The Christmas Truce
firstworldwar.com / http://www.firstworldwar.com/features/christmastruce.htm
You are standing up
to your knees in the slime of a waterlogged trench. It is the evening of 24 December 1914 and you
are on the dreaded Western Front.
Stooped over, you wade across to the firing step and take
over the watch. Having exchanged
pleasantries, your bleary-eyed and mud-spattered colleague shuffles off towards
his dug out. Despite the horrors and the
hardships, your morale is high and you believe that in the New Year the
nation's army march towards a glorious victory.
But for now you stamp your feet in a vain attempt to keep
warm. All is quiet when jovial voices
call out from both friendly and enemy trenches.
Then the men from both sides start singing carols and songs. Next come requests not to fire, and soon the
unthinkable happens: you start to see the shadowy shapes of soldiers gathering
together in no-man's land laughing, joking and sharing gifts.
Many have exchanged cigarettes, the lit ends of which burn
brightly in the inky darkness. Plucking
up your courage, you haul yourself up and out of the trench and walk towards
the foe...
The meeting of enemies as friends in no-man's land was
experienced by hundreds, if not thousands, of men on the Western Front during
Christmas 1914. Today, 90 years after it
occurred, the event is seen as a shining episode of sanity from among the
bloody chapters of World War One - a spontaneous effort by the lower ranks to
create a peace that could have blossomed were it not for the interference of
generals and politicians.
The reality of the
Christmas Truce, however, is a slightly less romantic and a more down to earth
story. It was an organic affair that in
some spots hardly registered a mention and in others left a profound impact
upon those who took part.
Many accounts were rushed, confused or contradictory. Others, written long after the event, are
weighed down by hindsight. These
difficulties aside, the true story is still striking precisely because of its
rag-tagged nature: it is more 'human' and therefore all the more potent.
Months beforehand, millions of servicemen, reservists and
volunteers from all over the continent had rushed enthusiastically to the
banners of war: the atmosphere was one of holiday rather than conflict.
But it was not long before the jovial façade was torn away.
Armies equipped with repeating rifles, machine guns and a vast array of
artillery tore chunks out of each other, and thousands upon thousands of men
perished.
To protect against the threat of this vast firepower, the
soldiers were ordered to dig in and prepare for next year's offensives, which
most men believed would break the deadlock and deliver victory.
The early trenches were often hasty creations and poorly
constructed; if the trench was badly sighted it could become a sniping hot
spot. In bad weather (the winter of 1914
was a dire one) the positions could flood and fall in. The soldiers - unequipped to face the rigours
of the cold and rain - found themselves wallowing in a freezing mire of mud and
the decaying bodies of the fallen.
The man at the Front
could not help but have a degree of sympathy for his opponents who were having
just as miserable a time as they were.
Another factor that broke down the animosity between the
opposing armies were the surroundings.
In 1914 the men at the front could still see the vestiges of
civilisation. Villages, although badly
smashed up, were still standing. Fields,
although pitted with shell-holes, had not been turned into muddy lunarscapes.
Thus the other world - the civilian world - and the social
mores and manners that went with it was still present at the front. Also lacking was the pain, misery and hatred
that years of bloody war build up. Then
there was the desire, on all sides, to see the enemy up close - was he really
as bad as the politicians, papers and priests were saying?
It was a combination of these factors, and many more minor
ones, that made the Christmas Truce of 1914 possible.
On the eve of the Truce, the British Army (still a
relatively small presence on the Western Front) was manning a stretch of the
line running south from the infamous Ypres salient for 27 miles to the La Bassee
Canal.
Along the front the enemy was sometimes no more than 70, 50
or even 30 yards
away. Both Tommy and Fritz could quite
easily hurl greetings and insults to one another, and, importantly, come to
tacit agreements not to fire. Incidents
of temporary truces and outright fraternisation were more common at this stage
in the war than many people today realise - even units that had just taken part
in a series of futile and costly assaults, were still willing to talk and come
to arrangements with their opponents.
German and British officer together during the 1914
Christmas truceAs Christmas approached the festive mood and the desire for a
lull in the fighting increased as parcels packed with goodies from home started
to arrive. On top of this came gifts
care of the state. Tommy received plum
puddings and 'Princess Mary boxes'; a metal case engraved with an outline of
George V's daughter and filled with chocolates and butterscotch, cigarettes and
tobacco, a picture card of Princess Mary and a facsimile of George V's greeting
to the troops. 'May God protect you and
bring you safe home,' it said.
Not to be outdone, Fritz received a present from the Kaiser,
the Kaiserliche, a large meerschaum pipe for the troops and a box of cigars for
NCOs and officers. Towns, villages and
cities, and numerous support associations on both sides also flooded the front
with gifts of food, warm clothes and letters of thanks.
The Belgians and French also received goods, although not in
such an organised fashion as the British or Germans. For these nations the Christmas of 1914 was
tinged with sadness - their countries were occupied. It is no wonder that the Truce, although it
sprung up in some spots on French and Belgian lines, never really caught hold
as it did in the British sector.
With their morale boosted by messages of thanks and their
bellies fuller than normal, and with still so much Christmas booty to hand, the
season of goodwill entered the trenches. A British Daily Telegraph correspondent wrote
that on one part of the line the Germans had managed to slip a chocolate cake
into British trenches.
Even more amazingly, it was accompanied with a message
asking for a ceasefire later that evening so they could celebrate the festive
season and their Captain's birthday.
They proposed a concert at 7.30pm when candles, the British were told,
would be placed on the parapets of their trenches.
The British accepted the invitation and offered some tobacco
as a return present. That evening, at
the stated time, German heads suddenly popped up and started to sing. Each number ended with a round of applause
from both sides.
The Germans then asked the British to join in. At this point, one very mean-spirited Tommy
shouted: 'We'd rather die than sing German.'
To which a German joked aloud: 'It would kill us if you did'.
December 24 was a good day weather-wise: the rain had given
way to clear skies.
On many stretches of the Front the crack of rifles and the
dull thud of shells ploughing into the ground continued, but at a far lighter
level than normal. In other sectors
there was an unnerving silence that was broken by the singing and shouting drifting
over, in the main, from the German trenches.
Along many parts of the line the Truce was spurred on with
the arrival in the German trenches of miniature Christmas trees -
Tannenbaum. The sight these small pines,
decorated with candles and strung along the German parapets, captured the
Tommies' imagination, as well as the men of the Indian corps who were reminded
of the sacred Hindu festival of light.
British soldiers bringing in Christmas hollyIt was the
perfect excuse for the opponents to start shouting to one another, to start
singing and, in some areas, to pluck up the courage to meet one another in
no-man's land.
By now, the British high command - comfortably 'entrenched'
in a luxurious châteaux 27
miles behind the front - was beginning to hear of the
fraternisation.
Stern orders were issued by the commander of the BEF, Sir
John French against such behaviour.
Other 'brass-hats' (as the Tommies nick-named their high-ranking
officers and generals), also made grave pronouncements on the dangers and
consequences of parleying with the Germans.
However, there were many high-ranking officers who took a
surprisingly relaxed view of the situation.
If anything, they believed it would at least offer their men an
opportunity to strengthen their trenches.
This mixed stance meant that very few officers and men involved in the
Christmas Truce were disciplined.
Interestingly, the German High Command's ambivalent attitude
towards the Truce mirrored that of the British.
Christmas day began quietly but once the sun was up the
fraternisation began. Again songs were
sung and rations thrown to one another.
It was not long before troops and officers started to take matters into
their own hands and ventured forth.
No-man's land became something of a playground.
Men exchanged gifts and buttons. In one or two places soldiers who had been
barbers in civilian times gave free haircuts.
One German, a juggler and a showman, gave an impromptu, and given the
circumstances, somewhat surreal performance of his routine in the centre of
no-man's land.
Sir Edward Hulse of the Scots Guards, in his famous account,
remembered the approach of four unarmed Germans at 08.30. He went out to meet them with one of his
ensigns. 'Their spokesmen,' Hulse wrote,
'started off by saying that he thought it only right to come over and wish us a
happy Christmas, and trusted us implicitly to keep the truce. He came from Suffolk where he had left his
best girl and a 3 ½ h.p. motor-bike!'
Having raced off to file a report at headquarters, Hulse
returned at 10.00 to find crowds of British soldiers and Germans out together
chatting and larking about in no-man's land, in direct contradiction to his
orders.
Not that Hulse seemed to care about the fraternisation in
itself - the need to be seen to follow orders was his concern. Thus he sought out a German officer and
arranged for both sides to return to their lines.
While this was going on he still managed to keep his ears
and eyes open to the fantastic events that were unfolding.
'Scots and Huns were fraternizing in the most genuine
possible manner. Every sort of souvenir
was exchanged addresses given and received, photos of families shown, etc. One of our fellows offered a German a
cigarette; the German said, "Virginian?" Our fellow said, "Aye, straight-cut",
the German said "No thanks, I only smoke Turkish!"... It gave us all
a good laugh.'
Hulse's account was in part a letter to his mother, who in
turn sent it on to the newspapers for publication, as was the custom at the
time. Tragically, Hulse was killed in
March 1915.
On many parts of the line the Christmas Day truce was
initiated through sadder means. Both
sides saw the lull as a chance to get into no-man's land and seek out the
bodies of their compatriots and give them a decent burial. Once this was done the opponents would
inevitably begin talking to one another.
The 6th Gordon Highlanders, for example, organised a burial
truce with the enemy. After the gruesome
task of laying friends and comrades to rest was complete, the fraternisation
began.
German officer in a British trench during the Christmas
truceWith the Truce in full swing up and down the line there were a number of
recorded games of soccer, although these were really just 'kick-abouts' rather
than a structured match.
On January 1, 1915, the London Times published a letter from
a major in the Medical Corps reporting that in his sector the British played a
game against the Germans opposite and were beaten 3-2.
Kurt Zehmisch of the 134th Saxons recorded in his diary: 'The
English brought a soccer ball from the trenches, and pretty soon a lively game
ensued. How marvellously wonderful, yet
how strange it was. The English officers
felt the same way about it. Thus
Christmas, the celebration of Love, managed to bring mortal enemies together as
friends for a time.'
The Truce lasted all day; in places it ended that night, but
on other sections of the line it held over Boxing Day and in some areas, a few
days more. In fact, there parts on the
front where the absence of aggressive behaviour was conspicuous well into 1915.
Captain J C Dunn, the Medical Officer in the Royal Welch
Fusiliers, whose unit had fraternised and received two barrels of beer from the
Saxon troops opposite, recorded how hostilities re-started on his section of
the front.
Dunn wrote: 'At 8.30 I fired three shots in the air and put
up a flag with "Merry Christmas" on it, and I climbed on the
parapet. He [the Germans] put up a sheet
with "Thank you" on it, and the German Captain appeared on the
parapet. We both bowed and saluted and
got down into our respective trenches, and he fired two shots in the air, and
the War was on again.'
The war was indeed on again, for the Truce had no hope of
being maintained. Despite being wildly
reported in Britain and to a lesser extent in Germany, the troops and the
populations of both countries were still keen to prosecute the conflict.
Today, pragmatists read the Truce as nothing more than a
'blip' - a temporary lull induced by the season of goodwill, but willingly
exploited by both sides to better their defences and eye out one another's
positions. Romantics assert that the
Truce was an effort by normal men to bring about an end to the slaughter.
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