'Peace on earth, good will to men, may it never fade away': service Christmas tales.

Christmas is steamrolling its way closer and closer, and, what with all the tinsel in Big W, Yuletide displays in the gift shops, and, I confess, Alexander Fax Booksellers sending out Christmas lists to tempt our military readers, it is looking just as commercial as ever. But if you look hard, you can find something real behind the glitz and gloss.

Twelve years ago, one of the many hats I wore was that of Secretary of the ACT Branch of the Military Historical Society of Australia (I later traded that in for the Federal Secretary beanie). One of my duties was editor of the monthly branch newsletter. Appalled at the rampant commercialisation that assaulted me as soon as I set foot in the mall, I was ripe for stories that spoke of the true meaning of Christmas. Or if not the true meaning, at least a little less commercial. It didn’t take me too long to find some that either tugged my heartstrings or tickled my funny bone.

According to Digger Yarns (and some others) to Laugh At. A Lot of Nonsense it was mighty cold on the Western Front but that didn’t affect the men’s humour.

Christmas Eve 1916 was freezing cold in Flanders, and our crowd was ordered to cart bricks from some of the smashed houses from Houplines near Armentieres, Somehow the spirit of Christmas seemed to call for a spell and a restful night, and when the adjutant passed on the order there were murmurings. Those were early days in France and association with Tommy Staff men sprinkled throughout the AIF units made some of our officers a bit hoity-toity. Consequently, when the snarls arose at the prospect of the Christmas Eve job (and it was a dirty one, too, right under Fritz’s nose) the adjutant spoke up: ‘I want none of that insolence’ he said, ‘whom do you think you’re talking to?’. There was a brief silence and ‘Chesty’ Miller spoke up from the rear: ‘Why, blinky Santa Claus, of course!’  Naturally, we had our stockings filled—with bricks!’

Moving forward to WWII, on the occasion of their first Christmas apart in the year that he became prime minister, John Curtin sent his wife Elsie (back home in Cottesloe, Western Australia) a touching telegram of regret that they were not together. Postmarked 23 December 1941, and sent from Parliament House in Canberra:

MY DEAREST THIS IS THE FIRST CHRISTMAS WE HAVE NOT BEEN TOGETHER IT TEARS MY HEART YET OUR TASKS MAKE US OBEDIENT TO THEIR HIGH DEMANDS AND WE DO THEM WITH ALL OUR MIGHT STOP I PRAY YOU A GOOD CHRISTMAS HEAVEN GUARDING YOU ALWAYS YOUR LOVING HUSBAND JOHN

My Clive Caldwell research turned up an amusing anecdote of Caldwell's first and only Christmas with 250 Squadron RAF. There was no rest for the Squadron from operations on Christmas Day. In the company of a South African fighter squadron, Caldwell took off in a sweep of the Hasseat Agedabia sector. The weather was not the best: cold wind, rising dust and overcast sky. The weather  worsened as they progressed and there was no sign of enemy aircraft. Someone begun singing Christmas Carols over the R/T, thinking that this might bring out the enemy, but none were sighted in the air.  On the ground, his mind turned towards their Christmas festivities. The squadron had been hoping for a special delivery of pork, but it had been waylaid and by the time they found it, it had turned green. John Waddy and some others buried the pork with due ceremony, and erected a cross on the spot to the effect “Here lies 250 RAF Squadron’s Christmas Dinner 1941”. So Christmas lunch, on a cold and windy day, was cold bully and biscuits, well salted with sand. There was no liquor because they had drunk it all the night before. He and the others in the squadron had settled down for an afternoon of doing nothing, but after awhile he and the other flight commander were lucky enough to be taken by their CO to accept an invitation from the CO of the AA defences. There they shared some very good Scotch and returned at dusk, to the news that they had orders for a show at first light on the next morning. So, that was Christmas, and the next day, business as usual. Back on ops.

In 1944, Sergeant Robert Grimes of the 100th Bomb Group, was also far from home and loved ones: he was a prisoner of war in Stalag Luft IV. He later recalled:  

Silvery moonbeams infiltrate the boarded windows of my prison room, Falling gently across the faces of my slumbering comrades, Like ghostly fingers of an Omnipresent God splashing His love and benediction across the barren walls and into each sad and hurting heart.

  

The freshly fallen snow lies softly on the ground Reflecting the watch tower lights, and muffling the distant sound of Russian guns.

The night is dark; the cold intense And interspersed between the cannon fire, The Soundless silence is profound.

On such a night as this, O God, Thy Almighty Word leapt down From heaven's height and make Himself, for us, a Royal Pawn. Tonight we celebrate His wondrous birth, (Though little celebrating there will be.)

I sit and shiver in my dismal room and think about my family-worlds away, find how I miss not being there tonight.

I think about a stable cold and damp where long ago a Mother birthed her Son, Then suddenly I feel a flood of warmth, a glow that emanates from deep within, And I am filled with love and heavenly peace, the love and peace that only He can give.

I make my way back to my lonely bed and realize that Christmas is not ‘things’, Not tinsel, toys or trinkets we can buy, it is spirit and an attitude of love.

His Love became the primal stone cast into the sea of human love and we are ripples going outward endlessly.

Nor all the tyrant’s hate and deeds of war can stop this gentle force, nor take away or change what I believe. Though I have naught—yet I have all, His Love this Christmas Eve.

Moving forward, I found an undated, yellowed news clipping which puts a different spin on Christmas:

AAP Bien Hoa. A group of Australian soldiers have turned to poetry to send Christmas greetings back home. They dedicated it to ‘the anti-Vietnam war demonstrators, and the pacifists who disagree with the Australian Army’s mission in South Vietnam.’

Peace on earth, good will to men,

An angel said one night,

But since that night in many lands

Men have had to fight.

They’ve fought for peace and freedom

Against armies large and small,

With love for God and Country

Within them one and all.

They’ve lived and died in foreign lands

That one day you may say,

Peace on earth, good will to men

May it never fade away.

‘Peace on earth, good will to men, May it never fade away.’ A wish for peace in a time of war. I wonder if this wish will ever come true. But one thing I do know. Christmas has always been a time of hope. And we can but continue to hope for peace and good will.