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The Christmas Truce
It is Christmas morning, 1914, and a mist is slowly lifting across the gutted hinterland. A young soldier peers over the trench to observe the enemy. Through his periscope he sees a red robin caught in the barbed wire, its wing flapping uselessly at its side as it tries to escape. Tentatively he climbs into no-man’s land and moves towards it, taking the robin between his hands and stroking its wounded wing. There is no gunfire; only silence. As he turns to go, he hears an unfamiliar tongue. He stops and waits. A figure climbs over the enemy trench and comes towards him, holding out his hand. Soon he is joined by others, from both sides. Gifts are exchanged, food and bottled beer shared. Hymns are sung, the dead buried. The trenches are empty and the men stand cheerfully around fires. Someone brings out a football and a game begins, disorganised at first, nothing more than a bit of fun. But then good players are found, a whistle is blown, and the famous match of December 25th, 1914, kicks off.  The significance of singing with or playing against a demonised enemy could not be underestimated. During the Christmas Truce of 1914 the propaganda of the baby-eating hun and imperialist Tommy lost meaning. The ordinary British soldier saw he had more in common with his German equivalent than the politicians who’d sent him to die in these stinking, horrid conditions. Playing football encapsulated this. It was essentially a working-class sport. The so-called enemy shared a passion for the game, unlike the cricket-playing, fine-wine drinking generals far enough away to be able to escape across the Channel and back to their Surrey mansions if it all turned bad. | | Read the full story of how football inspired peace. Only £5 plus p&p. Profits to Sport Relief. |
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