We are in the midst of the Christmas truce. Riley-Adams has paper to spare and I took a piece from him to write you. There has been little time for writing. The fighting is fierce. The machine guns chatter constantly. When we are called to make another charge at Fritz, men of the peerage, pistols drawn, stand in the trenches to encourage us to make a charge into withering machine gun fire.

We lost Wigby-George, Todd Blackside, Morris Cook, Himy Tilton, and Bobby Mannheim in the week before the truce. They were boys in my form at school. We've lost more, but the others were new men I didn't know. There doesn't seem to be any shortage of men. Each time the whistle blows to prepare us for the next charge, faces I haven't seen before are all up and down the line. The last few charges, Sergeant Marcus-Scot has been going beside me. I think I'm the only one of his original group that's left. The Sergeant is brave and he courageously goes over the top. It gives me the courage to go with him.

They keep coming to fill our trenches. We keep charging. Fritz keeps firing those deadly machine guns that are rarely quiet for long. Fear seems like wasted energy, and so I do my best not to think about what we are told to do.

As I sit here contemplating home, the good cheer of relatives, plumb pudding, and the Christmas bird, and the motherhood and brotherhood that goes with it, a most extraordinary event has taken place. No one can say how it happened, or who started it, but it got started, and then we all came out of our trenches unarmed, once the truce was on. Fritz, Englishmen, Frenchmen, meeting in no man's land.

Someone said, 'Hey, English, what is on for Christmas dinner?'

There were shouts back and forth as some of the German's spoke English. As I can't understand no German, I relied on Wedgewick to tell me what was being said in that language. The German men came up out of their trenches, leaving their rifles behind. We mingled together in no man's land unarmed. I imagine a hundred or more men died in no man's land on our one charge yesterday before the truce took hold. In the early hours of Christmas morning, the bodies were collected.

I stood above our trench, hesitating to move forward, because you can't trust Fritz. I feared it was a trick and those machine guns would start up any minute, but it wasn't so. Fritz was as exposed as we were. He wasn't playing a trick. As I moved forward, I was met by a smiling Hun in a German uniform, he said, "Frederic," pointing at himself. I said, "Lenny," pointing at myself. He held out a piece of the most delicious cheese I couldn't help but take. I held out my hands to indicate I had nothing to give him, but he smiled and indicated that was okay. He was polite and as happy as I to not be fighting. As I said, I have no understanding of this, but it did become a day of brotherhood. We were all men away from home at Christmas. We made the best of the day by sharing.


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I did go back to the trench to fetch the tin of cookies you sent. They were a hit and brought a smile to the Germans' faces. I found Frederic. I held out the tin and he took a pecan cookie and said, "Das gut." I held out the tin for him to take another one. He took your chocolate chip, smiling his big smile. He said, "Das gut."

His face reflected amazement, Mum.

They gave me German sausage. The taste is different from knockers, but different in a good way. A very bold taste and flavor that felt good in my belly. They had a most delicious drink they brought out as the day grew later. They passed the bottles around as we sat and ate wonderful treats. It felt like Christmas.

Hearing laughter, hearing casual conversations, much of which I didn't understand, seemed wrong. Something made me feel out of kilter. I could not say what it was. I felt it without being able to identify what it meant. I thought about my dead mates. Perhaps that's it. They were not here to see that the Krauts aren't much different than we are. It made me sad that they weren't here.

These exchanges kept up all day today. We sat beside their trench laughing, singing, and drinking. We've been charging their trench all week, and here we sit beside it. It is confusing. I had thought that tomorrow, we'll be charging this trench again. How can this be? I shouldn't think Regimental likes it a little bit, but they are far away from the trenches, from the killing, from the dying, aren't they? Today? We have nothing more dangerous than words to fire at each other at the moment.

What surprises me most is German's do not have two heads. Their teeth are not dripping with blood. They are strangely ordinary men. Men like us, Men who are enjoying a day off from the war. We are not so different, Fritz and my mates. If they weren't in the German trench, I might think them any of our allies who speak different languages. Many speak English, but even when they don't speak English, and I don't speak German, we make ourselves understood. It makes me feel good when that happens. There is something about working together to be understood that excites me.

You can't imagine the sound the allies and the German's make singing Christmas Carols. We made merry as we exchanged tins with meats, tins of fish, and cheeses, and different cookies and cakes. There was something that translates to butter cookies. I have the recipe for them that I plan to bring home with me. I can't remember what word they used, but it roughly translated to butter cookie. They are thin and hardly make an impression on my stomach, but they are the best cookies I think I've had, and you know how I love the cookies you bake. Maybe we'll be able to eat German cookies and laugh together next year.

Some things I ate without knowing what it was, but it was all delicious, not that anything wouldn't be delicious after a few months in these trenches and cold food that's impossible to identify. As I was made sleepy from too much of the spicy drinks we drank, I heard some yelling and a disturbance. I wondered if there had been a disagreement. It was still Christmas day, but it turned out they were playing football in no man's land. Over the ground covered in bodies the day before, we played football. I forgot there was football. When you live in a trench, you forget there is civilization somewhere, and we are here fighting for ours.

I got in on the game and Fritz laughed and kicked the ball, and we laughed and kicked it back, and we all dashed for the goals we created next to the wire. It was like being down at the pitch at home. On Christmas afternoon the boys all gathered to play football and work off some of the food we ate. It reminded me there is a home and one day I should be back there with you Mum.

I image we don't have much time left to be friendly with our enemies. We are killing each other. Men I'm eating and drinking with have killed men like Shamus McNab and Timmy Nelson, and yet I do not hate anyone nor do I want to kill them any longer, but I will kill them tomorrow, and these same men will try to kill me, once the whistles blow in the morning. We'll go over the top into the same no man's land where we play football together today.

I don't know the score. I don't even care. The sound of men laughing is so foreign to my ears. I haven't heard laughter like this in too long. I don't know the time, but this truce will end too soon.

When it was too dark to play football last night, I went into the German's trench and we sang and drank. I learned the words to Oh Tannenbaum and I'll teach you when I get home. Tannenbaum is a German Christmas Tree. I taught them to sing Jingle Bells. They love it and they just might take that song home to their mothers to sing next Christmas.

I've been given much to think about. I've come to think, it was never my idea to come here to kill German's. Now, more than ever, I wonder what I'm doing here. Why are we killing each other? We can sing and share food and be reasonable with each other, but this wonderful Christmas spirit has not been shared by everyone. I doubt the high command is drinking with German's today.

Word came down that we are not to fraternize with the enemy. Sargeant Marcus-Scot told me the colonel was beside himself with worry, when he saw what we were doing. He laughed when he told me we'd been ordered to return to our trenches yesterday afternoon. I'm glad I stayed where I was. The sergeants did not give us that order. It was the best day any of us had since we arrived here.

Many of us will die today, and no sergeant was going to rob us of a few pleasant moments last night. I'm told they had orders to get us under control. They laughed at the notion. We found our way back to our trenches, after we said goodbye to Fritz. I was sad crossing no man's land to come back. Now, I wait for the whistles to start blowing. Sargeant Marcs-Scot has come to go over the top with me. He's a comfort. I'd rather not go. The idea that this is my duty no longer means anything to me, but if my going can end this slaughter, I'll go over, Mum.

To be continued. Lenny.

* * * * * * * * * *

After the first whistle blew the day after the truce ended.

I do beg your pardon. I was beside Lenny when he was hit this morning. I saw him writing this letter this morning. Being Lenny's friend, I wanted to make sure his letter was posted. I liked Lenny. He was okay. He died a brave death. I wanted his people to know, he died a brave death. He died for George V and England.

Sargeant Marcus-Scot

* * * * * * * * * *

Regimental Headquarters

While letters are posted daily as they come to the regimental headquarters, some are kicked out for inspection. Lenny's letter to his mother was one of these, kicked out for content not approved.

The aid of General Wadsworth was greatly troubled by a dilemma that faced him.

"General, I have a letter from Corporal Leonard Morgan. He was killed in action two days ago. The content of his letter to his mother isn't approved, but he's among our sacred dead, and he wrote this to his mom on Christmas. He tells her about the truce. He mentions fraternizing with the enemy, but how can I not approve his final communication to his family?"

General Wadsworth held out his impatient hand. His aid delivered the communication to him.

The General looked at the three pages, marking a long black line across the first two pages and most of the third page, holding it out for the aid to collect.

"Rewrite Sargeant Marcus-Scot's note as a stand alone message. His sentiments are proper and within military regulations. Delete his reference to Lenny Morgan's letter. I won't have the debacle our troops participated in on Christmas day being made public," the general blustered. "Should the public become aware of the fiasco that took place during the Christmas truce, they'd want to know why the hell we're fighting Fritz. While you are at it, take a message to Command Headquarters."

"From General Wadsworth, concerning Christmas truce. It is my considered opinion that if there are further truces to come, we withdraw troops who have been fighting in the trenches to a rear area. If we need security to avoid infiltration of our lines, send soldiers who have not been on the line. In this way we will negate any recurrence of the unacceptable conduct of our troops that took place on Christmas of this year."

General H R Wadsworth.

Burn the letter from Lenny Morgan once you're done. No mention of the Christmas truce is to leave this headquarters. Do I make myself understood?"

"Yes, Sir. Very good, Sir."

* * * * * * * * * *

Regimental Headquarters Post Office

The general's aid approved and then posted the letter from Corporal Lenny Morgan to his Mom with black marks on it later that day. Words about Lenny's last day needed to get out in spite of the general staff's desire to hide the events that took place on Christmas day, 1914.

The aid could not, and would not, burn the final communication between a son and his mother.