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We're fed up to the neck
with all this muck."
The war did not stop, although it was Christmas Eve, and the only
carol I heard in the trenches was the loud, deep chant of the guns on
both sides, and the shrill soprano of whistling shells, and the rattle
on the keyboards of machine-guns. The enemy was putting more shells
into a bit of trench in revenge for a raid. To the left some shrapnel
shells were bursting, and behind the lines our "heavies" were busily
at work firing at long range.
"On earth peace, good-will toward men."
The message was spoken at many a little service on both sides of that
long line where great armies were entrenched with their death-
machines, and the riddle of life and faith was rung out by the
Christmas bells which came clashing on the rain-swept wind, with the
reverberation of great guns.
Through the night our men in the trenches stood in their waders, and
the dawn of Christmas Day was greeted, not by angelic songs, but by
the splutter of rifle-bullets all along the line.


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