Small wonder that he may well be pilloried for this, his take on Memorial Day.
OH MY NAME IS FRANCIS TOLLIVER,
I COME FROM LIVERPOOL
T'WAS 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 LYING 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 SINGING BLOODY WELL YOU 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 GENTLEMAN, STRUCK UP SOME LADS FROM KENT,
OH THE NEXT THEY SANG WAS SILENT NIGHT TIS SILENT NIGHT SAYS I,
AND IN TWO TONGUE'S ONE SONG FILLED UP THAT SKY.
THERES SOMEONE COMING TOWARDS US NOW THE FRONTLINE SENTRY CRIED
ALL SIGHTS WERE FIXED ON ONE LONE SOLDIER TRUDGING FROM THEIR SIDE,
HIS TRUCE FLAG LIKE A CHRISTMAS STAR SHONE ON THE PLANE SO BRIGHT
AS HE BRAVELY TRUDGED UNARMED INTO THE NIGHT
THEN ONE BY ONE ON EITHER SIDE WALKED INTO NO MANS LAND,
WITH NEITHER GUN NOR BAYONET, WE MET THEIR 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, CIGARETTES, AND PHOTOGRAPHS FROM HOME,
THESE SONS AND FATHERS FAR AWAY FROM FAMILIES OF THERE 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
WITH SAD FAREWELLS WE EACH BEGAN TO SETTLE BACK TO WAR
BUT THE QUESTION HAUNTED EVERY HEART THAT LIVED THAT WONDROUS NIGHT
WHOSE FAMILY HAVE I FIXED WITHIN MY SITE
T'WAS CHRISTMAS IN THE TRENCHES AND THE FROST SO BITTER HUNG
THE FROZEN FIELDS OF FRANCE WERE WARM AS SONGS OF PEACE WERE SUNG
FOR THE WALLS THEYD KEPT BETWEEN US TO EXACT THE WORK OF WAR
WERE CRUMBLED AND WERE GONE FOR EVERMORE
OH MY NAME IS FRANCIS TOLLIVER IN LIVERPOOL I DWELL
EACH CHRISTMAS COME SINCE WORLD WAR ONE, I'VE LEARNED ITS LESSONS WELL
FOR THE ONES WHO CALL THE SHOTS WON'T BE AMONG THE DEAD AND LAME
AND ON EACH END OF THE RIFLE, WERE THE SAME
He won't be pilloried by me -- an excellent essay on the saddest part of war.
Hitchens is a master of the studiously absurd.
Peckian and puckish, he charms even those he torments.