Christmas day 1914

Raphael Ibrahim 24th March 2004

English Coursework

Creative Writing

It is a day that will live in my memory until the day I die. Amongst the rotting bodies and deadly war the good side of human nature was allowed to survive. Many people dismiss this day as a myth and a lie. But I was there, and I can tell you what happened…

Christmas day 1914

“C’mon, out of bed men it’s Christmas!” I wiped my eyes and yawn, the stench of decaying bodies present even this far away from ‘no mans land’. I stretch out to look at the entrance of our trench; the solider throws some mail on my bed and walks off. The living quarters we slept in, were different to the rat-infested, waterlogged trenches on the front line. A typical living trench would have two bunk beds so it could house four men. I get up, brush my teeth in the less than sanitary conditions and change into my light fatigues. I look in the mirror, a tired, worn out brown haired, hazel-eyed man looks back at me. I think of my family back home, my wife and children, my mother and father, I force myself not to think of them it always makes me unhappy, but today was not the day for that. The quarters were inconvenient and on a normal day this would have depressed me enough to make me negative through out the day, but today was Christmas and spirits were high. Should I write a letter to them? Get things of my chest? I cant, the Colonel, censors all the mail that goes in and out of here to make things look better then they are. I want to go home more then ever, the only reason I signed up is because those damned women are shaming men who don’t. Calling me a coward are you? Here go and take a gun, watch all your friends die and fight for your life and see how truly happy it is to be here- not a whole lot, I’ll give you that for free. As I walk out into the open trenches I notice a small group playing cards over to the left, spontaneously shouting ‘Blackjack!’ others were playing chess. They were considered the intelligent men; the rest of us would sit and watch them pondering their next move as if they would when they were on the battlefield with not quite so much panic though. Others were singing Christmas carols with cheerful grins hidden behind smuggled ale. In another corner they appear to be playing poker, Oliver notices me and hails me over. Oliver was a tall skinny man with black hair and brown eyes, he was a friendly and beaming person. “Mornin’ mate, care for a game of cards” He says. “I spose, what’s the game, what are the stakes?” I reply “round of Poker before breakie, entry fee is a box of your best, winner takes all’’ He replies. I ponder for a second, rations were low and we’d been told new stock would arrive soon but it was delayed because our import ships are being sunk in the Atlantic. “ I’ll go get my entry fee’’. I’m half way to my living quarters when Corporal O’Brien pops up at the far left. The place was a mess and none of us got changed properly or carried out our daily duties. On normal occasions the combination would have raised hell. There was a moment’s complete silence. He had a stern look on his face, the one he wore before he was ready to burst…

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“What do you all think your doing, were at war you damned fools, you three go clean out your weapons, you others go and prepare the long-range artillery and you!’’ he was staring at me, Oliver and Emerson. “Go and report to the front line trench HQ, find Corporal Williams and tell him you three have been sent for the repair job. We made our way to the destination.

“I haven’t shaved in a decade” he looked at me scratching his the stubble on his cheek and caressing his true black hair, unlike most of us he preferred ...

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“I haven’t shaved in a decade” he looked at me scratching his the stubble on his cheek and caressing his true black hair, unlike most of us he preferred not to used first names, ‘only preparing ourselves for heartbreak if we do’ he would say. “Why did you volunteer?” said Emerson. “Why did you?’’ I reply. The three of us trod through the filthy, muddy, rat –infested pathways to the front-line trenches. “What do you think he meant by the ‘repair job’?” I said.

“Probably need to sort out some Lee-Enfield’s, I hear the mud is messing up their firing pins’’ replied Oliver.

We asked a solider where we could locate Williams. He told us we could find him in the deep dugout tailing of the front-line trench. When we finally got to him we found that Williams was a short, well-built man with round spectacles dark hair and a perfect uniform. “O’ Brien sent you” he says.

“Yes, sir” we reply.

“You are to repair some damaged barbed-wire above the Para-pit on section B7 of the front line trench’’ Williams ordered.

“Why do you need us to repair the wire sir, why not a front-line soldier, sir?’’ says Oliver’s. Corporal Williams ignored the question and went on.

“You wont need to go all the way back to the supply trenches to get the equipment, most of what you need is left by the damaged section, make your way there now” said Williams.

“Now, Sir?” blurted out Emerson, “in the middle of this daylight, wouldn’t it be safer to do this at night time, we’d be a little less inconspicuous don’t you—”

“We have received intelligence that they are planning a midnight offensive into no mans land to bombard our trenches with high-powered grenades, do as you are told men’’ said Williams. We made our way to section B7…

“You know what, they’ve done, they’ve given us the death sentence’’ I exclaimed

“The German snipers will pick us off before we even get up onto the fire step’’ said Emerson. “Maybe not, I heard the majority of the German snipers on the western-front had gone to the battle of the Somme’’ I say optomisticly. As we trod our way to the trench that needed repairing, our heads were low, I turned to Oliver-he had a glum look in his face. Christmas day, a day where your meant to be at home, with your family, around a Christmas tree, singing carols with your children and we were going to stare almost certain death in the face. So much for ‘Queen and Country’ and all that malarkey.

After about 5 minutes walking through the damp mud we arrived at the section. To the left on the ground was some coiled barbed wire, some wire-cutters, small planks of wood, nails and industrial strength gloves. We stood there for about half a minute just looking at the equipment. Finally, I put on a pair of the gloves and handed the other two to the Emerson and Oliver. “O.k. we know what we have to do, when we get up there we’ve got to nail the planks into an ‘X’ shape and wrap the barbed wire moderately loosely around it’’. Both men nodded and slipped there gloves on. We were standing about 2 to 2 and a half metres below the natural land level. In order to get up we would have to climb up on the fire-step, (normally used for snipers and back-up gunners), go up and over and construct the barbed wire in clear view of enemy snipers

Sergeant Michaels and I were sent to put up

Barbed- wire above the para-pit for our front line trench we were sent to from the front line support dugouts. Then we were shot and killed