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Christmas in the trenches

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Imagine you’re a World War 1 soldier in a muddy, stinking, rat-infested trench. And it’s Christmas Day. The enemy might have gone quiet for a bit, but you’re still cold, scared, you haven’t taken off your boots for weeks, and although you’ve got your mates around you, you can’t stop thinking about the family at home and wondering how they’re celebrating without you.

Some men were lucky enough to get Christmas leave. But those left behind in the trenches of the Western Front had to make the best of a bad job and improvise what seasonal cheer they could.

Some of the men commemorated on the Carillon in Loughborough left us their Christmas memories. Private Sydney Benson (1897-1918) encamped at Bresle, enjoyed a dinner of pork, plum pudding and beer, followed by entertainment from the Divisional Band and the Ninets concert party.

Not everyone feasted so well. Often the Christmas menu was tinned bully beef or gristly stew. Officers of course, could procure other delicacies including roast pheasant and plentiful booze. And the men could sometimes buy turkeys or geese in the local villages or lay their hands on an illicit bottle of something. It seems that everyone got Christmas pudding though. It was supplied in tins.

Some of the men commemorated on the Carillon had to celebrate Christmas a little later than usual.  Signaller John Wain (1898-1918) had to wait until 3rd January for a belated Christmas dinner and a sing-song in marquees decorated with lights and tinsel. Soon afterwards they were back to knee-deep mud on the front line, and trench repair work. Joseph Haigh (1886-1918) had to return to the trenches with his battalion on Christmas Eve, but they got their Christmas dinner on 29th December. And Edward Genever (1898-1918) had to endure four-foot snow drifts and bitter cold before tucking into Christmas dinner on January 3rd 1918.  Poor Eric Barsby (1897-1917) didn’t even live to see Christmas. He was killed by a gas shell while sleeping in a cellar on Christmas Eve 1917.

Getting post from home at Christmas was even more important than usual. The Army had a well-organised postal system and, in 1917 alone, half a million service mailbags crossed the Channel in the weeks before Christmas. The men sent Christmas cards as well as receiving them. Some were regimental in design, some humorous, others, particularly the exquisite embroidered silk postcards made in France and Belgium, touchingly personal and sentimental. The Carillon has a number of these cards in the collection in its care.

As well as cards, those at home sent lovingly packed parcels of tobacco, sweets, chocolates, homemade puddings and cakes, books and games. Charities pitched in too. For example, in 1916 Loughborough’s Baxtergate Baptist Church launched an appeal for items to make up Christmas parcels for the troops. The list of items required illustrates how little things could make trench life just a bit more bearable. As well as books and sweets, the list included bootlaces, Vaseline, shaving soap and mending materials. Many wrote to the church expressing gratitude. “Any little variation to our non-too-varied menu is almost worth its weight in gold,” wrote one. Cakes were particularly appreciated. Another man wrote “I’m assuming a lady was the maker because, as a rule, when we have a cake made by a man it is generally everlasting. In this case, I was lucky to get a look in!”

There was also a nationwide appeal launched by the wife of Field Marshal Sir John French, British commander-in-chief, for Britain’s women to knit warm mufflers for the men.

A particularly treasured item was a Princess Mary Box. The thoughtful 17-year-old Princess, only daughter of George V, launched an appeal fund in 1914 to send presentation boxes of treats such as sweets and cigarettes to soldiers and sailors. Over 2.5 million boxes were produced and sent to all theatres of war.

None of this could really make up for not being home, cosy, safe and warm. One of the men commemorated on the Carillon, Lance Corporal Henry Richardson (1890-1917) was something of a poet, and in 1916 he put his Christmas feelings into words and composed a poem about his old drinking buddies in The Plough Inn, Thorpe Acre. It paints a touching picture of pre-war life, and you can sense his yearning to return to those innocent peaceful times. Sadly, he never did. Henry Richardson died of his wounds in France on 13th May 1917, aged 27.

“It is in the Plough Inn crowded, on a cold and winter’s night.

You can see the old boys’ faces, brimming with delight.

The old king pin of course was there, telling all he knew

And Marston, still on politics, until his nose went blue.

 

I often sit and wonder, what the taproom is like

Now Hallam’s gone and left it, to join the Wymeswold tykes.

I fancy I can see you, in the taproom bright

With Gaunty playing ‘Tippit’, with Smithy on his right.

 

And Crossy sits a wondering, which side will have to pay

So he can have a drink, out of the winnings (that’s his way).

I expect that Perry’s busy, mopping down the Brown

Though I hope he won’t go bald-headed, and show a shining crown.

 

I can see old Teddy smiling, as he rakes his shekels in.

So he reddens up his dewdrop, with a little drop of gin.

Let’s hope there will be meetings, of faces old and new

And so I send this greeting, from across the sea to you.

 

I hope you all will think of me, when mopping down the Brown

Of times when we got slotted, in old Thorpe Acre town

I will close this little story, from across the water blue

To wish you all a Jolly Christmas, and a Happy New Year too.”

   Princess Mary gift box Christmas 1914

 

 

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