The Christmas Truce

One hundred and two years ago, after five months of World War I, German troops stationed on the Western Front at Ypres in Belgium decided to celebrate Christmas by decorating their trenches using placing candles on trees and by singing Christmas carols. The British, after firing a few shots at the decorated trees, became curious. Although they could not understand the language, they recognised the tune the Germans were singing. It was Stille Nacht, or Silent Night in English.

The English responded by singing carols and it was not long before the two sides were shouting Christmas greetings to each other across no-man's land. Then some soldiers made tentative ventures into no man's land bearing a makeshift flag of truce. Eventually thousands of war-weary soldiers from both sides poured into a no man's land strewn with the decomposing corpses of their fallen comrades. When they met, they exchanged small gifts from their rations - whiskey, jam, cigarettes. They also shared photos of loved ones and played a now famous game of soccer. The truce also provided an opportunity for the soldiers to bring their recently-fallen comrades behind their own lines for burial. In some instances, proper burials took place as soldiers from both sides mourned the dead and paid their respects together.

These men had done what the military command on both sides feared most. They had, in the midst of a bitter war, discovered their shared humanity and had made a spontaneous declaration of their common brotherhood, and as a logical consequence of this, they were refusing to fight. Generals from both sides declared this action to be treasonous and those who participated in it were to be the subject of court martial. Three months later, the 'fraternisation with the enemy' had been all but snuffed out and the killing machine was back in full sway. Perhaps if the generals were required to sit in the damp, cold trenches and fight for their lives, the outcome would have been different. Alas that was not to be the case, and war went on to claim over fifteen million lives.

The powerful song whose lyrics are reproduced below is based on the true story of the the Scottish commanding officer of the British forces involved in the story - Ian Calhoun. As a result of the truce, he was subject to court martial on the charge of 'consorting with the enemy' and sentenced to death - only to be pardoned by King George V.

Christmas in the Trenches
by John McCutcheon

My name is Francis Toliver, I come from Liverpool.
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders, to Germany to here,
I fought for King and country I love dear.

'Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung.
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung.
Our families back in England were toasting us that day,
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.

I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground,
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound.
Says I, "Now listen up, me boys!" each soldier strained to hear,
As one young German voice sang out so clear.

"He's singing bloody well, you know!" my partner says to me.
Soon, one by one, each German voice joined in harmony.
The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more,
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.

As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent,
"God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent.
The next they sang was "Stille Nacht," "'Tis 'Silent Night,'" says I,
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky.

"There's someone coming towards us!" the front line sentry cried.
All sights were fixed on one lone figure trudging from their side.
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shone on that plain so bright,
As he, bravely, strode unarmed into the night.

Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man's Land,
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand.
We shared some secret brandy and wished each other well,
And in a flare lit soccer game we gave 'em hell.

We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home.
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own.
Young Sanders played his squeezebox and they had a violin,
This curious and unlikely band of men.

Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more.
With sad farewells we each prepared to settle back to war.
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night:
"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?"

'Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost, so bitter hung.
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung.
For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war,
Had been crumbled and were gone forevermore.

My name is Francis Toliver, in Liverpool I dwell,
Each Christmas come since World War I, I've learned its lessons well,
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame,
And on each end of the rifle we're the same.