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Frau Gauden
In the German region of the Prignitz, Frau Gauden (Mrs. Gauden) is the leader of the Wild Hunt. She leads this army of supernatural hunters together with her 24 dog-shaped daughters.
The Wild Hunt, also known as the Wild Army or the Wild Ride, is the German name for a folk tale widespread in many parts of Europe, particularly in the north, which usually refers to a group of supernatural hunters who hunt across the sky. The sighting of the Wild Hunt has different consequences depending on the region. On the one hand, it is considered a harbinger of disasters such as wars, droughts or illnesses, but it may also refer to the death of anyone who witnesses it. There are also versions in which witnesses become part of the hunt or the souls of sleeping people are dragged along to take part in the hunt. The term “Wild Hunt” was coined based on Jacob Grimm’s German Mythology (1835).
The phenomenon, which has significantly different regional manifestations, is known in Scandinavia as Odensjakt (“Odin's Hunt”), Oskorei, Aaskereia or Åsgårdsrei (“the Asgardian Train”, “Journey to Asgard”) and is closely linked to the Yule season here. The reference to Wotin/Odin in the name Wüetisheer (with numerous variations) is also clear in the Alemannic and Swabian dialects; In the Alps, people also speak of the Ridge Train. In England the train is called the Wild Hunt, in France it is called Mesnie Hellequin, Fantastic Hunt, Hunt in the Air, or Wild Hunt. Even in the French-speaking part of Canada, the Wild Hunt is known under the term Chasse-galerie. In Italian, the phenomenon is referred to as caccia selvaggia or caccia morta.
The Wild Army or the Wild Hunt takes to the skies particularly in the period between Christmas and Epiphany (the Rough Nights), but Carnival, Corporal Lent and even Good Friday also appear as dates.
Christian dates have superseded the pagan dates, which see the Wild Hunt moving, especially during the Rough Nights. This period of time is assumed to be originally between the winter solstice, i.e. December 21st and, twelve nights later, January 2nd. In European customs, however, since Roman antiquity, people have usually counted from December 25th (Christmas) to January 6th (High New Year).
The ghostly procession races through the air with a terrible clatter of screams, hoots, howls, wails, groans and moans. But sometimes a lovely music can be heard, which is usually taken as a good omen; otherwise the Wild Hunt announces bad times.
Men, women and children take part in the procession, mostly those who have met a premature, violent or unfortunate death. The train consists of the souls of people who died “before their time”, that is, caused by circumstances that occurred before natural death in old age. Legend has it that people who look at the train are pulled along and then have to move along for years until they are freed. Animals, especially horses and dogs, also come along.
In general, the Wild Hunt is not hostile to humans, but it is advisable to prostrate yourself or lock yourself in the house and pray. Whoever provokes or mocks the army will inevitably suffer harm, and whoever deliberately looks out of the window, gaping at the army will have his head swell so much that he cannot pull it back into the house.
The first written records of the Wild Hunt come from early medieval times, when pagan traditions were still alive. In 1091, a Normannic priest named Gauchelin wrote about the phenomenon, describing a giant man with a club leading warriors, priests, women and dwarfs, among them deseased acquaintances. Later references appear throughout the High and Late Middle Ages.
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Here is an NGO that helps Ukrainian Romani women!
Svitlana’s eyes began to shine with happiness as she entered the hotel room in Odesa. She had never spent a night in a hotel, or any place that to her seemed so beautifully decorated. She had come here to change her life.
Svitlana* was attending a women’s leadership training from CARE and the charity foundation Winds of Change.
Throughout her childhood and adolescence, Svitlana had lived in a compact settlement for Roma families in Odesa region. Women’s health was never discussed there. She didn’t go to school, because she had to take care of her younger siblings.
Only recently, at 28, has she learned to write her own name.
Winds of Change, a CARE partner organization, has been working with the Roma community for over four years.
Roma, also called Romany, is an ethnic group of traditionally itinerant people who originated in northern India but now live principally in Europe.
The word “Roma” means “man” and refers to different communities, including Kalderash in southeastern Europe, Romanichals in England, Sinti in Germany, Italy, and France, Kalé in Wales, Finland, Spain and Portugal, and Gitano from Spain, as well as many others around the world — there are an estimated 400,000 Roma people in Ukraine.
As part of CARE’s Women’s Lead in Emergencies model, Winds of Change is working with the Roma communities in Ukraine to train women to take part in leadership.
‘I dreamed of being an artist’
Svitlana was 15 when she got married. She married her husband “under the Roma law.” They have no legal marriage documents.
“He stole me from my parents, and since then we have been living together,” Svitlana says. “This is how most Roma girls live. [They say] women should only look after children, clean and cook… But when I was a child, I dreamed of being an artist. To paint beautiful patterns on the facades of the house. It’s a pity that I never did.”
Some 80 percent of girls in the Roma community have similar stories. From a young age they help their parents look after younger children, and between the ages of 12 and 15 they are coerced into marriage where they then start their adult life.
Now she has six children.
She dreams that all her children will be educated. So, this year, with the support of the Winds of Change Foundation, three of her six children went to the first grade, and two went to the second grade.
For Svitlana, it was an indescribable joy.
A double standard
“Very often, representatives of local authorities, especially in rural areas, turn a blind eye to Roma needs,” says Yulia Hladka, a Winds of Change representative. “Children may not go to school, because it is their tradition. They are Roma; they are married early and have different ‘duties’” — this is how social services often react to the remarks of Roma human rights organizations. If a Ukrainian woman was in a similar situation, she would have been noticed and social services would have intervened.”
Roma people feel this indifference, even from the medical community. When Svitlana fell ill, the local hospital was reluctant to admit her. It was the same with the pediatrician. He simply recorded the visits in a log, although he did not actually examine her children.
It was only with Yulia Hladka’s help that Svitlana finally decided to see a gynecologist to find out the cause of her irregular cycle and heavy bleeding. But it wasn’t easy, because of ethnic discrimination. Only at a private medical center was Svitlana thoroughly examined and found to have cervical erosion, a damaged cyst, and critically low hemoglobin.
Now she is undergoing a long course of treatment.
A double discrimination
As Winds of Change has learned, changing the lives of Roma women is not always easy. These women have suffered discrimination, and sometimes violence, and are understandably reluctant to trust.
Human rights organizations call the Roma community one of the most discriminated against social groups in Ukraine.
Roma women in Ukraine are subject to double discrimination — on ethnic and gender grounds. They face limitations in various aspects of their lives, such as being compelled to marry at a young age and having more than two or three children. Because their community considers them responsible for caring for younger children, they also have restricted access to education compared to boys. They face challenges in finding employment and accessing healthcare.
Life undocumented
Many problems are caused by the lack of documents, as usually Roma people live in isolation and very rarely turn to government institutions. Women give birth at home and do not even apply for birth certificates. The absence of passports also makes it difficult for Roma to obtain documents, so they cannot receive assistance from the state, and their number in the country cannot be officially counted.
According to Roma NGOs like Winds of Change, charitable foundation “Planet of Good People,” just over a third of Ukrainian Roma are employed. For Roma women, this is often complicated by the fact that they are mothers of many children, so they face discrimination on this basis as well.
This was the case with Svitlana. She has been dependent on her husband’s decisions almost since childhood. All her time was taken up with housework and caring for her six children and her husband’s sister’s 13 children.
“At one of the focus groups, we realized that a very big problem for Roma women is the lack of access to basic services and jobs,” says Yulia. “They usually live in rural areas where there are not many employment opportunities.”
“But even if vacancies do appear, Roma are usually rejected, because of stereotypes and ethnicity.”
“We came up with the idea to create a social enterprise where these women could get hard skills — sewing home textiles and clothes — and soft skills, like communication, psychological self-regulation. We organized a small sewing company in Odesa called Petalenca, where Roma women sew bedding and home clothes. We train them and help them promote their products.”
After the escalation of the situation in Ukraine, many internally displaced women also found their place here and started working together with Roma women. Some women had some stereotypes about Roma before but working together helped to dispel them. Now this company employs Roma and women who have been displaced.
*name changed
They accept donations!
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it’s you
kyra cooney-cross x reader
request from wattpad
been wanting to write a fic for kcc and it finally happened
———
After winning their first World Cup match, the Matildas do a lap to show their appreciation for all the fans that came out to watch them play. Kyra Cooney-Cross signs a couple posters and jerseys, thanking all she comes across.
Looking out to the crowd, she locks eyes with the most beautiful pair of eyes she’s ever seen. Stuck frozen in her place on the field, she can’t seem to look away. Charli, who decides to jump on her back, makes her look away for just a second to steady her feet again, looks back out to the crowd. Unfortunately for her, those pair of eyes that had her enchanted were no longer there.
On the coach ride back to the hotel, Kyra could not get those eyes out of her head. She wished she could’ve seen who those eyes belonged to. Charli could tell something was bothering her friend, wanting to help Kyra out.
During the quarterfinals against France, Kyra constantly looks to the crowd hoping to spot some familiarity, but having no luck. Not spotting those same eyes during the match didn’t mean Kyra stopped checking, barely paying attention to the game.
The match ended with penalties, Australia winning 7-6, making them move onto the next round.
Lookout out to the crowd, there you were again, Kyra locking eyes with you a second time. She moves her eyes across your face, trying to memorize all of your features, you plump lips to your button nose. You were beautiful. Walking towards where you stood in the stands, Katrina jumps around her excitedly, making Kyra celebrate with Mini.
After the small burst of excitement from both Matildas, she looks back up to the stands, but you were gone. Kyra hoping you would be at the next match.
The semifinals against England ended with the Australians broken-hearted. No one was celebrating, but still made the rounds to thank all of their supporters.
Australia then lost third place to Sweden, putting them down at fourth place with no medal. They were bummed, but they felt accomplished with putting women’s football out there. So, they celebrated with each other, with their fans, with their family.
Even through all the celebrations, Kyra was a bit down, not having seen you anymore the last two of her matches. She didn’t know if she’d ever see you again, kicking herself for not getting to you sooner.
A month later, Kyra moves to the North of London, having been signed by Arsenal. She was excited, especially getting to be on the team with her fellow Aussies.
The first day of training for the new season, she’d been welcomed to the team with open arms. Introducing and being introduced to all the players on the team was all smiles, Caitlin and Steph then walked her to the staff who’d she’d see basically everyday.
Walking Kyra over to where a couple cameras and lenses are splayed out, Steph gestures to a figure sitting on the bench occupied by her laptop.
“And this is our team’s main photographer. The best in the business.
Locking eyes with the photographer, Kyra freezes in her spot. It was you, the girl from the crowd. The girl who she couldn’t stop thinking about the first time she’d seen you. She couldn’t believe it. She finally found you.
“It’s you.” Kyra said in a soft tone, confusing her fellow Aussies.
“Hi.” You give her a shy smile.
Caitlin and Steph noticing the tension between the two of you, leaves you both be.
“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head ever since I saw you back home. Well, my home. Unless you’re also Australian, then it’s your home too.”
Your laugh breaks Kyra out of her rambling.
“I am Australian. Moved here a couple of years ago.”
“Uh, well, I’m Kyra.”
“Y/N. Pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is definitely all mine.”
She shakes your hand noticing you to be shorter than her.
The next few days, you and Kyra often speak, her always finding a way by your side, her reasoning being that she finally found you and wanted to make sure you wouldn’t disappear again. You were fine with it because of all the pictures you get to take of her, also not minding all the time you had spent with her.
About two weeks after officially meeting, Kyra decided to ask you out on a date. You, of course, said yes. So, here you are, putting your finishing touches on, when you hear the sound of your doorbell go off.
“Be there in a second.” Putting your heels on, you open the door to be met by Kyra.
“Wow. You look beautiful.” She said in a breathy tone.
“Thank you.” You give her a shy smile, cheeks heating up. “You look beautiful as well.”
“Um, these are for you.” She holds out a bouquet of flowers. You take them, quickly putting them in a vase. “Ready to go?”
Kyra was the perfect gentlewoman. She opened the passenger door open for you getting in and out of the car. Pulling your seat out for you at the table.
Conversation flowed easily between the two of you at dinner. She told you about her family, her football career and she found out about how you became a sports photographer. You both also found out you were born just a couple of weeks after her, making her older than you.
Dinner was lovely. You insisted to pay half of the bill, which she declined saying that you could get next time. You teased her a bit about there being a next time making her flustered. Not wanting the night to end just yet, you two are taking a stroll around the city.
Seeing you shiver from the cold, she took her blazer off and draped it over your shoulders. Gaining a bit more confidence, she wrapped an arm around your waist, you leaning onto her.
On the drive home, she kept her hand on the gear stick, which you grabbed and intertwined seething your hands on your lap. Parking the car at your apartment building, she walks you to your front door, hands still linked together.
“Thank you for taking me out on a date.” You started.
“Thank you for agreeing to let me take you out. I’d also like do go on more in the future.”
“I’d also like that.”
“Okay. Well, goodnight Kyra.”
“Goodnight Y/N.”
She waits for you to close your front door to start walking back to her car, kicking herself for not getting a kiss. So she walks back to your door, giving it a knock, the door opening instantly.
“I forgot to give you your jacket ba—”
You’re cut off when you feel a pair of lips on yours, hands cupped on both your cheeks. After your initial shock, you deepen the kiss, wrapping your arms over her shoulders, her hands moving down your waist. Kyra pulls away first.
“I couldn’t leave without a kiss.”
“I’m glad you came back.”
You pull her back for a second kiss.
“Would you like to come in?” You ask, resting your forehead on hers.
“I’d love to.”
#woso x reader#greynatomy#woso#woso imagines#woso imagine#kyra cooney cross#kcc#kcc x reader#kyra cooney cross x reader
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captain jude wins it for england in the 2026 wc and everyone is super soft and fluffy maybe
jude bellingham - it's coming home ♡
The roar of the crowd fills the air like a deafening symphony as Jude, captain of the England team, leads the squad onto the pitch for the 2026 World Cup final against France.
It's a moment he's dreamed of since he was a young boy kicking a ball around the park, and now, with the weight of a nation on his shoulders, he's determined to make it count.
As the game kicks off, Jude can't help but feel a surge of pride as he looks around at his teammates, some of whom are experiencing their first taste of a major tournament final. A lot of the lads look up to him now and he knows they're counting on him to lead them to victory. He's determined not to let them down.
The match is intense, with both sides giving their absolute all in pursuit of the ultimate dream. Memories of their defeat to France in the 2022 tournament linger heavily in Jude's mind, but he pushes them aside, focusing on the task at hand. The past is no use to him now.
Mbappe puts France ahead towards the end of the first half with a lucky goal that slips between Pickford's legs with a deflection, leaving the tension in the stadium palpable.
But, as ever, he and the lads refuse to give up, and in the second half, Phil manages to find the back of the net with a brilliant strike, sending the crowd into a frenzy of excitement and invigorating the team to impossible levels as Jude scoops up the ball and they run back to the midway line to quickly restart the game.
When there's just five minutes left on the clock, Jude can feel the pressure mounting.
Not penalties, He can't help but think even after all this time. Anything but penalties.
The thought looms over him like a dark cloud, but then he sees his opportunity. Trent sends him a perfect through ball from the back, and Jude grasps the moment with desperate hands, weaving through the French defenders with determination.
He fires a shot from long range. And it should be too far. It really should be. He barely lands these in training.
But then all of a sudden Jude is hearing the unstoppable roar of the crowd, feeling Rashy grab onto him and Phil jump onto his back, watching as the ball swishes cleanly into the back of the net past the goalie's fingertips.
It's his legs that carry him to the fans. His mind is full of nothing but images of his mum and dad flashing by and all the time and hard work they dedicated to him, of his brother and his unwavering beliefs in his ability, and of the teammates he's had throughout the years that had made an impact on him.
Jude feels a smile crack onto his face.
It's broad and giddy and the complete opposite to how he'd usually celebrate, taciturn and serious, nodding sharply after a goal to say, 'Yeah, that's right. That's what I can do.' A habit leftover from his youth where Jude had felt like he constantly had to prove his maturity and earn his right to be on the pitch.
But he's done it now. Cemented himself into history.
Jude opens his arms up to the sea of blues and whites adorning the stands and allows himself to laugh freely as his teammates appear one by one to tackle him into the ground, gripping onto his shoulders, shouting and screaming in glee, and pressing their foreheads together.
Someone yells at Jude that they love him and Jude's grin hitches into his cheeks again as he places a kiss on the cheek of whoever's nearest, the chants of the crowd engulfing him, the pounding of the drums in tune with the beat of his heart.
It's coming home.
♡
#writing this fed my delusions so bad ahahah#we're going to win a wc in my lifetime so help me god#if any of this actually happens i will be claiming that i can see the future x#imagine jude having the winning goal tho ahhh my heart#and as CAPTAIN#england nt#england#england national team#england football#football#fics#jude bellingham#bellingham#real madrid#World Cup
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what are your thoughts on tertius lydgate wrt marking shifts in discourses of medicine? his position in the novel fascinated me as someone who feels very strongly about the role of doctors in society, and I’m curious to hear your thoughts on the matter
YES lydgate rules so hard in my personal pantheon of doctor characters. sorry this has been in my inbox for a thousand years i had was rotating.
so first of all one of the things that makes 'middlemarch' interesting is that it's a historical novel. so, when george eliot creates a doctor character for the year 1829, writing from 40 or so years later, she's using him to comment on (her perception of) changes to medical science in britain over the course of several decades. so for instance, the fact that lydgate trained in edinburgh and paris tells us immediately that we're supposed to understand him not just as a member of a newly 'respectable' profession, but specifically as having a viewpoint that is informed by radical student politics (edinburgh) and conceptions of the doctor as a social reformer (paris) as well as the research traditions of raspail and bichat. indeed this is why lydgate's crusade in town includes his ideas about sanitation and public health; in contradistinction to the other physicians, he sees his medical and scientific authority as giving him the ability and responsibility to reform the town more broadly. like his parisian counterparts, lydgate clearly sees a link between, eg, cholera and more general social and political unrest. he fashions himself as someone who can doctor the social body as much as the individual patient; given his parisian training we can place him loosely in a social-hygienist context here.
lydgate is also a pretty early example in british literature of a doctor character who's presented as a) not a charlatan and b) heroic explicitly on the basis of his medical and scientific status. british medical practitioners were subject to a new licensure requirement in 1815 i believe (i'd have to double check this date i don't read as much in 19thc britain); 'middlemarch' was written around 1870 and set in 1829–32. so, for eliot, lydgate was genuinely part of a markedly new wave of physicians—men who were licensed (read: state-approved) and occupied a new social position. lydgate is also minor aristocracy, which is part of what makes it possible for him to scoff at the town's older physicians, but much of his social position in the town is accrued in conjunction with the newly and increasingly prestigious status of his profession. this is not really a character type that would have been plausible in a realist novel set in the same country a generation or two earlier.
eliot herself was married to a man of science and also kept abreast of medical and scientific ideas (for example, she was extremely interested in phrenology, an influence you can see throughout 'middlemarch'), and lydgate is very much a man of the times in this respect: he diagnoses george's scarlet fever in the early stage, for example, and refuses to dispense his own prescriptions or to take money from pharmacists. these, along with his emphasis on public health and sanitation measures, mark him as not just an idealist but someone whose medical practice was genuinely steeped in current principles of scientific and ethical reform. even his embrace of bichat's tissue theory, though presented somewhat vaguely, would have signalled to a reader familiar with recent anatomical theories that lydgate was not just a fashionable thinker (bichat died in about 1802, but his work came to popularity over the next 3-4 decades in england and france) but also a precise and naturalistic one, aligning himself with a research tradition that emphasised specific, local lesions as etiological agents (compare this to the brain-localisation ideas of the phrenologists).
ultimately, lydgate's tragedy is that his medical knowledge isn't matched by any social acuity, and his match with rosamond is dissatisfying for both of them. i don't read this as eliot condemning the aspirational early stages of lydgate's career; his mistakes are all made in the interpersonal arena, with both rosamond and the raffles affair. had he played these situations smarter, who knows what he may or may not have accomplished for the residents of middlemarch. instead, he ends the book as a successful but dissatisfied physician to the wealthy, in a position of financial security and medical specialisation but without the kind of moral or political status that he sought earlier in the book by presenting himself as both a social and medical reformer. eliot thus engages, i think, another new type of doctor character: lydgate at the end of the book still has no trace of the quackery or charlatanism that characterised many previous representations of doctors, but he's also been purged of the youthful idealism that pervaded the edinburgh and paris medical education he received. the social status he attains at the end of his life is based on his wealth and the general respectability of the medical profession; treating gout doesn't give him any higher prestige than that, and certainly not the kind of moral authority or fulfillment he wanted back in middlemarch.
so, and recognising that this sort of leaves aside a lot of the psychological nuance of the novel, lydgate's storyline gets at two of the major historical points eliot is interested in. first there's the changing status of british medicine and medical practitioners. lydgate begins the novel as the self-styled hero-reformer; experiences a social fall from grace that compounds with the resistance he already faces from the other town physicians for the threat he poses to their professional status; and ends as the consummate specialist, performing the same boring, lucrative work day in and day out for wealthy londoners (note also the use of gout here to indicate a high degree of moral lassitude and overconsumption among his patients, lol). secondly, and relatedly, there's a shift in class positions going on here. lydgate's initial position in middlemarch is as minor (not wealthy) nobility; by the end of the book he's in a newly high-status professional class, has gained more wealth (though ofc not enough for rosamond), and has been forced out of the countryside. this all tracks with both the expansion of cities generally in this period, and the strengthening of the middle class / petit bourgeois (consider the 1832 reform bill).
although eliot's own views about medicine were largely concordent with the kind of positivistic naturalism of her peers (see again her interest in phrenology), part of what she does with lydgate is, i think, intended as a warning: here's a confluence of forces that have turned an idealistic public health reformer into a dissatisfied man pursuing his personal material security at the direct expense of his philanthropic and altruistic aims. it's a success story for the medical profession in many ways (financially, reputationally) but also a tragedy in the eyes of anyone who believes that physicians ought to have more responsibility to their patients and their polities than their pocketbooks. we're meant to understand medicine as not just a personal curative, but potentially a socially enlightening force---but, only if its aspirations in this direction aren't hindered by the very forces turning it into a more respectable and lucrative career for the rising professional class.
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Which Nations are Neurodivergent?
Italy: Bipolar II (hypomania)
It explains why he's so outrageous. And he doesn't like to be around people when he's depressive. He'll just disappear for two weeks suddenly
Germany: Autism
He gets really awkward anytime he's not talking about training, drumming, baking or dogs (special interests) and needs things to always be clean, and days to be planned out
Prussia: OCD
"Kesesesese" is a tic, and he freaks out if things aren't exactly as planned
Russia: Hypoempathy
It's not like psychopathy or anything because he's still very sympathetic. He just literally cannot tell you're upset unless you spell it out for him. That's why he thinks the Baltics are his friends
England: Undiagnosed Autism
He's pretty good at masking, but it slips through sometimes. He's overly analytical and brutally honest, and doesn't understand why people have a problem with that. Also doesn't like to be touched—only specific people can if he's in the right mood. His special interests are music and witchcraft
America: Autism & ADHD
What did you expect? He got it from his dad. He has major impulse control issues. This boy once licked the inside of a freezer to see what would happen. His special interests are space and superheroes
France: Cyclothymia (Bipolar III)
He alternates between happy, fun, reckless party boi and existentialist, weepy sad man. Iggy is not well equipped to provide him stability, but sweet Jesus is he gonna try
Canada: GAD & Autism
Would have gone undiagnosed but got tested the same time as Alfie for some of the things he did at home. He was always very quiet, but when things got very loud he would cover his ears and shriek. He also refused to eat any breakfast but pancakes for a year straight. As an adult, he still has sensory issues and shuts down often. His special interests are nature and hockey
#these are our headcanons#aph canada#aph france#aph prussia#aph england#aph germany#aph russia#aph america#aph italy#hetalia axis powers#hetalia world series#both mods#mostly mod prussia ngl
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WWII Harringrove au
Where Steve's parents purchased him a draft deferment but Billy volunteered because he wanted to get the hell out of the run down house and away from the beatings from his old man when he didn't come home with enough money. Billy lied about his age, knew he'd be drafted in a year anyway.
Steve feels a profound sense of guilt as more men his age leave and he remains in his small town. One of just a few men left his age. The others denied or exempt with family farms to run or personal health difficulties. Steve feels like a chump and finally volunteers in late 1943.
Steve struggles through his training but eventually makes it to England by the spring of 1944. He is hopeless on his feet with many drills and tasks, but his commanding officer sees a special talent in him and volunteers Steve to enlist into the Army Air Corps. Steve joins the 101st Airborne as a paratrooper.
While Steve is at the main base in England he meets a loud and cantankerous young army officer who has risen through the ranks in his own right. Lieutenant Hargrove.
They become rivals.
Steve flouting respect for rank and pushing his luck when he's out on passes in town. Returning to base past curfew and drunker than a skunk.
Lt. Hargrove has threatened to court martial him, but often opts for putting Private Harrington through unnecessary drills in the cold driving English rain. Crawling on all fours through muddy pasture and jumping stonewalls. Running down countryside roads until Harrington is doubled over and cramping. Before Lt. Hargrove let's Pvt. Harrington clamor into the back of his jeep groaning. And they drive back to base.
On June 6, 1944 they both learn that they will be crossing the Channel and into the razor sharp teeth of the Nazi defenses on the coast of France. Lt. Hargrove is assigned with his men to a navy destroyer. Pvt. Harrington is given orders to go by air and drop behind enemy lines straight into the beast's waiting mouth.
They have one last meal together. A quiet understanding reached. A truce, as they exchange glances between bites. The camp wide siren blares. It's time.
They stand. A hand on one another's shoulder, the other hand in a desperate grasping handshake that takes each man by the forearm and holds tight.
"Take care of yourself you sonnuva bitch." Lt. Hargrove forces in a tight mouthed wish of luck.
"You too. Stubborn bastard." Pvt. Harrington smiles, his eyes betraying the grin.
The parting is shaking. A brittle break from one another as they walk in opposite directions. They spare each other one last glance before they leave.
It is not until August of 1945 that they see each other again. In Paris.
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The Captain’s info dump
The Captain, what do we know about him and what conclusions can we draw? Here’s all the information I could find for now.
Before the war
Not a lot is known of cap before the war, but we do know he spent a minimum of 8 and a maximum of 15 years as a ranking official in order to have the title of Captain before june 1940. This is excluding time spent as cadet. | 1
During the war - Devision
In a Series 2 Episode 3 - ‘Redding Weddy’, we get a better look at Cap’s outside uniform. We can also see his hat in one of the scenes where he is burying the bomb in the garden. It’s hard to see but the emblem on his hat is the Royal Artillery Emblem. Here is an example of the hat up close:
1 | 2
Royal Artillery
Weymouth
In Series 2, Episode 6, Cap mentions he trained at Weymouth at some point. There is only one devision of cadets that trained in Weymouth, and that was the Royal Garrison Artillery, specifically: No 4 Officer Cadet School. | 1 |
The Royal Garrison Artillery merged with the Royal Field Artillery in 1924, forming The Royal Artillery. This explains how Cap could have been in Weymouth as part of the Royal Garrison Artillery and still have been part of The Royal Artillery after 1924. | 1 |
After 1924
There are dozens of devisions of the Royal Artillery after 1924, but I am hoping to narrow it down as much as possible. We know Captain has served in Germany, Belgium, France or the Netherlands AFTER 1944 (France & Germany star). We know he has likely spent time in North Africa, but did not get an Africa Star for this, so the service there was not long enough or non-service related. We know he was not in Italy at any point during the war, because he has no Italy Star, which narrows down the options considerably. Here are some that meet the above mentioned criteria.
Possible Regiments
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7 Field Regiment RA
Was in England in June of 1940 with the invasion of France (lining up with the timeline of Redding Weddy) and was stationed in the UK, Belgium, France and Germany after 1944 | 1
33 Field Regiment RA
Was in England in June of 1940 with the invasion of France (lining up with the timeline of Redding Weddy). Have served in France and Germany after 1944
76th Field Regiment RA
Was in England in June of 1940 with the invasion of France (lining up with the timeline of Redding Weddy). Have served in France and Germany after 1944. | 1 | 2
59 (4th West Lancashire) Medium Regiment RA (TA)
Was in England in June of 1940 with the invasion of France (lining up with the timeline of Redding Weddy). Has served in France, UK, Netherlands, Belgium and Germany after 1944 | 1
1 Heavy Regiment RA
Was in England in June of 1940 with the invasion of France (lining up with the timeline of Redding Weddy). Has served in France (D-day), UK, Belgium and Germany. | 1
Royal Artillery also received the Defence medal, as seen in this document. It would make sense for Cap to have this medal.
Canon Information
There are a few key points in establishing a timeline from things Cap has mentioned and that we were shown during the show.
Surrender of France.
This happens during the episode and is the last time we see Cap alive on screen. France surrendered on on June 22nd 1940.
“Monty in the Desert in ‘42″.
This refers to Bernard Montgomery, a decorated war hero who was stationed in North-Africa in 1942, specifically Egypt. The battle Cap refers to is the Second Battle of El-Amamein, where the British army almost got defeated, but Monty ‘persisted’ and won the battle. This battle took place between October 1942 and November 1942. Captain has no Africa Star though, so we know that if he was actually there with Monty in the desert in ‘42, he was not on official duty, otherwise he would have had the star. | 1 | 2 | 3
Field Marshal Harold Alexander
Field Marshal Alexander was a commander who worked with Monty on operations in Egypt and Tunisia until May 1943, and was later stationed the Italy campaign from 1943 until ‘45. He was known to always have his soldiers’ best interests at heart, making him a hero to his troops. He wasn’t promoted to Field Marshal until November or December 1944, which means Cap had to have met him after this, otherwise he wouldn’t have used the ‘Field Marshal’ rank when addressing him. | 1 | 2
‘Breaking’ The Enigma Code
The Enigma Code was a cypher system invented in 1932 to cypher German secret messages. It was broken by Polish mathematicians around 1939. Breaking the code was was later done by none other than Alan Turing around 1940, who worked on breaking Germany’s improved Enigma Code until around 1943 in a secret operation. Knowlegde about the allied forces breaking of the code was not public until 1970, so Cap can’t have known about it unless he had at least some part in it. On another related note: Alan Turing was later outed as a gay man, Captain may have known him. | 1 | 2 | 3
‘Ah, Dorothy’
Dorothy is a character from the book ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’, written in 1900. Around the late 1930′s and early 1940′s, the character of Dorothy quickly became a gay icon, along with her actress Judy Garland. The Phrase ‘A friend of Dorothy’s’ meant to say you were gay. Of course only gay men knew the significance of the phrase and the character. | 1
King’s speech
Cap repeatedly refers to the Queen’s christmas speech as the King’s speech, and still uses the phrase ‘For King and Country.’ that means he was not used to having a Queen. George VI died on the night of february 6th. Which means Captain has to have died before February 5th, 1952. | 1
The Frogmen
Cap mentions The Frogmen that would place Limpet Mines on boats to sink them. The Frogmen did perform these missions, especially during the battle of Normandy. On D-day the Frogmen sank German issued boats to rescue the units stranded on the Normandy beaches. The Royal Artillery was heavily involved in D-day, and looking at the placement of Royal Artillery Regiments it is very likely Captain has fought in France on D-day. This is also why he would be developing prototype Limpet Mines around the time of France’s surrended in June 1940. | 1 | 2 | 3
Cap’s Medals
1939-1945 star
Meaning he either served over 180 days in the army, or was killed or disabled in the line of duty. | 1 | 2
Defence Medal
Mostly rewarded to civilian military defence, aka the home guard. Was also rewarded to non-operational service in the Forces overseas or outside the country of residence. Established on 16th August 1945. Captain couldn’t have died before this date. 1 | 2
France & Germany star
Meaning he was in either Belgium, France, Germany or The Netherlands between June 6th, 1944 (D-Day) and the May 8th, 1945. | 1 | 2
War Medal
Awarded to all full time service personnel of the Armed Forces. | 1 | 2
Additional Info
Would have most likely studied at Royal Military Academy (RMA) at Woolwich, the official school for the training of commissioned officers of the Royal Artillery and Royal Engineers. | 1 |
Would have commanded around 120 - 200 men | 1 | 2 | 3
Knows basic level conversational German
The swagger stick he carries around was not common practise in WW2. It was in WW1, but as far as I know the practise of carrying around a swagger stick fell out of use before the war broke in 1939. | 1
Would have been born around 1895 - 1905
Was likely paid around 13 Shillings and 6 Pence a day, worth about 40 GBP today. | 1 | 2
Mentions The Mikado, an 1885 comic opera. It is implied he has seen it. It’s possible that Captain has seen the 1939 film version.
Mentions the ‘Major General’s Song’ from the 1879 comic opera The Pirates of Penzance. So it’s more likely he was just a fan of older Comical Opera when he was still alive. (special thanks to @centurionbestmbt for this fact!)
Mentions the song ‘It’s a long, long road to Tipperary’ by ‘The Regimental Band Of The Coldstream Guards’.
Mentions having and shooting a Bren gun in Weymouth. Has been in Weymouth at some point. There is a training base near Weymouth that was used in WW2. The town also has an Anti Aircraft defence fort. | 1
Mentions the song ‘My heart belongs to daddy’ by Cole Porter. Cole Porter was a Gay/Bisexual singer. (- thanks to user @manifold1408 on twt!)
I could make and add a complete timeline based on the information here if yall are interested, let me know!
That’s all I could find lads! Thanks for reading. If there is anything else you want to add here or if there’s anything wrong feel free to reach me on Twitter @Vexmybeloved_ , or send me a DM here on Tumblr!
#bbc ghosts#ben willbond#bbcshow#six idiots#bbc ghosts the captain#world war 2#captainbbc#the captain ghosts#infodump
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Letters from Watson: The Crooked Man
Part 1: The fun bits
Given that we know Holmes had supper at Waterloo, and that Watson lives conveniently near Paddington station, it appears that Holmes has come from the train and is either too tired to find a cab (or make the 25ish minute walk) to Baker Street at this late hour, or really wanted to see Watson.
The modern train to Aldershot from Waterloo Station takes roughly 2.5 hours. If the Victorian trains are comparable, Holmes and Watson will be getting into town at approximately 1:30 to 2 pm.
Edit: been told it's closer to an hour, Holmes could easily take Watson to lunch.
If you've ever wondered how a Victorian doctor takes a sick day, Watson appears to trade his practice, and perhaps also his rounds of house calls with a colleague. When it comes to patients arriving at Watson's home office, it may be as simple as instructing a servant to redirect people to Jackson's practice, which is hopefully not too far off. Something they probably did already with emergencies if Watson happened to be out on a house call.
Sorry but The Royal Munsters sounds like a British knock-off of The Munsters. A sitcom about Frankenstein's Monster, Vampires, and a few stray Dukes.
It was actually a Fusillier (infantry with muskets) regiment with ties to the British East India Company, officially formed in 1881
Crimea: Presumably the Crimean War (1853 to 1856) between the then Ottoman Empire (currently Turkey, Palestine, and parts of other nearby nations) allied with France, England, and Sardinia, against the Russian empire. From my wikipediaing, it appears to have eventually developed into a proxy war between Russia and the Western Europeans with the Ottomans backing the alliance of western nations to try and get the Russians off their lawn.
The absolutely horrifying conditions and death toll lead to a demand in England to professionalize medicine, including nursing. This is where Florence Nightengale became famous for introducing the concept of sanitation to the british army. (Indirectly, as a survivor of a british army hospital after surgery and chronic infectious illness, Watson probably owes her reforms his life.)
The Munsters could be in Crimea in the 1850's despite not being part of the British Army until 1881, because their progenitor regiment was part of the British East India Company for over 100 years.
The "Mutiny" would be The Indian Rebellion of 1857 / First (Indian) War of Independence, another complicated colonial bloodbath.
Yes, this case is another variation on "absolutely do not go to any of the colonies, you will either die there or commit horrible crimes there and then die messily in England as a result of them later."
About the expressions of the dead. In real life, expressions do not freeze after death. Muscles will relax without any nerve input to tell them to contract long before rigor mortis sets in. However, some medical conditions will cause contortions of the face muscles during death, and these would have been apparent to the people first on the scene at Barclay's death.
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Daphne Hatcher has been a full-time studio potter for over forty years. A third-generation native Texan, Daphne established Pine Mills Pottery with her husband Gary in the woodlands of northeast Texas in 1979. The studio was begun after three years of apprenticeship training in England, France and Greece, including eighteen months with David Leach and twelve months with Michael Leach.
"Control, surrender, the integration of surface and form: these are considerations I have focused on for the past thirty+ years as a potter. I have fired pots with glazed surfaces in various kilns, often with complex layers and patterns, but wood firing provides the balance between control and surrender I seek. I pay careful attention to the skin of the pot and use judicial application of glaze to enhance whatever the flame grants me.
The platters I am creating now represent my interest in a painterly approach to glaze application, using the platter’s flat surface as a canvas and allowing the flame to gently alter the glaze. In this series of platters I have chosen two metaphors: that of the Portal, drawing one in, and that of the Eye, that observes, looking out. The Portal is an entry into that which cannot yet be seen or experienced, a mystery to be explored. The Eye takes in the present, which surrounds, the information rippling into infinity, as on the surface of a pond when one drop of rain penetrates the surface.
Be still, be quiet, pay attention, take it in and continue to explore."
https://www.pinemills.com/daphnehatcher.html
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By: Keith Woods
Published: Jul 2, 2023
A look at slavery outside of the West
It has become popular to blame White people for slavery, to the point that many actually believe slavery was invented by or exclusively practiced by Europeans.
But the history of slavery outside the West is far more brutal.
The Arab slave trade emerged in the 7th century, 10 centuries before the Atlantic slave trade
Arabs sold Africans to the Middle East for a variety of jobs such as domestic work or harem guards - castrating male slaves was common, causing over half of males to bleed to death
The Arab slave trade was particularly brutal: it's estimated that 3/4 captured slaves died before they reached the market for sale
Historians estimate that between 10 and 18 million people were enslaved by Arab slave traders, including women and children taken as concubines.
Arabs did not create the slave trade out of nothing, in fact, enslaving conquered tribes was already common practice in Central Africa when they arrived.
The West African Songhai Empire relied heavily on captured slaves in all levels of society, even as soldiers.
Africans themselves also played a large role in facilitating the trans-Atlantic slave trade.
African tribes conducted raids on rival groups to provide slaves for sale. African middlemen facilitated trade between European traders and African suppliers.
The Arabs also had a slave trade in Europe. Estimates are that up to 1.25 million Europeans were enslaved by Barbary pirates, who would raid villages in coastal countries like Italy, France, England and Ireland, bringing them to North Africa for sale.
In some cases entire villages would be captured, such as the Irish coastal village of Baltimore, entirely raided in 1631.
These slaves faced a brutal future, engaging in hard labour or sexual servitude, and spending nights hot and overcrowded prisons called bagnios.
Many slaves captured by Barbary pirates were sold eastwards into the Ottoman Empire. Slavery was central to the Ottoman Empire, most towns had dedicated slavery markets called Yesirs.
Slaves came from Africa, the Caucasus, the Balkans and Eastern & Southern Europe.
Sexual slavery was a big part of Ottoman society. Slavic women were popular slaves, and Köçeks became a popular source of entertainment in the 19th century:
These were young boys, usually from European backgrounds, who were circumcised, cross-dressed and trained as dancers.
Hereditrary slavery is recorded in China dating back to the Xia Dynasty in 2100 BC. Africans purchased on the Silk Road were used as a sign of wealth.
After Chinese law began to treat women as property around 1000AD it was common to sell daughters and sisters into slavery.
The Mongols enslaves tens of thousands of Chinese as punishment for resistance.
In the post-Mongol Ming Dynasty, thousands of slaves were employed to do bureaucratic jobs for the government, and rich families also employed thousands of slaves to perform menial labour.
Slavery was common in American civilizations like the Aztec and Maya
Among the Aztecs, slavery was a punishment for a variety of crimes or even failure to pay taxes. Husbands and wives sold each other in times of economic hardship. Slaves were identified by wooden collars.
Slavery was also common practice in the civilizations of South-East Asia.
The Khmer Empire had a massive slave class that did much of the work building monuments like Angkor Wat. Historians estimate 25-35% of the population of Thailand/Burma were slaves in the 17th century.
Slavery also existed among Native American tribes. Slavery was common practice among Northwest tribes like the Tlingit, for whom one third of their population during the mid-1800s were slaves.
Various tribes practiced debt-slavery and enslaved captives of other tribes.
The only difference between these cases of slavery and that practiced by Europeans is that Europeans abolished slavery on humanitarian grounds, and spread this across the globe.
The intense focus on the White role in slavery is a product of widespread Anti-White animus.
==
American exceptionalism comes in two varieties: "we're exceptionally virtuous," and "we're exceptionally evil."
Both rely on lying about or being ignorant of history.
https://www.nationsreportcard.gov/dashboards/schools_dashboard.aspx
And that's just American history. Can you imagine world history?
#Keith Woods#slavery#history#history of slavery#exceptionalism#American exceptionalism#inverted exceptionalism#religion is a mental illness
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If you were making that list, what would you consider the seven wonders of the railroad world?
Hm, putting me on the spot here!
I mentioned Horseshoe Curve in Altoona, PA for a reason.
Horseshoe Curve was completed in 1854. The purpose of it was to reduce the grade trains had to climb up through the mountains and avoid the much more time-consuming route of the Allegheny Portage Railroad. Today, there's a visitor center in the middle of the Curve, and railfans go there to watch trains go by and picnic outside.
As mentioned in the previous post, Tehachapi Loop is also impressive and I'd give it a spot - it legitimately looks like something out of someone's model train layout.
From above this doesn't even look real. But it's real!
I've seen some people put the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway in West Bengal on their lists, and I'd agree with them. It's a UNESCO World Heritage Site for a reason. It's narrow gauge, climbs up through the mountains, and is popular with tourists - and although it has some diesels it also still uses steam. Look at how cute this locomotive is.
Another UNESCO World Heritage Site for consideration is the Forth Bridge, in Scotland:
It's a cantilever railway bridge and was the longest cantilever bridge span in the world at the time of its opening, a title it held between 1890 and 1919. It's still the second longest today. In 2016 Scotland voted it as their greatest man-made wonder, an impressive feat in a country stereotyped as being chock full of civil and mechanical engineers.
For reaching incredible heights in the 19th century, look no further than the Ferrovías Central in Peru.
Designed by a Polish political exile named Ernest Malinowski, it was built in the 1870s and still operates today. What was known as the Callao, Lima & Oroya Railway at the time of its opening is still the second highest railroad in the world today, only being surpassed by the Qinghai-Tibet Railway over 100 years later.
It would be silly not to include the Trans-Siberian Railroad on this list - in terms of sheer scope, this thing is massive.
It's the longest railway line in the world. Nothing else even comes remotely close. Trips along it can take weeks depending on the speed the trains are running.
Lastly, for a more modern entry, I'd propose the Channel Tunnel linking England and France - at its lowest point, it's 246 feet below sea level. In terms of a modern feat of engineering, this one is definitely up there. It was completed the year I turned five, and it was a big deal even over here in the US.
Of course, the fun of this is coming up with your own! And I had to think pretty hard about this because I was trying to do it without using any locomotives, which would have been a cop-out!
Here are a few links to people having this debate online, in case you want to read more - 1, 2, 3, 4
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WANNA LEARN SOME HISTORY???
Cool because I have a test tomorrow and I want to write abt it >:3
So let's say we are in the beautiful year of 1870. You are a germanic state trying to unite to other germanic states so you can form a massive empire.
Now let's say you are France. You see a powerful nation being born and decide " Well that's threatening " So you know what you have to do: boicot it ofc
But then they realise what you have been trying to do and invade your country as revenge. They do it with ease, and they go to your simbol of power in Paris, The Versalles (idk how to write that in English lol) and establish themselves as a nation: The Germanic-Prussian empire (again, the term in portuguese I think is "Império Germânico-Prussiano" and Idk how that translates.) And then just leave, but keeping a little part of your country with them. ( portugues expression incoming- Uma espinha entalhada no orgulho francês)
So after that there is a ton of peace and cultural flourishment, in am epoque designated for "Belle Èpoquè" in wich there is like a looot of beautiful things. Let's say the social side of it. People started having more fun since they worked less and the middle class was emerging rapidly. The cinemas, Caffès, operas, theatres, films/movies, amusement parks, all were created at this time. Also penicillin, as they were ton of medical advances at that time. They created the telefone and the plane and the car and WOW everything is beautiful.
In art we see two main themes -> women and nature (often together). Details are suuuuuper important. Clothes get more baloney and plain, with big puff shoulders that were so big that they had to be stored with pillows inside in order not to lose shape. Buildings are BEAUTIFUL and everything is really. It's a great time for humans.
Then people start to get greedy. Africa, still unexplored in its interior is object of many country's desire. They are 5 main countrys who had colonies before: Portugal, Spain, England, France and Holland. 3 new countries want to have some colonies too: Italy, Germany and Belgium.
In 1885 a conference is hosted in Berlim to divide Africa between European countries, being two main things that are considered:
Historical right- given to the 5 starters for beig there the longest/ already having stuff there
Ocupation right- If the country is willing to explore, populate, and take care of that area. The ones who got the most following this right are the 3 big rich countries: England, France and Germany.
Overall the ocuparion right is prioritized, so Portugal comes up with The Pink Map ( no specific reason for the name it was just the color lmao), wich claims to Portugal the lands between the Angolan and Mozambican coast. This is approved.
BUT the English ofc wanted to build a giant train line that connected Cairo and Cape Town, so they needed our ( Portugal's )territory, and since they had like massive belic power the got us and Ultimatum, so that we either leaved or got into war. The king at the time, D. Carlos gave in and England NEVER MADE THE TRAIN LINE WHAT OMG.
Yeyeyey ty for reading this big history lesson bubye!!!
WISH ME LUCK ON MY TEST <3
#guess-ill-dye#history#histoire#history facts#test#<3#rant post#infodump#information#belle epoque#art noveau#art#history addict#<3333333333333333333333333333
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NOIR CITY Oakland barrelling towards its end.
It's hard to believe but the festival is almost over! Here's what's playing today:
Saturday Matinée • January 27, 2024 DOUBLE FEATURE
ACROSS THE BRIDGE
1:30 PM
This adaptation of a Graham Greene tale improves upon the original thanks to some added plot twists. Rod Steiger gives a compelling performance as an arrogant industry captain caught embezzling. Fleeing to Mexico he impulsively switches identities with another rider and throws the body off the train. Unfortunately, his choice of victim lands him in a worse predicament. The film won rave reviews and great box-office receipts in England but remains virtually unknown in the U.S. Leave it to NOIR CITY to fix that!
UNITED KINGDOM (1957) Dir. Ken Annakin. 103 min.
ZERO FOCUS / ZERO NO SHÔTEN
3:30 PM
This many-layered mystery is only one of several crime-laced dramas by the great (if still largely unheralded) director Yoshitarô Nomura. Newlywed bride Teiko Uhara sees her husband Kenichi off on one last business trip to his old office in Kanazawa; she eagerly anticipates his return so they can start their new life. But Kenichi mysteriously vanishes and when the police move too slowly, resourceful and tenacious Teiko begins her own investigation. This cross between slow-burning character study and thriller is a tense and spellbinding experience. In Japanese with English subtitles
JAPAN (1961) Dir. Yoshitarô Nomura. 95 min.
TICKETS FOR saturdAY MATINÉE DOUBLE FEATURE
Saturday Evening • January 27DOUBLE FEATURE
ELEVATOR TO THE GALLOWS / ASCENSEUR POUR L'ÉCHAFAUD
7:30 PM
Louis Malle bridges classic noir and the French New Wave with peerless style. An adulterous couple's slick plot to murder the woman's husband collides with a pair of bungling teens acting out their nihilistic crime-movie fantasies. Jeanne Moreau is immortalized as she takes the greatest nocturnal stroll in cinema history as Miles Davis' improvised score caresses her like a night breeze. Meanwhile, Maurice Ronet's attempts to escape a stalled elevator become a mesmerizing visual poem of entrapment. French noir doesn't come any cooler than this. In French with English subtitles.
FRANCE (1958) Dir. Louis Malle. 91 min.
STRONGROOM
9:30 PM
A programmer with no well-known actors, this obscurity exploits a unique premise: A trio of crooks knocks over a suburban London bank at Saturday closing, leaving the manager and his secretary locked in the vault. Dissention roils the gang, however, when they realize Monday is Easter holiday and the captives will suffocate before being discovered. Not wanting to add murder their résumés, the crooks must break back into the bank while still evading capture. A film that had been all-but-forgotten—until this NOIR CITY revival!
UNITED KINGDOM (1962) Dir. Vernon Sewell. 80 min.
TICKETS FOR saturday evening DOUBLE FEATURE
#noir city#noir city oakland#noir city 21#film nor foundation#film noir festival#film noir#imogen sara smith#eddie muller
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America & Canada, 1910s
Brotherly bonding, airplanes, and a future full of possibilities. Originally this fanfic was intended for a fanzine, however, I changed my mind at the last minute. Please enjoy!
Wingman
Ohio, USA; 26 July 1911
It’s warm, but not too much so. A wind glides over the Ohio farmland, caressing wheatfields, picking up bits of grass and straw, slipping between a wide crack in the barn doors and rustling Canada’s hair. He tucks a stray curl behind his ear, reminding himself for the third time this month that he should see a barber, or at least give it a quick trim himself.
That can wait, though. For now, he flips open the folded newspaper and spreads it over his lap.
‘Laurier Stumbles as Federal Election Looms Ahead’
The headline dominates the front page of the Toronto Star, bold letters weighing heavy with stamped ink across the flimsy newsprint. Canada sighs, thumbing the page corners of the three-day-old paper that he still hasn’t finished reading because his last attempt on yesterday’s train left him with a bout of motion sickness. He flips past the editorial fistfights over Reciprocity and glances briefly at America, who is too focused on tweaking his latest flying machine, bolts squeaking with every turn and tools clanking as they hit the floor, to notice his brother’s staring. And then he catches his fingers on what resembles a bicycle chain.
“Ow, fucking thing,” America hisses, shoving the injured digits in his mouth
“Are you okay?” Canada asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” America grumbles, dismissively waving his greasy hand. “The chain drive can be a real pain sometimes. That’s not the first time it’s nicked me.”
“Need any help?”
“Nah, I’ve got it.”
“Are you sure?”
Without answering, America wipes his fingers on his oil-smudged overalls and dives back in, climbing between the massive canvas wings to reach an exposed motor near the centre of the craft.
Canada crosses his legs, leaning back in America’s creaky chair, the only one in this rickety barn-turned-workshop. A few years before, when news broke of the Wright Flyer’s success, America dropped all other hobbies to pursue machine-powered flight. And since then, he regularly insists that Canada should come witness his newest attempts at conquering the skies.
Currently, his feet are dangling over the edge of a wing. He’s likely going to be distracted for a while longer. Opening the newspaper to the international section, Canada resumes his reading.
‘Crisis in Agadir Intensifies; British PM Threatens Military Action’
Heart sinking, he groans. “Ah, geez....” Reluctantly, Canada scans the news story, each sentence laying a brick on his shoulders.
With fiery commentary, the article recants the crisis across the Atlantic, the most recent in a string of disputes between France and Germany. And Canada finds himself wondering, not for the first time, why England chose now to forge an alliance with his self-described ‘bitter rival’. Not that it’s Canada’s business, or that he’s unhappy about whatever accord they’ve reached. On the contrary, it’s quite nice to visit his guardian in London, find France there, and not have the scene devolve into a screeching maelstrom, but did it have to be now? With everything happening in the world, it feels almost like exchanging one type of chaos for another. Then again, as Scotland once mentioned, that’s par for geopolitics.
Eyes dragging down the grey column of text, Canada gnaws his lip, and there it is. ‘Britian to likely double demands for shipbuilding materials from across the empire as super-dreadnought class warships continue to dominate the naval arms-race.’ Groaning, Canada allows his face to fall into the paper, scratchy pulp crinkling against his glasses. “I don’t want to build any more boats,” he whines. “Can’t I just worry about an election instead of... twelve other things?”
Anxiety isn’t good for his health, but it’s difficult to relax when one’s days are spent making warships for a war that hasn’t come. There won’t be a war, though, will there? No, of course not. This is just how things are in Europe at the moment. Tense. Very much so. But, then again.... What if--
“Boo!”
Canada jumps. “Shit!” Legs shooting out, he topples over. Cobblestone meets his hip and elbow. The flimsy chair clatters in his wake.
“Woah!” America peers down at him, a goofy smirk stretching his features.
“What-- Why did you...?”
“Hah! Sorry. You okay there? It’s not often that I hear you curse.”
“Well, you startled me, assho--…. Jerk.” Righting himself, Canada brushes the sawdust off his left side, giving one stubborn smudge a good smack.
“You looked so tense; I couldn’t help it! You were hunched over like a stone gargoyle.” America imitates the said statues by curving his back and making little claws with his fingers. “What’re you reading, anyway?”
“Oh,” Canada says as he gathers the scattered newspaper sheets. “Well, it’s... You see, it’s about the crisis in Agadir and I’m worried that-”
“The what in where?”
Canada blinks. “In Agadir. Haven’t you heard of it?”
“...Is Agadir one of Monaco’s cities?”
“What? No! It’s one of Morocco's.”
“Oh, okay” America chuckles. “Guess I got them mixed up.”
“And Monaco is a city-state, she doesn’t have any other cities.”
“Huh.” America glances up at the rafters, bottom lip firmly under his teeth. “That makes sense.”
Canada sighs, a long-suffering sound. “You should really pay more attention to what’s going on in Europe....”
“I do! Sort of. If it’s important.” Canada doesn’t glare, but he does wait patiently while staring pointedly at his brother. America shrugs. “All right, maybe I do get distracted sometimes, but can you blame me? Business is booming. I’ve got an economy to run and the inventions people are coming up with this century are way more fascinating than whatever’s happening in... where was it?”
“Agadir.”
“Right! You know what I mean, don’t you?”
“I do, but... Things aren’t exactly peaceful these days. I’m not sure that’s the right sort of attitude we should have, at the moment.”
‘We’, as in nations, of course. However, also as in brothers. As in two with everlasting ties across the Atlantic. But that part, Canada doesn’t say.
Wiping his messy hands with a towel, America turns away. “Listen... We’re flanked by oceans on both our east and west coasts. To your north, you have solid ice and to my south I’ve got Mexico, the entire Caribbean, and just... Europe is a world away.” Before Canada can internalise his sentiment, America changes tune. “Anyway, that’s not why we’re here in the first place. We’re here for flying machines and a good time, remember? Not politics.”
Fidgeting, a familiar tension in his shoulders, Canada nods. “I guess so. Yeah... Yeah, you’re right.”
His acceptance must have sounded more believable than it felt, because Alfred shoots him a smile. “Great. If you want, we can talk seriously later, but for now, the fixes are all done. Can you help me get this machine outside?” He jogs to the barn doors and drags their handles.
Pushing aside disappointment and adjusting expectations with a practised ease, Canada watches the doors open with a yawning creak.
Sunlight streams through the doors and loft windows, turning wooden walls to mustard, highlighting raw patches of damage caused by their owner’s contraptions. A scrape from a propeller blade, a dark stain from a splatter of engine grease; and against them are piled a plethora of building materials. Aluminium sheets, timber, and spools of cord replacing the livestock that once slept there.
Weaving between the mess of scraps, Canada reaches the left wing, grabs its canvas surface and when America arrives on the right side of the machine, they start pushing. It’s shockingly light, for being so large. A double-winged craft with two propellers, some type of tail, and a set of smaller wings on the front that stick out.
“Do you think this one will work?” Canada asks, partially to distract his anxieties, but also genuinely curious; wholly lost as to how this machine is meant to work.
“Definitely,” America responds. “It’s based on everything I’ve read about the Wright brothers’ flyer. Those two really know what they’re doing.”
“You copied them?”
“Of course not! I just took a bit of inspiration from their design. There wasn’t much to copy, anyway. They’ve been very secretive about their new machine. It’s a little annoying.”
The corners of Canada’s lips tug upwards. “So, you tried to copy them, but couldn’t find enough information to do it.”
“Shh!”
America previously attempted flight with a few of his own unique contraptions. Most ended without major consequence, dying in the early testing stages when the odd machines simply broke apart when travelling faster than a brisk walk. Others, however, were disastrous, like when he tried launching his small glider off the top of a moving automobile and spent a week in hospital with a shattered spine.
“I liked the one you built that had propellers stacked on top of each other, and instead of flying, it just bounced around the field.”
America pouts. “Hey! That one was based on a design by Da Vinci, so it’s his fault that it didn’t work, not mine.”
“It was the funniest one you made.”
“Buddy, I am working on scientific miracles out here. They aren't always going to be graceful works of art.” America catches his gaze between the wire bracing. “And by the way, if you keep pulling my leg, I’m gonna launch you instead of this flyer.”
Canada’s smile broadens. He shoves the machine and relishes the dust its wheels kick up – glad that he left his good clothes at home, the fancy suits and shoes that come courtesy of England’s pocketbook. Throwing his back into it as the sharp aroma of fertile farmland slams his nostrils on a long, sun-swept day; there are few things as satisfying as this.
The flyer exits the barn, barely. Its wide wings graze the doorframe, but when it’s out, it greets an open field. Wind glides in from the West, swinging the weathervane atop America’s farmhouse and tugging insistently on the canvas wings. The two brothers take it a bit further, several metres before a gentle dip in the terrain.
“Okay, stand back!” America calls.
Canada does and his brother hops into the hip cradle, lying flat. In short seconds, he has the propellers spinning, the engine sputtering. Sluggish at first, then faster. And faster. Canada squints against the machine’s gust and watches it roll forward, accelerating towards the hill, a big craft carrying bigger dreams. Could this be the one that finally flies? Maybe... maybe?
He holds his breath, eyes wide. Great, white wings reach the edge of the slope, tilt up. So slightly, and then. It sinks, disappearing behind the hill. Canada’s heart drops.
He swears and dashes after his brother. God forbid he has to drag America to the hospital a second time. The machine swerves, skidding down the incline, but to its credit, doesn’t tip over or combust. Instead, it settles to a jerky stop in a patch of tall grass.
Canada jogs over, making it in time to see the propellers slow, engine going quiet.
“Fuck,” America bursts as he stumbles out of the cradle.
“What happened?” Canada asks, noting that America is uninjured.
“It’s the damn wind,” America gripes. “That ridge is North facing, but the wind is pushing West, so I had to fight it with the controls, and I couldn’t generate enough lift.”
“At least, you can be glad you didn’t crash.”
“Yeah, that’s great,” America sighs, sarcastically. “At least it wasn’t a total catastrophe, right?”
Canada frowns. “America.”
“Sorry. I just... it’s frustrating. That’s all.”
Pausing, Canada studies his brother, how America’s shoulders droop and his sky-blue eyes fixate on the ground. “You care about this a lot, don’t you?”
Rather than answer, America shoves his hands in his pockets and kicks a stone, looking 200 years younger. An expressive boy, always running faster than England could catch him, faster than Canada could challenge him, and faster than his own legs could carry him. Canada chews his lip. “If you had a North wind, would that be better?”
“That would be fantastic. It’d help me speed up, but I can’t control the weather.”
“Well, if you just need to go faster before um....”
“...Before lifting off the ground?”
“Yeah.” Canada points at the flying machine. “If it’s just that, then maybe I could push this tail part here-”
“The rudder.”
“-while you’re working the controls, and then, maybe you’d have enough speed?”
America hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I appreciate the offer, but... I kind of want to do this myself.” Canada’s frown deepens. “Dragging it out of the barn,” America continues, “is one thing. The flight test though, that’s, y’know... that’s the real deal! If I can’t do it myself, then....”
The tension in Canada’s shoulders returns. “I may not know much about flying machines, but I do know that there are two Wright brothers. They didn’t work alone.”
“But I’ve been trying to get these machines working for years, this is like a milestone for me! It’s important.”
“I know it’s important to you! That’s why I want to help!”
America blinks. His mouth hangs open, trying to form words, but failing, whereas Canada’s jaw snaps shut. Impatience fizzling to shame, because shouting is awful and he’s never liked doing it, never liked hearing it from others, but sometimes with America, it’s the only way to get him to listen.
Sighing, America glances away, looking everywhere except at his brother. His gaze lands on the flying machine, sitting silent in the grass.
“...All right, let’s do it.”
“Really?”
“Yup!” America shrugs, already marching toward the machine. “We’ll give it a try.”
They manoeuvre the craft out of the thicket and cart it up the slope in uneasy silence. Once back to its starting position, America begrudgingly points to where Canada can grab and push, an area of the rig that won’t interfere with the complex turning system. Then, he hops in the hip cradle and again brings the motor to life.
This close to the propellers, they feel like storm winds, whirring with energy.
Canada’s eyes water, dust hitting his glasses and spraying his front. He braces and thrusts, fingers wrapped tight around the wooden poles, putting one foot in front of the other, striving for momentum. He’s jogging, then he’s sprinting. Shoes slamming the earth, the tail starts to drift away from him, faster than he can run. With a grunt, he gives one final push from his core, throwing his strength through his shoulders and into his hands.
The weight of the machine vanishes. He trips, fists and elbows hitting dry soil. Head snapping up to watch America go, but there’s only a blur of ivory against the cerulean sky, and Canada furiously wipes his dusty glasses. Then, he sees it.
America’s machine is soaring. It drifts through the air, straight and true, hovering about three metres off of the ground. Canada watches, stunned silent, as it glides into the distance, its little motor humming, stalwart and solid, without faltering and without breaking. The craft banks gently, turning with the smooth grace of an eagle, floating above shrubs and fencing, circling the field to pass over a dirt trail to the main roadway. And it's shocking, how easily it seems to fly, when so many inventors and visionaries could only do so in their dreams.
Eventually, the white canvas wings land a good distance away, in the centre of the pasture.
Canada scrambles to his feet, barely registering that his limbs are shaking. Heart as light as a feather, bursting with all the energy in the world, he runs to meet his brother.
America tumbles out of the plane, jumps up, and booms with a voice loud enough to cross the Atlantic. “Did you see that?!”
“You did it!” Canada cheers, barrelling towards him.
A few more steps and America sweeps Canada into a big, bone-crushing hug. “Thank you so much, buddy!” He’s bouncing and spinning around like a carnival carousel, making Canada’s head swim. “I’m sorry I made a fuss. You were right, I just needed an extra push! That’s all it was, and I was flying!”
In a minute, Canada may be sick from the spinning, but for now, his smile is hurting his cheeks. The robust pressure from America’s arms and the sunshine warmth of his giddy laughter takes him back, centuries ago, when they were children playing in the wilderness. Sneaking out without their guardians’ permission to sing and laugh with a kindred spirit. A brother. A twin.
When America finally puts him down, Canada stumbles. “Hang on, I’m dizzy,” he murmurs, spreading his arms to regain balance.
“Are you all right, there?” America chuckles.
“Yeah, just give me a second.”
“Wow, you’ve got, uh....”
“Huh?”
Reaching out, America wipes Canada’s forehead. A cloud of dust falls into Canada’s face and he squints, almost sneezing. Then, America presents his palm and fingers, coated with rusty soil.
“You’re covered in dirt!” he howls. Canada looks himself over, seeing that his soft-collar shirt and cottonade pants are hidden beneath a layer of Ohio dust. “England didn’t buy you these clothes, did he?”
“Nah, not these.”
“Okay, because I was gonna say, he’d be fuming if you did this to something he bought you.”
Canada grins. “I’d just say it was your fault.”
Snickering, America helps him dust off, patting his back and shaking most of the dirt off his clothing. When Canada is moderately clean, he suggests they get food; it’s past lunchtime. Never one to turn down a meal, America pats his stomach and heartily agrees. They store the precious, genius, and fantastic machine in the barn for safekeeping. All the while, America sings its praises, going on and on about how wonderful it felt to pilot, how he’s never felt freer in his whole life. He also brags a little, mentioning his desires to show it off to everyone they know, including ‘those geezers’ in Europe.
On their way to the farmhouse, Canada remembers the headlines he read in his newspaper, probably because America mentioned Europe, but also, because his concerns rarely leave him for long. Worriment needles at his happy thoughts like a splinter under his skin and a question builds in his lungs.
“Hey, America?” Canada asks.
“Yeah?”
“If I was in trouble, would you come to help?”
America stumbles, before balking. “What? What kind of trouble?”
Thinking carefully, Canada knits his brows. There may be a war, but also, there may not. All of Europe’s intricate alliances could end in a trade dispute, a blockade, or an embargo. The future is nigh impossible to predict, and sadly, no breed of immortality comes packaged with the gift of prophecy.
“Just... any kind of trouble.”
America studies Canada, eyes flicking over his face, searching. “Are you okay? Is there something bad happening right now?”
“Not right now, but in the future, maybe.” Canada shies away, feeling silly under the scrutiny. “I don’t know.”
“What are you worried about?”
Canada shrugs.
Quiet settles in, snatching America’s boisterous laughter and Canada’s happy mood, and in the contrast, Canada suddenly realises how amicable they’ve been today. Things haven’t been this nice between them in a long while, not since America left during his Revolution.
“I would,” America murmurs. Then, louder, a declaration. “Of course, I would!”
Canada jumps. His brother’s gaze is firm, his lips, curved with worry. America steps closer and surges on. “Why do you even need to ask? We share the longest border in the whole world and you’re the only person I call my brother; there’s no one else, just you. And I feel comfortable doing that because we grew up together and because I like you. I like wasting time with you. I like showing you my inventions because you’ll listen to me ramble and then you’ll take me to the hospital when I crash. You joke around with me, you make me feel relaxed, and I can open up with you, in a way that I never can when I’m with someone else. Canada, you’re my best friend! So, whenever you’re in trouble, no matter what it is, you can tell me! Tell me and I’ll help however I can.”
America rests a hand on Canada’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, and the determination, the dedication in his voice makes Canada’s chest hurt. “Okay?”
Eyes stinging, Canada swallows around the knot in his throat. “Okay.”
America beams, banishing the gloom and darkness with effortless ease.
They amble their way to the idyllic farmhouse and Canada allows his heart to rest. It's amazing how far they’ve come from where and who they were a hundred years ago. Somehow, from opposing sides in a war, they drifted closer. In a slow pattern of chance encounters that turned to visits, to friendly invitations, to weeks spent munching on apple pies, to early morning pancakes, and to daydreaming of flying machines.
Canada watches his brother’s broad frame leap up the porch steps two at a time, wind tousling his hair, and hopes that this harmony may endure for centuries to come.
End / Fin
~~~
Author’s Notes
Laurier, as in Wilfred Laurier, was Canada’s Prime Minister from 1896 – 1911. He lost his re-election a couple months after our story takes place.
The Agadir Crisis was one of several events that occurred in the lead up to WW1. It resulted in stronger ties between France and the UK, and further damaged the already strained relationship between the UK and Germany.
The naval arms race was between Germany and the UK. Each side tried to build bigger and better warships at a faster rate than the other. The super-dreadnought class of ships were some of the most advanced navy vessels at the time.
Early flying machines were wild, dangerous, and unregulated. Many inventors lost their lives during flight tests. It was sort of the “wild west” of engineering.
Leonardo Da Vinci designed his own flying machines way back in the 15th and 16th centuries. He designed ornithopters, gliders, and parachutes, but the one our characters talk about is the Aerial Screw, which, along with the Chinese bamboo-copter toy, acted as a precursor to modern helicopters.
#aph america#aph canada#hws america#hws canada#alfred f jones#matthew williams#hetalia fanfiction#historical hetalia#hetalia#hws na bros#my writing
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