New Food for thought

Christmas Day, 1914

My dear sister Janet,It is 2:00 in the morning and most of our men are asleep in theirdugouts -- yet I could not sleep myself before writing to you of thewonderful events of Christmas Eve. In truth, what happened seemsalmost like a fairy tale, and if I hadn't been through it myself, Iwould scarce believe it. Just imagine: While you and the family sangcarols before the fire there in London, I did the same with enemysoldiers here on the battlefields of France!As I wrote before, there has been little serious fighting of late. Thefirst battles of the war left so many dead that both sides have heldback 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 anartillery shell might land and explode beside us in the trench,killing or maiming several men. And in daylight not daring to lift ourheads above ground, for fear of a sniper's bullet.And the rain -- it has fallen almost daily. Of course, it collectsright 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. Itsplatters and cakes everything, and constantly sucks at our boots. Onenew recruit got his feet stuck in it, and then his hands too when hetried to get out -- just like in that American story of the tar baby!Through all this, we couldn't help feeling curious about the Germansoldiers across the way. After all, they faced the same dangers wedid, and slogged about in the same muck. What's more, their firsttrench 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 wesometimes heard their voices.Of course, we hated them when they killed our friends. But othertimes, 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 goodfreeze. Cold as we were, we welcomed it, because at least the mudfroze solid. Everything was tinged white with frost, while a brightsun shone over all. Perfect Christmas weather.During the day, there was little shelling or rifle fire from eitherside. And as darkness fell on our Christmas Eve, the shooting stoppedentirely. Our first complete silence in months! We hoped it mightpromise a peaceful holiday, but we didn't count on it. We'd been toldthe 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 driftedasleep. All at once my friend John was shaking me awake, saying, "Comeand see! See what the Germans are doing!" I grabbed my rifle, stumbledout into the trench, and stuck my head cautiously above the sandbags.I never hope to see a stranger and more lovely sight. Clusters of tinylights were shining all along the German line, left and right as faras the eye could see."What is it?" I asked in bewilderment, and John answered, "Christmastrees!"And so it was. The Germans had placed Christmas trees in front oftheir 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 itand translated: "Silent night, holy night." I've never heard onelovelier -- or more meaningful, in that quiet, clear night, its darksoftened 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 startedsinging, and we all joined in. "The first Nowell, the angel did say...."In truth, we sounded not nearly as good as the Germans, with theirfine harmonies. But they responded with enthusiastic applause of theirown 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 havethought nothing could be more amazing -- but what came next was moreso."English, come over!" we heard one of them shout. "You no shoot, we noshoot."There in the trenches, we looked at each other in bewilderment. Thenone of us shouted jokingly, "You come over here."To our astonishment, we saw two figures rise from the trench, climbover 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 othersdid the same -- but our captain called out, "Hold your fire." Then heclimbed out and went to meet the Germans halfway. We heard themtalking, and a few minutes later, the captain came back with a Germancigar in his mouth!"We've agreed there will be no shooting before midnight tomorrow," heannounced. "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 startingout of trenches and coming toward us. Then some of us were climbingout too, and in minutes more, there we were in No Man's Land, over ahundred soldiers and officers of each side, shaking hands with menwe'd been trying to kill just hours earlier!Before long a bonfire was built, and around it we mingled -- Britishkhaki and German grey. I must say, the Germans were the betterdressed, with fresh uniforms for the holiday.Only a couple of our men knew German, but more of the Germans knewEnglish. I asked one of them why that was."Because many have worked in England!" he said. "Before all this, Iwas 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 hadinterrupted their plans for marriage. I told him, "Don't worry. We'llhave 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 giveme later, and I promised I would.Another German had been a porter at Victoria Station. He showed me apicture 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 wouldlike that very much and gave me his family's address.Even those who could not converse could still exchange gifts -- ourcigarettes for their cigars, our tea for their coffee, our corned beeffor their sausage. Badges and buttons from uniforms changed owners,and one of our lads walked off with the infamous spiked helmet! Imyself traded a jackknife for a leather equipment belt -- a finesouvenir to show when I get home.Newspapers too changed hands, and the Germans howled with laughter atours. They assured us that France was finished and Russia nearlybeaten 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 howtruthful our own newspapers have been. These are not the "savagebarbarians" we've read so much about. They are men with homes andfamilies, hopes and fears, principles and, yes, love of country. Inother words, men like ourselves. Why are we led to believe otherwise?As it grew late, a few more songs were traded around the fire, andthen all joined in for -- I am not lying to you -- "Auld Lang Syne."Then we parted with promises to meet again tomorrow, and even sometalk of a football match.I was just starting back to the trenches when an older German clutchedmy 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 wemust ask our hearts."And so, dear sister, tell me, has there ever been such a Christmas Evein all history? And what does it all mean, this impossible befriendingof enemies?For the fighting here, of course, it means regrettably little. Decentfellows those soldiers may be, but they follow orders and we do thesame. Besides, we are here to stop their army and send it home, andnever could we shirk that duty.Still, one cannot help imagine what would happen if the spirit shownhere were caught by the nations of the world. Of course, disputes mustalways arise. But what if our leaders were to offer well wishes inplace of warnings? Songs in place of slurs? Presents in place ofreprisals? Would not all war end at once?All nations say they want peace. Yet on this Christmas morning, Iwonder if we want it quite enough.Your loving brother, Tom