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.
“How does it feel,” they ask, “to be part man, part machine? Do you have feelings? Do you hate your employer for what he has done to you? Do you seek revenge? But then, do you have powers and skills the rest of us lack? Is it glorious to become part machine?”
So the questions go on, and I am grateful to the enquirers. They are better than the ones who simply shudder and turn away, shaking their heads.
Let me tell you the story – my story – from the start.
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.
This day I was shovelling, then there was blackness and the next thing I knew was the Doctor bending over me anxiously, pushing up and down on my chest and giving a triumphant cry of “Ja!” as I blearily looked up at him.
It seemed I’d lost consciousness. The chief stoker had run onto the deck and asked if there was a doctor amongst the passengers. Doctor Kopp had rushed to my aid. He tells me that without his intervention, I would have died then and there.
They wanted to put me back to work, but the good Doctor insisted I was to be allowed to rest for some days, until he pronounced me fit to work. He had my meagre possessions moved to his cabin from my hammock in the engine room. He cared for me, fed me and mixed potions to strengthen my body.
Soon I began to feel better, but still he would not let me return to work.
“Your heart, my boy!” he would exclaim. “It is sickly. It is not fitted for zis verk. Leave zis ship. I vill give you verk. You vill be mein assistant! You vill say yes!”
I did say yes. Of course I did. I had the chance to stop shovelling coal into that great gaping hell hole of a furnace; to become assistant to an eminent doctor. I owed this man my life, and now he was offering me the opportunity to work with him. Maybe I could learn from him, study hard, gain qualifications… I could not express my gratitude and delight.
So when the ship docked at Newcastle, I left beside the doctor and travelled with him to his laboratory.
My jobs were menial, it’s true. I cleaned his equipment, ran errands, acted as receptionist for his patients. All this I did without complaint. Also I saw the amazing work he did – creating mechanical limbs, weapons that were grafted onto the very bodies of their operators, even clockwork mechanisms to regulate irregular hearts. The man was a genius! Also I occasionally glimpsed the work he did in his private study after dark – the alchemy from that ancient grimoire, but this he tried to hide from me.
Ah! But now I must stop! The Doctor has retired to bed. I have no need of sleep. I too have secret work to do at night, so excuse me now. I will continue my story soon.
Bjørn is available at the Steampunk Dolls’House, along with many other figures and items from these stories.
Steampunk Dolls House online Etsy shop
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.
I rather regret my – um – outburst now. I confess I hadn’t realised the amount of work that goes into sewing a tailcoat – especially at 1/12 scale. The seamstress grew quite angry. She showed me the number of darts (never knew darts were used in sewing) and the intricacies of lining the tails and collar, and all with those huge clumsy fingers of hers. I was anxious, though. 
Only three days to the wedding, and there I was in my shirtsleeves, waving my watch at her and demanding that she finish the jacket quickly. After all, she still had my hat and goggles to make.
“Steampunked?” snorted the gentleman. “What kind of word is that? I don’t like the sound of it one little bit. Nor does my good lady wife or our maidservant, either. We are respectable people, I’ll have you know. ”
Their gasps as they saw his glass buttoned cotton lawn shirt and brocade waistcoat suggested that I might be winning the argument. They noticed the gold watch chain and stared in amazement as I pulled his fob watch from the satin-trimmed waistcoat pocket. Next I took the brass binoculars from his neck for them to examine and emptied the contents of his inch long leather shoulder bag on to the table. 
There was a folded, rather battered set of engineering plans, the pipe Isambard can never bear to be without and a tiny leather pouch containing tobacco (made from shredded leather).
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.
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.
Here’s a rare picture of Amelia with her identical twin sister Leonora. When I first met them they both looked exactly like Leonora (left).
So here she is – a fearless flyer and expert mechanic. She may be petite and blonde, but she’s the equal of any other aviator and is happy to strip down an engine with the best of them.
As for Leonora, she must have been inspired by her sister. Following a very unpromising start as a dolls’ house housewife, she ended up as a renowned explorer, travelling the world with her glass astro-chronometer. Her unusual goggles have integrated clockwork dart-launchers. I wish I had the skill to make them work!
Steampunk - Shrunk! 