France is gripped by cold. The liquid mud is hard as iron, water to ice. A lone sentry stamps his feet, claps his hands, tries to get some feeling back into his fingers. The war has only been going for 4 months, yet it has already devolved into the static, attritional slog that will characterise the next 4 years. What does the sentry think of? Home, family, Christmases gone by? Warm fires, warm homes and warm smiles? And carols. Sung loud, echoing in the rafters of the Parish Church. And as he stands there, he can almost hear them, snatches of voices on the icy breeze. Growing louder, louder and then he realises - they're being sung by soldiers in the lines. He joins in, his voice joining the medley of voices in exalting, praising up and down the line. Christmas trees appear on parapets as carols are sung back and forth. Bagpipes, harmonicas and guitars, painstakingly cared for in the filth of the frontlines burst into song once more. The frontline rings with noise - not of death and war, but life and love.
The next day dawns as cold as the last, a perfect white blanket covering the devastated landscape. Soldiers enjoy what Christmas dinner they can scrape together and receive post from family and friends. And somehow, sometime, someone steps out of the trench and walks across No-Man's Land, not to capture but to catch-up. To meet. To share. From both sides, soldiers meet in the middle, exchanging gifts, laughing and talking. Some sectors bury their dead, hold joint services and some content themselves with just shouts of 'Merry Christmas', 'Joyeux Noel' and 'Frohe Weihnachten'. And for some, the war machine refused to be halted, grinding on unabated.
But in those peaceful sectors, men forget that mere days ago they had been trying to kill as many of the men they now swapped hats with, cut the hair of and smoked with. For on Christmas, for Christmas, all is forgotten and forgiven.
Peace descends.
But it cannot last. Some of these truces will last until New Year's Day, but some will end this evening as artillery restarts its merciless rain. Soldiers return to their trenches, return to the war, the dying and the killing. The truce will never be repeated, certainly not on this scale, ever again. Generals and commanders fear it will rob the men of their 'offensive spirit' as they read the reports in their armchairs with their fireplaces and their cigars. And so, the Christmas Truce passes into history as a miracle, never repeated.
But why is it so important to remember this truce as we look at our own world that never seems to be peaceful? When we see the seemingly eternal conflict all around us. For me, it demonstrates the true power of Christmas - as a force that could overcome even the war machine of the First World War. Because deep down, humans don't want to hurt each other. Because, through thick and thin, good will prevail and if we believe that always, we can never lose. And I leave you with the words of Jozef Wenzl, a German infantry soldier, in a letter to his parents, where he wrote:
"What I had still believed to be madness several hours ago, I could see with my own eyes. One Englishman, who was joined soon by another came towards us until he was more than halfway towards our trenches - by which point some of our people had already approached them. And so Bavarians and English, until then the greatest of enemies, shook hands, talked and exchanged items. A single star stood still in the sky directly above them, and was interpreted by many as a special sign. More and more joined, and the entire line greeted each other."
Merry Christmas and peace to all.
Harry Booton
Image by A. C. Michael (Arthur Cadwgan Michael, 1881‒1965) - Originally published in The Illustrated London News, January 9, 1915., PD-US, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=44234585
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