"Christmas in the Trenches"

Sending out the lyrics for the following song is becoming an annual custom of mine; one which many of you seem to appreciate. Since it's Midwinter Night and I've been listening to the news again a lot lately, I thought I'd share it again. As many times as I've heard the song, it still brings tears to my eyes. It's also a nice diversion from the endless repeats of those commercial carols we all get sick of during this season. Hopefully you'll appreciate it as much as I do.

None of my military friends are overseas this year, for the first time in a long time, although a couple will be leaving soon to spend much of the next year patrolling some ocean stretch. It's been nice to catch up with them these past couple of months: it's funny how things do and don't change even across long separations. However, there are still thousands like them in countries around the world, and I'm not just referring to American service-people. It's funny how nations half the world has never heard of one year is a common reference the next; and how the look in the eyes of soldiers and refugees is the same whether it's Kosovo, East Timor, or Venezuela.

For all of them, and for their families and friends who spend a lot of energy keeping things going at home and waiting for their return. Lord & Lady keep them safe; and may they NEVER know this scene again.

Stars light your path,

   Quarong

[For those of you who would like to find an album with this song, or to locate some other more diverse winter holiday music, stay tuned for a follow-up post.]

CHRISTMAS IN THE TRENCHES [By Canadian Folk Musician John McCutcheon. Tune is done by a slow, haunting violin.]

My name is Francis Tolliver,
I come from Liverpool.
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school. To Belgium and to Flanders,
To Germany, to here.
I fought for King and country I love dear.

Twas Christmas in the trenches,
Where the frost so bitter hung.
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung. Our families back in England
Were toasting us that day,
Their brave and glorius lads so far away.

I was lying with my messmate
On the cold and rocky ground,
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound. Says I "Now listen up me boys!"
Each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear.

"He's singing bloody well you know."
My partner says to me.
Soon one by one each German voice joined in in harmony. The cannons rested silent,
The gas cloud rolled no more,
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.

(4 bars of instrumental break)

As soon as they were finished
A reverent pause was spent,
"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent. Oh the next they sang was "Steele Nacht", "Tis 'Silent Night'" says I.
And in two tongues, one song filled up that sky.

"There's someone coming towards us!"
The forward sentry cried.
All sights were fixed on one lone figure trudging from their side. His truce flag like a Christmas star
Shown on that plain so bright,
As he bravely strode unarmed into the night.

Then one by one on either side
Walked into No-Man's Land;
With neither gun nor bayonet, we met there hand to hand. We shared some secret brandy,
And wished each other well;
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave 'em hell!

We traded chocalates, cigarettes,
And photographs from home.
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own. Young Sanders played his squeezebox
And they had a violin,
This curious and unlikely band of men.

(4 bars of instrumental music.)

Soon daylight stole upon us
And France was France once more;
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war. But the question haunted every heart
That lived that wondrous night,
Whose family have I fixed within my sights?

Twas Christmas in the Trenches,
Where the frost so bitter hung.
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung. For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war Had been crumbled and were gone forevermore.

(4 bars of instrumental music.)

Oh my name is Francis Tolliver,
In Liverpool I dwell.
Each Christmas come since World War One, I've learned its lessons well: That the ones who call the shots
Won't be among the dead and lame,
And on each end of the rifle we're the same.

(4 bars of instrumental music, slow and fading.)

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Please note that my email address is in the process of changing. The old address is <quarong at eskimo.com>. The new address is <quarong at aa.net>.
Change your address books accordingly. Thanks! Received on 12/23/99