Tuesday, 1 December 2015

Christmas 2015: Second Letter to Laura



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...


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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.


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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. 

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