Welcome back to the final Randomizer of the Year!
It's Christmas time again, and we can finally celebrate without it being November. Yay. Once more, we were returning back to the Christmas Truce from last year, to continue the story of 'Hoppy' in the trenches.
It's been 18 months since the centinary of World War 1 has begun, and yet I think it hasn't escaped your notice, as well as mine, that it has been a little...quiet. There hasn't been that much talk about the different events that have taken place, like the Second Battle of Ypre, the Gallipoli Campaign, the Lusitania hit and sunk, Edith Cavell, the Battle of Loos, the list goes on. I don't think that's fair to be honest, because they're are still significant events during the war. It's not suprising, I think, that it will pick up again next year, around June and July time. So perhaps to continue the story of 'Hoppy' a year on in the trenches may, though perhaps I hope not annoying barely, make a little impact with you all.
Since I wrote the first one, I thought it would be good to continue the story some months ago, because I thought it would be a good idea, and thus you will see how much the war had changed sharply in the course of leading to the next Christmas, and make you think how eventually even the war took precedence over one of the most special times of the year. Without trying to be boastful, I do like what I have written, but just as importantly I hope you will all enjoy it too. Keep in mind, if I did a third one, it might not come around next Christmas, but you never know!
Again, I don't own any of the pictures on show, using photographs and such to tell the story.
I'm gonna stop writing now, and let you read the second of Hoppy's letters, to his dear wife Laura...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Second Letter to Laura
My darling Laura,
I hope you are well and enjoying your factory work, making
the shells to wherever they land to grant you a quick divorce. I jest, I mean
no manner of offence to you. I do hope you’re getting on, and enjoying Christmas
with your parents. I have tried my best despite the usual shelling and raids on
either side. I love the tobacco and new woollen gloves you have sent to replace
my missing ones. They have not lost their warmth yet. I hope to give you this
letter myself when I’m on leave soon after New Year, so you can read in
silence. If not, Jim has offered to take it himself when his turn comes in
February.
HQ have been very good, at keeping both sides from fraternising
with each other this time, learning from last year. The snow has fallen hard
again, but everything else had too. The shells have landed more in force along
either side, mines dug in have blown across No Man’s Land and snow high into
the sky, raids increased greatly taking our lines a little further, but without
much success, and the gas attacks sift through easily too, especially on the
new boys, high in beliefs to destroy the Hun to end this mess of a war. They
are soon sorted out enough, a few ending up in hospital with masks still on. It’s
an unforgiving sight, and makes for horrific telling that I will spare you the
details. The snow does a good enough job of covering the bodies still lain
across No Man’s Land, though bringing them back is still a demanding job amidst
the guns and craters covered up, with the boiling water of course.
Our new commanding officer arrived at the beginning of the
month to replace ‘Lollypop’, most unlikely to purposely place his head over the
top in regret, and willing to push back the Germans with the strictest instruction.
We all gave him the nickname ‘Terror Bull’, for despite the awful pun that even
the German guns would become silent to, he may have been another dog, but his stubborn
nature was not to be reconciled with, ordering daily raids to put us off the
idea of another Christmas truce.
Not me. Never me. I cannot displace the idea of humanity on
that field, despite keeping my silence among the others. I have slipped a few
times into fighting ‘The Hun’, but I bring myself back to seeing human beings
before me, killing and killed in this war. Some I believe try not to see them
as their kind, but as monsters, caring only for destroying livelihoods around them.
Emphasis on try, the only kind of success our generals would ever dream of. Few
wish to be away, at the risk of shooting for insubordination. They pray for
shoddy aim, or to God for any luck. I do not wish to kill, but I pray for
shoddy aim myself every time. I smile for every scream. When there’s silence,
that’s when I pray for forgiveness, especially for Kaleb.
How we have kept in contact through times of battle,
standing to, and hearing the taunts thrown across each other I will never fathom.
Through using craters to quickly correspond, and certain difficultly to crawl
in and out in such quick manners, it seemed a greater task then attempting
certain death crossing through No Man’s Land. But we did it, amidst the shots
firing around us and more craters made. I’m more surprised at how poor the
Germans can be sometimes at shooting me. Maybe they’re still fond of us, though
it could also be luck. I don’t think I will speculate one with the other. The
answer may hit me soon.
Kaleb has been better, since his unfortunate incident losing
two fingers on his right hand in September. I debated with him the last time
whether it’s lucky or not he’s still at the front, to which he simply laughed
and had said, ‘Perhaps I could still miss you anyway!’. I couldn’t help but
smile, before I left him back to my side. He’s eating well and giving a quick
wave every now and then from below his parapet. His Beatrix sends her love to
him every week, waiting for his return come New Year’s too. She’s thrown
herself into the war effort, but not as well respected as you are at home so I
hear. I don’t know to what extent, but perhaps I can assume it is bad.
Before our quick time together, I had the maddening idea to
meet each other at Christmas possibly, if only to bring out humanity in us once
more because it’s Christmas. Kaleb was uncertain himself. Christmas, he had said,
was effectively cancelled. I was inclined to agree. There were no trees along
their line this time, and the only flashing lights were the mines and shells
lighting up the sky, along with the rippling of bullets, and continuous taunts
from either side. It’s as if we had found new bizarre ways of saying ‘Merry
Christmas’. Nonetheless, he had quickly nodded, and said that if there was a
way, he would signal on the day. I had agreed. It wouldn’t be worth the risk if
everything carried on as usual. We agreed to take photographs of our respective
regiments, and pass them to each other as presents, quickly before anyone could
notice we were gone for long. I was saddened, but I knew it was the only way.
Of course, I hadn’t been the only one to whisper out a truce
again. Noise along the line was made at first, but once ‘Terror Bull’ had heard,
he shouted loudly so even those dead in No Man’s Land could hear, ‘Any man
willing to make peace on Christmas Day will join their brethren on the ground,
either by my hand or someone else’s’. I continued to whisper only when I needed
to, within earshot of Jim, Dennis and others. Needs must, I couldn’t trust the
other men along the line.
On Christmas Eve night, we all sang together again in the
winding dark, raising our voices along the explosions as high as Jim’s in his
boastful tone, with our bully beef and tea again to warm ourselves. The Germans
were almost covered by the explosions, but were still audible, their loud tone
of ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ sounding out over to our lines. To our
surprise, ‘Terror Bull’ simply walked along, mouth tightly shut. He seemed to
care more for actual physical fraternisation, rather than simply singing to
each other. We were able to sing peacefully, and ignore our supposed duties to
destroy ‘the Hun’.
As midnight struck again, we shook hands in salutations
again, gripping hard once more, perhaps saying goodbye for the last time again,
more formally then every other time of the year. Considering what may lay ahead
for tomorrow it wouldn’t have surprised me. When the Germans gave their
salutations to us, some of us gave salutation in return, and Jim unsurprisingly
tried to outmatch them again, and failed in good humour. One young boy, no
older than 16 perhaps, had asked me why we had sang with the Germans, giving me
the usual ‘enemy’ issue. I said simply to him, ‘They are equal to us. Take that
in stride’. He simply blanked starry-eyed at me.
This morning was clearer than last year as I stood to again,
the sun shining down brightly onto the snow, showing the grim view of lumps of bodies
covered, and a few Germans popping up and waving quickly in my periscope. I
didn’t, awaiting for Kaleb to appear. Shots would ring out over to our side, as
we did after they waved, more as a warning then to kill. I hadn’t much sleep
again from the continuing bombardment, staring out blankly over No Man’s Land, tired
and saddened again that you’re not in my arms. Your warm embrace clear, aching
my head hard dear Laura.
I waited looking through the clear sky, to see if Kaleb
would appear eventually. The explosions continued near us, sending snow and
earth high into crumbled pieces, before falling down back in sheer devastation.
Machine guns continued down the line, firing now and then, with the shouts of
men walking across in raiding. Jim and Dennis were close by, holding their
rifles over the top, waiting, and praying in earshot that no one crossed. I
breathed steadily, hearing battle all around, and blinking at the screams of
men falling into the snow. ‘Terror Bull’ walked along slowly behind me, telling
to keep my eyes open for any raid parties approaching, and he would be
conducting a raid in due course. I took a deep breath at that. I had to make
sure he didn’t see me go over the top. Indeed, how unfortunate to die on
Christmas Day, and not have my dinner later on. What a bother.
Kaleb made his appearance at around 9, noticing me through
his own periscope and giving a quick wave with his remaining fingers, smiling
broadly. I smiled, and waved quickly myself, before holding a hand out to hold
him back a moment, and turned to Jim and Dennis telling them he had arrived. We
quickly looked down our line around for ‘Terror Bull’, or the other soldiers on
duty, and when no-one was looking, I turned back to the periscope, and gestured
to come over. I put it down gently so no-one could hear, then I placed my rifle
over the top of the parapet once more. The snow was thick and crumbly as I
gripped with my gloves, and crawled pushing myself over the top, and lifted
myself to my legs, as a short whistle came fast to my ears, and I quickly
turned my back as a shell landed before me.
A flash of light and a thunderous bang sounded out, forcing
my body to shake violently, and fall back into my trench. I smacked into the
wood hard, and grunted in pain, Jim and Dennis coming to check on me. I said I
was ok, not feeling pain anywhere else apart from my arm, and I was helped back
up. I turned my eyes back to the parapet, hopeful that I can still make it
over, despite their pleas not to. I said I must, for my own sake, which may be
translated in their terms, and yours I gather, as a ‘death wish’. We checked
again, and I pushed myself back up the parapet, seeing another big crater
gaping up before me, then picked up my rifle quickly behind me and clutched
hard, turning fast ahead to see Kaleb lifting himself out from his side.
I sighed and smiled seeing him alive, and I ran as fast as I
could through the crunching snow, seeing your wondrous face again, silk hair
and childlike eyes, before my own once more reminding me why I must live,
before I had to twist my eyes to see the craters here and there filled only minutely
from the snow, as a machine gun fired off in the distance, and seeing the
scruffy blonde-haired gentleman lifting himself to my height again as I came
closer, looking toward me with a faint smile strewn over his face. I began to
slow down just before him, and raised my arm to embrace him quickly on
approach. He took a step forward, raising his arms in return, and we quickly
embraced each other, then said Merry Christmas.
After we embraced, he fumbled in his trench coat, and gave
me a small rectangular photo of himself and a few of his friends lined up along
their trench, all smiling and waving with words written at the bottom, ‘Merry
Christmas and a Happy New Year. Captain Kaleb Clauberg and the 2nd
Royal Bavarian Infantry, Crown Prince’. I smiled quickly, and took out our own
photograph that we had taken over three weeks ago, entrusted to me to take over
the top. Kaleb smiled looking at the picture, a shot ringing out near our
position, and held out a gloved hand to shake. I immediately took it, and we
wished each other Merry Christmas again, and a sad but fast goodbye, and I turned
back around to face my side.
Again, I ran fast, avoiding the craters and lumps of bodies,
as the sounds of bombardment and machines echoed around me, another explosion
hitting some yards away on my right, and your wondrous image flashing before my
eyes. I could see Jim and Dennis looking toward me, and back along to see if
anyone was about to give fire, only gesturing with their hands to bid me
faster. I began to slow down coming closer to the trench, and stopped short to
climb down from the parapet onto the fire step, and immediately jumped down
into the trench, to Jim and Dennis’s boisterous congratulations.
I clapped Dennis’s shoulder to hold myself steady, tired
breathing slowly for the moment, and placed my rifle down against the stiff
earth wall of the trench, to take the photo out from my own coat pocket. They
beamed at the photograph, lips strewn straight teeth showing over their faces,
commenting how nice it was before I placed it back into my jacket pocket. But I
had nothing left to chance, as I immediately picked my rifle back up, and
turned back to face the line stepping to the fire step, periscope in hand, and
seeing Kaleb waving again through mine. I checked quickly again around my line,
and waved back.
We had our Christmas dinner around 1, before we could write
our letters home and begin our raid. Again we had roasted chicken and laughing
all around with poor jokes of puns and absent friends. For me, it seemed my own
happiness was exempt. Despite eating and drinking well and talking of my returning
back to you, I couldn’t enjoy it as much as I did last year. Everything had
changed so much in the year, despite knowing I thought well of the Germans, it
was less fun knowing many from both sides had died, and we can’t do a thing to
change that.
I do believe that war has changed most of us into relentless
machines, for a necessary advantage. Even I would admit to being so, though I’m
not filled to the brim, and no desire to do so. Yet I have no vision as to when
the war will end, and the killing stops eventually. It’s a shame that we must
continue in this fashion for an end quickly, disgustingly so at Christmas too.
I see no end to the killing, awaiting perhaps my own fate soon enough, or my
aim may increase in accuracy for once. I suppose I must keep faith in myself to
live, if not for this war to end sooner than later. I’m sorry to depress you
with my words, but I will be honest, and keep my true feelings hidden from
sight, then though the propagandised words of many letters before the public.
Would you agree?
I will see you in the New Year my darling Laura,
Love, Hoppy.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They shall not grow old, as we are left to grow old
Age shall not weary them, not the years condemn
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning
We will remember them
Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year to you all.
For the final time in 2015, Randomizer out.
