The day the guns fell silent in Flanders’ fields

One hundred years ago this Christmas, a day of fraternity in Flanders’ fields passed into fable. The Christmas truce of 1914 is remembered as a moment of compassion amid the carnage of the First World War, of spontaneous solidarity between opposing soldiers, and perhaps the most flagrantly subversive football match in history.

Although it had almost no bearing on the course of the war on the western front, the Christmas truce still has the power to inspire. In recent weeks, commemorations have been held in Belgium and beyond, recognising this rare respite from the war’s relentless catalogue of horrors.

Earlier this month, Michel Platini, the president of European football authority UEFA, unveiled a sculpture near the village of Ploegsteert in Hainaut province honouring the football matches played during the lull. A few days before, another memorial, designed by students from two schools in Germany and the UK, was inaugurated at the Peace Village in Messines, West Flanders.

In Britain, Prince William unveiled a football sculpture celebrating the truce, the Royal Shakespeare Company has put on a specially commissioned play about it, and retailer Sainsbury’s and the British Legion recently broadcast a controversial four-minute tear-jerking commercial dramatising the events of the day.

Commemorative football matches have taken place across Europe, including a tournament in Belgium that brought youth teams from here, England, Scotland, France, Austria and Germany to play. There have also been fictional depictions over the years, from the 1969 film Oh! What a Lovely War to 2005’s Joyeux Noël.

No game plan

Today, the Christmas truce has become so mythologised that some even question whether it really happened.

Yet it is rooted in facts. There certainly was a truce – or rather, many truces all along the long line of trenches that ran from the North Sea to Switzerland. From private letters and diaries, officer reports and blurred photographs, we know that soldiers met in No Man’s Land that day, and, yes, even played football.

There does not appear to have been any deeply thought-out game plan, or organised scheme among the soldiers on either side. Nonetheless, the reports all talk of informal appeals at various points along the line.

In most accounts, the initiative comes from the German side. Days before, German soldiers started putting small fir trees – tannenbaum – on the parapet of their trenches, with candles clamped on to provide a seasonal glow.

Letters talk of soldiers then calling out across to the other side, with messages like “Hello Fritz!” and “Merry Christmas, Tommy!” One account talked of how on Christmas morning, Germans sang their carols and the British sang “O Come, All Ye Faithful”, with the Germans joining in with the same hymn to the Latin words, Adeste fideles.

After establishing a line of communication, the next steps would have been the most precarious, as they tentatively breached the idea of ceasing hostilities for the day. One report tells of Germans holding up signs bearing a phrase in broken English: “You no shoot, we no shoot.”

The main motivations, however, were practical: Both sides had an interest in burying the dead that had piled up between them since the war started. A truce would allow them to clear the lines.

Who knows what was racing through the minds of the first soldiers to emerge from the trenches, uncertain whether the other side could keep their word, yet determined to trust in the spirit of Christmas cheer? But the trust was repaid as they met in the centre, shook hands and embraced.

Conversation might have been difficult, but there seems to have been enough language between the two sides to convey their goodwill. Mementoes such as buttons, belt buckles and the famous German spiked Pickelhaube helmets were exchanged, along with more immediately useful gifts: tobacco, food, alcohol.

And then there was the football. While there are no confirmed reports of organised 11-a-side matches between British and German forces, there were, indeed, chaotic kickabouts up and down the line, usually with dozens of participants and no obvious rules.

The truce was not observed everywhere. Nerves sometimes gave way to panic and gunfire. And in some places, commanders ignored the pleas and shot those crawling out from the other side, just as they would have the day before.

Even more poignant is what happened afterwards. There would be no more Christmas truces in the following years. Generals and politicians on both sides were alarmed by what they saw as a breach of discipline and threatened court martial for any further fraternisation.

Nonetheless, the memories of that truce in the mud 100 years ago are still with us. They are remembered as a small triumph of a common humanity, a magical pause in the horrors of the trenches and the senseless waste of life, and a reason to raise a cheer this Christmas.