A little more terrain.

Following on from the previous post, and having run out of 40mm and 60mm ‘Warbases’ MDF discs part way through my Cherry orchard construction, I was left with two remaining trees.  Not wanting to abandon them, I decided to plant them together on the same base and as I offered them up to an 80mm MDF ‘Warbases’ disc inspiration struck!  

Although a smidge too close together they did give the impressive of forming a natural arch through which one might stroll whilst devising haiku.  To further enhance the illusion I decided to add a Shinzentōro Japanese Lantern, again from ‘Master Crafted Miniatures’ and some paving slabs to help avoid getting your Geta wet from the morning dew.

どういう奇妙なことだ！
生きている
桜の下に。
What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms.
― Kobayashi Issa

Feeling a bit pleased with myself with the Cherry Blossom archway, I reached for another 80mm MDF ‘Warbases’ disc, but this time I had another plan.  When I placed my order for the tree armatures I had also chanced upon, what I hoped would be, suitable Bamboo stands.  On closer inspection there were three different heights and the plastic was a little flimsy and of course a wonderfully lurid green.  As a result nothing had happened with them, until now!  

I had in mind to create a Bamboo screen to block line of sight and so started with some off cuts of blue foam to raise the height just that little bit more.  I also had one more piece of 3D printed scenery from my splurge on the ‘Master Crafted Miniatures’ site and so this base was going to be the perfect spot for my Gorintō.  Slowly, but surely the screen was taking shape and with the final addition of the Bamboo stalks, although I did have to pre-drill the holes as the plastic was so feeble, the basic construction was finished. 

Painting followed a fairly predictable palette, particularly with the groundwork.  The lurid green shoots were simply give a blast with an Olive Green Tamiya aerosol I had lying around, which seemed to the trick and with a smattering of leaf litter and a couple of larger green tufts the build was complete.

So two additional terrain pieces that I wasn’t planning on building, but ultimately really pleased with their outcome.  Both pieces have already been used and the bamboo screen works particularly well, I just need to watch out for those pesky Tengu Descension and their ‘Fly’ trait!

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

I have to confess that I will not be sorry to see the back of January, difficulty at work and the incessant rain have conspired to produce a gloom that has lingered for far too long over ‘Awdry Towers’ and whilst I have managed to submit miniatures for each of the themed bonus rounds thus far, I am still awaiting to score my first points in the challenge proper.  That said it could be worse, far worse and so without further ado and lashings of self congratulatory nonsense allow me to present the Jabberwocky!

First seen in Lewis Carroll’s, ‘Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There’, published in 1872, the Jabberwocky is, in essence, a nonsense poem, but one with a rhythm and suggestiveness that owes much to ancient Anglo-Saxon poetry.  What starts as a father’s warning to his son of a mythical beast that prowls over the land ultimately becomes a fierce battle before the boy returns, triumphant, to his father and all is returned to normality.

For me the works of the illustrator Sir John Tenniel are synonymous with Lewis Carroll’s writing and it is his depiction of the Jabberwocky, lumbering out of a dark forest to attack its latest victim, that have stayed with me into adult life.  Imagine, then, how thrilled I was then to find this 'Reaper Pathfinder Miniature', sculpted by Jason Weibe; a clear homage to those splendid Victorian Gentlemen.

Now it is worth mentioning at this point that this sculpt was a beast in itself to put together!  By no means a small model there was quite a lot of cleaning up to do; I guess the moulds are not in the first flush of youth?  Once prepared there was substantial pinning and filling required and the decision not to use the metal ‘slotta’ base provided in favour of a ‘Warbases’ 70mm MDF disc, brought with it some concerns regarding structurally integrity and balance.  These were duly overcome with the carefully positioning of small pebbles, a modicum of luck and the occasional harsh word!

Once primed it was time to fire up the shiny new airbrush and set about the base layers, affording me an opportunity to experiment with the blending of colours in a bid to achieve a leathery, almost prehistoric look to the creature’s wings.  The rest of the painting involved steadily building up the layers and picking out the relevant details.  

When it came to the basing, I was planning to have a fairly standard woodland base, but a chance comment from the ‘Provost Marshal’ saw me adding evidence of previous victims in the shape of various skulls and bones – a chilling reminder of the ferociousness of the Jabberwocky!

Finally then, to complete the scene, I put together a suitably naïve and youthful looking squire from the ‘Perry Miniatures’ War of the Roses Command Sprue to represent the hero of the piece.  My ‘Challenge’ may have been derailed somewhat by the pressures of ‘real life’, but through the bonus rounds and I am finding plenty of new challenges in both modeling and painting that give me that perfect escape.  That and the continued sense of community, good will and mutual support that pervade in this cosy corner of the blog-o-sphere are truly cherished – I thank you all.

If you can spare a moment or two then do go and look at all the other fabulous entries for this bonus round, perhaps even cast a vote or two for your favourites?  Just click on the link here.

Jabberwocky

BY LEWIS CARROLL

(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand;

      Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

      And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

      And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

      He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

      He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

For you all love the screw-guns...

With the introduction of rifled artillery pieces in the 1860s the old smooth bores were slowly replaced.  A steel 7pounder rifled, muzzle loader (RML) weighing 200lbs was issued to the mountain artillery;  more accurate than the original version and with a range of 3,000 yards to boot!  The advent of a slower burning gunpowder in 1876 meant that a longer barrel was needed to achieve the muzzle velocity required for the same range and a new piece nearing 400lbs was issued.  This was all well and good, but it is said that the poor mule can only carry about 250lbs!  The solution, cast it in two parts and screw it together for action! 

Screw-Guns

Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool,

I walks in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule,

With seventy gunners be'ind me, an' never a beggar forgets

It's only the pick of the Army that handles the dear little pets -- 'Tss! 'Tss!

    For you all love the screw-guns -- the screw-guns they all love you!

    So when we call round with a few guns, o' course you will know what to do -- hoo! hoo!

    Jest send in your Chief an' surrender -- it's worse if you fights or you runs:

    You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don't get away from the guns!

They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly we goes where they ain't:

We'd climb up the side of a sign-board an' trust to the stick o' the paint:

We've chivied the Naga an' Looshai, we've give the Afreedeeman fits,

For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns that are built in two bits -- 'Tss! 'Tss!

    For you all love the screw-guns . . .

If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im an' teaches 'im 'ow to behave;

If a beggar can't march, why, we kills 'im an' rattles 'im into 'is grave.

You've got to stand up to our business an' spring without snatchin' or fuss.

D'you say that you sweat with the field-guns?  By God, you must lather with us -- 'Tss! 'Tss!

    For you all love the screw-guns . . .

The eagles is screamin' around us, the river's a-moanin' below,

We're clear o' the pine an' the oak-scrub, we're out on the rocks an' the snow,

An' the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries away to the plains

The rattle an' stamp o' the lead-mules -- the jinglety-jink o' the chains -- 'Tss! 'Tss!

    For you all love the screw-guns . . .

There's a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin', an' a wheel on the edge o' the Pit,

An' a drop into nothin' beneath you as straight as a beggar can spit:

With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt-sleeves, an' the sun off the snow in your face,

An' 'arf o' the men on the drag-ropes to hold the old gun in 'er place -- 'Tss! 'Tss!

    For you all love the screw-guns . . .

Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool,

I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule.

The monkey can say what our road was -- the wild-goat 'e knows where we passed.

Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's! Out drag-ropes!  With shrapnel!  Hold fast -- 'Tss! 'Tss!

    For you all love the screw-guns -- the screw-guns they all love you!

    So when we take tea with a few guns, o' course you will know what to do -- hoo! hoo!

    Jest send in your Chief an' surrender -- it's worse if you fights or you runs:

    You may hide in the caves, they'll be only your graves, but you can't get away from the guns!

Rudyard Kipling

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy...

December is upon us and the Christmas decorations have been dusted off and once again hoisted up to the title banner of '28mm Victorian Warfare'; all very festive indeed.  With three Sudan based posts and some form of game to play before the end of the year, it certainly promises to be a busy month!   So without any thought to my sanity, I decided that it was time to tackle my first box of Perry plastics!  Armed with side cutters, scalpel and a stiff upper lip - and trying desperately to recall the advice imparted by Dave Docherty of 'One Man and his brushes' fame - I sallied forth.

Within minutes the the work station was utter carnage!  There were dismembered bodies, blood and bad language in plentiful supply as body parts dived for cover in the seemingly impenetrable dining room carpet; spears snapped at the most awkward of places and don't get me started on shoulder slung scabbards and all the while I was thinking of Dave's advice, "a dab of glue to help 'melt' the pieces together."  Melt! Are you sure?  I was going to all this trouble to have them melt!  I was starting to think that my first batch of Beja tribesman were going to look more like the Toxic Avenger!

I need not have worried,  a few calming breaths and a slug of Earl Grey and things were looking decidedly brighter.  All the composite parts were washed and dried and suddenly it all came together rather well (in my humble opinion anyway) and once they were undercoated, I really was rather impressed at how characterful the sculpts actually were. 

Painted to represent the Beja of Kipling fame, all that remained was basing and that final touch, again supplied by Dave, a 'Flag Dude' standard and they were complete!  I was going to squirrel the remaining sprues away in favour for more esoteric shininess, but given that I have gone and thrown my hat into the ring to take part in Curt's '3rd Annual Analogue Hobbies Painting Challenge' they may yet get a reprieve as I look to tidy up the edges of the decidedly unstable lead pile!

Fuzzy Wuzzy

WE'VE FOUGHT with many men acrost the seas,

An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not:

The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese;

But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot.

We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im:

'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses,

'E cut our sentries up at Suakim,

An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces.

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan;

You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man;

We gives you your certificate, an' if you want it signed

We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you whenever you're inclined.

We took our chanst among the Khyber 'ills,

The Boers knocked us silly at a mile,

The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills,

An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style:

But all we ever got from such as they

Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller;

We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say,

But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oller.

Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the missis and the kid;

Our orders was to break you, an' of course we went an' did.

We sloshed you with Martinis, an' it wasn't 'ardly fair;

But for all the odds agin' you, Fuzzy-Wuz, you broke the square.

'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own,

'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards,

So we must certify the skill 'e's shown

In usin' of 'is long two-'anded swords:

When 'e's 'oppin' in an' out among the bush

With 'is coffin-'eaded shield an' shovel-spear,

An 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush

Will last an 'ealthy Tommy for a year.

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your friends which are no more,

If we 'adn't lost some messmates we would 'elp you to deplore;

But give an' take's the gospel, an' we'll call the bargain fair,

For if you 'ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the square!

'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive,

An', before we know, 'e's 'ackin' at our 'ead;

'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive,

An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead.

'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb!

'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree,

'E's the on'y thing that doesn't give a damn

For a Regiment o' British Infantree!

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan;

You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man;

An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of 'air -

You big black boundin' beggar - for you broke a British square!

Rudyard Kipling

Cry Wolf!

Ahh-ooooooo!

The Bank Holiday came and went with very little actually achieved hobby wise; that said I have finally managed to clear these cuddly canines from the painting queue!  They are from 'Trent Miniatures',  'DeeZee Miniatures Prehistoric Range' ordered up from the always reliable,  'Arcane Scenery and Models'.  They're  supposed to be Dire Wolves, an extinct member of the genus Canis, but I've attempted to give them a more of 'Timber Wolf' feel to them for use in a North American scenario I'm tinkering with.  This was heavily inspired by a wonderful 'tutorial' over at the very talented 'Paint Bard's' blog; a seriously good painter and well worth a visit.  The miniatures that I've used a perhaps a little smaller and certainly less dynamic than the ones used in the tutorial, but I think the general wolf 'flavour' has been achieved, either way a huge 'Thank You' to the the 'Paint Bard' for sharing his brilliant work.

From the Law of the Jungle:

Now this is the Law of the Jungle -- as old and as true as the sky;

And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.

As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back –

For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.

Rudyard Kipling

Well with a post title like 'Cry Wolf! it seemed a little churlish not to include a link to A-ha's second single from their 1986 album, 'Scoundrel Days'.  More 'synthpop' nonsense, that was 'oh so meaningful' at the time - happy days!

The Female of the Species...

is more deadlier than the male.

More fabulous fun from 'Copplestone Castings' and only fitting given these enlightened times in which we are all fortunate to live; after all to a bipedal, cretaceous carnosaur we all taste the same!  I'm afraid to admit that I just couldn't resist matching the flower tufts to the ladies' outfits.

Fabulous darling, fabulous! 

Having made reference to Mr. Kipling's work it only seems right and proper to reproduce it here.  First published in 1911, the poem courts with controversy, particularly with regard to the author's observation of woman's greater courage and single-mindedness.  

 The Female of the Species

When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride, 
   

He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.

But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail. 
 

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man, 
   

He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can. 
   

But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail. 
   

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

   

When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws, 
   

They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws. 
   

'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale. 
   

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say, 
   

For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away; 
   

But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other's tale— 
   

The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man, a bear in most relations—worm and savage otherwise,— 
   

Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise. 
   

Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact 
   

To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.

Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low, 
   

To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe. 
   

Mirth obscene diverts his anger—Doubt and Pity oft perplex 
   

Him in dealing with an issue—to the scandal of The Sex!

But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame 
   

Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same; 
   

And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail, 
   

The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast 
   

May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest.

These be purely male diversions—not in these her honour dwells— 
   

She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.

She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great 
   

As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate. 
   

And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim 
   

Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.

She is wedded to convictions—in default of grosser ties; 
   

Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!— 
   

He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild, 
   

Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.

Unprovoked and awful charges—even so the she-bear fights, 
   

Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons—even so the cobra bites, 
   

Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw 
   

And the victim writhes in anguish—like the Jesuit with the squaw!

   

So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer 
   

With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her 
   

Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands 
   

To some God of Abstract Justice—which no woman understands.

   

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him 
   

Must command but may not govern—shall enthral but not enslave him. 
   

And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail, 
   

That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.

Rudyard Kipling

The Man, the Legend, the Title Banner!

I think it only right and proper to spend just a little time to acknowledge the inspiration for the new ‘28mm Victorian Warfare’ title banner.  I had been planning to spruce up the title for some time and then when I saw Pete Barfield’s wonderful illustration over at ‘Pazerkaput’s Painted Review’ I was finally stirred into action.  I had an inkling as to what I wanted but no fixed image and so the process of racking my brains and trawling around the infoweb began in earnest.  

James Tissot, 1870 Oil on panel

It wasn’t too long before I came across James Tissot’s painting of the then Captain Frederick Burnaby.  An officer of the Royal Horse Guards, Burnaby is said to have been a huge man, nearly six feet four inches tall, and reputed to be the strongest man in the British army; legend has it that he once carried a pony under one arm!  Burnaby was educated amongst other places at Oswestry School in Shropshire, probably about the only thing we have in common.  The School, founded in 1407, has one of its academic houses named after this archetypal Victorian hero and the organ in the school chapel was provided by donations in his memory by fellow pupils and members of the Oswestry School community.  

Burnaby had a penchant for travel and exploration and during 1875 travelled with General Gordon in the Sudan.  That same winter saw him he crossing the Russian Steppes on horseback. An extremely hazardous and dangerous venture which ultimately saw the publication of his first book, 'A Ride to Khiva' bringing him immediate fame. This was closely followed by 'On Horseback Through Asia Minor', detailing his exploits there, which included fighting on behalf of the Turks against the Russians.   In 1882 he became the first balloonist to cross the English Channel solo, resulting in another book 'A Ride Across The Channel And Other Adventures In The Air'.

Burnaby was desperate to see active service and as a result participated in the Suakin campaign of 1884 without official leave, and was wounded at El Teb when acting as an intelligence officer under General Valentine Baker. It is perhaps not surprising to hear that he followed a similar course of action when he heard of the relief expedition up the Nile to rescue General Gordon at Khartoum.  A spear wound to the neck during the vicious hand-to-hand fighting of the Battle of Abu Klea on 17th January 1885 finally put paid to Burnaby’s thrill seeking.  Henry Newbolt's poem "Vitaï Lampada" is often quoted as referring to Burnaby's death during this battle; although it was a Gardner machine gun that jammed not a Gatling.

Here is to Frederick Gustavus Burnaby, March 1842 to January 1885, English soldier, adventurer, novelist, politician and pony wrangler, a true Victorian hero.

Vitaï Lampada

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night —

Ten to make and the match to win —

A bumping pitch and a blinding light,

An hour to play, and the last man in.

And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,

Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,

But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote —

"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

The sand of the desert is sodden red —

Red with the wreck of a square that broke;

The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead,

And the Regiment blind with dust and smoke.

The river of death has brimmed his banks,

And England's far, and Honour a name,

But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks —

"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

This is the word that year by year,

While in her place the School is set,

Every one of her sons must hear,

And none that hears it dare forget.

This they all with a joyful mind

Bear through life like a torch in flame,

And falling fling to the host behind —

"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

Sir Henry Newbolt (1862-1938)

Tyger! Tyger! Burning Bright

I have been on the lookout for a tiger for the bamboo grove ever since 6MilPhil and I started playing around with this mystic grass! This proud looking 'puddy tat' is produced by DeeZee Miniatures available through NorthStar Military Figures. Unfortunately there was a nasty kink in his tail when he arrived and I knew it was only a matter of time before it came off all together.  Feeling more brave these days with the taming the ubiquitous 'Green Stuff', or 'putty pushing' as I recently heard it referred to, I decided to circumvent the inevitable and remove it altogether.  After what seemed like an eternity spent with a pin vice, paperclip and a ball of green stuff 'Tigger' finally had his tail back!

Having removed the tail at the base I carefully drilled a hole into the back of the tiger; not an expression one uses on a regular occasion and potentially very bad for your health.  Part of the paperclip, shrouded in Green Stuff, was then superglued into the hole; again fill in your own punchlines!  A little bit of modelling and you should be left with a passable tail.

The painting was not as difficult as I thought and was built up in layers using the following colours.  Games Workshop 'Vermin Brown' for the base with 'Vomit Brown' for the underbelly.  The second coat was a 50/50 mixture of Foundry 'Buff Leather Shade' with Games Workshop 'Fiery Orange'.  The underbelly was given a second coat of 'Buff Leather Light'.  Final highlights around the jaws and feet were done with Vallejo 'Silver Grey'.

With regards to his stripes, the final stage of the beastie, I opted to use black ink purely to allow a smooth application to the surface.  This seemed to work pretty well the only down side being that the ink does have a slight sheen but I'm hoping that can be reduced with a layer or two of matt varnish.

Back in his natural habitat 'Tigger' is looking pretty good, definitely not something you want to come up against whilst fighting your way through the steaming jungle.

Now just for those literary minded folks out there the title to this posting is taken from the opening line of William Blake's 'The Tyger' (from Songs of Experience) written in 1794.   You do not need to be an English Literature scholar to appreciate Blake's 'Tyger' but essentially you could say it represents the question many ask when faced with the horrors of the world, "why does this happen if there is a God?"  Unfortunately like these questions 'Tyger' remains unanswered.

THE TYGER (from Songs Of Experience)

By William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And watered heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?