When the troops stopped the war

IT was a bright, cloudless morning, the ground hard and white, a thin, low-lying mist covering No Man's Land. As the British troops started to stir in their waterlogged trenches, they began to notice unusual activity on the enemy front line.

Heads were seen bobbing above the parapet on the German trench, and the more they looked, the more pronounced this sight became. Soon, the entire British trench was gazing incredulously at this unusual, not to say reckless, behaviour.

And as they looked, it became more curious still. A German soldier stood up on the parapet and looked around, seemingly oblivious to the danger. But no-one thought to open fire. Instead, a British sergeant stood up on their parapet, reciprocating the gesture.

As if by pre-arranged signal, more Germans then stood up out of their trenches, swiftly followed by more British soldiers. Within seconds, half a dozen of each side were walking towards each other, crossing those perilous yards of mud which had been viciously fought over just 24 hours before.

This was the start of the Christmas Day truce of 1914. In one of the most extraordinary episodes of modern warfare, 90 years ago this Christmas, troops on both sides spontaneously laid down their weapons and joined together, exchanging greetings and gifts, singing carols and playing football.

The scene was the same up and down the front line. Without arrangement and often without any knowledge of what was happening elsewhere, the guns stayed silent on the first Christmas of the Great War.

The dreadful conditions of those early, makeshift trenches may have engendered a degree of sympathy for the enemy, who was also having a miserable time. Some villages were still standing, lending a landscape which was to become desolate and soulless, a still civilised aspect.

With the war just a few months old, the hate and misery was yet to set in. Both sides were curious to see if the enemy was really as inhuman as the propaganda had painted him. Spirits had been lifted among both the Germans and the British by the arrival of Christmas presents and extra rations.

The British had received Princess Mary boxes: a metal case engraved with a picture of the King's daughter, and filled with chocolates, sweets and tobacco, as well as a greeting to the troops from George V. Not to be outdone, the Kaiser ordered the German soldiers to be issued with a large meerschaum pipe, with cigars for the NCOs and officers.

The Germans had also been given miniature Christmas trees, which they decorated with candles and strung along the parapets, clearly visible from the British lines, sometimes just 50 yards away.

In some areas, it may have been when either side called a ceasefire so they could collect their dead from No Man's Land that it all began.

All these factors, and many more, came together to make the truce possible, as the troops took it upon themselves, in defiance of their orders, to suspend fighting.

Some soldiers swapped presents, trading sauerkraut and sausages from the Germans, chocolate from the British; one enterprising British soldier, who had been a barber before the war, set up shop in the middle of No Man's Land, charging British and German a couple of cigarettes apiece for a quick haircut; some of the Germans had lived in England before the war, and took the opportunity to reminisce about their former lives; one German, a juggler, gave an impromptu performance of his routine amid the craters.

The most well-known fraternisation was a football match, or rather a series of football matches which took place along the front.

A diary kept by Gustav Riebensahm, of the Second Westphalian Regiment on the German side, records: "The English are extraordinarily grateful for the ceasefire, so they can play football again."

According to Bertie Felstead, a Royal Welch Fusilier and the last known survivor of one of the football matches when he died in 2001: "It was not a game as such, more of a kick-around and a free-for-all. There could have been 50 on each side for all I know. I don't know how long it lasted, probably half an hour, and no-one was keeping score."

But it seems someone was keeping score in at least one of the matches. On January 1, The Times published a letter from a major in the Medical Corps, reporting that the British had been beaten 3-2 in a game in his section of the front, a result supported by the records of the 133rd Saxon Regiment.

Reports of the ceasefire did not go down at all well, however, when they reached the generals.

British High Command, situated some 27 miles behind the front, issued the directive: "It (fraternisation) discourages initiative in commanders, and destroys the offensive spirit in all ranks." Among some officers, it was the need to follow orders rather than the fraternisation itself which was cause for concern.

The German High Command took a more relaxed view towards the truce and, in the end, few officers and men on either side were disciplined.

But it had opened the eyes of many of the men on both sides, who discovered their opponents were not the monsters they had been made out to be.

According to Lieutenant Bruce Bairnsfather, one of the British officers who took part in the truce: "This was my first real sight of them at close quarters.

"Here they were - the actual practical soldiers of the German army. There was not an atom of hate on either side that day, and yet, on our side, not for a moment was the will to beat them relaxed. It was just like the interval between the rounds in a friendly boxing match."

In some places, the truce ended that night; in others, it lasted into Boxing Day, and in some it went on for a few days more.

Captain JC Dunn, of the Royal Welch Fusiliers: "At 8.30 I fired three shots in the air and put up a flag with 'Merry Christmas' on it, and I climbed on the parapet.

"He (the Germans) put up a sheet with 'Thank you' on it, and the German captain appeared on the parapet. We both bowed and saluted and got down into our respective trenches, and he fired two shots in the air, and the War was on again."

Although the truce was widely reported in Britain, and somewhat less so in Germany, the High Commands were keen to play it down, lest it encourage the notion that a negotiated peace was possible. Field Marshall Sir John French's HQ issued a statement that it was nothing more than "a comparative lull on account of the stormy weather".

It may indeed have been a blip, a chance to size up the enemy or perhaps the result of full bellies and festive cheer, but it may also have been a sign that, left to themselves, the men doing the killing, and being killed, would as soon bring about an end to the slaughter.