"I am convinced they envied not the man who sat down in comfort to his Christmas dinner at home; they had no wish to change places with those who, in luxury and ease, chose the easiest part in this time of war.

In a few hours they would be in the forefront nearest their country's foe, and that was the place of honour this Christmas Day. Their hearts were warmed as I told them how many were thinking of them and praying for them to-day, but they needed no pity. They were where they would be,--where the bravest and best always want to be,--fronting the enemy who threatened their hearth and home.

"When the last lot went, I prepared for the Holy Communion on the theatre stage, and nearly a hundred came back to receive the Blessed Sacrament--officers, non-commissioned officers, and men kneeling on the muddy floor, remembering, worshipping, receiving into their hearts by faith, the vital power to fight, and, if need be, to suffer and die for the righteous cause. The Cross of Christ seemed to be so real, and its meaning so clear, to men who are really living away from the world's conventionalities, and up against death and the other life.

"On the way back to my billet I found my unit on the road, having orders to move off, and I had to march along with them until dark, when we were all crowded into a farm with outbuildings large enough for our men. We had our goose and plum-pudding at nine P.M., and after a chat round a wood fire, lay down to rest at midnight."

I have ventured to quote Bishop Gwynne's letter _in extenso_ from the _Guardian_, as it tells us so delightfully how one chaplain spent his Christmas Day, and how worthily he earned his Christmas dinner. What an insight it gives us also of the power of religion in our British Expeditionary Force!

The Rev. E.R. Day, M.A. one of the senior Church of England chaplains, has a similar story to tell. He says that on Christmas Day there were no fewer than seven hundred communicants from one regiment and four hundred from another, and the service was held in a ploughed field with a packing-case for the Lord's Table. He adds that during the war he has conducted these Communion services in the back room of a public-house, in a stable, in a loft, in a lean-to shed, and in the open air--anywhere where room could be found.

Another Church of England chaplain, writing to the _Church Times_, describes an attempt he had made to hold "Early Communion" at 6.30 on Christmas morning. He had done his best, with the a.s.sistance of the Army Service Corps, to provide all the accessories of a High Church celebration, candles, &c., but that was a failure--no one came. We are not surprised, for Thomas Atkins, as a rule, does not care for these accessories. He succeeded better, later in the morning, on the straw-littered floor of a soldier's billet. As he quaintly says, "It seemed fitting that as He first came among the straw, He should come to His soldiers to-day as they knelt on the straw."

The Rev. J.D. Coutts, Wesleyan Chaplain with the First Division, describes another service. He says:

"I preached a Christmas sermon, and the men sang as only men can sing when they are having a good time. We went through the whole service in the small red book, the men reciting the responses with enthusiasm.

After the service we held a Communion Service. We took Communion in the Town Hall of an old French town, and it will remain in my memory for a long, long time. Two planks on trestles formed our communion table.... An access of solemnity came upon us, and we knew ourselves to be standing in the presence of G.o.d. Seldom has it been given me to take part in such a service.

"This morning in going out to visit the regiment at dressing stations, I met a regiment returning from the trenches. There were not a hundred and fifty of them. The rest were put out of action in taking some trenches; they won their trenches, but were enfiladed. I thought of our Communion Service, for not one of the men whom I knew did I see."

I might go on recording many of these Communion services, but these will serve as specimens of similar services held throughout the Expeditionary Force. We at home and they abroad were one in this act of commemoration and communion. We at home thought of them and they of us, and said "Amen" to the prayer contained in the communion hymn, part of which I copy from the United Free Church of Scotland _Record_.

Here with hearts that would be calm In the lifting of the psalm.

Hearts that would in quiet prayer Cast on Thee their load of care,-- All our loved ones o'er the sea We remember, Lord, to Thee.

In the trenches, on the field, Lord, be Thou their Strength and Shield-- And for them the Wine outpour, Give them Bread from out Thy store-- Let us feel while here we pray, They are one with us to-day.

The Rev. Owen S. Watkins gives us another picture of Christmas at the front. The 14th Brigade had gone into the trenches, so those who were left sat disconsolately round the fire on Christmas Eve, and one of the number said, "Well, one thing's certain, we shan't hear any carol singers this year," but the words had hardly been spoken, when there came the sound of singing,--"Hark, the herald angels sing," "While shepherds watched their flocks by night," and so on through all the old familiar carols. Some of the musical members of the Ambulance had formed a carol party and proceeded to serenade the General and the others who were in the village. It made them all realise that Christmas was indeed here. Mr. Watkins then proceeds to describe Christmas Day:

"Christmas Day dawned bright and frosty, truly seasonable weather, and welcomed by the troops as far better than the pouring rain. For the chaplains it was a busy day. In the course of the morning Mr.

Winnifrith held two celebrations of Holy Communion, conducted two Parade Services in the Brigade, and performed the last sad rites for three men who had been killed during the night. My work was found in the 13th Brigade, who were resting in the billets we had just vacated, and a good deal of my morning was spent in the effort to keep my horse on his feet, for the roads were like gla.s.s, and my journey occupied twice as long as I had antic.i.p.ated. I had arranged for the service to be held in the village school, but the congregation was far too large for that, and when I arrived I found they had decided to hold the service in the school-yard, which was packed as close as men could stand with a congregation which swayed and made a noise like thunder as they stamped their feet on the stones to keep them warm.

"On my arrival the stamping ceased, and we at once began the service--Scottish Borderers and Yorkshire Light Infantry most of them were--and in spite of the bitter cold, both officers and men joined in the singing with a zest and heartiness which was most inspiring. My address was of necessity brief, but throughout the service there was that influence which it is the preacher's joy to feel.

"In the afternoon I held a service in the schoolroom of the village where our ambulance was billeted. It was attended by men of all denominations who had been unable to attend any of Mr. Winnifrith's services, and was chiefly composed of our own men and gunners belonging to some heavy batteries in the neighbourhood, some of whom had walked a couple of miles to attend the service. Once again I realised the joy of leading G.o.d's people in worship, and felt that, however unusual the surroundings, the true spirit of Christmas was resting upon us.

"In the evening the men feasted, had a singsong, and generally made merry, whilst in the officers' mess we also tried to celebrate Christmas in the old-fashioned way, but soon settled down to the fireside quietly to talk of other days and other scenes, and to think of those who missed us at this festive season."

We have seen how the chaplains spent their Christmas Day. How did the Christian men spend theirs? Perhaps one picture will suffice. Our old friend Sergeant-Major Moore shall draw it for us. On Christmas Eve he was occupied nearly all day giving out Christmas presents to the men.

His regiment had come out of the trenches on the 23rd, and the men were, many of them, in a terrible condition. They had been standing in the water for days and numbers were frost-bitten. But how they appreciated their gifts! It was indeed good to see a cart-load of gifts, all of them sent direct from the homeland to this one Christian sergeant-major for distribution. Christmas Eve was spent in a barn, and as the sergeant-major spoke to the men, at least one soldier gave himself to Christ.

Christmas morning broke fresh and clear, and the staff-sergeant had a splendid menu for the day, provided so far as extras were concerned by friends from the homeland. Breakfast--Tea, sugar, and milk (the last a great luxury), bread, English b.u.t.ter, ham, tinned sausages, and cake.

Dinner--Roast-beef, potatoes and cabbage, plum-pudding. Tea--Tea, sugar, _milk_, bread and b.u.t.ter, ham, honey, sardines, shortbread, Christmas cake, and chocolates afterwards.

Not a bad menu that for men fresh from the trenches! Let it not be supposed, however, that all fared so well. The Rev. A.D. Brown, chaplain with the Indian Cavalry Division, mournfully records: "We spent Christmas Day on the trek. My Christmas dinner consisted of bully beef and bread and b.u.t.ter."

But these men of the King's Own Yorkshire L.I. fared well, and the sergeant-major finishes his characteristic letter by saying: "After tea I had still a few parcels of comforts, chocolates, &c., which you so kindly sent me, and with a few tracts and Christmas letters, I visited the barns to find out those lonely ones who had not received a letter or parcel from the homeland, and before I left for my billet again I had the joy of knowing that, as far as I knew, every lad of the battalion had received a parcel of cheer, and many were the thanks, and 'G.o.d bless you, sir,' that night. Yesterday being Sunday we had three services in barns and a few hymns and prayers in a fourth, there not being time for more. It would cheer many a mother to hear her boy out here singing the old gospel hymn she taught him in his childhood days. Again, on the part of the men, thanking you for your splendid gift. Good-day! 494!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: IN THE TRENCHES.]

It is now time we got nearer the firing line and asked how our soldier lads in the trenches spent their Christmas. It is a strange sight which meets our gaze. I confess that when I first read the stories of that Christmas truce I thought that the reporters were romancing. But there was no romancing after all. Truth is stranger than fiction, and this was truth.

The French do not seem to have observed Christmas Day as did the British. The French _Eye-witness_ records: "On Christmas Day the Germans left their trenches shouting 'a two days' truce.' Their ruse did not succeed. All were shot down." It is evident, however, that on some parts of the field there was fraternisation between even the French and the Germans.

The British soldiers took the law into their own hands, and unofficially themselves proclaimed a truce. In some cases the initiative lay with the Germans, and in others with the British; but in nearly every case, all along the line, the informal truce was accepted, and British and Germans fraternised. The Angels' Song was heard again, this time over the blood-stained trenches, and the bursting of the shrapnel ceased, the whizz of the bullets was heard no more, and, instead, the sound of Christmas carols dominated the firing zone.

The period of this truce varied in different parts of the firing line.

One officer states: "The Germans looked upon Christmas Day as a holiday, and never fired a shot, except a few sh.e.l.ls in the early morning to wish us a happy Christmas, after which there was perfect peace, and we could hear the Germans singing in their trenches. Later on in the afternoon my attention was called to a large group of men standing up half-way between our trenches and the enemy's, on the right of my trench. So I went out with my sergeant-major to investigate, and actually found a large party of Germans and our people hobn.o.bbing together, although an armistice was strictly against our regulations. The men had taken it upon themselves. I went forward and asked in German what it was all about and if they had an officer there, and I was taken up to their officer, who offered me a cigar. I talked for a short time and then both sides returned to the trenches.

It was the strangest sight I have ever seen. The officer and I saluted each other gravely, shook hands, and then went back to shoot at each other. He gave me two cigars, one of which I smoked, and the other I sent home as a souvenir."

Corporal T.B. Watson, Royal Scots (Territorials), says: "We were all standing in the open for about two hours waving to each other and shouting and not one shot was fired from either side. This took place in the forenoon. After dinner we were firing and dodging as hard as ever: one could hardly believe that such a thing had taken place."

Private J. Higham, of the Stalybridge Territorials, tells of a truce that lasted throughout Christmas Day.

"On Christmas Day the Germans never fired a shot, and we were walking about the trenches. In the afternoon about three o'clock the ----, who were on our right, started whistling and shouting to the Germans whose trenches were only four hundred yards away. They asked them to come down.... After about ten minutes two Germans ventured out, and the ---- went to meet them. When they met they shook hands with each other, and then other Germans came, and so we went up to them.... I was a bit timid at first, but me and a lad called Starling went up and I shook hands with about sixteen Germans. They gave us cigars and cigarettes and toffee, and they told us they didn't want to fight but they had to.... We were with them about an hour, and everybody was bursting laughing at this incident, and the officers couldn't make head or tail of it. The Germans then went back to their trenches, and we went back to ours, and there was not a single shot fired that day."

"Elsewhere," says a subaltern writing to the Press a.s.sociation, "I hear our fellows played the Germans at football on Christmas Day. Our own pet enemies remarked that they would like a game, but as the ground in our part is all root crops, and much cut up by ditches, and as, moreover, we had not got a football, we had to call it off."

One incident recorded by the _Manchester Guardian_ from the letter of an officer is surely the strangest of all--the story of a friendly haircut.

"At eleven P.M.," says the officer, "on December 24, there was absolute peace, bar a little sniping and a few rounds from a machine gun, and then no more. 'The King,' was sung, then you heard 'To-morrow is Christmas; if you don't fight, we won't,' and the answer came back 'All right!' One officer met a Bavarian, smoked a cigarette, and had a talk with him about half-way between the lines. Then a few men fraternised in the same way, and really to-day peace has existed. Men have been talking together, and they had a football match with a bully beef tin, and one man went over and cut a German's hair."

I might multiply these extracts indefinitely, but sufficient has been said to show the spirit in which our lads and the Germans spent Christmas Day. I do not wonder that one soldier, after saying that some German officers took the photographs of our men between the trenches, adds, "I would not have missed the experience of yesterday for the most gorgeous Christmas dinner in England."

If the strangest incident of that strange Christmas Day was the cutting of a German soldier's hair by one of our lads, surely the strangest service was that conducted by the Rev. J. Esslemont Adams, Chaplain of the United Free Church of Scotland, of whom I have already had occasion to write.

I piece the story together from various reports that have been sent to Scotland, and then add Mr. Adams' own brief comments. He is attached to the Gordon Highlanders, and on Christmas morning visited the trenches to wish his men a happy Christmas. The Gordons had recently relieved the Scottish Borderers, and there were several dead bodies of the Borderers lying midway between the British and German trenches, the result of the last charge. Only about a hundred yards separated the trenches.

On Christmas morning some of the Germans astonished the Gordons by appearing on the top of their trenches, but the Gordons did not fire on them, and instead an officer went out to suggest that, as they had a "Padre" with them, and there were also several German dead, they should have a truce for a burial service. It was arranged, and the Germans lined up on one side of the chaplain and the Gordons on the other. The service began with the hymn "The Lord is my Shepherd," and then the "Padre" prayed. After the burial of the dead, of whom there were about a hundred, Mr. Adams gave an address, which was interpreted sentence by sentence by an interpreter sent forward by a German officer.

The service over, the German officer shook hands with Mr. Adams and offered him a cigar. Mr. Adams begged leave not to smoke it, but to keep it as a souvenir of that unique occasion. The officer consented, but said he should like some little memento in return. Hardly knowing what to give, Mr. Adams took off his cap and gave the officer the Soldier's Prayer he had carried in its lining since the war began. The German officer read it, put it in the lining of his helmet, saying, "I value this because I believe what it says, and when the war is over I shall take it out and give it as a keepsake to my youngest child."

Then the men gathered together, exchanged keepsakes, and spent their Christmas in perfect unity. Not a shot was fired that day, nor on the next. It seemed as though each side was reluctant to fire again, after the sacred service of Christmas morning.

During a brief visit home Mr. Adams occupied the pulpit of his own church--the West U.F. Church, Aberdeen. In the course of a sermon full of interest he referred to his strange service on the battle-field.

The Aberdeen _Daily Journal_ thus reports what he said:

"There had been some weird stories told about Christmas Day. He was not going to deny these stories. He was not even going to deny the cigar incident, but was going to show the cigar. Christmas Day made him understand something of the size of G.o.d. The day ended for him with the vision of a great German regiment standing behind their commanding officer bareheaded, and not so far distant as one gallery from the other of that church, British officers with their soldiers bareheaded, and between them a man reading the Twenty-third Psalm. In the name of the One Christ, these two foes, the most awful the world had ever seen, held Christmas. It was the fear of G.o.d--the need of G.o.d--that did it all."

I have told the story in the simplest language, without any attempt to give it colouring, because it seems to me it speaks for itself. It tells that deep down beneath the uniform, beneath all that makes man true Briton or true German, there is the bond of brotherhood. They were Scotchmen, these Gordons, and I wonder if they thought of the lines of their Scottish poet:

Man to man the warld o'er, Shall brithers be for a' that.

Is it not a grim tragedy that men who can thus fraternise on Christmas Day should a few hours after be sending each other to their death? We look forward to the day, and pray G.o.d it may not be far distant, when war shall cease.

Here at home and there on the battle-field, Christian men unite in the prayer:

Not on this land alone, But be G.o.d's mercies known From sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e: And may the nations see That men should brothers be, And form one family The wide world o'er.