is suggesting a duel,” said Tobias, his eyes glittering more dangerously than ever. “Am I correct, Your Ladyship?”

Josephine laughed softly. “It would indeed be an honourable solution, Mister Blasthorner. Shall I arrange a little tiffin party?”
“Ah, what type of weapon did you have in mind?” Freddy enquired.
“Cows, naturally,” replied Josephine.
“What else?” smiled Tobias, grimly. “Cows it is, then. Four o’clock Saturday?”

Freddy’s state of confusion and alarm was not lost on Josephine. “If you’d just accompany me on a perambulation around the grounds, Mister Huntington-Groff,” she murmured sweetly, “I’ll explain the uh, intricacies of the rules of tea-duelling as followed in these parts. I know they can sometimes vary from place to place.”
Gratefully, Freddy took his place at her side.

“Ahem, tea-duelling, Lady Chol-?” began Freddy, when they were out of Tobias’ earshot.
“It’s pronounced ‘Chumley’, dear Sir, and yes, a tea-duel is a most noble way to settle differences in an honourable manner.  No one is injured, but the results are absolutely binding, you understand.”
Freddy nodded, marginally comforted.
“But – cows?” he ventured.
Josephine gave her tinkling laugh. “Malted milk biscuits. They bear the image of a cow; hence the name. Each duellist is given a keg of tea – I always use fine bone china cups. I should have mentioned that I am a certified Tiffin Mistress, qualified to preside at these events.  Very basically, you both dunk your chosen weapon on the command, leave it in the tea for my count of five.  You win by being the last to take a clean nom, or bite, from the biscuit.”

Josephine went on to explain more of the rules, which you, dear reader can discover by watching the cinematographic production above.

The following Monday, I was approached by Tobias.
“Madam,” he said solemnly, “It seems that Huntington-Grof is more suited to working with The Angel than I.  I feel my talent lies more in creative pursuits than fumbling beneath car bonnets.  I have decided to travel to the Steampunk Dolls’ House.  My hope is that from there I will move on to a new home, where my talents and advice will be appreciated.  I hope you understand.”
“Indeed I do, Tobias,” I told him. “I’ll miss you, but I’m sure you’ll be very happy amongst the ladies and gentlemen there.”

The Steampunk Dolls’ House can be found by clicking here.  Car interior complete. 1/12 scale.  The map can be removed from the leather pocket.
Www.steampunk-shrunk.com 
#steampunkshrunk #steampunk #miniatures #vintagecarTobias and several other members of the Steampunk – Shrunk community will be joining the others there within the next few weeks, while Freddy,  Josephine and The Angel will remain with those of us who visit craft fairs, steampunk events and miniatures sales.

 

Tobias and The Angel

This is how Tobias looked when he first arrived at Shrunk Towers.  I think his name was probably Paul or Richard.

After a bit of Steampunk-Shrunk magic, he ended up looking like this – fine leather coat, hand-stitched black wool trousers, satin waistcoat, cravat and a serious facial makeover.

As they are transformed, the little people’s personalities change too.  Tobias oozes charisma, but he does like to call the tune.  That’s why I ended up with The Angel.

There’s a town I visit when I need to replenish my raw material supplies.  It’s the only town I know that has two large branches of Poundland in one street, with Wilko and a bunch of charity shops in between.  It’s that sort of town.  As all my raw materials are bargain-basement, other-people’s-idea-of-rubbish items, it’s the perfect place.

I’d barely started browsing, when I saw the car in a shop window.
“Buy it!” hissed Tobias.
“That?” I asked. “I mean it’s very lovely, and I can see it’s just your size, but look at the paintwork.  It’s dreadful – needs a load of work.  And I don’t DO cars.  And anyway, it isn’t cheap.”
“So haggle,” he replied calmly and insistently. “You can do it up.  It’ll look great.  Just imagine it as the centrepiece on one of your stalls with a driver in a leather coat and goggles…”

So, just to shut him up, I went in and asked what their best price would be.  They offered ten per cent off and – still doubting the wisdom of this – I bought it.

Gleefully, Tobias sat in the driving seat.  “I’ll call her The Angel,” he smiled.  “You won’t regret this, you know.”

Every spare minute was given over to The Angel during the next three days.  Shiny gold and silver nail varnish covered the blotchy detail paintwork.  Gold cord trim made the upholstery look neater.

No automatic alt text available.

The dashboard (two metal washers, two tiny bolts and a strip of tin) was replaced by an array of dials, ‘lights’ and switches, a clock with cogs and a deep blue leather map pocket, complete with removable map.  The scrap jewellery box was raided to create headlamps (a pair of pearl earrings painted over with more nail varnish) and fog lamps.  My signature copper tape (sold as slug repellent) trimmed the details and was used to fix the clear acrylic windscreen in place.   No automatic alt text available.Tobias declared himself satisfied with the result and, pulling down his goggles, climbed back into the driving seat for a photo-shoot.

 

The Grimoire

 

Should the contents of this ancient tome be made public?  We sincerely doubt it.  People approach our sales area, lovingly handle copies of the book and purchase it.  Since it measures only one inch from top to bottom, though, they are incapable of reading the text, so all remains well.

However we have been prevailed upon to make the book’s contents generally available and – with more than a few reservations – have agreed to do so.

The covers and most illustrations are by a singularly talented lady called Betsy, who virtually resides at Chocolate Rabbit.  If you click here you can visit her shop.

The text is ancient and handed down through the ages but compiled many hundreds of years ago by Messrs Aubrey and Dee.  A few copies have recently surfaced and can be purchased via Steampunk – Shrunk.

Spells and Charms    W. Aubrey & J. Dee

Introductory Notes
This being hopefully too small to be viewed with the naked eye, it is to be hoped that what follows will not be taken in too literal a sense by any readers, since following these recipes could result in all manner of foul and unpleasant effects, which could render the reader or his subject insensible or possibly deceased.
You have been warned.
The second reason for keeping to this miniscule size is that we can’t spare the time to write an entire book on a subject of which our knowledge is sadly lacking in any case.
Some preliminary notes on the Philosophers’ Stone.
safely unreadableShould the apostrophe come before or after the s there?  We are not entirely sure whether we speak here of one or multiple philosophers.  Certainly it may be the case that the esteemed authors of this tome were able to conjure this miraculous substance, but we are not telling.  How stupid do you think we are?  History will be able to judge whether or not we have been successful in our attempt to discover the source of eternal youth.  Should this volume be published posthumously, or read in a time when one or both is no longer incarnate, then the reader may judge for himself our lack of success in this area.
So anyway, we digress.  Let us set out a simple recipe for the preparation of the substance you require.  Easy as making scrambled eggs, honestly.
Take equal parts of blood from a recently slaughtered beast – sorry vegetarians and vegans, we’ve lost you already.  Anyway, as we said, blood, mixed with equal parts of phosphorous, zinc, yellow sulphur and spirits of aqua vitae.  The stench will be beyond your wildest imaginings and will reduce grown men to tears and fits of the vapours.  Nevertheless, it is vital to persevere.  Perhaps placing a handkerchief or a nosegay of country herbs close to your nose will be of some assistance.  We sincerely doubt it.  We suspect this will be about a useful as it was in preventing individuals from catching the plague.
Once you have your mixture, it must be distilled at least three times.  We’re assuming you have access to a still.  If not, why on earth are you bothering to read this book?  Honestly – amateurs.  We have no regard for such people.
After the distillation process, you will be left with a clear substance the colour of dark urine.  To this, add an equal quantity of – you guessed it – dark urine.  This should preferably be collected from a virgin at full moon.  However, in our experience, such ladies seem strangely reticent to provide said liquid to honest students of natural science and you may find you have to use your own, or pay the young woman handsomely for the substance.
Next the mixture must be left to putrefy for at least seven weeks.  You will probably find, as we did, that long before this time has elapsed, you will have been evicted from your lodgings and all neighbours within a hundred yard radius will have fled to the countryside, since the odour is rather pungent.
Persevere, dear reader.  You are inching ever closer to the miraculous substance you wish to produce.
The next stage is to obtain one dozen of the finest hens’ eggs, as freshly laid as may be.  Break the eggs into a bowl and do with them as you will.
This might be a good time to make those scrambled eggs we mentioned earlier.  Now retrieve all the eggshells you have just cast upon your midden or added to your recycling bin (depending on the era in which you are reading this).  Place in a mortar – or is it a pestle?  Never really figured out which bit was which.  Anyhow, put them in the bowl-shaped one and pound them vigorously with the other thing.
When they are well smashed, add to them 4 drams of camphor.
Continue to pound vigorously, or simply stick the whole mess in the blender if you have one.  We’re giving ourselves away a bit here, aren’t we?  I think you’ve probably rumbled us by now.  Either this book is an elaborate hoax or we stumbled upon the secrets of time travel and have visited the XX1 century.  Since you don’t know which, though, you’ll just have to keep reading.
each page individually agedNow since this book – which no one will be able to read in any case – is taking an inordinate amount of time to write, we will now do some judicious cutting and pasting.  Kindly pass me the dagger and a pot of the boiled calves’ foot glue, Mr Aubrey, if you’d be so kind.
Take equal parts of blood from a recently slaughtered beast – sorry vegetarians and vegans, we’ve lost you already.  Anyway, as we said, blood, mixed with equal parts of phosphorous, zinc, yellow sulphur and spirits of aqua vitae.  The stench will be beyond your wildest imaginings and will reduce grown men to tears and fits of the vapours.  Nevertheless, it is vital to persevere.  Perhaps placing a    handkerchief or a nosegay of country herbs    close to your nose will be of some assistance.  We sincerely doubt it.  We suspect this will be about a useful as it was in preventing individuals from catching the plague.
Once you have your mixture, it must be distilled at least three times.  We’re assuming you have access to a still.  If not, why on earth are you bothering to read this book?  Honestly – amateurs.  We have no regard for such people.
After the distillation process, you will be left with a clear substance the colour of dark urine.  To this, add an equal quantity of – you guessed it – dark urine.  This should preferably be collected from a virgin at full moon.  However, in our experience, such ladies seem strangely reticent to provide said liquid to honest students of natural science and you may find you have to use your own, or pay the young woman handsomely for the substance.
Next the mixture must be left to putrefy for at least seven weeks.  You will probably find, as we did, that long before this time has elapsed, you will have been evicted from your lodgings and all neighbours within a hundred yard radius will have fled to the countryside, since the odour is rather pungent.
As you will doubtless have gathered, that was a rather longwinded way of saying you need to repeat the initial process.  You now have two vats of very smelly liquid and one of almost as smelly powder.
The next step is to combine all of these in a large iron cauldron.  This must then be heated over a fire, stirring continuously for the first fifteen hours.
After that, leave it to simmer until all the liquid has evaporated and you are left with a blackened crust at the bottom of the cauldron.  This must be scraped from the vessel and pounded.  We do like a good bit of pounding.
We suggest mixing this with half a jar of Modge Podge.  This is a wondrous substance available in the XX1 century and does the job like no other.
Congratulations.  Once it has set, you will have your very own philosopher’s or philosophers’ stone.
As you will see in the illustration, you will now be able to grow an extra head and stand atop a fire-breathing dragon with total impunity.

 

On Traversing Time
This is obviously the real reason you purchased this volume.
That [illustration – you’d need to buy the book to see it] is a very lame attempt to make this look vaguely mathematical, but since you won’t be able to read it (and nor will the guy we lifted the page from) there’s no harm in it really and we have almost half a book to fill.
Some preliminary notes on traversing time:
Basically, time is no more than a convenient form of measurement.  We are accustomed to using it in one direction only, from past, through the present and towards an uncertain and – as most common people believe – unknowable future.
However there is far more to time than that.  If you are in doubt, we suggest a visit to Old Mother Hambledon at the third cottage after the gallows on Black Heath Common.
Half an hour in the company of this good woman will convince you of one of two things – either that time is quite capable of standing still, since half an hour in her company is equivalent to several days in the company of any other, or – should she be having one of her good days – that she is capable of seeing into the future as easily as you can see this book in front of your face.
Once it has become apparent to you that time can be – let us say – manipulated, you will be eager to experiment further.
It would be tempting to explore metaphysics at this point and talk some real sense, as we have in fact performed some fascinating experiments in this area.  This is, however a grimoire, and as such, you will be expecting a set of arcane charms, spells and other superstitious twaddle.
Far be it from us to disappoint a willing audience.  We get royalties on this book.  They are derisory, of course, but nevertheless, they keep the banshees, hobgoblins and other nasties from the door.
So, a spell you will get.
A Spell to Traverse Time
One groat’s worth of raw liver, chopped finely
A generous handful of henbane
111 fly agaric mushrooms
11 spoons of goose grease
A pinch of white arsenic
A quart of fine ale
Pulverise and mix all the ingredients, then heat in your cauldron.  It may be advisable to wash out the cauldron if you have recently prepared the philosopher’s or philosophers’ stone.
Please note, in this volume we use Roman numerals.  It is an ancient grimoire, after all.  We are just slightly concerned that some readers may have read the recipe as one hundred and eleven mushrooms, as opposed to three.  Believe us, three will be plenty.
Anyway, back to the spell.  Stir the mixture seventy-five times widdershins by a waning moon.
Continue to pound vigorously, or simply stick the whole mess in the blender if you have one.  We’re giving ourselves away a bit here, aren’t we?  I think you’ve probably rumbled us by now.  Either this book is an elaborate hoax or we stumbled upon the secrets of time travel and have visited the XX1 century.  Since you don’t know which, though, you’ll just have to keep reading.
Yes, we admit it.  Another cut and paste job.  It’s getting late.
Allow the mixture to cool.
Imbibe as much as you can without vomiting too profusely and remain seated.  If you have followed the recipe exactly, you will find your head begins to spin.  No, that wasn’t figurative.  We mean it.  You will then find yourself rising into the aether and experiencing life in a very different time frame to the one you normally inhabit.
Do not be overly alarmed, unless of course you find yourself in a particularly alarming period of the past or future.  In which case, feel free to be as alarmed as seems prudent.
The effects of the potion will wear off at some point, but not – naturally – a point in time, since you have traversed that medium, remember?
We hope you find the experience as edifying and instructive as you wish it to be.  There are a few side effects, so if you should experience nausea, dizziness, ringing in the ears, or any other appendage, don’t attempt litigation.  We – remember – are highly experienced time travellers and you will never catch up with us.

 

A Charm to Cure Warts
Every spell book has one of these.  We have no idea why.  What’s the problem with warts anyway?  Surely a charm to cure smallpox or world poverty or something would be far more useful, but our editor insisted.
“Give them a wart spell, boys,” he told us, and who are we to argue?
Here you are then:
      Tie a piece of white muslin around the affected area.  Spit upon it copiously and turn around 111 (that’s three) times, repeating this ditty:
Begone thou warty and mendicant wart.
I wish to see thee no more
As thou offendst mine eyen.
Drop from my body and sink in the dust
There to be consumed
By a ravaging cur or starving she-wolf
Or a rampaging hedgehog or badger.
In fact I’m not fussed what eats thee
So long as thou leavest me in peace.
I trust thou hast the message by now.
Begone thou foul and loathly wart.
 If that doesn’t do the trick, we are sorry to say that you are stuck with the wart.  But hey, it could be a plague of boils, so really, just be happy with your lot.

 

We hope you have enjoyed our grimoire.  Do visit our Amazon page if you ever find yourself in a time when such things exist.

 

Illustrated copies of the Grimoire are available From Steampunk – Shrunk at £4.50 each and can be shipped for the cost of a large letter.  Please use the contact form on our home page.  This is a limited edition of 99 books and each is individually compiled and aged by hand.

 

 

Miniature Fair!

Nervous, us?   Do we look nervous?  Well maybe Penelope, slightly – but the rest of us will take good care of her.

We’re leaving the delights of rural Somerset, with its green leafy lanes and pretty stone cottages, and heading for a similarly leafy place in the middle of England somewhere.  Unfortunately, though, we don’t have a single method of transportation between us and need to use a mixture of buses, trains and something called a tube to traverse London in order to get there.

Mrs S is being very upbeat about it all.  She’s carefully packed us, the room boxes and all the little pieces she makes into a large suitcase and an equally large carrier bag.  There’s plenty of padding, so we won’t be knocked about too much.   She’s spent hours on the phone to find the easiest route across London – with no staircases.  She insists it will be a breeze.

Image may contain: textWhen we finally arrive at the destination – a village called Haddenham in a place called Buckinghamshire – she’s promised us that we will meet other people of a similar size to ourselves.

Some of us may even find new homes to go to.  Lord Horatio became rather angry at that.
“Like being at Battersea Dogs’ Home, waiting for an owner,” he growled.

The rest of us would love it, though.  So if you happen to live anywhere around this Buckinghamshire place and are free on Saturday 23rd September, do come along to and call by the Steampunk-Shrunk stall.

We’d love to meet you.

Molly – by Herself

by herselfFinally I’ve got a job!  More than that, it’s the best job in the world, because I get to do what I love doing more than anything else in the world – reading.

I’ve wanted a job for ever so long.  My brother Rufus has one and he’s a whole year younger than me.  After all, I’m eleven years old now, so it’s only fitting that I should be working.

It all came about when I was talking to Mrs Steampunkle one day.  I was telling her that adults say quite ridiculous things sometimes.  I told her Ma says I’ve always got my nose stuck in a book and Pa calls me ‘a proper little bookworm’.  To my way of thinking, both of those sound quite unpleasant and definitely not true.  Why, if my nose was stuck in a book, I wouldn’t be able to read the words and would go cross-eyed trying.  As for being a worm, well everyone knows worms like the dirt out in the yard, not reading books on the rug in front of a nice blazing fire.

Mrs Steampunkle laughed and told me what bookworms really are (which is a terrible thing, and they are actually called book lice, although they’re not lice either, which is even more confusing) so I told her I’d never destroy a book – not even if the alternative was to starve.

She mentioned that she had quite a stock of books, which she sells on market stalls, and asked whether I’d like to see them.

I said I wasn’t particularly keen to see them, but if I might be allowed to READ them, that would be a different thing entirely and yes, I’d like that very much.  So after laughing some more (she does seem to laugh quite often – I’m not sure why) she fetched over a stack of books and told me to read whatever I liked.

Well when I read, it’s as if I somehow become a part of the story.  I feel as if I’m inside it, living the characters’ lives along with them.  Usually people have to shake my shoulder to bring me back to this world.   Even then it takes me a while to remember which one is real (although I think probably they both are).  Mrs Steampunkle had to shake me and shout “Molly!” rather loudly several times to pull me out of the story I was enjoying.  It’s called The Diary of a Tinkerer and it’s all about Henry and how he and his time machine got stuck in a dreadful-sounding place called 2017, where he was only one twelfth of his normal size.

Lost in a bookI can’t wait to find out what happens next.  Luckily, though, I’ll be able to read on, because Mrs Steampunkle said she’d like me to go with her to her market stalls and sit reading her books!  That is honestly all I have to do for this job.  She said when people see me so engrossed in her stories, they will want to buy them and read them for themselves.  She won’t be paying me any wages, but it’s better than that, because in return, she is going to write and print MY STORY!

Imagine that – a real book all about me!  I was rather worried that I hadn’t had any adventures to make a story interesting, but she insisted that she’d got enough material just from talking to me.  She asked me what I’d like the book to be called and I chose Molly – by Herself.  Mrs S says it’s a very good title.

So soon I will have my nose stuck in a book – and all the rest of me too.  Oh, and if you come to any of the Steampunk-Shrunk stalls, you may see me there, although I might not notice you.  Sorry about that.

 

The Magical Mechanical Bird

a young showmanMy pa made the bird.  He’s Mister William Forsey and when I grow up, I’m going to be just like him – a tinker as well as a showman.  My name is Rufus, by the way.  I’m ten years old and I have a very important job.  I run the Magical Mechanical Bird Show in the little fairground booth my pa built.

only Rufus can fit insideThe ticket office is too small for Ma or Pa to get inside, but I fit just fine.  When I grow too big, one of my brothers or sisters will have to take over and I’ll get on with learning my pa’s craft.  Pa’s proud of me.  He wrote ‘Wm. Forsey & Son’ on the poster, so I’d be part of the company.  Some day we’ll have a whole load of automatons and people will come from all over the world to watch and wonder at them.

preparing the mechanical birdFirst thing I have to do is wind up the machine and check that it’s all working smoothly.  Pa says I’m a natural when it comes to knowing where a lick of oil should go or what bolts to tighten.  You see?  I’ve got tinker’s blood in me veins.  I’ll make wonderful contraptions when I’m older.

hiding the bird from viewNext I pull the curtain across, so the bird’s hidden and go out the front to tout for business.  All the ladies love me and they beg their beaus to buy a ticket.  Ma says it’s on account of my fair hair and big eyes.  I think it’s more likely my witty patter that draws ’em in.
Once a lady said, “Is the poor bird trapped in a cage?”
She thought it was a real bird, even though the sign clearly says ‘Mechanical’.
“Oh no, Ma’am,” I told her. “That bird is as free as I am.”
She was so pleased, she asked her gentleman to give me a farthing, and to show off to her, he gave me three ha’pence!
When I told Pa later what had happened, he said it was a good reply I’d given.  I told him it was true, because both me and the bird are as free as each other – stuck in that booth all day.  That got me a clip round the ear, though, so I need to learn when to keep me mouth shut, I reckon.

selling ticketsAnyhow, once I’ve got a good crowd, I go into the ticket office and sell them all tickets to watch the show.  I have to keep the office locked all day, so no one will steal our takings.  Ma took the chain from Grandpa’s old watch and fixed the office key to it, so I can wear it on me waistcoat, just like a toff!  Real silk, that waistcoat is, and me trousers are pa’s old moleskins cut down.  They’re a bit on the roomy side, but I’ll grow into them.

Next is my favourite part.  I come out of the office, draw back the curtain and you should hear the ‘Ooohs’ and ‘Aaahs’ when they see the machine.  The gilded bird sits on a gold tablecloth and Pa has left all the mechanical parts showing, so people can see how amazing an automaton is.  There’s gleaming brass and steel cogs and cams and levers, a little set of bellows that work a Swanee whistle, so the bird can sing, and the cam is fixed up so that as the bird twists and turns, the notes of its warbling change.

I call out, very loud, “And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, for your delight and delectation, the Magical Mechanical Bird will come to life before your very eyes and ears.”
That’s Pa’s cue to pull the knob at the back of the booth to release the crank wheel, and the bird begins to sing and twirl.

All the punters gasp and cheer and clap and I feel so proud of Pa and Ma and meself, for entertaining folks so royally.

 

The Case of the Magical Mechanical Bird will be on display at All Things Miniature in Haddenham, Bucks on Saturday September 23rd. 

A video of the mechanical bird in action can be seen here, on the Steampunk – Shrunk Facebook page.