| On Christmas 1914 soldiers on the Western Front left their trenches, walked through no man’s land, and met their enemies in an informal truce. This Christmas Eve story has always fascinated me. Hopeful and bittersweet. Men trying to be at their best in the middle of the worst. Soldiers from England, France and Germany, who had been killing one another in the trenches of World War I, stopped. It was a Christmas peace.  Christmas in the Trenches Oh, my name is Frances Tolliver, I come from Liverpool. Two years ago the war was waitin' For me after school. From Belgium and to Flanders, Germany to here. I fought for King and country I love dear. Twas Christmas in the trenches, And the frost so bitter hung. The frozen fields of France were still, No songs of peace were sung. Our families back in England, Were toasting us that day. Their brave and glorious lads, So far away. I was lyin' with me mess mates, 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 singin' bloody well ya know," My partner says to me. Soon one by one each German voice, Joined in, in harmony. The cannons rested silent, And the gas cloud 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. Oh, the next they sang was "Steller Nacht," To "Silent Night" says I. And in two tongues one song, Filled up that sky. "There's someone comin' towards us now," The frontline sentry cried. All sights were fixed on one lone figure, Trudging from their side. His truce flag like a Christmas star, Shone on the plains so bright. As he bravely, trudged unarmed Into the night. Then one by one on either side, Walked into no-man's land. Neither gun or bayonet, We met there hand to hand. We shared some secret brandy, And we wished each other well. And in a flare-lit football game We gave them hell. We traded chocolates and cigarettes, And photographs from home. These sons and fathers, far away, From families of their own. Tom Sanders played his squeeze box, And they had a violin. This curious, and unlikely Band of men. Soon daylight stole upon us, And France was France once more. We said fairwell as we each began To settle back to war. But the question haunted every heart, That lived that wonderous night. "Whose family, have I fixed, Within my sights?" Twas Christmas in the trenches, And the frost so bitter hung. The frozen fields of France were born, 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 Forever more. Oh, my name is Frances Tolliver, In Liverpool I dwell. Each Christmas comes, since World War I, I've learned its lessons well. For the ones who called the shots won't be, Among the dead and lame. And on each end of the rifle, We're the same. http://www.johnmcdermott.com Sung by: John Mc Dermott |
