Flashman and the iron steamhorses.
As all modellers know, scratchbuilding starts with all sorts of odds and ends; a very popular source being old toys… Since I inherited my mania to collect from my mother, most of my old toys are still in the attic of my parents’ house (bear in mind, I’m 58!!!). So, last week I asked my mother if I could have a look up there to see if there was anything of use to be “rediscovered” by me. I found myself soon amongst boxes that hadn’t been opened for years (decades…) and many a memory from a happy childhood came to mind. Amongst this pile of family history, I suddenly spotted an old chest I had completely forgotten about. As a kid, I was strictly forbidden to open it, since it contained family papers going back generations (and we all know what kids can do to well ordered files…). Feeling that I was now (nearly…) of age to be able to handle this correctly, I opened the chest to be welcomed by the strong perfume of paper untouched for years. Most of the content were bills (I wonder if they were ever paid…), old photos and documents from the township, but also a pack of letters held together by a red ribbon. Intrigued, I unwrapped the ribbon and learned that all these letters were addressed to my great-great-granduncle Baron Eduard Geudens:
However, there was no name or address from the sender on the envelopes, so I started to read some of the letters to find out more. The letters contained the most unlikely adventures from a guy that had been travelling the world around the mid 1800’s and all were signed with “your grateful friend forever, Harry”. Several envelopes included pictures of a tall handsome guy in British light cavalry uniform with a typical Victorian moustache. I still had no clue to who this could be until I read the very last letter from the pile (chronologically the oldest one, but this is true to Murphy’s law…). The chap appeared to be a certain Harry Flashman and there I learned that my great-great-granduncle (who was a Belgian official in the colonies) saved him once from a forced marriage with a chieftain’s daughter in deepest, darkest Afriboria…
I would like to share the content of one of these letters with you, here on the LAF forum:
My dear Eduard,
I know you are very much looking forward to my visit, but I’m afraid it will have to be postponed until the next time you are on leave in Belgium. Let me explain why…
As you know – prior to me calling on you – I was to visit the International Steam Fair in Paris (together with my friend Binky) in an official capacity with orders from Her Majesty herself. I was actually very pleased with the assignment, since it not only offered me the opportunity to visit (once more) “gay Paris” (the “city of light”, but I much prefer the nights over there…), but it was also a job Lord Cardigan would have liked for himself, so I very much enjoyed his anger over this missed opportunity!
Anyway, the day Binky and I arrived at the fair, we checked in our hotel (opposite the exhibition grounds), but my companion had to call on a certain lady that night, so I was left on my own. Not for long though, since the desk clerk informed me that most of the participants frequented a public house (“La Turelute”) further down the street. I decided to go there for a meal and I was afterwards soon invited for a game of poker with some of the people there for the fair. Since many had their ladies present also, I felt I couldn’t resist (sorry: refuse, I mean...) the game. One chap – a “captain” Thornton-Wilton - had already introduced himself when I was about to enter the “la Turelute” and the whole night he kept going on about the fact that he had come to the fair aboard the “Queenie”, one of the newest steam machines: a “S.A.S.” (Steam Airborne Sloop).
(http://i298.photobucket.com/albums/mm262/geudens_photos/flashman01.jpg)
FLASHY MEETING THORNTON-WILTON OUTSIDE LA TURELUTE.
He kept insisting that I should accept his invitation for a demo flight next day, but I was much more preoccupied with the lovely Barones Da Vino who did not fail to constantly catch my eye (at least every time her Italian husband was occupied elswhere…). To cut a long story short, despite being distracted by the boaring talk of Thornton-Wilton and the promising gazes of madame Da Vino, I succeeded in cleaning the pockets of Dr. Moriarto (a.k.a as “Pappa Midnight” because of his huge grey sideburns) in the game of poker. I probably had more and better cards up my sleeve than him (…), but in the end he owed me a substantial amount, that he swore I would have it in my hands by next morning. If I had only known his intentions at the time…
Anyway, I decided to call it a day (my sleeves contained no more cards anyway…) and wished all goodnight, when Baron Da Vino asked me to oblige him by escorting his wife back to the hotel. He was still involved in a friendly discussion with the Count della Vagani and said he wouldn’t be home for hours, but his wife wanted to go to sleep. And so she did, needless to say together with who exactly... However, being of noble stock doesn’t imply that one is a man of his word and I was – shall I say – still entertaining the lady when the count – having come home early - rushed in the bedroom (I wonder what sort of noise made him take such an action…). I saved myself by jumping THROUGH the CLOSED window, bullets from the count’s gun whistling around my ears.
No time for explanations now! I ran into the fairgrounds, the count in hot (Italian…) pursuit. Ahead of me a giant shape occured: it was the “Queenie”, and now was just as good a time as ever to take up Thornton-Wilton’s invitation. Without further (definitely unhealthy..) delay I jumped aboard, only to land in the ships coal bunker, tearing my flesh and clothes apart and looking like Nicodemus in the blink of an eye. Seconds later, the count climed aboard and I could here him shout at Thornton-Wilton who was clearly manning the wheel. “Where is the bastard?!!!!” Da Vino shouted and Thornton-Wilton answered: “We take off right now, count! We’ll get him all right!!!”. Immediately, the Queenie took to the air and Da Vino said: “My thanks to you, sir, you are a true gentleman, but I first have to kill this scum called Flashman before we can have a drink on it!”.
(http://i298.photobucket.com/albums/mm262/geudens_photos/flashman02.jpg)
THE HUNT HAS STARTED!
"Flashman?”, Thornton-Wilton answered, “Good God sir, no; we’re not after him. Haven’t you heard? Pappa Midnight has taken the Countess della Vagani hostage and he’ll only set her free if a ransom is paid to settle his debt with Flashy. No, sir, no, we’re after PM who has taken off in his steam horse carriage!”.
(http://i298.photobucket.com/albums/mm262/geudens_photos/flashman04.jpg)
WHERE IS THE BLASTED STEAMCOACH???
Meanwhile we were high above the roofs of the town and Da Vino realised his vengeance would have to wait (since he had no idea that I was still aboard, and I – for one – was not going to tell him I was!!!). A few minutes later I heard Thornton-Wilton shout: “There it is, the steamhorse coach! PM is driving and contessa della Vagani must be aboard! Be so kind, Da Vino as to arm the bombs, we’re gonna stop the villain in his tracks!”.
(http://i298.photobucket.com/albums/mm262/geudens_photos/flashman03.jpg)
THERE IT IS! LIGHT THE FUSES!!!
Da Vino did what he was asked, and seconds later all hell broke loose; an explosion shook the Queenie and I was saved only because I was hiding behind the boiler. Both Thornton-Wilton and Da Vino were instantly killed and the terrible force of the explosion covered me in their blood. The “Queenie”, with no one on the controls started to spin down to earth and Flashy was in panic (wouldn’t you?). So much so that I pulled the first lever at hand, thus releasing by sheer chance the bombload of the vessel. Being lighter at the back, the Queenie settled in the air and drifted slowly down to land safely next to the wrecked steam horses of PM.
(http://i298.photobucket.com/albums/mm262/geudens_photos/flashman05.jpg)
FLASHY SURVIVES (AGAIN...) THE OTHERS MEET THEIR END...
Appearantly, the bombs had hit the team spot on; bull's eye! The coach was intact, but PM was nowhere to be seen. I quickly opened the door of the coach and was – much to my surprise – pulled in by two well formed arms belonging to the Contessa. “Quickly, my hero, my savior…” she wispered, “let me show you my gratitude before my husband arrives on the scene!”. And so he did, half an hour later, at the head of a posse, congratulating old Flashy (well outside the coach by then…) on his heroic deed. “Sir”, he said, “Sir, when I see you standing here before me covered in blood and the dust of battle, your clothes torn, I salute your bravery, sir, and I’m terribly grateful for saving my beloved wife! Call on me tomorrow, good sir, but not before 3 p.m. (PM – got it???) since I won’t be in prior. I’ll pay you double what Pappa Midnight owed you and we’ll have dinner together, so we will!”.
Looking into the contessa’s eyes, I realized NOT arriving MUCH earlier than 3 p.m. was no option (but not after first having paid my respects to the (not so) grieving widowed Barones Da Vino...). As I stated earlier: being of noble stock doesn’t imply that one is a man of his word and when – at 2 p.m. the next day - the count made his entry much in the same way (and under identical circumstances) as the baron had done the day before, I remembered Wellington’s famous words: “they came on in the same old way and we stopped them in the same old way”. Only, I “retired hastily in the same old way” to catch the next ferry to Dover!
You see, old chap, that’s why I won’t be able to visit you right now; I fear I’m not very welcome on the mainland for the moment!
As always,
Your grateful friend forever,
Harry
(http://i298.photobucket.com/albums/mm262/geudens_photos/flashman06.jpg)
SEE YOU NEXT TIME, GUYS! KEEP AN EYE ON YOUR WOMEN THOUGH!!!...