british uniforms

A British soldier takes advantage of the opportunity to have a bath in Tobruk, Libya, 1942.

Remedy

Tags: @the-shewxlf, @megant22, @sexywolfsfordays, @houseofrahl, @sterek-basically, @kittycatgirlmaddie, @misshinehou, @unbreakablevoices, @champagneblues, @dallysgreasergirl, @juliaspnlover, @cineyou, @lipstickstainsandwerewolfchains, @fallenangel-13x, @urwarriorangel, @bless-my-demons, @lunaskyhunter, @arkhamirwin, @fangirlnerd101, @m-a-t-91​, @meanwhilesmiley​, @edithambroreigns​, @totallovelesson@kxttykatmichael

Word count: 1697

Author’s note: So, here’s one of the promised works, woohooo! My pack told me they aren’t familiar with the series, so it makes me even more excited to be able to introduce you to the astonishing world of House MD. :3 (Those of you who have never heard of the series: you might want to take a look at this video. I spent quite a bit of time with picking out the best that more or less sums up this complex series, and in the end, I settled on this one.) As for the picture, I’m not even the tiniest bit sorry ;) (I have a thing for uniforms and suits, seriously… if this is a disease then I’m incurably infected.)

Betas: @i-am-a-misguided-misfit, @lipstickstainsandwerewolfchains, @mixed-up-fangirl, @kittycatgirlmaddie, @fallenangel-13x, @the-shewxlf, @b-chocolatelover, @from2016, @safiac, @random-fandom-fangirl2112

Again, thank you your work, sweets!! ❤️

Masterpost

Your name: submit What is this?


I don’t have to hurry now, because we don’t have a new patient at the moment. Our last one was sent out of Princeton-Plainsboro safe and sound two days ago, and since then, I haven’t seen my boss’s—Gregory House’s—face. My colleagues have been busy with minor jobs, so the privilege of being in charge instead of House landed on me in the end; I have to take care of his private hours to deal with people who come to see a doctor for an illness as simple as a flu or a running nose. Of course, it was inevitable that Cuddy grew suspicious after she found everything perfectly documented and done in connection with that genius man’s consultation hours—hence, after one of the controls, she entered the room, only to find me sitting with the notepad overlapping my thighs, papers in hand, faking House’s signature on each one of them.

Since then, I’ve been forbidden to take care of the people and do House’s job instead of him, which is why my current task is to try to reach him through his phone and pray him back into the hospital to do his work properly instead of having me do it for him—but I know the only way to coax him back is finding a new case, but it’s not as easy as one might think; finding something that genuinely piques House’s interest is like looking for a needle in a hayrick.

Right now, I’m standing at the nurses’ desk with a random person’s file in hand, roaming over the lines idly just to kill the much time on my hands with my phone plastered between my cheek and shoulder to keep it in place, waiting for the dialling tone to end and hear House speak on the other end of the line—which never seems to happen.

Exhaling an exasperated breath, I place the document back into the folder holder before deciding to head to the ER. I need to find something to do, even if just a quick job, otherwise I’ll most likely go nuts by the end of the day due to a fried brain. I adjust the white labcoat and my ID card clipped to it, before picking up a stethoscope to hang it in my neck. Upon entering the ER, I look around to see a few nurses dealing with all the patients. Thankfully, upon scanning the area, I notice Allison Cameron; without thinking, I approach her in hopes she could help me, albeit she’s busy on her own.

“Hey, Cameron,” I greet her. She doesn’t even look at me, being too preoccupied with removing broken splinters of glass from a man’s skin with a tweezer.

“Lockwood,” she replies, only with a quick glance cast at me with a small smile in the corner of her mouth, then her blue gaze is already gone, focused back on her patient, resuming her task at hand.

“Do you have something for me?” I ask with just a touch too much desperation in my tone. I find myself cracking my knuckles in anticipation in the pockets of my gown.

“House is not back yet, is he?” She forms that as a question, but I have a feeling she meant that to rather be a declaration. She knows House like she knows the back of her hand—all those years she’s spent working for the man, she’s gotten used to his erratic behaviour.

“Nope. And he won’t pick his phone up either.”

“And he won’t do that unless he has a good reason to,” she points out the obvious to me; that much I know, too.

“So do you have or don’t have?” I insist stubbornly. I can’t let everyone just shake me off because it would be too inconvenient for them to find a task for me. I’m an intern, that’s part of what they are supposed to do for me. After a couple moments of contemplation, Cameron offers, “A police officer was transited here not ten minutes ago. Gunshot wound.”

“Where do I find him?” I ask immediately. She points behind me with a mild jerk of her chin, and I turn to see my new patient, but instead of himself, I find myself looking at a pale turquoise curtain. I hastily pick up every tool I’ll need to take care of the officer; I arrange everything on a metal tray before taking off towards the cop. Tucking the curtain away, I finally see him—laying on the bed, palms covering his body where the bullet passed through his skin, wide eyes now trained on me after his attention was attracted at me by the loud swoosh.

To be honest, when I was told that a member of the force was shot, I expected anything but an arrest-worthily stunning man. I thought I would find myself face to face with a tad obese man who consumes too many doughnuts during the free periods in his shift, maybe in his late forties, too—but instead of that, my patient is an attractive man with firm tones and a sculpted body. When I glance down at his chart where a nurse has previously written his data, I quickly calculate in my mind that he’s twenty-six. Years before I joined health-care, such a scenario had already been on my bucket list, but I wouldn’t have dared to think it would come true once.

Looking back into his eyes, a shiver runs down my spine when I notice how much his gaze has changed—now it conveys anger and impatience, and I would like to believe it’s not because of me, but because he was shot and is now frustrated that he can’t do justice in town.

“It takes ten minutes to treat a cop on the ER?” His voice stings me to the core, but I choose not to let his bitter remark get to me—just because he has a bad day, doesn’t mean mine has to be ruined, too. Instead of biting back something in response, I jovially smile at him as I set the tray down beside the hospital bed he’s occupying, after closing the curtain back behind me. The loud smack of the rubber gloves sharply reverberate around us as I’m putting them on.

“I imagine you don’t get to handle everything all at once, either,” I can’t resist commenting, but there’s no actual heat behind it. That seems to have the desired effect on him, though, because his stiff posture softens, tension apparently seeping out of his frame. I reach for a small cloud of cotton that I drench in the disinfectant just moments later. I grab the piece with a tweezer, then move to treat the abused area of the man’s skin. He pops the buttons on his uniform without a word, opening the garment up and revealing his naked upper body to me. It sways me a little, but I gain my strength back quickly. “This may hurt a little,” I say gently, but I must sound like I’m trailing off—and I probably am, because I’m transforming into the detached doctor I’m supposed to be at the moment.

The tiniest hiss is what I get in return to my warning as soon as the puffy material touches the wound. After I’m ready, I launch into fishing out the bullet from his body—no operation is needed, because it’s not in too deep, thanks to the bulletproof vest he wore, but had taken off before I approached him—now it’s laying on the chair stood next to his bed, long forgotten. The officer’s torso is covered in blood, and the more ministrations I do, the messier it gets, so from time to time I need to swipe him clean.

The silence settled between us is just stretching and stretching, none of us seems to have any intentions of breaking it anytime soon. Thus, the sounds of the rest of the ER encompass us—the intermittently ringing phones, the general hustle and bustle of people, patients and nurses included, a voice calling Dr. Wright to head to the nurses’ desk through the speaker, and conversations that are muted to low buzzing in our ears.

For some reason, I feel tempted to ask him how he got shot, so after a short consideration, I do just that. His answer throws me for a loop, however.

“I don’t know.”

“How can you possibly not know that?” I ask before I could stop myself and think otherwise. My hand stopped over his wound without my consent, but the bullet is out of him, and I only need to stitch him up now, so it’s fine. He doesn’t take my question personally—more so, he seems embarrassed about it. I instantly say it’s never mind, and go to resume my work, getting ready the needle and the thread, when he abruptly speaks up again. For some reason, it gives me the sense that he feels like sharing right now; not just anything, but his darkest secret, and he thinks I’m the perfect recipient of his honesty.

“I have no clue what happened. Suddenly I blacked out, then the next thing I know is that I’m in an ambulance on my way to the hospital.”

My eyebrows knit together in confusion, but refrain from commenting anything this time. I do ask him, “Did you black out after being shot or before that?”

The officer purses his lips into a thin line, apparently deep in thought to give me a plausible response. He ends up answering, “I’m not sure.”

The words barely leave his mouth when I’m muttering in a flurry, “Wait a second, I need to make an important call,” pulling off the gloves from my hands clumsily, while I’m already trying to reach for my cell phone. I put distance between the man and me, phone already plastered to my cheek and my other hand covering my free ear, find an abandoned and remotely silent corner outside of the ER, then wait for the dialling tone to stop before starting to talk.

“House, I think I found us a new case.”

Lieutenant Andrew Finucane of the 10th (Prince of Wales’s Own) Regiment of (Light) Dragoons (Hussars)

By James Northcote, 1811.

From the collection of the National Army Museum.

The Canadians

Shock troops.

Canada automatically joined Britain when war was declared on Germany in August 1914. The Dominion’s government, however, was free to choose its level of involvement. Following Britain’s lead, Canada declared war as well and created the Canadian Expeditionary Force to send over to France as soon as possible. Canada only had a small standing force and not much history participating in Britain’s overseas wars. Nevertheless, thousands of Canadians immediately volunteered.

Five Canadian divisions were raised between 1914 and January 1917, but the first ones missed the bloodshed of 1914, arriving in Britain in early 1915 before heading to France. However, they had the dubious honor of being among the first Allied units to experience a gas attack, when the 1st Canadian Division was sent to fill a breach in the line at the Second Battle of Ypres in April 1915. Fighting with urine-soaked flannel over their mouths as their only protection, the Canadians established a reputation as tough and reliable troops who could be trusted to plug a gap in the line or lead an assault.

In the early 1900s Canada retained very close imperial ties to Britain. in fact, more than half the men in the CEF were British-born immigrants, and over three fourths of the first contingents to arrive in France had been British-born. Whereas English Canadians resolutely supported the war, however, French Canadians felt more lukewarm about a conflict they felt was mostly being fought for the British Empire. Tensions between the English and French Canadian communities remained long past 1918, when widespread rioting broke out in Quebec after the arrest of a French Canadian who refused to be conscripted. 

Canadian soldiers with their finicky but deadly Ross rifles.

Canadian soldiers wore British uniforms, but first arrived in France with a unique Ross Mark III rifle. Although the Ross was exceptionally accurate, it was too sophisicated and finicky for the muddy trenches, and by the Battle of the Somme all Canadian soldiers had been armed with the Lee Enfield SMLE, although a few Canadian and British snipers held on to their Rosses.

Canada did not need to impose conscription until August 1917, over a year after Britain. By then Canada was having a hard time replenishing units which had taken a bad mauling at the Somme and then again in April 1917 at Vimy Ridge. The battle at Vimy remains etched into Canadian national conscious, similar to Gallipoli in Australian memory. Canadian soldiers succeeded in taking Vimy Ridge in one day, against incredibly strong German opposition that had resisted every Allied attack since 1914. Beforehand many had believed it to be impermeable. The fall of Vimy in one day was one of the war’s most remarkable feats.

Perhaps an even greater achievement, however was Canada’s role in the Hundred Day’s Offensive in the summer of 1918, when Canadian soldiers breached the defenses of the German Hindenburg Line. The successful achievements, as well as the sacrifices, of Canadian troops during World War One helped establish a sense of Canadian nationhood when the CEF returned after the war.

Canadian soldiers arrive home in Toronto, 1919.

The Royal Company of Archers (The King’s Bodyguard for Scotland), a very fine and scarce near complete field uniform appertaining to the late A.A.Lawrie, contained in its original black metal carrying trunk bearing his brass name plate, comprising tunic, trousers, cape, sash bearing both badges, bonnet complete with silk tails, tourie feather and gilt badge on green/silk cockade, black leather sword belt with ornate clasp, special pattern short sword and scabbard, the blade etched with GVR cypher, Royal Arms, thistles, etc., a black/red wool tassle, the whole supplied by Messrs J Stewart & Son, 88 George, St Edinburgh, their check list still inside the tin dated 1926 and 1937, excellent condition throughout.

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Instagram post by Matthew Forde

A British 1903 Pattern rig. It looks great but apparently wasn’t very good in the field and was replaced five years later. This photo shows an original set, very nicely displayed, with a 1903 Pattern Bayonet (which is a transitional model between the 1888 Pattern and the more common 1907 Pattern).