"Britishness" is a kaleidoscopic concept, with some seeing genteelness, others hooliganism, and still others immutable ancientness -- and that's just from watching Parliament. Seeing our character through macabre blood and tears, The Orphan's Arms.
From a pair of East End literature & history buffs, these hand-dyed tees explore 200 years of lurid underbelly via monochromatic illustrations of violence and heartbreak, as opposed to violence over Heart break, i.e., the riots that ensued after fans learned they'd never hear "Barracuda Part II".
The more bloodthirsty examples stretch from the Victorian newspaper-esque Whitechapel Boys Club (one well-dressed man strangling another in a cellar, with "Est. 1888" signifying the year of Jack the Ripper) to "Visit Kent", which looks like an idyllic, century-old Tourist Board ad save for the man hanging from a tree -- a stern warning that if a visitor so much as steals a chic-a-cherry cola, he'll find himself in a Savage Garden.
For those who see love as a tragedy waiting to happen, there's a hooded man on horseback out on a mission for "The Smitten Hearted Poets Club, Scarlett Letter Writers", or "The Old Lovers Pride", sporting a label depicting a parochial funeral above the words "A darkly brewed bitter ale", a design best interpreted as "Screw emotions, drink more Murphy's".
There are a few non-Brit references, like the languid "Poe's Mistress" and "Black Cat", with a bristling feline above the quote "Milk is for the pussy, isn't it?", taken from The Story of the Eye: a 1928 novel by "psychosexual" author George Bataille, whose genre calls to mind the primary lens through which us Brits see ourselves: if you're sexual, you're psycho.