The Christmas Truce of 1914--Last Gasp of Christianity in Europe

Hellfire Corner--The Great War-1914-1918 ^ | 1914-2002 | Soldiers in the Trenches

[LaBelleDameSansMerci]

What if? What if? What if?

requiescant in pace

[Tauzero]

"One of them said, 'We don't want to kill you and you don't want to kill us, so why shoot?'"

Because humans are mostly herding animals without courage of conviction.

Great, and poignant piece, LBDSM.

( Hmmm... interesting acronym there...)

[JohnGalt]

In the Summer of 1996 I toured Hellfire Corner and Hill 60 along the Ypres Salient, after having read the story of the Soccer Match in Lyn Macdonald's 1915. Truly, the experience is the most moving of the several historical treks I have made.

[LaBelleDameSansMerci]

""What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how expressive and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world!"

Can you imagine such a thing being written today? I don't think we really comprehend--or even care anymore--how much of ourselves we lost in the trenches of WWI.

At least the soldiers seemed reluctant to let go of whatever it was. But--as you point out--let go they did.

[Illbay]

Us Germans ... hooted and whistled every time they caught an impudent glimpse of one posterior belonging to one of "yesterday's enemies."

They meant to do that.

[LaBelleDameSansMerci]

"...Truly, the experience is the most moving of the several historical treks I have made....

It is--forgive me for this cliche--a transcendent experience, isn't it?

[Arthur McGowan]

And who was it who convinced millions of Americans that they were fighting "the Hun" who was raping and murdering Belgians, etc., etc.? Woodrow Wilson, Democrat, adulterer, Messiah.

[Lurker]

Your posts are always worth a read.

Thanks,

L

[LaBelleDameSansMerci]

Yes. Dear old Mr. Wilson--whose shabby ghost looms over every aspect of our foreign policy.

Except that now we're not only making the world safe for democracy--we're making it safe for wonderbras too....

[LaBelleDameSansMerci]

I was hoping you'd catch sight of this one.

[Romulus]

The Green Fields of France

- by Eric Bogle

Well, how do you do Private William McBride?
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside?
And rest for awhile 'neath the warm summer sun
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done

And I see by your gravestone, you're only nineteen
When you joined the Glorious Fallen in nineteen sixteen
Well I hope you died quickly, I hope you died clean
Or poor Willy Mcbride, was it slow and obscene?

Chorus:
Did they beat the drums slowly?
Did they play the pipes lowly?
Did the bugles carry you over as they lowered you down?
And did the band play 'The Last Post' in chorus?
Did the pipes play 'The Flowers Of The Forest'?

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind?
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined?
And though you died back in nineteen-sixteen
In that faithful heart are you always nineteen?

Or are you a stranger without a name?
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane
In an old photograph, torn and tattered, and stained.
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame?

(Chorus)

Well the sun's shining down on these green fields of France
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance
The trenches have vanished long under the plow
There's no gas, no barb wire, there's no guns firing now

But here in this graveyard it's still no-man's land
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man;
To a whole generation that was butchered and damned

(Chorus)

And I can't help but wonder young Willy McBride
Do those that lie here really know why they died?
And did they really believe when they told them the cause?
Did they really believe that this war would end wars?

Well the suffering, and the sorrow, the glory, the pain
The killing and dying they were all done in vain
For young Willy McBride it's all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again...

[B-Chan]

God, what a tragedy, this suicide of the West; eight decades of war, genocide, and oppression its legacy. May Christ forgive us.

[Doctor Doom]

Thank you for posting this. You've made my day, even if I am now pierced with a sense of sorrow at what is no more.

[LaBelleDameSansMerci]

"...Maybe you are making it safe for the mafia?..."

Mission creep.....

[LaBelleDameSansMerci]

"... Well the suffering, and the sorrow, the glory, the pain
The killing and dying they were all done in vain
For young Willy McBride it's all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again..."

Can there be such a thing as too much truth?

[LaBelleDameSansMerci]

"Naming of Parts," Henry Reed (1914 - )

Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And tomorrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But today
Today, we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And to day we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silence, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.

This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards
For today we have naming of parts.

[JohnGalt]

My Great Uncle, whom I never had the pleasure of meeting, fought in the American Army Air Corps over Paschendale, perhaps that what drew me there. I was drawn particularly to Hill 60 (60 meters above sea level, hence the clever name), where 100,000 casualties were sustained over a few acres of land.

The Last on Hill 60 of the Western Front, Ypres, Belgium
--[JohnGalt] July 17, 1996

It’s not the sound of long knives I hear
But rather the sound of boys and their fear
For in Ypres these boys run in the wind
No metals for their chests need to be pinned
In Belgium, Ypres, Flanders Field I run
Where half-a-million gave it all for one

On a cratered hill, I erected my tent
And prayed for the moms and the boys they sent
I prayed for the Gurkahs and even the French
Who came to this land to die in a trench
I toasted souls, Germans and English, my age
I drank cool water and dusted the page:

You say it is the good cause that hallows even war?
I say unto you: it is the good war that hallows any cause
Not your pity but your courage has saved the unfortunate.
--Friedrich Nietzsche

In college I studied your sad history
I learned of your fates and your misery
From all corners of the world you sailed
And on the barbed wire fences you flailed
No help from Jesus or Mary his mother
If only you’d listen, we’re all brothers.

…And so it came to pass
The Germans unleashed a yellow gas
So the Aussies tunneled underneath
And blew a hole under the Bosche feet
In return the Germans pulled a gun to shoot fire
And challenged the British desire.

And I say to you sir
“I see you gave your life in 1916
In this hallowed land of heroes and kings
What did you dream my brothers, my fathers
In this time before electric guitars?”

In the passing wind I hear this song
Whispers of Mozart, Wagner were strong
And then the wind swirled dances of Monet’s art
Even Dickens appeared to play a part
I laughed at the display of cultures
Chasing away Death’s lurking vultures

In return, I offered ‘Atlas’, guitars and Kesey
The wind laughed, “Chopin, Milton, and Nietzsche”
The swirling gusts picked me up off my feet
Half a million souls parading the streets

“They labeled you lost, you boys of the mud;
Though the only thing lost is your blood.
Do the players mention the glory you found?
You the Lasting, firing the last round
Rather they’d send you to die in the streets
Decked in their suits, whilst you shuffle your feet.

“So burn the silk ties
Every last one"
Say those who died by the machine-gun
No heroes, no villains nor rock n’ roll kings
Just the paintings, the poetry and guitar strings.”
The boys of Hill 60 still rolling along
As dawn broke to end the song
“Thank you” I offered at the end of the flight
And the boys whispered, “Aim low; travel light.”

[LN2Campy]

The more we look at the present state of the world, and all the things that are amiss, the trail too often leads back to 1914. Few people appreciate this, but your threads serve as excellent reminders.