The Theatres of Clockton

“What Clockton-upon-Teas needs is some culture,” announced Lucy Larks-Thrustington.

Steampunk 12th scale Porcelain Jointed Dollhouse Doll Lady LucyLucy is one of our newest arrivals at Steampunk-Shrunk towers.  She is, by profession, a dancer of some sort.  By Jove, she certainly has the legs for it… Ahem.  Anyway, she was looking at me and my brother Charles as she spoke, as if she expected us to conjure up some kind of performance.

“Not quite our forte, Madam,” I told her.  “Now if it’s a nice device or gadget you’re after – a portable time machine or flux capacitor or something, look no further.  And anyway, theatres are closing down everywhere – all this confounded anti-sociable distancing malarkey.”

All the more reason for us to open a few, then,” she smiled cheerfully.  “Let’s make miniature theatres – with cardboard cut-out characters.  Then we can put on shows for the good people of Clockton; cheer them up a bit, you know?  I’m sure you clever gentlemen would be able to make the performers move around the stage.  You are so gifted.”

Oh, that smile!  Gracious, she is a very persuasive young lady.  Charles was clearly all too keen to help.

“What scale were you thinking of, dear lady?” he asked, eagerly grabbing a notepad and pencil.  “After all, we are already what most would consider to be – ah – miniature.”

(This was said with an accusatory glance at me.  Will I never live down that unfortunate space-time fluctuation which might have been partly due to the malfunction of an early device I built?  I know it led to our population shrinking to one twelfth of our original size and I have apologised repeatedly.  However we are very comfortable here in Steampunk-Shrunk Towers and have what many would call an excellent life. thanks to dear Mrs Steampunkle – a normal-sized lady who has opened her home to us.)

“No, darling! Far smaller than us!” exclaimed Lucy.  “Tiny people – about this big?” She indicated approximately an inch with her hands.  “I see them on little stages dancing and perhaps a few trapeze artistes, a tumbler or two and ballet, of course…”

“Well,” I said, slowly, “there’s a pile of box lids in the corner of the workshop, left over from the clockwork bird cases.  They might do for stages.  About the right size…”

“Splendid!” she cried.  “I knew you would be the gentlemen to ask!  I’ll go and cut out some suitable characters and leave the construction work to you.”

Tiny theatre  miniature stage with dancers  moving ballet image 3Charles decorated the stages, creating backdrops, curtains, wings and so forth.  I set to work with copper wire, coffee stirrers, cocktail sticks and pins to create the movement.  Soon we had several little theatres with beechwood sliders to move Lucy’s figures across the stage, rocking swings and even a metal balancing beam for a tumbler to turn around on.

Theatre Model  Mini Stage  Dancing Diorama  OOAK Miniature image 7The good people of Clockton-upon-Teas and all the inhabitants of the Towers came to watch our performances.  Ava found some splendid musical renditions to play on her phonograph and while Charles and I moved the sliders back and forth and twiddled the knobs, the audience gasped and applauded in a most gratifying manner.

 

Should you wish to choreograph your own miniature ballet or create a circus performance of your own, do head across to the SteampunkDollsHouse, where our creations can be purchased.  You will discover there that Lucy, too, has her price.  I suspect she is that sort of dancer…

 

Plague Doctors!

Well, Steampunk-Shrunk Towers has had its fair share of, erm, unusual residents over the years, but when we noticed this group of individuals skulking around Clockton-upon-Teas, we were somewhat alarmed.

Henry, who is a relatively fearless and friendly chap popped down to have a word with them.

Alas, conversation was not easy.  A combination of strong Italian accents and huge masks stuffed with herbs to fend off infection rendered discussion almost impossible.

Gradually, though, he was able to discover that they have arrived here from a far-off city called Roma, where they have been busily administering care and assistance to victims of a dreadful plague.  They commandeered a hot air balloon, in order to offer their particular skills to the people of our country, in this time of need.

Naturally, Henry was keen to inspect their transport, but it seems it has been appropriated by the fourth member of their medical team – one Marco by name – who has travelled on in it to the United States, where he has been hired to provide private medical services.

We could hardly leave the good doctors out in the rain, so they have joined our band of residents.

Certainly they are being most attentive to everyone’s health, although their methods seem to differ quite markedly from those we are used to.  We can’t quite understand why, for example, they need to check Sally and Lucy’s temperatures quite so often, nor why they need the ladies to strip down to their underwear in order for this to be done.  However I’m pleased to report that we are all very healthy at present, and hope that you are as well.

 

The Backgammon Garden

How can we make amends for our long silence, dear Reader?

A story left unfinished, long months of isolation in our individual shielding boxes, deliveries grinding to a halt and all trade shows and fairs cancelled.  Not the best of times for the Steampunk Dolls House or Steampunk-Shrunk, or, indeed, for our loyal band of followers.

Mrs S was occupied for much of the time producing PPE for local care homes and educating her grandchildren via something called video messaging.  (Their desperation to return to school in the autumn attests to the limited success of that venture…)

To say we felt neglected is the greatest of understatements.   And has normality returned?  Certainly not.  The tiny local Post Office has opened its doors again and – for those customers willing to wait days, weeks or sometimes months – a few items have been fitfully edging towards their destinations.  The Magpie Vintage and Curiosities shop has reopened in Midsomer Norton and at least Mrs S now occasionally visits the workshop.

Her project for the last few weeks has been the long-forgotten Backgammon Garden.  It was almost completed several years ago, but a leaning orangery and broken lawnmower meant that it lay forgotten while other tasks took precedence.  Finally, she opened the vintage box once more and shook her head sadly.

“I think I can fix Draig, Penelope,” she told me.  “The blades just need to be remounted.”  (Draig, for those who may be wondering, is the metal dragon lawnmower who patrols the garden, keeping it neat.)  “The pond will be fine with a bit of adjustment to the fountain.  The standpipe needs a touch of distressing to get the patina right, but what can we do with that orangery?”

The orangery was her pride and joy when she first made it.  It was intricately constructed from clear acrylic sheet and ingeniously folded flat to allow the backgammon box to be closed.  Unfortunately, it didn’t spring back into position when the box was reopened, but drooped at around 45° unless one of us went and stood against it.

I thought long and hard, until a solution came to me.  “We need some tall clipped orange trees in heavy pots,” I suggested.  “They can be wedged into either side of the structure to hold it up when the garden is open and removed and laid flat when we wish to close it.”

“Brilliant!” cried Mrs S.  “An excellent plan.”

A selection of bamboo skewers, polystyrene balls, greenery intended for model railways, mock oranges and epoxy putty was assembled, together with various paints and glues, and at last the clipped orange trees were ready.   Slightly unconventional, perhaps, but maybe it isn’t the only outbuilding that is held up by its trees.

You can also see Draig, here in the foreground, restored to his original splendour.

I’m very much enjoying wandering through the grounds and communing with Octavia – my very affectionate pet – who resides in the pond.

I have no idea what will happen to the garden.  Mrs S doesn’t seem inclined to list it in the SteampunkDollsHouse, and keeps muttering about how it needs to go to the ‘right home’.  I shall simply continue to enjoy it while it’s here.

As for the Etsy shop, a cluster of recent sales is encouraging us to hope that normal life will soon resume.

Stranger than Fiction

Travel, naturally, is quite out of the question.  Here we were, isolated in Steampunk-Shrunk Towers, wondering what to do with ourselves.

Mrs S – who is around the same size as yourselves, dear readers – claims that the building is a small and fairly cramped cottage, but since the rest of us (due to a certain, er, accident involving a spacetime anomaly which we prefer not to mention, Henry…)  currently find ourselves shrunk to one twelfth of normal size, the residence appears positively cavernous.  Walking from one wing to another can easily serve for our daily exercise.

Nevertheless, time had been hanging heavily.

Imagine our delight, then, when Molly hit upon the idea of opening her Literary Emporium to one of us each day.  It is an exceedingly small establishment, so social distancing does not permit more than a single individual to enter the building at any time.  Each of us has been issued with a card stamped with the dates for our visits and everyone is thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to peruse the many fascinating volumes available.

Only one thing marred our pleasure.  Several upstanding and usually trustworthy members of our community mentioned catching glimpses of a tall, shadowy figure skulking around the Emporium.  Rumours abounded as to the identity of this personage.  This lockdown seems to make everyone a little jumpier than usual and some had claimed it was a creature conjured up by Dr Kopp, our resident mad scientist, who was recently seen taking an extreme interest in certain passages in the ancient Grimoire.

I didn’t for a moment believe such poppycock.

Oh goodness – manners!  I failed to introduced myself.  Abject apologies.  That is me above and to the right – Gwendoline Thrustington-Clawhammer, tea-duelling district champion 1885, 1887 and 1891.

Yes, I know.

I did mention that it was a spaceTIME anomaly.

Anyway, my turn in the bookshop finally came around.  I became quite mesmerised by the Book of Spells and lost track of the time.  Fearing that I’d be late for an afternoon tea appointment, I rose quickly from my seat and at the same moment heard a definite sound outside the shop.  I had the distinct feeling that someone had been spying on me and that my sudden movement had startled them.

“Ava?”  I called, “Is that you?”  (Madame Ava Brassfeather is most prone to sneaking around the place, so naturally I suspected her.)  Then I recalled the stories about the mysterious stranger.  For a moment, I blush to admit, I considered screaming.  Thankfully I quickly came to my senses and hurried out to see who was there.

I was just in time to see a tall and muscle-bound gentleman trying to duck behind the far wall.

“You there!  Halt at once and reveal yourself!”  I cried, in my most imperious tone, hoping earnestly that he wouldn’t misinterpret my hurried command.

The figure turned to face me and although he cut a commanding presence, I noted that his eyes looked calm and, indeed, rather sad.

“Ah,” he said, softly.  “Ma’am I do hope I didn’t startle you unduly.  Please forgive my intrusion.”

His accent appeared to be that of an American gentleman, from the southern States, I suspected.  His gentle demeanour mollified me somewhat, but the fact remained that he was undoubtedly a trespasser.

In a slightly quieter tone, but still – I hoped – with a certain air of authority, I replied, “I am not easily startled, Sir, but I wish to know how you come to be in this private residence and what your business is.”

“Yes Ma’am, of course,” he responded.  “I can see that my presence here must look most suspicious.  My name is Clark Obadiah Jackson III.  I’m searching for someone who is – very dear to me.  The honest truth is, Ma’am, I can’t rightly explain how I came to be in this building, exactly, unless you are in any way familar with the notions of – uh – time travel and teleportation?”

He was fingering a device attached to his left wrist as he spoke.  I suspected (correctly, it later emerged) that he was considering activating it in some way to vacate our particular time and space if he met with too much hostility.

Now that I studied his face more closely, I realised there was something faintly familiar about it.  I knew he did not belong in Steampunk-Shrunk Towers and was fairly certain our paths had never crossed, yet that slight memory or familiarity could not be discounted.  I realised that I did not wish him to leave as suddenly as he had appeared.  On the contrary, I was extremely curious to hear his story.

“I am – unfortunately – more familiar with time travel and teleportation than I would wish to be, Mr Jackson,” I assured him.  “Indeed, all the residents of Steampunk-Shrunk Towers have personal experience of its uses and often rather unfortunate side effects.   I suggest we take a seat in the Emporium whilst you recount your story.”

“Well that’s mighty civil of you, Ma’am, in the circumstances.   I truly do appreciate it.”

He doffed his hat to me in the most charming way and followed me into Molly’s little shop.

I lit the oil lamp and waited with considerable excitement to hear of Mr Clark Obadiah Jackson III’s adventures.

To be continued.

Clockton-upon-Teas

Tea Cup, Vintage Tea Cup, Tea, CupIt all started with tea.  Hardly surprising – our little hive of fairly pointless but hugely enjoyable industry runs largely on tea most of the time.  Not, I hasten to add, the sweetened, milk-infested mud-brown builders’ variety.  We are partial to fascinating infusions – green, white, herbal – with interesting combinations of subtle flavours.  When pressed to drink black tea, a little Earl Grey, or better yet Lady Grey (the citrus blends so well with the bergamot) is acceptable.  Without milk, obviously.

Imagine, then, our total delight when a visitor to Steampunk-Shrunk Towers arrived bearing the most delectable of gifts: a clear acrylic box containing small cardboard pyramids, each containing a different variety of tea.  Such a thoughtful present.  Mrs S positively purred with delight.

For the next week or two we sipped all manner of enticing blends.  (Some a little more enticing than others, it must be said; rooibos combined with chocolate and vanilla is something of an acquired taste, I feel, although green and pomegranate was an unexpected delight.)  As the tea was consumed, the little card pyramids were carefully placed on one of the few remaining clear horizontal surfaces while we waited for their next incarnation to become apparent.

We are – as many readers will know – purveyors of upcycled items.  We pride ourselves on reusing what many would consider waste to create new objects of desire.  These tiny containers clearly had some wonderful incipient purpose.  It was our role to discover it and make the transformation.  Pondering possibilities, teacup in hand, is one of our major tasks.

“Church spires?” ventured Madame Ava Brassfeather.  “A sort of city of spires, perhaps.”
Hugo Fforbes nodded. “Or maybe roofs on turrets – a gothic mansion or two with clocks and flagpoles.”
“Clock towers, yes, could work…” muttered Henry, thoughtfully.
“They’d be too small for us to fit inside,” Gina pointed out.

Gina is a young American girl, lodging with us temporarily whilst awaiting her father’s arrival (when Mrs S gets around to creating him).  She was right, of course.  But as Lady Cristabel pointed out, in a miniature retro-futurist world, size – like time – is distinctly relative.

More tea was imbibed, more empty boxes found, and interesting paint or paper applied to every surface.  That clear plastic box in which the tea bags had arrived was pressed into service to make arched windows.  Curtain rings, cocktail sticks, drinking straws and various beads were gathered.  The extensive stash of adhesive tapes – metallic, decorative, double-sided – was raided.  Gradually a rather wonky, rust-toned, multi-towered building emerged.

The town hall of our new urban development was judged a success.  Soon more buildings followed and before we knew it, the town of Clockton-upon-Teas started to form.

The structures, being made of lightweight card and plastic, are easily manoeuvered around, even by 6 inch tall artisans.  Thus the town changes rapidly and frequently.  If I’m brutally honest, I have to admit that we have become rather obsessed with creating this delightful, clock-infested borough.

What will become of it?  Mrs S is planning to take Clockton along to the Best of Somerset Show in the City of Wells later this month.  If any parts of it remain, they may find their way to the deliciously quirky Magpie Vintage shop in Midsommer Norton, or even our Etsy shop – the SteampunkDollsHouse.

A Tall Dark Handsome Stranger

We get all manner of diminutive characters appearing at the gates of Steampunk-Shrunk Towers.  One never knows who will appear next.  So I wasn’t surprised when a rather lovely young lady in a flowing sage green and dusky pink dress with a silk headscarf and dangling earrings arrived.  Initially she introduced herself as Gladys from Glastonbury, but her professional name is – apparently – Psychic Sabrina.
“I thought of spelling it P-s-a-b-r-i-n-a, but I think that’s a bit much, don’t you?”
Yes, I did.

“So you’ll be wanting somewhere to work, um, Sabrina,” I said.

She nodded gratefully.  “Just a very small consulting room.  I could do with a couple of chairs and a little table, if possible, and maybe somewhere to store these.”
As she spoke, she was unpacking a trunk containing the tools of her trade – a dowsing pendulum, a pack of cards, a large golden teapot (“tea leaf readings, my lovely”), and sure enough a china cup and saucer.

“I was drawn here, you know,” she confided. “The cards told me to come.  They showed me – I mean, I know it sounds a little clichéd, but it was so clear – that I’d meet a gentleman here who would be, well, significant in my life.  Tall, dark haired, very good looking.”

I thought about our few remaining gentlemen.  Most had left for America last month.  George Entwistle has almost no hair and can only lay claim to being the 12th scale equivalent of 5ft 9 by wearing his top hat everywhere he goes.   Hugo is certainly a distinguished-looking chap and may have been dark haired once, but he’s been grey for many a year.  That only left oil-smeared Henry and his brother…

“Charles,”  I called,  “Could you give me a hand making a set of shelves for a little room I’m putting together?  A stack of about three, to hang on the wall?  A nice grungy but feminine paint or paper finish, please.”

Charles went to work at once, while I set about covering an old room box with some rather beautiful floral papers and painting oddments of furniture in a mix of brown, anthracite and bronze.

Psychic Sabrina, meanwhile, remained strangely unaware of what was going on around her as she unpacked crystals, a ouija board and a set of tarot cards, lovingly wrapped in a dark silk cloth.  Next came various candles and a bottle of dried berries (“Rowan, for protection, dearie”).  I hoped the shelves would be large enough.

The next day all was ready for Sabrina to move in.  She was delighted with the room and spent some time putting up posters and charts, then began stacking her shelves and arranging the furniture.

It was only natural that Charles would drop by to check on his handiwork and to introduce himself to our latest resident.  He came upon the lady as she was deeply engrossed in a tea leaf reading and his gasp was audible.

Sabrina finally pulled herself out of her state of deep concentration to find him standing there.  She’s a professional, I’ll give her that.  There was the tiniest flicker of recognition in her eyes, as she realised that this was the stranger she had come to meet, but she quickly regained her composure and greeted him with a friendly smile.

“Hello, lovely.  Have you come to have a reading?”

I’ve never seen Charles lost for words before.  His mouth opened and closed a few times before he could trust himself to speak.

“Ahem, well, I actually came to check whether the shelves were suitable for your needs, madam.  A-a reading, you say?  Are you some sort of a fortune teller or something?  Never dabbled in such things before, but…  Well, it couldn’t hurt, could it?”

Sabrina was clearly used to putting anxious customers at their ease.  “Oh, so you’re the gentleman who built these splendid shelves.  Why, they are just perfect for my equipment, thank you.  What a craftsman you are!  Yes, I can tell you about yourself, point you in the direction of the best paths to take for a happy and successful future and answer any questions you have.  Shall we begin with a palm reading?  You just come and take a seat.  I’d like to give you a reading as payment for your hard work on my room.”

Charles nodded meekly and sat down.  He answered Psychic Sabrina’s questions – his name, his circumstances – without once taking his eyes from her face.  She smiled and nodded, studying him just as intently.
“Let’s begin with your right hand, then” she cooed, finally. “Just hold it out for me.  Are you happy for me to hold it?”

“Oh yes, certainly,” Charles replied, a little too eagerly.

Me, I’m no clairvoyant, but I think the writing is on the wall as far as these two are concerned.

 

 

 

Letter From America

The shimmering airship positively purred as it landed in the grounds of Steampunk-Shrunk Towers. Airship, Floating Islands, Sails, Castle

Charles and Henry – the resident tinkers – were almost tripping over one another to reach it first and see it at close quarters.

With a faint hiss of air from a piston somewhere, a ladder descended and a young lady who (Henry later remarked) shimmered almost as beautifully as her ship, climbed down.

She laughed at their expressions and said, “Well, I reckon y’all must be Mister Charles and Mister Henry, from what I’ve heard.”

The brothers looked – if possible – even more astonished.  It was Charles who remembered his manners first.
“Charles Fortescue at your service, Madame,” he said, “And may I introduce my brother Henry?  To what do we owe this honour?”

“Delighted to meet you both, I’m sure,” the pilot smiled. “My name is Leticia. We have a mutual friend, gentlemen – a charming young man called Jasper Coggleford.  He told me that if I flew Bluejay here it would be you who came out to take a closer look.”

“Little Jasper?” spluttered Henry.  “Jeremiah’s boy?  But how…?”

“Jasper and his father have recently moved to my neighbourhood,”  Leticia explained.  “We struck up a conversation and when I mentioned that I was about to fly across to the West of England, Jasper was most insistent that I should come and make your acquaintance.  He said your eyes would pop out of your heads when you saw Bluejay!  Oh, and he also asked me to hand deliver this letter to you.”

To be honest, the Fortescues were so enchanted with both the airship and its pilot, that it was only several hours after Leticia had finally declined any more tea and biscuits and reluctantly headed off to her appointment in Bristol that Charles remembered Jasper’s envelope.  With a pang of guilt, they sat down to read his letter.

Dear Mister Charles and Mister Henry,

I hope you like Miss Leticia and her airship.  I bet you will!

Me and Pa are nicely settled in at our new home in America.  So are Mr Augustus and Mr Bjørn.  The people here are real nice, as they say around here.

There is one problem, though.  It seems part of our work over here involves battling with a Kraken or two.  Pa is being ever so brave, but I can tell he’s nervous and I am terrified.  I mean, we have some woodworking tools, but what we need are proper weapons.  I don’t know anyone as good as you gents at inventing and tinkering, so I thought maybe you could have a try at making some monster-maiming gizmos.

Miss Leticia is coming back at the end of the month, so if you had anything prepared by then, I know she’d be happy to pick it up.

I know you won’t let us down.

Please say hi to everyone there.

Kindest regards,

Jasper Coggleford

“Hi?” muttered Charles.  “The boy is certainly settling in over there.”

“Yes, yes, but the weapons!” exclaimed Henry.  “They need our help.  Let’s make a start at once!”

There was a marked reluctance on Charles’ part, Henry noticed.  He’d rummaged around and found some swords in an attic, so had set about making armoured leather scabbards.  However he spent rather too long admiring himself in the mirror, whilst brandishing one sword after another and shouting things like, “Have at ye!” and “Take that, vile sea dog!”

“Swords!” grumbled Henry.  “You might slice off a leg or two, but the mouth will still be coming at you.  We need something more, ah, mechanical.  Something to blow the creatures to kingdom come.”

He stood for most of the first day surrounded by what you or I might think of as junk, carefully trying out different combinations and attachments.  By the end of the third day there was a veritable arsenal surrounding him.

“Is that one of Mrs S’s Christmas tree baubles?” asked Charles, suspiciously eyeing the end of one of the largest guns.

“That’s tinkering for you,” was all Henry would reply.

“And that thing with the rotary saw -”

“The Sawful. Yes, isn’t she a beauty?”

“Try walking around with that dangling from your shoulder and you’ll slice your own leg off!” Charles snorted.  “Hand it over – carefully, man.  I’ll make it a protective carrying case.”

“Then they’ll need small pistols,” mused Henry.  “They won’t be able to carry these things about all the time.  Young Jasper probably couldn’t even lift one.”

Charles didn’t speak.
Henry looked long and hard at his brother. “You don’t like weapons much, do you, old boy?”

Charles shrugged. “Not a great fan, if I’m honest,” he said quietly.  “I mean the swords are fine, man-to-man combat, fair enough.  But blasting some dumb creature out of existence with one of those – things…  Hardly cricket, is it?”

Henry grinned.  He clapped his brother gently on the back and nodded.  “I do see your point.  The thing is, I don’t think monsters play by MCC Laws.  How would we feel if we heard little Jasper had had his head torn off by some ravaging beast?  We need to give the poor lad a sporting chance.  Suppose you work on making some belts and holsters, if I work out how to make the pistols?”

“Thanks, old chap.  Appreciate it,” nodded Charles and he headed off to find some more leather.

And when everything was finished and safely packaged, ready for its long journey over the ocean, Charles had one final item prepared – a peacock blue pistol with matching holster as a gift for the pilot of the Bluejay,  because, as Charles explained, you just never know when you might need to protect yourself against an attack from some dreadful creature of the skies.

 

The Black Door

It’s possible that the ancient black wooden door at the front of Steampunk-Shrunk Towers is as old as the building itself.  Certainly there is a huge iron key that looks to be many centuries old.

What comings and goings that door must have seen.  And certainly there have been plenty in the present month.

Just imagine our amazement when the infamous Dr Oskar Kopp and his ‘enhanced’ assistant Bjørn arrived.  They had left us several years ago to accompany a reknowned storyteller and share their tales with her audiences.  Now, it seems, the good lady is moving to another continent and asked whether she could return these gentlemen and their laboratory to us.

If you are unfamiliar with their story, you could go to this link and its successor and read about them.

The doctor, we noticed, looked somewhat older and perhaps slightly frail.  Bjørn, on the other hand, appears to be thriving with his mechanically enhanced brain and strong clockwork heart.  We look forward to hearing about his research into alchemy, when Dr Kopp is out of earshot.

However there have also been some departures.

Augustus Robottom has clearly become disillusioned with the little robots he has been creating.  He grabbed a copy of The Time Traveller’s Companion and announced that he was relocating to Alabama.

“But what about these small, er, devices of yours?”  Mrs S enquired.

“Confound the things!” he said gruffly.  “I suggest sending them over to the Magpie.  I think they would fit in well there.”

“Ah yes.  Excellent idea,” agreed Mrs S, and she began packing them up to take to the rather wonderful Vintage and Curiosities shop she supplies in Midsomer Norton.

The very next day, Mr Coggleford the furniture restorer and young Jasper, his son and apprentice, told us that they intended to follow in Gus’s footsteps and would be taking one of the time machines as well as one of their finest cabinets with them.

All three will be sorely missed here, but we applaud their ambition and hope that their life in the New World will be most successful.

Now we hear rumours that more ladies and gentlemen will be joining us to once again swell the ranks of Steampunk-Shrunk Towers’ inhabitants.  Today, though, with storms raging outside, the massive black door remains firmly shut.

 

Professor Erazmus’s Gifts

For sale at the SteampunkDollsHouseHigh in one of the attic rooms of the famed Steampunk-Shrunk Towers, Professor Erazmus keeps himself very much to himself.  This is partly because he prefers his own company, but mostly because he does not wish anyone to interfere with his Scrying Machine – a contraption of such sophistication and complexity that its clockwork mechanisms are built into the very walls of the building.

With this astonishing device, the professor is able to peer into the homes and lives of any of his acquaintances and – more especially – those of his many wards.  These young people have now left the safety of Steampunk-Shrunk Towers and moved on to make new lives for themselves in all corners of this world and a few others.

However Erazmus still keeps a keen, fatherly eye on each of them and uses his machine to check that all is well in their new homes.

At the approach of the festive season, the professor begins to prowl around the many workshops, inventing rooms and creative corners of Steampunk-Shrunk Towers in search of the perfect gifts for these much-loved young people to whom he has been guardian for so long.  It is with great care and delight that he selects the perfect gift for each of them.

Of course, because of the clever construction of the scrying machine, Erazmus has the added pleasure of being able to watch the reactions of his wards as they open their parcels, no matter how far away they are now living.

Here is Ruby, who moved away long ago.  For her the Professor has chosen one of these delicate holographic scrying mirrors.

He hopes that this will encourage her to keep in touch and let him know what she is up to these days, but he’s not sure that his plan will succeed.

 

 

 

a young showmanThis is young Rufus, who moved away to begin a career as an inventor and travelling showman and was a great favourite of Erazmus’s.

To this enterprising young man, Professor Erasmus has chosen to give this time machine, as soon as it’s finished.

 

Milly, the steampunk housekeeper robotYoung Henry, here, travelled to the East Coast of the United States some time ago and promptly changed his name.

The professor has decided to send him a robot to assist with the routine jobs involved in working the time machine.

 

Lost in a bookLittle Molly has, he knows, gone to an excellent new home in North Wales.  However he has decided to send her some more books, as she can never have enough.

 

 

 

 

 

The content of this post is now on sale in miniature book format in the SteampunkDollsHouse, with even more illustrations.  It can be bought either as a finished book or as a downloadable DIY page, which can be printed out and made up, with full instructions.

The Professor and his Scrying Room are also available there, at this link.

Chestnuts roasting on a Steam-Powered Engine?

Steampunk Christmas?  The words don’t go together too well, do they?

Vague images of a brown and black clad Santa in a filthy coal-fuelled sleigh, hauled by robot reindeer, or a rusty artificial tree made with cogs of diminishing sizes…

on sale at Sheampunk-shrunk stallsNevertheless, we do have our own line in suitably eccentric tree decorations.  The Wild and Wonky Decorations are a splendid mix of beads, coiled wire, charms and curiosities.  The odd vintage watch cog, key or teapot may be thrown in for good measure.

Let no one accuse us of having a bah humbug approach to the festive season.

We were delighted with the number of people (mothers and daughters, mostly) who rushed at our recent stall at the Glastonbury Folk Craft Market, crying, “Oh look at those robots/ time machines/ gadgets!  Dad/Uncle Jim/your brother would love one of those.”

Many an item was purchased to be hidden away for Christmas.

Customers also seem to love our tiny items – amulets, potion bottles, scrying mirrors, miniature wax candles and so forth to use as cracker gifts or stocking fillers.

Last but by no means least are our tiny 12th scale books.  All were written in house and each has a full text and coloured cover.  Several are also lavishly illustrated.  There are steampunk stories, a catalogue of Robottom’s robots, a time-traveller’s companion, as well as books of spells, charms and potions.  If you’ve left it too late to have them posted, many are also available in Do-It-Yourself format as instant printable downloads.  All you (or the recipients) need is a printer, a glue stick and a pair of scissors or craft knife.  Full instructions are provided.

Browse the Steampunk Dolls House for all titles available and if you like a bargain, do check the very special price on our DIY book bundle, with a selection of 5 books for less than £1 each.

One customer bought a bunch of these to hand around the dinner table instead of Christmas crackers, so that all her guests could make and go home with their own miniature book.  All titles are suitable for children as well as adults.

Of course there is the usual range of Steampunk figures, furniture, time machines, watch cog jewellery and far more besides at our etsy shop, but please order early, as we have much travelling to do in December.

Festive greetings to all our kind followers and customers.