You may be familiar with the story of the Christmas truce that occurred during World War I. I will share with you a soldier's letter regarding that event. (Although this is a fictional letter, the author has
attempted to make his account historically accurate as he relates actual
events from that remarkable interlude in the fighting. I
have abbreviated some passages, to keep the story brief.) I love this piece
of history because it points out just what is possible when we choose to
change our focus, act with kindness, and celebrate the good.
The Christmas Truce
by Aaron Shepard
Christmas Day, 1914
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....
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....
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.
Let there be peace on earth, and gratitude in our hearts. The Christmas Truce of 1914 reminds us that goodwill is possible; that there are good people everywhere, and we are all pretty much the same in our desires. We all want to be respected, appreciated, cared for, and understood. These are gifts we can all give to one another during this Christmas season, and--if we are wise--always.
The Christmas Truce was printed in Australia’s School Magazine,
Apr. 2001. (Copyright © 2001, 2003 by Aaron Shepard. May be freely copied and shared for any noncommercial purpose.)
As I contemplated what I should write in this last post of 2013, I had to happily consider what a blessing it is look forward to a new year, and a fresh start. Fresh starts give us a clean slate and a perspective free of mess and clutter. However, even as we consider the year ahead of us, I think it would be a great loss to go into that year without embracing, and carrying with us, the many joys we experienced during the past twelve months. So, as you look forward to 2014, take those great memories with you!
