Christmas in the Trenches (an original fiction and tribute)

Christmas in the Trenches (an original work of fiction based on a true story) by Jonathan Caleb Williams @badseedalchemist

ZWOOSHHH-THUUDDD!!!

ZWOO--OO-OOOSHH- THUDD-THUDDD-THUDDD POOOWW!!! Filling Frances Tolliver's ears, was the sound of screaming bullets coming to rest amid the grimaced howls of pain, deep in the soil-- hot and angry in their rapid succession.

"Eingehend!!! RUNTER!!!!!" cried a German grunt as he and his squad put their bellies against the dirt, so hard they flossed their teeth with the icy shavings of the frozen mud. The violent sound of the mortar shell's metal body as it erupted was deafening, as the taste of frozen mud and blood from their gums began to register in the soldier's minds. The iron-like taste was chased only by the high pitched ringing in their ears. "Die Todesglocke," The death bell, some called it, but Frances Tolliver thought this name was asinine. Frances was from Liverpool, Great Britain, and his father's beatings through his childhood had rooted in him a dark sarcasm that bode well for him in the war.

"Dem' German lads been hearin' dot death bell all day!" one of Frances' mates had said, two days prior while their ears still rang.

"Why da fook' wood 'day call it a bluddy death bell? Stoopid bastards. If ya hear the bloody thing ringin', ya bloody ain't DEAD!" Frances replied as the surrounding group of killers roared with laughter.

Humor was a necessity amidst the hellish cries of terrified men as they choked on their own blood, most of them far too young and not ready to die. It was a thin laughter, though. Barely masking the broken hearts of those unsure if they would ever see their families or the girls that they loved, again, in this life.

The war was glorified back home. Soldiers were celebrated as heroes, but Frances knew the truth of what the war truly was: War, was all the worst parts of humanity, poured out unsparingly upon those of little wealth.

He had listened to the gurgles of men dying as they struggled to breath their last breaths. He would never forget the look of dread in their eyes. A sort of pleading, knowing that they could not be helped, but still containing a faint glimmer of hope, only to see them turn an empty, dull gray; snuffed out with such finality, it was soul-jarring. Men that he had laughed with, cried with, shared pictures with. They had watched one another write letters to their fiances at home, and shared their sorrows together for the loss of their friends.

The fear of death put the belief of God in some men, and in others a complete loss of faith. Countless corpses of men flashed through his mind, as Frances stood back with the frozen mud in his teeth to man his post. Each one of their faces bringing his memories of their stories. Each one of them died with love in their hearts and families back home.

He could still feel his best friend, Thomas Burrough, breathing his last breath as he held him in his arms. The same terror in his eyes as all the rest, no different from them, but he meant more to Frances. They had grown up together and ended up in the same battalion, fighting together, they had each other's back from day one. He couldn't speak aloud as he died, but his eyes communicated, burning Frances' soul like a hot brand.

"Please, tell Emma how much I love her, take care of my mother, and pray for my soul," Thomas's eyes had screamed as his lips quivered and his jaw tried to speak through the darkened flow of his internal bleeding.

"NO!!!" Frances had screamed, angrily at his best friend, as if he had abandoned him, "You CAN'T!! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME!!" Frances had guilt from his anger at the last moments of his friends life.

As tears filled his rageful eyes, he squeezed the trigger of the light machine gun at his post, spraying the opposite side of No Man's Land with the hot lead of his pain. "DIE YOU FUKIN' FAIRY BASTARDS!!!"

Frances was a gunner, and a good one, but now, through his hot tears, he could not even see what he was firing at. He knew only that his hatred was directed at the other side, as he heard more cries of anguish behind him. His ears still rang, and he never slept.

His troup fought through the day, and took turns at his post during the night. The crisp snow biting like pirahnnas on their cold fingertips and their eyelashes covered with frost from their steamy breath.

As one of his mates relieved him of the gun that night, Frances, finally slept. Not only did he sleep, but he dreamt. The same dream over and over, was more a memory than a dream. It was a memory, of falling in love, with Mary Thomlin, in the cold Christmas air last winter. He could see her smile, and feel her warmth on his skin as she lay next to him in a pile of hay within a barn that they had taken shelter in, to have privacy. She loved him deeply, as he loved her. Her tender kiss showered him as he slept, and as he awoke he was still longing for her.

What awoke Frances, was a peculiar sound. The strange sound of singing, in German, he thought. Could it be? The old melody of Silent Night, rang true from the other side of the field. He snapped up, as the sound of Christmas erased the painful screams of death that were, otherwise, flooding his mind.

The high pitched voice of a German boy, took the attention of the entire battlefield, His voice was shrill, but simultaneously sweet as it echoed out across the snow covered No man's land.

What happened next, would not be forgotten by any that survived the war. It is a reminder of hope, that rings as true as that little German boy's voice across the field of the dead. This moment is a monument in human history, showing the love that mankind has within each of our hearts, even amid the corpses laying in the field of war.

The following lyrics are a ballad from John McCutcheon's, Winter Solstice, titled, Christmas in the Trenches. A fictional story of a British soldier named, Frances Tolliver, but is based on a the true story of a historical occurence during the Great War. The above story is my own work of fiction based on the famous song.

The lyrics of, Christmas in the Trenches, are as follows:

"...My name is Francis Tolliver, 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 toward us!" the front line sentry cried
All sights were fixed on one long figure trudging from their side
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shown 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 we 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 wonderous 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 Tolliver, 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..."

-Original Story by Jonathan Caleb Williams @badseedalchemist (based on 'Christmas in the Trenches by John McClutcheon)

-Song lyrics from Christmas in the Trenches by John McClutcheon.

image found at off-guardian.org