One of the more remarkable Christmas stories in recorded history came from the heart of one of our most horrific wars. 

In 1914 the world was engaged in what was then called The Great War, known today as World War I. This awful conflict was rooted in trench warfare, where soldiers dug miles of deep ditches within shooting distance of the enemy to offer some measure of protection in what would have otherwise been essentially open ground. 

This fighting strategy often put soldiers close enough that hearing the activity of the enemy was nothing unusual. 

On or around Christmas eve of 1914, British and German soldiers began hearing the other side singing Christmas carols in their native tongue. The first sign that something unusual was afoot was around 8:30 on Christmas eve, when a British officer reported: “Germans have illuminated their trenches, are singing songs and wishing us a Happy Xmas. Compliments are being exchanged but am nevertheless taking all military precautions.”

German soldiers arose in clear sight of their British enemies, and began singing “Stille Nacht” (Silent Night) across the lines, to which the Brits responded in kind with “The First Noel.” Suddenly, scouts from both sides emerged and walked carefully through “No Man’s Land,” the deadly space between the lines, toward each other. 

The war diary of the Scots Guards records that a certain Private Murker “…met a German Patrol and was given a glass of whisky and some cigars, and a message was sent back saying that if we didn’t fire at them, they would not fire at us.”

Word spread quickly, and all down the line similar agreements were made. For another British soldier, Private Frederick Heath, the truce began late that same night when “all down our line of trenches there came to our ears a greeting unique in war: ‘English soldier, English soldier, a merry Christmas, a merry Christmas!’” 

Heath wrote home:

They said, ‘Come out, English soldier; come out here to us.’ For some little time we were cautious, and did not even answer. Officers, fearing treachery, ordered the men to be silent. But up and down our line one heard the men answering that Christmas greeting from the enemy. How could we resist wishing each other a Merry Christmas, even though we might be at each other’s throats immediately afterwards? So we kept up a running conversation with the Germans, all the while our hands ready on our rifles. Blood and peace, enmity and fraternity—war’s most amazing paradox. The night wore on to dawn—a night made easier by songs from the German trenches, the pipings of piccolos, and from our broad lines laughter and Christmas carols. Not a shot was fired.’

The same basic understanding seems to have sprung up spontaneously at other spots. For another British soldier, Private Frederick Heath, the truce began late that same night when “all down our line of trenches there came to our ears a greeting unique in war: ‘English soldier, English soldier, a merry Christmas, a merry Christmas!’” 

Heath wrote that the voices added:

…‘Come out, English soldier; come out here to us.’ For some little time we were cautious, and did not even answer. Officers, fearing treachery, ordered the men to be silent. But up and down our line one heard the men answering that Christmas greeting from the enemy. How could we resist wishing each other a Merry Christmas, even though we might be at each other’s throats immediately afterwards? So we kept up a running conversation with the Germans, all the while our hands ready on our rifles. Blood and peace, enmity and fraternity—war’s most amazing paradox. The night wore on to dawn—a night made easier by songs from the German trenches, the pipings of piccolos and from our broad lines laughter and Christmas carols. Not a shot was fired.’

“We are Saxons, you are Anglo-Saxons,” one shouted across no man’s land. “What is there for us to fight about?” The most detailed estimate, made by Malcolm Brown of Britain’s Imperial War Museums, is that the truce extended along at least two-thirds of British-held trench line that scarred southern Belgium.

It was noticed at dawn the Germans had placed small Christmas trees along parapets of their trenches. Then slowly, parties of men from both sides began to venture toward the barbed wire that separated them, until, Rifleman Oswald Tilley wrote in a letter home: “literally hundreds of each side were out in no man’s land shaking hands.”

Communication was daunting. German-speaking British troops were scarce, but many Germans had worked in Britain before the war, frequently in restaurants. Captain Clifton Stockwell, an officer with the Royal Welch Fusiliers who found himself occupying a trench opposite the ruins of a heavily shelled brewery, wrote in his diary of “one Saxon, who spoke excellent English” and who “used to climb in some eyrie in the brewery and spend his time asking ‘How is London getting on?’, ‘How is Gertie Millar and the Gaiety?’, and so on. Lots of our men had blind shots at him in the dark, at which he laughed. One night I came out and called, ‘Who the hell are you?’ At once came back the answer, ‘Ah—the officer — I expect I know you — I used to be head waiter at the Great Central Hotel!”

Far more shared was an interest in “football” (soccer) which by then had been played professionally in Britain for a quarter-century and in Germany since the 1890s. Perhaps it was inevitable that some men on both sides would produce a ball, and, as freed briefly from the confines of the trenches, take pleasure in kicking it about. 

What followed, though, was something more than that, for if the story of the Christmas Truce has its jewel, it is the legend of the game played between the British and the Germans — which the Germans claimed to have won, 3-2.

As dusk approached, the thunder of distant shelling interrupted the temporary respite. War was still very much a reality. 

So, through smiles and tears, the enemies shook hands, hugged, and even exchanged gifts. George Eade, of the Rifles, had become friends with a German artilleryman who spoke good English, and as he left, his new acquaintance hugged him and said: “Today we have peace. Tomorrow, you fight for your country, I fight for mine. Good luck.”

The next day, in the trenches occupied by the Royal Welch Fusiliers, Captain Stockwell “climbed up on the parapet, fired three shots in the air and put up a flag with ‘Merry Christmas’ on it.” Our opposite, Hauptmann von Sinner, appeared on the German parapet and we  bowed and saluted. Von Sinner then also fired two shots in the air and went back into his trench.”

Though the fighting continued for four more brutal years, no soldier involved in the Christmas Truce of 1914 would ever forget the lone day, when in the midst of World War, there truly was “peace on earth, and goodwill toward men.”