#Etaples

[theworldofwars]

Dominion journalists are shown a demonstration at Central Depot of the Messenger Dog Service at Etaples, 6 September 1918.

[revoltedstates]

New recruits, most of them teenagers, at a British army base camp at Etaples, 16 July 1918. Source.

[art1for2the3masses]

Walter Gay, Novembre, Etaples, 1885

Walter Gay (January 22, 1856 – July 13, 1937) 

[mboorman]

The Cenotaph: A Symbol of Remembrance in Britain

On this Remembrance Sunday it feels most appropriate to focus on the Cenotaph in Whitehall, a monument which has served as Britain's main war memorial for over a century. Read more below:

The Cenotaph in Whitehall has been ‘the’ focal point of Britain’s remembrance services for more than a century. Designed by Lutyens, it was initially a temporary monument of plaster and wood, hastily erected for the Peace Day events of July 1919 to celebrate the formal signing of the Treaty of Versailles. In response to huge public demand the temporary monument was later replaced with a…

[herprivateswe]

Convalescent soldiers sea-bathing, Etaples.

[jamesgraybooksellerworld]

Humanists and Church Fathers: 295-1536 ad

[pintoras]

Iso Rae (Australian, 1860-1940): (Femme Bretonne a Etaples) (c. 1890s) (via Smith & Singer)

[thiziri]

On 10 February 1973, Princess Anne visited Asmara War Cemetery, Eritrea, during a two-week tour of what was then Ethiopia and The Sudan. 

In 2004, Princess Anne visited Malta to celebrate the 40th anniversary of the island’s independence. During her trip, she visited the CWGC’s Malta Memorial, Floriana, where she laid a wreath and paid tribute to the nearly 2,300 airmen who lost their lives during the Second World War. 

The Princess Royal was the guest of honour as they opened The CWGC Visitor Centre in France. The princess took a tour of their new site, seeing the hard work of their teams and meeting some of the key staff involved in bringing the visitors centre to life, in 2019.

Princess Anne visited Etaples Military Cemetery in celebration of the 100-year anniversary of King George V’s ‘King’s Pilgrimage’, in 2022.

Madra's War Cemetery, India, 1985.

Khartoum War Cemetery, Sudan, 1985.

Fajara War Cemetery, Gambia, 1990.

Sai Wan War Cemetery, 1997.

Port Moresby (Bomana) War Cemetery and Memorial, Papua New Guinea, 2005.

Kranji War Cemetery, Singapore, 2005.

Simon's town (Dido Valley) Cemetery, South Africa, 2012.

Jawatte Cemetery, Colombo, Sri Lanka, 2024.

The Commission’s Headquarters, Berkshire, 2024.

Princess Anne, President of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission ✨

[casualist-tendency]

Alistair Grant (British, 1925–1997), Etaples, 1990, 63.5 x 76.2 cm

[theworldofwars]

Dominion journalists are shown a demonstration at Central Depot of the Messenger Dog Service at Etaples, 6 September 1918.

[elyseenmiel]

The Great War

John “Soap” McTavish x F!Reader

Synopsis: During the Battle of Somme in France, a Sister Nurse aids in the war tending to the wounded soldiers, especially a handsome and strong-willed Sergeant MacTavish.

Word count: 1.3k

Tags: One-Shot, Historical AU, World War I, 2nd POV, Reader-Insert, Y/N is not used, Reader uses a patron-saint name, Reader is addressed as Sister Maria once, mentions of death, medical procedures, mentions of death, religious and war backdrop, theme, flirting, forbidden love, light angst

Ignoring the cacophony of machinery, grief, and pained screams, as well as the relentless rain and unforgiving wind, France was beautiful both day and night. You had never been to France, or Somme, before. France had a salty, iron odor that lingered in the air. As you attended to the wounded soldiers lying on the drenched and bloody beds, the nights were longer than the days passing by. Time was dedicated to writing in the small sacrament of penance book, no longer used to confess mistakes but rather to write the name and address of the wounded loved ones to send off a letter on their behalf.

As a Nurse, you were sent to France for the first time, to Somme, to assist on the frontlines, in a hospital close to the battle of English countrymen assisting the French allies against the Germans. Last Spring, the war office had decided to employ VADS in military hospitals in the mainland and abroad during the summer. A summer late in 1919, You were sent overseas by the Red Cross; it was your first time in France working in a hospital. You had only stayed back home, working in the local auxiliary hospitals throughout Britain. You were already thinking about assisting the war effort abroad while working in a small hospital, Princess Christian Hospital, so you worked hard to receive a favorable report as the standard to work overseas. Working in the hospital was your only and very first source of income. Before dedicating myself to the faith, office administration did very little to sustain and survive off the rations they received. You could only hope your father was fine back in England; he was not serving the war effort due to his ailing leg, which prevented him from doing heavy activities. Each break of day and break of dawn, the small shared rooms were filled with whispers of prayer for your father and the men teetering on the collapse in and out of the field.

One of the male orderlies went to Etaples to bring more food. During his break, he made a list of what we needed and asked a few of the wounded what they wanted him to bring back. He addressed you as Sister Maria. "Do you want me to bring you tea?" You nodded and thanked him; he said he'd try to bring back English tea; You only smiled. The wounded walked around the small hospital grounds. The patients lay on the pale grass outside on hospital grounds, some would eat a light snack, while others would beg the nursing sisters to play chess with them to distract them from the heavy artillery sounds that could be heard. A few wounded patients would request that their letters to their families be delivered to the local post office on their behalf. Collecting their letters, putting them in envelopes, and getting them stamped was not the issue. Mailing them in and seeing that they were sent and reached their loved ones was the issue, knowing that some had taken every bit of breath to say their goodbyes and their strength to hand you their letter was the issue.

John MacTavish was the only man who had every strength to write letters and even wildly request to send them himself.

The Scotsman perched over the small desk, crushing the cigarette against the bottom of the ashtray. He turns to look at you, his eyes flickering at the new dressings and clean nightshirt bundled in your arms. The corners of his eyes curved up with a smile adorning his rugged appearance.

“The hour is late,” he remarks already unbuttoning his nightshirt. He moves to the edge of the bed patting the space next to him. “Have ye missed me yet again?”

You settle on the edge of the bed instead much to the man’s persistent pleas of sitting side by side. “Oh, I wouldn't say so Sergeant MacTavish,” You say placing the supplies on your lap and the small makeshift bed cot. You handed him the nightshirt concealing your grin. “Did ye aye?” he chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “This must be the millionth time ye come into the night.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not the reaper then,” You say unwrapping the old and marred dressing and pouring saline into a syringe. “I might not have a scythe, but I do have this,” you smirked with a slight wave of the syringe. “Consider yourself lucky.”

The Sergeant whistled, with a nod. “Yer much scarier than the Grim Reaper bonnie.” You felt his baby blue eyes on you, his intense gaze fixed on every move of your hands and head, making all heat rush to the apples of your cheeks. He was searching for your eyes, You knew that. He needed approval. You nodded to him, meeting his piercing eyes, so bright despite the dimly lit room. You gave it to him, just as when you first did.

His hand carefully and slowly trailed on your lap, gently resting his hand on your thigh and caressing it. You carefully flushed the wound, directing the stream of saline to wash away any visible contaminants. MacTavish gritted his teeth against the discomfort but remained still, continuing to rub circles gentler than before. His other arm wrapped around your hips, fingertips dancing on the black fabric of the tunic dress almost as if he was not only soothing himself but myself too. Using a cotton swab, you applied iodine to the wound and the surrounding skin, to prevent infection. His fingers pinched your waist with a grip. “Almost there,” You whisper, leaning closer to him, His strong jawline relaxing. “Keep your eyes open, keep them on me, Johnny.” His baby blue eyes widened slightly as he locked his eyes on your face. You glanced at him, his forehead coated with sweat and his lips parted with every breath he exhaled.

“Bonnie–”

“You’re doing so good.” You carefully applied a sterile dressing to the wound, securing it in place with bandages. He squeezed your thigh not with the feeling of pain, not in that moment. You grabbed the dress shirt as his hands stroked your lower back pulling you closer to him, careful to not rest your hands against his wounded chest. You rest your forehead against his. We let the silence envelop us, tranquility overcomes us for now. You shut all of the noise of the outside world except for his words of praise and lingering touch.

MacTavish will recover. His fingers cupped your chin with his thumb grazing on your lips. You know it. “Em’ not afraid.” He says, with a soft smile. Outside, the rumble of tanks and distant explosions punctuate the night air. your fingers brush lightly against MacTavish's cheek, tracing the rough outline of his jaw. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, a brief respite from the pain. You reach for a glass of water, carefully lifting it to his lips. He drinks eagerly, the cool liquid providing some relief from the throbbing ache in his chest. “The hour is late,” You say, “but it is far from over.”

“We can hold em’ off,” he mummers, “and we’ll be home Bonnie,” Johnny says offering a faint smile. “Together.”

You could feel a lump in your throat. The notion had never crossed your mind, let alone be entertained as a possibility. Dwelling possibilities are dangerous. You couldn’t bear imagining him anywhere else other than the bed cot where he was safe for now. The sea was no longer a comforting sanctuary and instead served as a patron for war. His breathing has become shallow, his eyelids drooping with tiredness. “We’ll go back home together.” You say, “For now, you should rest.” You wrapped the blanket around each other, shifting around for comfort. You sink down onto the makeshift cot beside him, your still entwined with his as we both drift into an uneasy sleep.

[oldsardens]

John Guthrie Spence Smith - Etaples

[mboorman]

Etaples Military Cemetery

In my latest blog I reflect on a visit to one of the largest & finest war cemeteries in France designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens

In my introductory post I referred to a visit I made to Etaples military cemetery in 2022, which is located 27 km south of Boulogne. It’s the largest of the CWGC cemeteries in France with more than 11,000 graves, mostly from the First World War and was designed by Lutyens. During the First World War there was a large concentration of British camps and hospitals in the area around Etaples, its…

[herprivateswe]

Dominion journalists are shown a demonstration at Central Depot of the Messenger Dog Service at Etaples, 6 September 1918.

[thedeadleafs]

Walter Gay, Novembre, Etaples, 1885

[jamesgraybooksellerworld]

Humanists and Church Fathers: 295-1536 ad