“We almost sold the engine room,” announced the young man who runs one of the shops (the physical one) I supply, when I wandered in with some new stock last week.
“Came that close!” He squeezed his thumb and forefinger together. “It was going to be a wedding present. They’re going to a steampunk wedding. They still might buy it, but then one of them said, ‘Oooh, I wonder if she could make a steampunk bride and groom…’.”
He looked at me quizzically.
“Maybe,” I said cautiously. “I’ll give it some thought.”
I’d made a promise to myself when I started making the steampunk miniatures: NO COMMISSIONS. I’d done them in the past and my vision rarely coincided with my clients’. It often ended in tears.
This project was interesting, though. The groom would obviously be in the usual smart dress suit with top hat and goggles. I even had the ideal fabric – the remains of a black and gold jacquard scarf I’d found once in a charity shop. It was dressing the bride, though, that intrigued me. There were so many ways that could go…
I held out for at least two days, busying myself with the Garden of Ingenious and Mechanical Delights that is my pet long-term project. Then I thought, ‘Well, if I just make a bride and groom and take them down to Rune Smith, it’s not exactly a commission. The customers can decide whether they want to buy them, or go for the engine room.’
Bride first.
I trawled through steampunk websites and Pinterest for inspiration. Would she be a cheery burlesque bride – all thighs and cleavage? A Victorian crinoline type with parasol and meringue skirt? I didn’t fancy either much. I wanted to do something new.
The fabric scraps box was upended and I picked out everything cream, ivory, coffee and toffee coloured. The ribbon and lace boxes followed. Then the leather offcuts box. A plan was forming. Steampunk is all about innovation, reusing and combining materials in unexpected ways, so that was what I would do.
First lace-trimmed drawers and a cotton lawn petticoat, with gathered organza hem and a layer of coffee-coloured lace. The skirt itself involved a solid day of handstitching all manner of fabric shapes and layers together – khaki drill, cream cotton lace, satin, ribbon, bias-cut pieces of handkerchief fabric and embroidery floss. This was embellished with copper wire and (wince – hate it, but it had to be done) an assortment of watch cogs and fly wheels. I always baulk at gratuitously applying machinery parts that have no function, but I had a feeling they’d be expected.
The bodice was a fragment of pale chamois leather, cut asymmetrically and laced at the front with gold thread. The bouquet was a ribbon rose embellished with more cogs and wire, and I opted for a Game of Thrones type veil in bronze and blue organza with a simple wire and ribbon headdress.
I loved her. I was exhausted. But did she fit the brief? Was she steampunk enough?
I decided to ask for some wisdom from a Facebook group I belong to – one specialising in making miniatures from everyday objects. I posted a quick video of her and asked their opinions. I’d purposely chosen this group, rather than one of the dedicated steampunk groups I belong to, to get a more ‘person-in-the-street’ opinion on what constituted steampunk.
The responses were many and various! Many iconised likes, loves and wows. The comments ranged from the singularly unhelpful ‘Dress her in black!!’, through ‘What IS steampunk?’ to one person who solicitously explained the difference between cogs and fly wheels as she thought I must be confused. As I had hoped and expected, though, many of the kind and lovely people took time to suggest extras and modifications that would help me to fulfil the brief.
The veil – their collected wisdom told me – had to go. The headdress had to include (oh shudder and groan at the dreary cliché!) a top hat, and possibly goggles. The bouquet needed to be bigger and bolder, the bodice more decorated and – at her waist – either a pouch or (I loved this idea) a chatelaine.
So, having added several necklace chains worth of metalwork, a (heavily disguised) kid leather hat and gone along with the other ideas – except the dratted goggles; I have my pride! – I reposted my altered little lady.
Unanimous praise – well almost.
‘I wish she had the glasses’ one of the goggles advocates wrote!
Well if that person is reading this, they might like to take a trip over to the Steampunk Doll’s House, where they will find many of my steampunk ladies and gentlemen sporting goggles in all shapes and styles.
Now I’m off to finish the groom.
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.
Vell I ask you, if you were to come into possession of an ancient grimoire vhich contained (along wiz ze normal recipes for creating ze philosophers’ stone und cures for varts) a spell entitled ‘How to Traverse Time’, vouldn’t you be a little intrigued? Vouldn’t you give up a successful career to explore ze secrets it offers?
I had a huge laboratory, back in zose days. Mechanical construction vas my bread-und-butter. Alvays zer ver young men vanting automatons, adjustments to zer contraptions and votnots. Fraulein Vorzington, my young assistant, vas quite excellent at such sings. I left her to it. For me, reading ancient texts vas far more important. I had zis strong feeling zat vun day, I vould discover zat for vich I searched. Und here it is – ein dusty old volume, standing on my small table in my tiny, dark garret. Viz zis book, I vill conquer time itself!
Then, of course, there is the doctor himself, with his plasma- and aether-sensitive binocular eyepiece, not to mention the infamous grimoire. 
The Case of the Alchemist’s Study will be on display on my stall at the Glastonbury Craft and Vintage Fair on Saturday 29th April, 2017. Other Steampunk – Shrunk figures, rooms and accessories are available at Rune Smith of Glastonbury, at 1 Monarch Way, off Glastonbury High Street and online at t
Good day, Sir and Madam.
I have to say, I’m delighted with my small emporium. Don’t you just love the medicine cabinet? It was a generous gift from my dear friend Lady Grace and is ideally suited to my storage and display needs. Oh, pray do not touch the scales, Madam. They are most carefully balanced with a potion I was preparing for her ladyship when you arrived.
I’m very pleased, too, with my counter, which I put together myself from some iron and wood my cousin Amelia had left over from building a steam engine.
“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).
Hi, I’m Ruby. They’ve asked me to explain to you what steampunk is, because loads of people are like, ‘What’s that?’
Those old stories I was talking about, yeah? Well they had all sorts of terrifying monsters and stuff that the heroes had to battle against with their amazing steam-powered weapons, so steampunk is into that, too. Loads of the guys go and buy nerf guns and do them up so they’re metallic and look really awesome, to protect themselves against all the evil stuff. I know – bit weird – but boys and their toys, y’know?
I got into it when I read Northern Lights. That’s by Philip Pullman and it’s what The Golden Compass film is based on, but I liked the book better. And now there are loads of good steampunk writers about and we have conventions and festivals and balls and everything. You might want to try reading stories by Nimue Brown or Phoebe Darqueling or go to some blogs like 
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.
Steampunk - Shrunk! 