It is 2:00 in the morning and most of our men are asleep in their dugouts --
yet I could not sleep myself before writing to you of the wonderful events of
Christmas Eve. In truth, what happened seems almost like a fairy tale, and if I
hadn't been through it myself, I would scarce believe it. Just imagine: While
you and the family sang carols before the fire there in London, I did the same
with enemy soldiers here on the battlefields of France!
As I wrote
before, there has been little serious fighting of late. The first battles of the
war left so many dead that both sides have held back until replacements could
come from home. So we have mostly stayed in our trenches and waited. But what a terrible waiting it has been!
Knowing that any moment an artillery shell might land and explode beside us in
the trench, killing or maiming several men. And in daylight not daring to lift
our heads above ground, for fear of a sniper's bullet. And the rain -- it has
fallen almost daily. Of course, it collects right in our trenches, where we must
bail it out with pots and pans. And with the rain has come mud -- a good foot
or more deep. It splatters and cakes everything, and constantly sucks at our
boots. One new recruit got his feet stuck in it, and then his hands too when he
tried to get out -- just like in that American story of the tar
baby!
Through all this, we couldn't help feeling curious about the German
soldiers across the way. After all, they faced the same dangers we did, and
slogged about in the same muck. What's more, their first trench was only 50
yards from ours. Between us lay No Man's Land, bordered on both sides by barbed
wire -- yet they were close enough we sometimes heard their voices. Of course, we hated them when they killed our
friends. But other times, we joked about them and almost felt we had something
in common. And now it seems they felt
the same. Just yesterday morning --
Christmas Eve Day -- we had our first good freeze. Cold as we were, we welcomed
it, because at least the mud froze solid. Everything was tinged white with frost, while
a bright sun shone over all. Perfect
Christmas weather.
During the day, there was little shelling or rifle
fire from either side. And as darkness fell on our Christmas Eve, the shooting
stopped entirely. Our first complete silence in months! We hoped it might
promise a peaceful holiday, but we didn't count on it. We'd been told the
Germans might attack and try to catch us off guard. I went to the dugout to rest, and lying on my
cot, I must have drifted asleep. All at once my friend John was shaking me
awake, saying, "Come and see! See what the Germans are doing!" I grabbed my
rifle, stumbled out into the trench, and stuck my head cautiously above the
sandbags.
I never hope to see a stranger and more lovely sight. Clusters
of tiny lights were shining all along the German line, left and right as far as
the eye could see. "What is it?" I asked
in bewilderment, and John answered, "Christmas trees!" And so it was. The Germans had placed
Christmas trees in front of their trenches, lit by candle or lantern like
beacons of good will. And then we heard
their voices raised in song.
"Stille nacht, heilige
nacht...."
This carol may not yet be familiar to us in Britain, but John
knew it and translated: "Silent night, holy night." I've never heard one
lovelier -- or more meaningful, in that quiet, clear night, its dark softened by
a first-quarter moon. When the song
finished, the men in our trenches applauded. Yes, British soldiers applauding
Germans! Then one of our own men started singing, and we all joined in.
"The first Nowell, the angel did say...."
In truth, we sounded not
nearly as good as the Germans, with their fine harmonies. But they responded
with enthusiastic applause of their own and then began another.
"O
Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum...."
Then we replied.
"O come all ye
faithful...."
But this time they joined in, singing the same words in
Latin.
"Adeste fideles...."
British and German harmonizing
across No Man's Land! I would have thought nothing could be more amazing -- but
what came next was more so. "English,
come over!" we heard one of them shout. "You no shoot, we no shoot." There in the trenches, we looked at each
other in bewilderment. Then one of us shouted jokingly, "You come over
here." To our astonishment, we saw two
figures rise from the trench, climb over their barbed wire, and advance
unprotected across No Man's Land. One of
them called, "Send officer to talk." I
saw one of our men lift his rifle to the ready, and no doubt others did the same
-- but our captain called out, "Hold your fire." Then he climbed out and went to
meet the Germans halfway. We heard them talking, and a few minutes later, the
captain came back with a German cigar in his mouth! "We've agreed there will be no shooting
before midnight tomorrow," he announced. "But sentries are to remain on duty,
and the rest of you, stay alert."
Across the way, we could make out
groups of two or three men starting out of trenches and coming toward us. Then
some of us were climbing out too, and in minutes more, there we were in No Man's
Land, over a hundred soldiers and officers of each side, shaking hands with men
we'd been trying to kill just hours earlier!
Before long a bonfire was built, and around it we mingled – British khaki
and German grey. I must say, the Germans were the better dressed, with fresh
uniforms for the holiday. Only a couple
of our men knew German, but more of the Germans knew English. I asked one of
them why that was. "Because many have
worked in England!" he said. "Before all this, I was a waiter at the Hotel
Cecil. Perhaps I waited on your table!"
"Perhaps you did!" I said, laughing.
He told me he had a
girlfriend in London and that the war had interrupted their plans for marriage.
I told him, "Don't worry. We'll have you beat by Easter, then you can come back
and marry the girl." He laughed at that.
Then he asked if I'd send her a postcard he'd give me later, and I promised I
would. Another German had been a porter
at Victoria Station. He showed me a picture of his family back in Munich. His
eldest sister was so lovely, I said I should like to meet her someday. He beamed
and said he would like that very much and gave me his family's
address.
Even those who could not converse could still exchange gifts –
our cigarettes for their cigars, our tea for their coffee, our corned beef for
their sausage. Badges and buttons from
uniforms changed owners, and one of our lads walked off with the infamous spiked
helmet! I myself traded a jackknife for a leather equipment belt -- a fine
souvenir to show when I get home.
Newspapers too changed hands, and the Germans howled with laughter at
ours. They assured us that France was finished and Russia nearly beaten too. We
told them that was nonsense, and one of them said, "Well, you believe your
newspapers and we'll believe ours."
Clearly they are lied to -- yet after meeting these men, I wonder how
truthful our own newspapers have been. These are not the "savage barbarians"
we've read so much about. They are men with homes and families, hopes and fears,
principles and, yes, love of country. In other words, men like ourselves. Why
are we led to believe otherwise?
As it grew late, a few more songs were
traded around the fire, and then all joined in for -- I am not lying to you --
"Auld Lang Syne." Then we parted with
promises to meet again tomorrow, and even some talk of a football match. I was just starting back to the trenches when
an older German clutched my arm. "My God," he said, "why cannot we have peace
and all go home?" I told him gently,
"That you must ask your emperor." He
looked at me then, searchingly. "Perhaps, my friend. But also we must ask our
hearts." And so, dear sister, tell me,
has there ever been such a Christmas Eve in all history? And what does it all
mean, this impossible befriending of enemies?
For the fighting here, of course, it means regrettably little.
Decent fellows those soldiers may be, but they follow orders and we do the same.
Besides, we are here to stop their army and send it home, and never could we
shirk that duty. Still, one cannot help
imagine what would happen if the spirit shown here were caught by the nations of
the world. Of course, disputes must always arise. But what if our leaders were
to offer well wishes in place of warnings? Songs in place of slurs? Presents in
place of reprisals? Would not all war end at once? All nations say they want
peace. Yet on this Christmas morning, I wonder if we want it quite
enough... signed your loving brother Tom..
