WWI Xmas

by Skeptic 7 Replies latest jw friends

  • Skeptic
    Skeptic

    I have heard of this event before, and it was referred to in an Xmas song. It is consistent with what I know of that era.

    In 1914, on Christmas Eve, British and German soldiers laid down their arms (they were in a battle) and celebrated Christmas. They exchanged gifts and celebrated together. There was peace for two days, then they were ordered back into battle.

    I find this incredibly touching.

    Richard

  • Francois
    Francois

    I find it incredibly stupid, and too, too, human. If we can instantly produce "peace" and "goodwill toward men" based on nothing more than proximity to a calendar date and do so for two days, then we should be able to do it all year long. That we do not is consistent with behavior known as hypocrisy. IMHO.

    francois

  • expatbrit
    expatbrit

    As I recall they also played a game of soccer together. Unfortunately some trouble broke out in the crowd and it lasted another four years.

    Expatbrit

  • Skeptic
    Skeptic

    I find it to be incredibly human, and that is why it is so touching to me.

    Achieving peace for two days is much easier than achieving long term peace. The logistics and consequences of the two are completely different.

    For example, I am sure that many of us can do things for two days that we could not do for a lifetime. As a simple example, try living with your ex-spouse for two days. Now try it for a lifetime.

    Richard

  • heathen
    heathen

    Thankfully the brits where stupid enough to stop for christmas during the revolution .lol Get em georgie woohooo

  • Mum
    Mum

    Thanks for the post, Richard. In my college history class, I remember the professor telling us that the American Civil War was the last "gentlemen's war." It seems that in days of yore, men (before women took up arms) on both sides of a conflict would have coffee together, trade stories and be quite friendly, then go back to fighting. It seems strange to us, but we are products of our times in so many ways.

    This brings to mind the poem entitled (if I recall correctly) "The Man He Killed." I think A.E. Housman was the poet. Look it up on the net and read it if you don't remember it.

    Merry Christmas,

    SandraC

  • Skeptic
    Skeptic

    "The Man He Killed"

    by Thomas Hardy http://www.galegroup.com/free_resources/poets/poems/man.htm

    1

    "Had he and I but met

    By some old ancient inn,

    We should have sat us down to wet

    Right many a nipperkin!

    5

    "But ranged as infantry,

    And staring face to face,

    I shot at him as he at me,

    And killed him in his place.

    "I shot him dead because

    10

    Because he was my foe,

    Just so: my foe of course he was;

    That's clear enough; although

    "He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,

    Off-hand like just as I

    15

    Was out of work had sold his traps

    No other reason why.

    "Yes; quaint and curious war is!

    You shoot a fellow down

    You'd treat if met where any bar is,

    20

    Or help to half-a-crown."

    Source: Exploring Poetry, Gale, 1997.

    Edited by - Skeptic on 25 December 2002 23:32:53

  • Skeptic
    Skeptic
    Thanks for the post, Richard. In my college history class, I remember the professor telling us that the American Civil War was the last "gentlemen's war." It seems that in days of yore, men (before women took up arms) on both sides of a conflict would have coffee together, trade stories and be quite friendly, then go back to fighting. It seems strange to us, but we are products of our times in so many ways.

    That is so beautiful.

    Yes, we area product of our times. Actually, I understand the mentality you just described, as I am like that.

    This brings to mind the poem entitled (if I recall correctly) "The Man He Killed." I think A.E. Housman was the poet. Look it up on the net and read it if you don't remember it.

    Merry Christmas,

    SandraC

    Perhaps it is the one by Thomas Hardy in my post above? Very good poem, Sandra.

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