Silent Night in aid of Blesma

In 1914, around Christmas Day, British and German troops took part in a series of unofficial ceasefires along the Western Front. During this time, troops mingled in no man's land, football matches were played, gifts were exchanged, and carols were sung. 

To commemorate this historical event, on the 100th anniversary of the start of World War 1, Blesma supporter Malcolm Brocklehurst, from the Cleveleys Writers, has penned a poem which he is kindly donating to Blesma to help raise vital funds to support our work. 

Blesma, The Limbless Veterans, is an organisation born out of WWI. Forty thousand Service men lost limbs or eyes during the First World War – and lived to return to a “land fit for heroes”.  They were swiftly disillusioned.   Amputation techniques were in their infancy, artificial limbs primitive and, with mass unemployment the order of the day, 90% of the nation’s war limbless could not find work.  However, the comradeship of the trenches lived on. The crutch, the walking stick, the empty sleeve, served as an introduction to friends who had who had met with similar misfortunes.  During this period the limbless gathered together in groups determined if society would not help them, they would help themselves. 

Just as Blesma supported our WWI heroes, one hundred years ago, we continue to support our limbless veterans today, from WWII, and from more recent conflicts.  

 

So thank you to Malcolm for his kind support, and if you like what you read, please do consider making a Christmas donation to support our vital work. 

 

 SILENT NIGHT 1914 

 

Xmas Eve 1914, and it was a clear and frosty night,

In no-mans land a full moon shone, large, round and bright

Quietly from the German trenches singing voices rang out

And each Tommy listened in wonder how it came about.

That along the line of trenches the guns grew silent.

For a time the killing fields seemed much less violent.

Then one by one some Tommies joined in

singing Silent Night that famous Christmas hymn.

Merry Xmas Tommy, some Germans called out,

And  as if by magic they waived white flags about.

“We won’t shoot, you don’t shoot”, the call was loud and clear

“Its Xmas time, come to no-mans land, lets share a final beer”,

And soldiers met in that shell pocked space…no mans land

Both sides fraternised and shook each other by the hand.

Photos of wives and children the soldiers now produced.

Some photos creased, their edges worn their clarity reduced.

Cigarettes were offered and Xmas gifts that ranged

from chocolate to bully beef, food rations were exchanged.

On Xmas day, a padre from the British trench stepped out,

spoke to a German officer; they held a service so devout.

The British produced a football and a game now ensued,

It doesn’t matter who won, all were winners in the peaceful interlude.

Then with a shake of hands, auf wiedersehen and goodbye,

Each went back to his own trench were many were to die

Some gassed or blown to hell in that war to end all wars

Led by stupid Generals in that bloody fearful cause.

But it could have ceased then when the truce stopped the fight

and it all began as one man sang on that distant Silent Night.

 

                                                      Malcolm Brocklehurst, Cleveleys Writers