Malcolm Posted 19 December , 2004 Share Posted 19 December , 2004 Searched but can't find the Observer on-line for 19th Dec but article reads.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Last survivor of 'Christmas truce' tells of his sorrowThe First World War's horrors still move us but one man recalls his momentof peace amid the bloodshedLorna Martin, Scotland editorSunday December 19, 2004The ObserverThe words drifted across the frozen battlefield: 'Stille Nacht. HeiligeNacht. Alles Schlaft, einsam wacht'. To the ears of the British troopspeering over their trench, the lyrics may have been unfamiliar but thehaunting tune was unmistakable. After the last note a lone Germaninfantryman appeared holding a small tree glowing with light. 'MerryChristmas. We not shoot, you not shoot.'It was just after dawn on a bitingly cold Christmas Day in 1914, 90 yearsago on Saturday, and one of the most extraordinary incidents of the GreatWar was about to unfold.Weary men climbed hesitantly at first out of trenches and stumbled into noman's land. They shook hands, sang carols, lit each other's cigarettes,swapped tunic buttons and addresses and, most famously, played football,kicking around empty bully-beef cans and using their caps or steel helmetsas goalposts. The unauthorised Christmas truce spread across much of the500-mile Western Front where more than a million men were encamped.According to records held by the World War One Veterans' Association, thereis only one man in the world still alive who spent 25 December 1914 servingin a conflict that left 31 million people dead, wounded or missing.Alfred Anderson was 18 at the time. Speaking to The Observer, Anderson hasrevealed remarkable new details of the day etched on history, includingpictures of Christmas gifts sent to the troops.His unit, the 5th Battalion The Black Watch, was one of the first involvedin trench warfare. He had left his home in Newtyle, Angus, in October,taking the train from Dundee to Southampton, then a ferry to Le Havre.He was happy, healthy and surrounded by most of his former school friends,who had all joined the Territorial Army together in 1912. In October 1914they thought that they were at the start of an exciting adventure. But bythe first Christmas of the war they had already experienced its horror andthe death of young friends was commonplace.On 24 and 25 December, Anderson's unit was billeted in a dilapidatedfarmhouse, away from the front line, so he did not participate in anyfootball matches. 'We didn't have the energy, anyway,' he said. But he canstill recall vividly what happened on Christmas Day 1914.'I remember the silence, the eerie sound of silence,' he said. 'Only theguards were on duty. We all went outside the farm buildings and just stoodlistening. And, of course, thinking of people back home. All I'd heard fortwo months in the trenches was the hissing, cracking and whining of bulletsin flight, machinegun fire and distant German voices.'But there was a dead silence that morning, right across the land as far asyou could see. We shouted "Merry Christmas", even though nobody felt merry.The silence ended early in the afternoon and the killing started again. Itwas a short peace in a terrible war.'In some parts of the front, the ceasefire lasted several weeks. There arealso numerous trench yarns, some possibly apocryphal, about the impromptufraternising. One, detailed in Michael Jurgs's book The Small Peace in theBig War, involved a young private who was led to a tent behind German linesby an aristocratic officer and plied with Veuve Clicquot. In another tale, abarber supposedly set up shop in no man's land, offering a trim to troopsfrom either side.Now aged 108 and living alone in Alyth, Perthshire, Anderson still treasuresthe gift package sent to every soldier a few days before the first Christmasof the war from the Princess Royal. The brass box, which is embossed with aprofile of Princess Mary, was filled with cigarettes.It also contained a cream card, with 1914 on the front, which says: 'Withbest wishes for a happy Christmas and a victorious New Year, from thePrincess Mary and friends at home.''I'd no use for the cigarettes so I gave them to my friends,' he said. 'Alot of the lads thought the box was worth nothing, but I said someone'sbound to have put a lot of thought into it. Some of the boys had Christmaspresents from home anyway, but mine didn't arrive on time.'To his delight, he discovered that his most treasured possession - a NewTestament given to him by his mother before he left for France and inscribedwith the message: 'September 5, 1914. Alfred Anderson. A Present fromMother' - fitted the box perfectly.He kept both in his breast pocket until 1916 when a shell exploded over alistening post in no man's land killing several of his friends and seriouslyinjuring him.'This is all I brought home from the war,' he said, showing the box andBible, but forgetting about his beret with its famous red hackle, which isthe first thing you see when you step into his home.There are still many aspects of the war that Anderson finds difficult totalk about. 'I saw so much horror,' he said, shaking his head and gazinginto the middle distance. 'I lost so many friends.'He recalled one incident that gave him a 'sore heart'. When he was firsthome on leave, he visited the family of a dead friend to express hiscondolences. He knew them well but soon realised that he was getting afrosty reception. 'I asked if they were going to ask me in and they said no.When I asked why, they just said, "Because you're here and he's not". Thatwas awful. He's one of the lads I miss most.'Two years ago Prince Charles paid him a private visit after learning that hehad served briefly as batman to the Queen Mother's brother, Captain FergusBowes-Lyon, who, along with hundreds of Mr Anderson's regimental colleagues,was killed at the Battle of Loos in 1915.The seemingly invincible Anderson, who was awarded France's highest honour -the Légion d'Honneur - in 1998 for his services during the First World War,was recently in the rare position of witnessing one of his six children'sgolden wedding anniversaries. His children, he said, five of whom are stillalive, are what keeps him going.Alfred Anderson has spent 90 years trying to forget the war. But it has beenimpossible. So on Saturday he will look back. 'I'll give Christmas Day 1914a brief thought, as I do every year. And I'll think about all my friends whonever made it home. But it's too sad to think too much about it. Far toosad,' he said, his head bowed and his eyes filled with tears.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------AyeMalcolm Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ianw Posted 20 December , 2004 Share Posted 20 December , 2004 Thanks for that Malcolm. What strikes me most is the guilt felt by the survivors - still keen and capable of raising tears 90 years on. I sometimes think they feel they would have been better off falling with their friends. Oh how sad to be cut adrift from so many of your generation - men who shared the friendship that only war can create. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Anthony Pigott Posted 20 December , 2004 Share Posted 20 December , 2004 If I read it correctly, this chap is probably the last of the Old Contemptibles - I hadn't realised there were any left at all. Regards Anthony Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Malcolm Posted 20 December , 2004 Author Share Posted 20 December , 2004 Anthony, Exactly! I wonder what Mr Anderson makes of the Hoon/Jackson Regiment cuts. Aye Malcolm Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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