OLD SOLDIERS NEVER DIE

By Bob French

It was a cold evening as Private John Hacker, an east-ender who had joined the army in 1915 and fought right to the end, stood in the forward observation trench just east of Mons in Belgium.  He had been on sentry duty since just after five in the afternoon.  Frank, the man he shared the duty with had left the trench some time ago to try and blagg some food and drink, and to be honest John didn’t expect him back much after early Christmas morning. As he stared out into the darkening wilderness a tall figure appeared out of the shadows and stood next to him.  It was a Sergeant and John nodded to him. 

After a while, John turned to the man. “Private John Hacker Sarge, Essex Regiment.  The tall sergeant nodded.

“Alex Coventry, Fourth Middlesex.  They stood silently looking out over the land that stretched out into the darkness.  It was ten o’clock on Christmas Eve, 1918 and the war to end all wars had finally come to a close.  All that was left was to mop up the dregs of the German Army as they made their way home and help the civilian population where ever they could.

“’Ear Sarge.  How long you been at war then, an’ what’s it like when it ends?”

“Depends.  Civies celebrate by dancing in the streets singing God save the King, others quietly mourn their loss. I can tell you that when you do gets ‘ome, you’ll notice it.”  He paused for a while. “To be honest, you don’t feel much whilst you out in these bloody trenches with your mates.  I can remember getting ‘ome on leave last year.  Me, the missus and the kids took a while getting used to each other, but it’s the men who suffer from the trauma of the war ya feel sorry for. Sometimes it takes them a long time to adjust; some never do.  It’s different for each man and his family.”

“You mean they have terrible memories of the days and months, sitting in a slime ridden trench just waiting for a shell to blast them to pieces?”

The sergeant nodded. “Ay. You can be the best bloody infantryman in the battalion.  If a shell hits your trench then is curtains.  Jerrie's shell recognizes no one.  It just indiscriminate slaughters.”  He paused again as he stared out into the darkness.  “It’s the waiting that does it to the mind.”

“I hear tell that during the retreat back from Mons in 14, we….”

Sergeant Coventry turned suddenly, interrupting John. “Listen, Lad, the British Army never retreats got it.  They withdraw until they finds a better position so they can take the fight back to the bloody Hun.”

John Hacker nodded silently “Sorry sarge, all I was goin’ ta ask was were those stories about our lads seeing them angles and British bowmen during the battle of Mons.   Were they true?”

Sergeant Coventry stared silently out over the dark landscape. Frost had already settled on the land, blanketing the torn and destroyed features that nature had taken hundreds of years to create, in a white coat as though making a statement to all who looked out over the land, that peace had arrived. 

“Yeh, I heard about them.  When I was having my arm bandaged at the dressing station some time back, I ‘eard a Medical Officer explaining to one of the colonels.  He said that the men had been on their chi-strap.”  Private Hacker frown at the expression until Sergeant Coventry paused to explain. “When some men who have had to force march for a couple of days to get into position, then before they could get a chance to eat or sleep, theys asked to force march again for a couple more days in blistering sunshine with little or no water, they tend to have hallucination.  That’s what he was saying the men had suffered from.”

They both stood quietly staring out into the dark for about half an hour, when Alex Hacker suddenly looked up.

“What is it?”

“I thought I saw something move out there.”

“What direction and how far out Lad?”

“Dunnow Sarge.  But I definitely saw something move.”

“Probably the ghosts of Christmas Past.”

Alex Hacker stared at the sergeant for a few seconds too long until the sergeant spoke in a quiet voice.

“After every war, those whose bodies don’t find their way home, wander the battle fields on Christmas Eve.  They meet up as comrades, regardless of whose side they fought on.  Each year there are a few who find peace as their bodies are found and repatriated, and those who continually walk the battlefields waiting to be found.”

John Hacker felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle and he shivered a little, but not from the cold, but from the unknown.

“Are they out there now Sarge?”

The sergeant didn’t answer straight away.  “Depends. You have to listen real hard to the wind on the barbed wire round about eleven forty-five on Christmas Eve.  If you’re lucky enough, you may hear them singing Silent Night.”

“How long do they sing for Sarge?”

“Until midnight, then they fades away.

“John Hacker, with wide eyes, stared at the sergeant, then turned to face the dark expanse and listened.  He must have been there for about ten minutes when softly at first, then a little louder he heard on the cold wind that rushed at him from the east the words of the Christmas Carol of Silent Night.

“Sarge, I heard it……  Sarge.”

Private John Hacker turned to explain, but he was alone.  He had not heard the sergeant leave, just as he remembered that he never heard the sergeant arrive.

In a huge hollow created by an artillery shell a few hundred yards from the forward observation trenches of the British Expeditionary Force, just outside Mons two British soldiers sat waiting.

“How you been Alfred?”

“Can’t grumble mate.”

“Where’s Harry then?”

Alfred and his friend Harry, had been killed in the first few hours of the war and just before last Christmas, Harry’s body had been found and had received a proper military funeral, and as such, had found peace.

“Harry didn’t make it last Christmas, so I am thinking he found peace, lucky blighter.” Just then another person slid down the wall of the hollow.

“Well if it ain’t my old friend Manfred. How you been mate.”  Before the German sergeant could reply, a young French officer slipped down beside him.

“Philippe my old son.  Good to see ya. Thought for a minute you weren’t going to make it.”

The French officer smiled and realised that some of his old friends were no longer present. “Have we lost some of our comrades my friend?”

Manfred nodded.  “Yes, but that is good, no?”

They talked for a while about their families and what they would be doing this Christmas, then they began to sing Silent Night.  As they did, a man slipped over the edge of the hollow and slid down to join his comrades.

The French officer reached out and shook hands.

“It is good to see you, Alex Coventry. I wish you peace at this Christmas time mon ami.”

They sang quietly until the night sky grew very dark and still.  It was Christmas day.

As if by magic, it started to snow and as the men sat in the hollow singing Silent Night, like the snowflakes that floated on the gentle wind, they slowly faded away.

Christmas story 4 of 4.

 Copyright Bob French