Did I hear a squeal emit from your lips, Gertrude?
“Yes, you most certainly did! And with good reason! I’ve just received the most extraordinary letter.”
Have you now? Do tell us more.
“It’s from a lord! A genuine lord! It has his coat of arms at the top and his name and address (a very prestigious address) in curly writing embossed beneath it. And – oh! – he says the most astonishing things about me.”
I think you’d better share the contents of this letter with us, Gertie dear.
My dear Miss Jekyllton-Smythe,
No doubt you will be somewhat surprised to hear from me. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Horatio, the fifth Lord Backgammon, of Charlton Regis. I have a rather interesting project, with which I would be most honoured if you felt able to assist me.
You came to my attention through a friend who dabbles in temporal transportation – a ‘time traveller’ in common parlance. His favourite era is the first half of the twentieth century, upon which he has become something of an expert. Henry tells me that in that time, you are a lady of some renown. In fact he says you are the most sought-after garden designer in this nation of ours and have published some quite excellent books on the subject. Obviously, this will be news to you, since we have not had the privilege of visiting the future, but no doubt you will greet the information with some delight.
Now to the purpose: I have, in my grounds, a small piece of land known as ‘The Board’. It was laid out by my great-great-grandfather to the dimensions of a backgammon board (a pun on the family name, obviously). Since his time, it has fallen into disrepair and I recently had it cleared. I enclose a photographic print for your perusal. Each of the two sections measures 8 x 17½ foot and is enclosed by a low wall, approximately one foot high. I would be delighted if you would agree to design and oversee the construction of a garden in this area for me.
The brief is as follows:
- The layout of the original backgammon board is to be retained, in deference to my ancestor.
- There will need to be a lake or pond of some kind, to house a pet of mine.
- I should like a small glasshouse or orangery, since I am most partial to exotic fruits.
- Mechanical systems should be incorporated wherever possible for watering, grass-cutting etcetera. I will gladly undertake to design and manufacture these elements myself.
Please contact me at the above address, should you feel willing to undertake this project.
Yours very sincerely,
Backgammon
“Just imagine! I’m to become famous! And successful! And – well certainly it’s a very small space – but what an exciting proposal. So much more entertaining and creative than designing red, white and blue bedding plant displays in municipal parks, as I do at the moment.”
Certainly it is an interesting project, Gertie. Congratulations. I wonder what sort of aquatic pet his lordship owns…
It’s a tiny room – just 8 inches wide by 6 inches high, and a mere 3 inches deep when the case is closed. As it’s at 1:12 scale, that equates to the same number of feet in our measurements.
She has persuaded one of the gardeners to tutor her in the rudiments of welding and metalwork, and by patiently dismantling clockwork machinery, she is teaching herself to build simple gadgets. The lamp was one of her first. It’s simple, but effective, switching on when the attached clock shows that dusk has fallen.
I am Bjørn. People call me Heart of Glass. People pity me. Or they are fearful. Or disgusted. A few show curiosity tinged with admiration.
I encountered Doctor Kopp when he saved my life. I was a boiler-man on an icebreaker in the Northern seas. For long, long shifts I shovelled coal into the great, ravenous furnace that powered the ship. The owners worked me hard and my body – always thin and long and rather weak – was close to breaking point.
Finally the day arrived! My dear guardian, Uncle Razzy as I call him, has allowed us to celebrate our wedding in his glorious cliff-top mansion. Not only that; he gave us two wonderful presents, both invented and built by himself.
He knows I’ve always loved the stars and planets, so he made us a clockwork orrery, encased in a glass dome. He also knew that my dear husband (how strange it feels to use that word!) is fascinated by the idea of remote communication, so his second gift to us was a telephonic device – also clockwork, naturally – that will enable us to speak to him from anywhere in the world. My Beloved insists that this is just the start and one day everyone will have one of these devices and be able to talk together from all corners of the earth.
I dare say you’re longing to see our wedding finery, so here’ is a picture of us about to enjoy a goblet of Uncle Razzy’s finest wine after the ceremony.
When I looked, I simply couldn’t believe my eyes! The most beautiful airship you can imagine was coming closer and closer. At first I simply thought it was a happy coincidence that the pilot should choose that very moment to fly past our window. But no! My wonderful husband assured me that we were due to embark on this exquisite vessel and fly off together into the sunset. This was the honeymoon surprise he had been teasing me with over the past few weeks.
Oh yes, I’ve been tinkering around in airships since I was a boy. Had an uncle, don’t you know, who owned one and allowed me to go along on some of his journeys. Goodness me, they were rough old machines in those days! I remember having to move the rudder by manhandling a length of wire. Cut your hands to ribbons, that did. So I fixed up a little device that linked directly to the compass and the anemometer. Far better. The old boy saw what I’d done and was pretty impressed; kept me on as crew.
I thoroughly enjoy tinkering with the machinery even now. Just take a look at my clockwork air-pressure measurement device here. Dashed proud of that, if I say it myself.
I commissioned that woman – Mrs Steampunkle, or whatever she calls herself these days – to make me a new leather coat and helmet. Made a dashed fine job of it in my opinion. Good and thick with the fleece collar. It can be bitter when you’re flying over Cape Horn, don’t y’know.
Finally my furnace was burning away merrily and Inferna the Twisted Firestarter was safely ensconced in her cage (with a large DO NOT FEED sign in case anyone felt tempted to give in to her endless wheedling and eyelash fluttering).
I must confess that much to my chagrin, I am reduced to relying on the kind lady’s charity, since my own – not inconsiderable – fortune remains locked in my own time. Even if I had managed to bring some with me on my time-travelling adventure, it would doubtless have suffered the same fate as myself and been reduced to one twelfth of its natural size, rendering it quite useless in my present surroundings. The dear lady is quite phlegmatic about the expenses, however. She insists that the total cost of building my engine room has been less than five pounds. That seems quite a large sum to me, but she insists it is a paltry amount in her age.
I began work at once. Within a few hours my engine was chugging merrily and the machinery was in perfect working order.
I recall that last time I penned an episode of my adventures as a one-twelfth scale explorer, inadvertently lodged in the year 2017, my normal sized assistant and myself were pondering a method of combustion for the steam engine we were building, to allow me to power up my Machine and escape to my own dimension – in every sense of that word.
“What manner of creature is it?” I enquired.
“It’s a battery tea light,” she continued, as if all should then become clear to me.
Should you wish to become better acquainted with Henry, do visit him at the Steampunk Dolls’ House. He’d enjoy the company. 
The good lady looked only mildly taken aback when I informed her that I would need an engine room – at 1/12 scale, naturally – in order to generate enough steam power to re-calibrate and start the Machine. She rummaged in a cupboard and produced a small valise of suitable dimensions (although quite UNsuitable design). Once I had persuaded her to redecorate it in a more suitable manner, though, I decided it would do very well.
“About that size and shape,” I said.
Now this is the technology I feel most comfortable with – the glorious make-do-and-mend in which quite humdrum objects are cunningly combined and formed into wondrous contrivances (in time-honoured steampunk style, I feel).
As for contrivance, well don’t let her know that I’ve shared this information with you – heaven knows what she’d say – but the stick of her parasol was fashioned from a cotton bud stick, covered in copper tape (sold to gardeners as a slug repellent). The shade itself was moulded over the cap of a roll-on deodorant – lace and garden wire struts stiffened with PVA glue, before being covered and trimmed with fabric and lace. A few beads were added top and bottom, and her accessory was complete.
Steampunk - Shrunk! 