Christmas In The Trenches.

Andrew McCarthy Douglas.

Every man can hold a rifle but not all men can pull the trigger.

It was Christmas Eve of 1914 five months into the 'Great war'. The morning mist was heavy with temperatures that sent chills down a person's spine. By late afternoon it had started to snow and with it, the bombardment of ammunition had ceased. We lay six feet under the ground, ahead of us was the 'No Man's Land' and even further, were the Germans in their trenches.

The past couple of weeks were unpleasant, more men of our battalion had been wounded, killed or captured than any of our commanders could contemplate. The trenches were a place of horror but it was the only thing that kept us at bay from the Germans. There was sticky mud everywhere and the Tommy's were afraid of catching 'Trench foot'.

We would spend most of the day looking at photographs of our girlfriends or loved ones, used to re-read the letters we had received from our near and dear and wrote back a lot more. Some of the older men smoked tobacco or played cards and bragged about the number of prostitutes they had slept with. Our company comprised of the Scots, the French, and us, whom they simply referred to as Tommy.

The late-night of Christmas Eve was a quiet one. We were so used to the machine gun firing, the land mines exploding and artillery shelling that without that noise something felt off. The loudness of the silent night was deafening, I bet everyone was thinking about their family, dreaming how they could celebrate Christmas tomorrow if it was not for this God-damn war. I could somehow sense that the Germans too were wishing the same.

In the middle of all that thinking, someone decided to have fun. All had huddled together to enjoy their beverage. The Scots had rum, the French had whiskey and we Tommies had cider. One of the Scottish corporal took out his bagpipes and began playing a tune. The steady melody made by the instrument seeped right through our skin, the vibrations felt heavenly it filled our souls. It made us think of home.
An English Sargent softly whispered a verse 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind.' A couple of others joined 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot and days of auld lang syne.' The voices grew in number for the chorus 'For auld lang syne my dear, for auld lang syne We’ll take a cup of kindness yet for auld lang syne...' I removed a pendent from my pocket and held it close against my heart.

Silence intensified all over again we hunched our shoulders against the gust of breeze experiencing intense emotions. A few chaps sobbed a few chaps grinned, most chaps were silent. I recalled my mum advising 'Andy, my sweetheart always remember the emotion that breaks your heart is sometimes the very one that heals it.' I looked up to the sky like I always did when I thought of her it was covered with fog and snow but I knew she was smiling down on her son from a better place. I pulled out a photograph of her she looked youthful, like the most beautiful woman in the whole wide world. My eyes damped and a drop of tear rolled down my cheeks and fell on the elegant face in the photograph. She had passed away six months before the war broke out. She was my guardian angel. My mind drifted home. I remembered the day I said goodbye to my dad and siblings to enrol in the army. On the day I left, my little sister placed a pendant in my hand she said 'If you ever feel lonely, if are ever afraid hold this close to your heart. You'll know that we are with you.' Clara, the blacksmith's daughter was there to bid goodbye. I had vowed to marry her once I get back. She had the sweetest voice of all. She was the first girl to plant a kiss on my cheeks which has kept me warm to this day.

Then something strange occurred, a faint humming of a harmonica was heard which brought along a gentle voice, singing, unmistakably in a thick German accent. One of the sentry peeped over the parapet and called out to the rest of us 'Lights! candles! lanterns! there's a bloody boche out there, singing.' Many young soldiers were eager to look at the opposite side but were warned by their seniors for they assumed for it to be a trap. 'Get down you fucking morons' they shouted but they too were perplexed by the situation. The faint singing now got louder and louder as though it was approaching us. Curiosity got the better of me, I climbed over the parapet. To my surprise, I could see that many tiny Christmas trees were lined all along the German trenches decorated with bells and jars. The radiance of yellow light from the lanterns shining on the white crystals which had covered the earth made me think that the snow came down as heaven's sunlit glitter to bring our world a new shine. A young German soldier slowly walked towards us singing 'Silent night Holy night' with his hands up in the air. By that time many of my mates had crawled up the trenches to have a better look. The same thing happened on the other side too, the Germans were overlooking from their trenches but had no weapons aiming at us.

The same question was running through all the two hundred odd heads out there in the trenches. Were we calling it a truce? If yes, then the superiors would have whopped our asses. If not, we would have to kill and die on Christmas day. I guess all chose the former. It was a stare down none making any move everyone was transfixed in their place waiting for the opponent to make a call. By then the German soldier had stopped singing he was in the middle of the 'No Man's Land' still holding his hand up in the air. One of the lads from the German side shouted out 'Frohe Weihnachten' not understanding what it meant one of the Tommies yelled 'well screw you too.' Some of the bolder spirits raised from the trenches and waved to the Germans who politely returned the gesture. Gathering courage gradually we set foot on 'No Man's Land' no one opened fire it was an unofficial truce.

Two hundred-odd men from both sides laid down their weapons that night and unhurriedly paced towards each other. The British and the Bavarians, the French and the Germans, the Scots and the Austrians stood face to face for the first time. Both the parties were sceptical, none sure of what to do. Then a grey coat put forward a bottle of beer the opposing blue coat put forward a bottle of whiskey both took a couple of sips and passed it around. Trust developed while some men exchanged handshakes and greetings. One of the Germans came up to me shook my hand and gave me some cigarettes another gave me a handkerchief third gave me some chocolates everyone mingled and conversed to the best of their ability. It was a moving moment we were merrily talking with the same people we tried to kill a few hours before. It was astounding.

The next morning all the men were in the 'No Man's Land' young officers met up and suggested burying the dead ones. We placed the wooden crosses and held religious ceremonies for the dead. All stood shoulder to shoulder saying their prayers. With the dead buried it was time to celebrate Christmas together. They sang carols we sang hymns, they played the harmonica we played the bagpipes, and together we danced. Everyone gifted souvenirs to one another chocolates, scarfs, gloves, beer and cigarettes were the most common items exchanged. Some wrote down their address to the new acquaintances. That day all men laughed heartily for the first time in a long time. I guess it was the effect of Christmas the festival of love that even the worst of enemies could for a short time be friends. That Christmas indeed was a special one.

As dusk set in we shook hands one last time and headed back to our trenches. A corporal cried out loud in German.
'Today we're all brothers, tonight we're all friends.
A moment of peace in a war that never ends.'

It takes something special, something unique to commit to the fact that you don't execute atrocities just for revenge or because you were ordered to do so. That day, all men could hold a loaded rifle, all men could pull the bloody trigger.
But a few men chose not to!
.
.
.
The next day the smouldering embers re-kindled we went back to business shooting as many bullets through the enemies skull as possible.

- Lance Corporal Andrew M Douglas.

(Andy)

4th Division, Rifle Brigade.

British Army.

  Christmas, 1923.

[ World War 1, initially known as the 'The Great War' mainly relied on trench warfare. On the Christmas of 1914, both armies decided to call it an armistice on the Western Front this was named 'The Christmas Truce'. Although the war would resume on 26th December in many sectors, it reflects the paradox of human nature that even in the deadliest of conflicts humans find a way to be optimistic.
The Great war continued up to 1918 and laid the foundation for WW2.
An English soldier was often referred to as 'Tommy'.
Lance Corporal Andrew McCarthy Douglas is fictional. ]

Srajan Ravindra Shetty.
Christmas 2021.