Something a little different today: a glimpse into the creative process that went into one of our models.
Not twenty thousand. I can’t yet lay claim to that. Yet who can say? One day, perhaps.
To build a vessel capable of travelling underwater and exploring the depth of the seas has been an ambition of mine since my youth. In those days, I was fortunate enough to sit at the table of the great Dr Pierre Aronnax himself, while he regaled us with tales of his voyage on the Nautilus, with the strange and troubled Captain Nemo.
How I loved his stories. How I longed to follow in his footsteps – or in his wake, perhaps. That I, Maurice Souslesmers, should be able to travel in this way was but a distant dream, until I joined forces with Mrs S, upcycler and creator of weird and wonderful 1:12 scale creations.
“So you want something like The Nautilus?” she asked. “Sounds an interesting challenge. Trouble is, I’m flat broke, so the budget for this project is zero. Everything will have to come from my junk stash. Agreed?”
What choice did I have? We explored the pile of objects together: a cardboard case, a clear plastic lid from a packaging box, some corrugated foil card from a children’s craft set, a finger light left over from last Hallowe’en, a brass radiator key, a small brass bell and whistle, a broken dolls house dressing table, some bits of polymer clay, a blue plastic bag, an empty shower gel bottle, a few watch parts and a jar of nail art gems.
“That should do nicely,” she said.
I was less than convinced.
Nevertheless, she set to work with coloured nail polish, a dizzying array of adhesives and some very messy burnishing paste.
“See this broken watch part – how it swivels?” she asked excitedly. “That will make a turntable for your searchlight. You need to be able to scan around the ocean, looking for creatures, don’t you?”
Before my eyes, the plastic (a strange and rather ugly synthetic substance alien to my era) finger light became a leather and copper-clad lamp on a turning steel base.
I stacked oxygen tanks in the navigation deck’s storage compartments and set about burnishing the huge boiler.
Mrs S found a way to mount the periscope so that it could be raised and lowered and we tested the construction so far.
True, our vessel lacked the opulence of The Nautilus as described by Aronnax – the library and study, the leather armchairs and so forth. Nevertheless, I saw that I would finally be able to make my own voyage of discovery, and I was delighted.
Eagerly, I named my craft after my great hero, and The Aronnax began its journey.
You will see that I am keeping a careful ship’s log and making sketches of the mysterious creatures of the deep I am encountering on my journey. As for those apparently man-made arches and columns I have encountered in the murky depths… Might I, like my predecessors have stumbled upon the famed ruins of Atlantis?
Should you wish to see The Aronnax, it will be surfacing at the Dollshouse and Miniatures Fair at Rivenhall End in Essex on September 9th 2018 and at the Hastings Steampunk Extravaganza on September 16th.
I, Ebenezer Crackington, am by trade a clockmaker. I have worked at this trade since I completed my apprenticeship in the beautiful city of Paris, France, many years ago, at the age of twenty-two.
For eighteen years I made a reasonable living producing table and mantle clocks of the finest quality, encased in glass domes so that the mechanism could be viewed by the owners.
One memorable day, however, my shop was visited by none other than Lord Horatio Backgammon.
Imagine my amazement as this great gentleman entered the door and removed his hat, just as any lesser person might do.
I bowed to his lordship and offered him a chair, wishing that I had some upholstered seating, rather than the plain wooden variety.
Nevertheless, his lordship deigned to sit upon this humble piece of furniture with no complaint and addressed me in the following manner:
“Crackington,” he said, “You have been recommended to me by certain gentlemen at my club as being a first rate craftsman. Would you say they are correct?”
No doubt my face reddened rather at this most unexpected compliment, but I kept my head and replied, “Why I certainly believe it to be the case, Your Lordship, judging by the testimonials I have received from satisfied customers.”
“Good show,” Lord Backgammon responded. “In that case, I have a most particular commission for you.”
I promptly availed myself of a pen and my order book, hoping that my exterior appearance remained calm, despite my inner excitement.
Lord Horatio Backgammon informed me that, for reasons he was unable to disclose, he needed to wake and rise at a various times during the night in order to attend meetings of an extremely significant nature. His prompt arrival at these rendezvous was of the utmost importance.
Unfortunately, his lordship was a very heavy sleeper and was having great difficulty waking on time.
He asked whether I had any experience in constructing adjustable mechanical alarm clocks. I assured him that I had served as apprentice under M. Antoine Redier, the inventor and patent holder of such devices.
“Well they are useless!” his lordship informed me. “I require a device at least ten times louder than such paltry machines and one which involves a further element of surprise. Can you do it?”
I assured him that I could, and would start work on it that very day.
Lord Backgammon left his card and a generous down payment and departed.
I commenced by using a double bell for the alarm mechanism, with a strong beater which alternated between the two. I then constructed a large claxon, which I fashioned from a trombone horn, which moved about in a haphazard and suitably alarming fashion when activated.
Since I was concerned that the ensuing noise might perforate his lordship’s eardrums, I installed a decibel gauge, which would shut down the alarm if dangerous sound levels were reached.
Lord Backgammon was delighted with his device and pronounced it satisfactory in every respect.
Thus I find myself the inventor of the Ebenezer Crackington Alarming Clock.
A miniature DIY book containing this text can be purchased as a downloadable file from our Etsy shop here. The file contains mini pages, an illustrated cover and full instructions for putting the book together. All this for just £2.64.
George Entwhistle, a patents clerk by day, had always enjoyed tinkering. The trouble was, tinkering could be a somewhat noisy activity. Living as he did in a terraced property, he had to contend with frequent complaints from neighbours and visits from members of the constabulary.
In consequence, he’d been banned from hammering, sawing, welding or producing anything with a tendency to explode between the hours of 8pm and 10am, and all day on Sundays. This, given the long hours he worked at the patents office, made it difficult for him to achieve anything of note. George felt cheated by life.
All this changed, though, the day he realised that the blocked up door in the sitting room did not, as he’d always imagined, lead to the parlour. Careful measuring and still more careful (and virtually silent) plan drawing showed that there was a two and a half foot gap between the blocked door and the parlour wall.
Working only between the hours of 7.30 and 8 in the evening, George carefully prised open the mysterious door and discovered, to his great amazement, a staircase leading down. Eagerly, he availed himself of an oil lamp and the poker from the fireplace, and cautiously descended.
Imagine George’s surprise and delight as he discovered a further door at the base, which opened quite easily, revealing a large cellar!
Certainly it was cold and uninviting, but the walls were thick. George raced upstairs, grabbed his noisiest intruder alarm – one of his most unpopular inventions amongst the neighbours during the testing stage – and took it down to his newly discovered domain. Here he set it off and left it in the cellar, shutting the door behind him and returning to the sitting room. Despite the deafening clang of bells and shriek of whistles echoing around the empty space below, there was virtually no sound to be heard from either the sitting room or parlour. Despite it being 8.30, not a single neighbour banged on the wall or hammered on his front door.
“Eureka!” exclaimed George.
“Quiet in there or I’ll summon a constable!” came an angry shout from the occupant of number 28.
From that day onward, George worked to transform the cellar into a tinker’s workshop. He extended the heating pipes downwards to power a boiler, which not only heated the workshop, but allowed him to brew a much-needed cup of tea from time to time. He constructed a doorbell with a wire connecting it to the front of his house, so that callers could be heard. He made himself a shelf and workbench and even installed a clock and mirror. The result was a commodious and most agreeable work space. George was a happy man.
He is currently busying himself with constructing a clockwork time machine. He’d long had a plan, gleaned from a combination of the failed ideas of several other tinkers. Working in a patents office did have certain advantages.
As you can see, his contraption is well underway, and he’s able to fire it up for short periods.
“Only a matter of time,” George mutters to himself, smiling slightly at his own wit, “Now that I no longer have to suffer time restraints, soon I shall be the master of time!”
Time will tell…
Should you wish to inspect George’s cellar workshop and the items he is creating there, do come to any of the Steampunk-Shrunk stalls at various events over the coming months.
The details of venues, dates and times can be found on the home page of this website.
Oh, and if you come along, do ask George to demonstrate the time machine. He loves to show off his workmanship.
Finally 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.
I 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.