{"id":4789,"date":"2011-12-22T10:09:17","date_gmt":"2011-12-22T17:09:17","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/?p=4789"},"modified":"2011-12-22T10:28:38","modified_gmt":"2011-12-22T17:28:38","slug":"christmas-day-1914","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/christmas-day-1914\/","title":{"rendered":"Christmas Day, 1914"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>My dear sister Janet,<br \/>\n<strong>Flanders Christmas Ballad<\/strong><br \/>\n<iframe loading=\"lazy\" src=\"http:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/s9coPzDx6tA\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"640\" height=\"473\"><\/iframe><br \/>\nIt is 2:00 in the morning and most of our men are asleep in their<br \/>\ndugouts &#8212; yet I could not sleep myself before writing to you of the<br \/>\nwonderful events of Christmas Eve. In truth, what happened seems<br \/>\nalmost like a fairy tale, and if I hadn&#8217;t been through it myself, I<br \/>\nwould scarce believe it. Just imagine: While you and the family sang<br \/>\ncarols before the fire there in London, I did the same with enemy<br \/>\nsoldiers here on the battlefields of France!<\/p>\n<p>As I wrote before, there has been little serious fighting of late. The<br \/>\nfirst battles of the war left so many dead that both sides have held<br \/>\nback until replacements could come from home. So we have mostly stayed<br \/>\nin our trenches and waited.<\/p>\n<p>But what a terrible waiting it has been! Knowing that any moment an<br \/>\nartillery shell might land and explode beside us in the trench,<br \/>\nkilling or maiming several men. And in daylight not daring to lift our<br \/>\nheads above ground, for fear of a sniper&#8217;s bullet.<\/p>\n<p>And the rain &#8212; it has fallen almost daily. Of course, it collects<br \/>\nright in our trenches, where we must bail it out with pots and pans.<br \/>\nAnd with the rain has come mud &#8212; a good foot or more deep. It<br \/>\nsplatters and cakes everything, and constantly sucks at our boots. One<br \/>\nnew recruit got his feet stuck in it, and then his hands too when he<br \/>\ntried to get out &#8212; just like in that American story of the tar baby!<\/p>\n<p>Through all this, we couldn&#8217;t help feeling curious about the German<br \/>\nsoldiers across the way. After all, they faced the same dangers we<br \/>\ndid, and slogged about in the same muck. What&#8217;s more, their first<br \/>\ntrench was only 50 yards from ours. Between us lay No Man&#8217;s Land,<br \/>\nbordered on both sides by barbed wire &#8212; yet they were close enough we<br \/>\nsometimes heard their voices.<\/p>\n<p>Of course, we hated them when they killed our friends. But other<br \/>\ntimes, we joked about them and almost felt we had something in common.<br \/>\nAnd now it seems they felt the same.<\/p>\n<p>Just yesterday morning &#8212; Christmas Eve Day &#8212; we had our first good<br \/>\nfreeze. Cold as we were, we welcomed it, because at least the mud<br \/>\nfroze solid. Everything was tinged white with frost, while a bright<br \/>\nsun shone over all. Perfect Christmas weather.<\/p>\n<p>During the day, there was little shelling or rifle fire from either<br \/>\nside. And as darkness fell on our Christmas Eve, the shooting stopped<br \/>\nentirely. Our first complete silence in months! We hoped it might<br \/>\npromise a peaceful holiday, but we didn&#8217;t count on it. We&#8217;d been told<br \/>\nthe Germans might attack and try to catch us off guard.<\/p>\n<p>I went to the dugout to rest, and lying on my cot, I must have drifted<br \/>\nasleep. All at once my friend John was shaking me awake, saying, &#8220;Come<br \/>\nand see! See what the Germans are doing!&#8221; I grabbed my rifle, stumbled<br \/>\nout into the trench, and stuck my head cautiously above the sandbags.<\/p>\n<p>I never hope to see a stranger and more lovely sight. Clusters of tiny<br \/>\nlights were shining all along the German line, left and right as far<br \/>\nas the eye could see.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;What is it?&#8221; I asked in bewilderment, and John answered, &#8220;Christmas<br \/>\ntrees!&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>And so it was. The Germans had placed Christmas trees in front of<br \/>\ntheir trenches, lit by candle or lantern like beacons of good will.<\/p>\n<p>And then we heard their voices raised in song.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Stille nacht, heilige nacht&#8230;.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>This carol may not yet be familiar to us in Britain, but John knew it<br \/>\nand translated: &#8220;Silent night, holy night.&#8221; I&#8217;ve never heard one<br \/>\nlovelier &#8212; or more meaningful, in that quiet, clear night, its dark<br \/>\nsoftened by a first-quarter moon.<\/p>\n<p>When the song finished, the men in our trenches applauded. Yes,<br \/>\nBritish soldiers applauding Germans! Then one of our own men started<br \/>\nsinging, and we all joined in.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;The first Nowell, the angel did say&#8230;.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>In truth, we sounded not nearly as good as the Germans, with their<br \/>\nfine harmonies. But they responded with enthusiastic applause of their<br \/>\nown and then began another.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum&#8230;.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Then we replied.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;O come all ye faithful&#8230;.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>But this time they joined in, singing the same words in Latin.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Adeste fideles&#8230;.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>British and German harmonizing across No Man&#8217;s Land! I would have<br \/>\nthought nothing could be more amazing &#8212; but what came next was more<br \/>\nso.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;English, come over!&#8221; we heard one of them shout. &#8220;You no shoot, we no<br \/>\nshoot.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>There in the trenches, we looked at each other in bewilderment. Then<br \/>\none of us shouted jokingly, &#8220;You come over here.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>To our astonishment, we saw two figures rise from the trench, climb<br \/>\nover their barbed wire, and advance unprotected across No Man&#8217;s Land.<br \/>\nOne of them called, &#8220;Send officer to talk.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>I saw one of our men lift his rifle to the ready, and no doubt others<br \/>\ndid the same &#8212; but our captain called out, &#8220;Hold your fire.&#8221; Then he<br \/>\nclimbed out and went to meet the Germans halfway. We heard them<br \/>\ntalking, and a few minutes later, the captain came back with a German<br \/>\ncigar in his mouth!<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ve agreed there will be no shooting before midnight tomorrow,&#8221; he<br \/>\nannounced. &#8220;But sentries are to remain on duty, and the rest of you,<br \/>\nstay alert.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Across the way, we could make out groups of two or three men starting<br \/>\nout of trenches and coming toward us. Then some of us were climbing<br \/>\nout too, and in minutes more, there we were in No Man&#8217;s Land, over a<br \/>\nhundred soldiers and officers of each side, shaking hands with men<br \/>\nwe&#8217;d been trying to kill just hours earlier!<\/p>\n<p>Before long a bonfire was built, and around it we mingled &#8212; British<br \/>\nkhaki and German grey. I must say, the Germans were the better<br \/>\ndressed, with fresh uniforms for the holiday.<\/p>\n<p>Only a couple of our men knew German, but more of the Germans knew<br \/>\nEnglish. I asked one of them why that was.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Because many have worked in England!&#8221; he said. &#8220;Before all this, I<br \/>\nwas a waiter at the Hotel Cecil. Perhaps I waited on your table!&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Perhaps you did!&#8221; I said, laughing.<\/p>\n<p>He told me he had a girlfriend in London and that the war had<br \/>\ninterrupted their plans for marriage. I told him, &#8220;Don&#8217;t worry. We&#8217;ll<br \/>\nhave you beat by Easter, then you can come back and marry the girl.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>He laughed at that. Then he asked if I&#8217;d send her a postcard he&#8217;d give<br \/>\nme later, and I promised I would.<\/p>\n<p>Another German had been a porter at Victoria Station. He showed me a<br \/>\npicture of his family back in Munich. His eldest sister was so lovely,<br \/>\nI said I should like to meet her someday. He beamed and said he would<br \/>\nlike that very much and gave me his family&#8217;s address.<\/p>\n<p>Even those who could not converse could still exchange gifts &#8212; our<br \/>\ncigarettes for their cigars, our tea for their coffee, our corned beef<br \/>\nfor their sausage. Badges and buttons from uniforms changed owners,<br \/>\nand one of our lads walked off with the infamous spiked helmet! I<br \/>\nmyself traded a jackknife for a leather equipment belt &#8212; a fine<br \/>\nsouvenir to show when I get home.<\/p>\n<p>Newspapers too changed hands, and the Germans howled with laughter at<br \/>\nours. They assured us that France was finished and Russia nearly<br \/>\nbeaten too. We told them that was nonsense, and one of them said,<br \/>\n&#8220;Well, you believe your newspapers and we&#8217;ll believe ours.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Clearly they are lied to &#8212; yet after meeting these men, I wonder how<br \/>\ntruthful our own newspapers have been. These are not the &#8220;savage<br \/>\nbarbarians&#8221; we&#8217;ve read so much about. They are men with homes and<br \/>\nfamilies, hopes and fears, principles and, yes, love of country. In<br \/>\nother words, men like ourselves. Why are we led to believe otherwise?<\/p>\n<p>As it grew late, a few more songs were traded around the fire, and<br \/>\nthen all joined in for &#8212; I am not lying to you &#8212; &#8220;Auld Lang Syne.&#8221;<br \/>\nThen we parted with promises to meet again tomorrow, and even some<br \/>\ntalk of a football match.<\/p>\n<p>I was just starting back to the trenches when an older German clutched<br \/>\nmy arm. &#8220;My God,&#8221; he said, &#8220;why cannot we have peace and all go home?&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>I told him gently, &#8220;That you must ask your emperor.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>He looked at me then, searchingly. &#8220;Perhaps, my friend. But also we<br \/>\nmust ask our hearts.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>And so, dear sister, tell me, has there ever been such a Christmas Eve<br \/>\nin all history? And what does it all mean, this impossible befriending<br \/>\nof enemies?<\/p>\n<p>For the fighting here, of course, it means regrettably little. Decent<br \/>\nfellows those soldiers may be, but they follow orders and we do the<br \/>\nsame. Besides, we are here to stop their army and send it home, and<br \/>\nnever could we shirk that duty.<\/p>\n<p>Still, one cannot help imagine what would happen if the spirit shown<br \/>\nhere were caught by the nations of the world. Of course, disputes must<br \/>\nalways arise. But what if our leaders were to offer well wishes in<br \/>\nplace of warnings? Songs in place of slurs? Presents in place of<br \/>\nreprisals? Would not all war end at once?<\/p>\n<p>All nations say they want peace. Yet on this Christmas morning, I<br \/>\nwonder if we want it quite enough.<\/p>\n<p>Your loving brother,<\/p>\n<p>Tom<br \/>\n<strong>John McCutcheon&#8217;s Carol<\/strong><br \/>\n<iframe loading=\"lazy\" width=\"640\" height=\"473\" src=\"http:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/QTXhZ4uR6rs\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen><\/iframe><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>My dear sister Janet, Flanders Christmas Ballad It is 2:00 in the morning and most of our men are asleep in their dugouts &#8212; yet I could not sleep myself before writing to you of the wonderful events of Christmas &hellip; <a href=\"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/christmas-day-1914\/\">Continue reading <span class=\"meta-nav\">&rarr;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4789","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4789","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4789"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4789\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4791,"href":"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4789\/revisions\/4791"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4789"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4789"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/amicuscuria.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4789"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}