Christmas in the Trenches

Today, we're interviewing Simon Bennington, a veteran of the First World War who served with the British Expeditionary Force near Ypres during the famous Christmas Truce of 1914.

So, Simon, what was it like the week before the Christmas of 1914?

Up until Christmas Eve, everything was...normal. Or at least as normal as anything can be during a war. Both sides had given up the rapid offensives of the summer and autumn in favor of trench warfare, and anybody foolish enough to stick their head over the top risked a bullet.

Knew one chap who went out like that. Conroy clambered out of the trench to pull some poor lad's body out of the wire. An honorable gesture, but war doesn't reward honorable gestures. Some sniper caught shot him right through the throat just before he made it back to the trench. Our only consolation in the whole episode is Conroy and the other fellow were now close enough we could collect their bodies without exposing ourselves.

Both sides shelled the other constantly. Nothing too heavy, but enough to keep your head down. Rumors said the Germans had brought up one of their siege guns to blow us to smithereens, but you never knew what was true unless you heard it straight from an officer, and even then...

*Simon shrugs, then takes a sip from the cup of tea he set out before the interview*

Everything changed on Christmas Eve. I doubt anybody fired a shot the whole day. In fact, I don't even remember a single artillery shell exploding. After weeks becoming acclimated to the constant rumble of the big guns it was...jarring. Aside from the wind howling and our usual chatter everything was eerily quiet. Set my hair on end, it did.

What happened that evening?

On the night of the 24th, it was still very quiet. Cold, too. We'd had snow earlier in the week, so it was a White Christmas. Corporal Adams and I held the watch when it started.

When what started?

The caroling. At first, I thought I'd finally lost it. Singing on the battlefield? Ridiculous! Either I'd gone mad or I was dreaming. But then Adams runs up and asks, "Do you hear carols?"That's when I knew the truth: I wasn't mad, and I wasn't dreaming. The Germans were singing Christmas carols!

Adams, see, his mother was German. We all knew he could speak it well enough, so I leaned over and asked, "What're they singing?"

"Silent Night," he says.

I hurriedly pulled out my binoculars to scan the German line, and you know what I saw?

*I shake my head*

They had Christmas trees—real live Christmas trees—in their trenches! With candles and ornaments and tinsel! The Fritzes must've lived large over there; I doubt we could've fit trees into our trenches, but the Germans always built bigger than we did. Some of their trenches even had dugouts with shutters!

By the time Adams and I had digested all this, more singing began all around us. English, this time. It started out slowly, but more and more voices joined in. My singing voice isn't much, but the moment was so beautiful I couldn't help but join in. Adams did too. When our watch finally ended, we fell asleep to the carols. German and English alike.

What happened the next morning?

Christmas Day there was this...festive air, I suppose? Odd to describe a battlefield that way. Private Buckford had the brilliant idea to head out and talk to the Germans. By this time in the morning a bunch of our boys were already out in No Man's Land mingling with the Germans.

We met about five of them out there, and all of us took seats on the rim of a crater. One of the Germans—Karl, I think—spoke fluent English. He wished us all a Merry Christmas, then asked if we'd be interested in trading rations. Cigarettes, alcohol, food...if you can name it, we traded it. Over the next few hours, we traded stories. Nothing about the war. Just a bit about our families back home or amusing little anecdotes from our pasts. Honestly, our Christmas was quite tame.

Really? How so?

Well, we didn't play a football match like those Highlanders did. I hear the Saxon regiment they played won 3-2.

Our truce held out for a few more days. Then it was back to taking potshots at each other. We didn't repeat the gesture in 1915. Officers had orders to shoot anyone who tried, and—truth be told—most of the lads had no stomach for it anyway. Too many dead friends by that point.

Looking back, how do you feel about the truce?

In all honest, it's one of the best moments in my life. A sliver of peace amidst all the carnage. The Christmas Truce of 1914 taught me a valuable lesson, too.

What would that be, Simon?

The fact our enemy wasn't much different from us. They had parents and wives and children just like we did, and they left them all behind to fight for crown and country. Only an accident of birth meant the crown they fought for belonged to Kaiser Wilhelm II instead of King George V.

Too many people forget the humanity of their enemies, and when you forget your enemy is just as human as you are, you clear the way for atrocities. We saw it happen on the Caucasian and Balkan Fronts, when the Ottomans butchered Armenians and Assyrians and Greeks. We saw it happen in an even worse war twenty-five years later. Maybe I'm just an idealistic old man, but if sharing my story convinces even one person their foes are...people just like them, I'll die happy.

*End of Interview*

Image Attribution: By A. C. Michael - The Guardian/Originally published in The Illustrated London News, January 9, 1915., PD-US