Ten Bob In The Tin

It was Christmas Eve 1914 in Flanders and there were four of us sitting in the dugout in our part of the trench, Albert Thompson, young Nobby Clark, Henry Morgan, and me Geordie Green.

‘You off out Albert.’ I asked.

‘Aye, I’m off to the dance,’ said Albert sarcastically as he donned his hat.

‘Just me luck, me suit’s in the pawn,’ I said.

‘Yer couldn’t come anyway, it’s a ticket do.’

Just then there was an almighty bang and a cloud of dirt and stones filled the trench.

‘Better put yar coat on Albert, it sounds like rain,’ said Nobby.

‘Nar, it’s only a shower,’ he replied, as he jumped onto the firing step and took a peek over the top. Next minute he shouted, ‘Christ Almighty!’ hit the deck and ripped off his hat.

Young Nobby’s face turned pale. ‘Are yer alright?’ he asked.

‘Aye, but the bugger’s put a hole in me hat, and am not having it,’ said Albert, and then he was back on the step popping off at Fritz. Of course we joined him and within minutes all of our section was exchanging shots with the Germans. Eventually the firing died out and we stepped down. I put some water on to boil, Henry lit his pipe and Nobby sat reading a letter. ‘It’s from me ma. She says it’ll be over in a month and I’ll be home soon.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it bonny lad,’ I said.

Albert picked up the baccy tin and gave it a rattle. ‘How much is in the tin, Geordie?’

‘Last count it was ten bob. Why?’ 

‘Well since I’ve killed three of them, I reckon the ten bob’s mine.’

‘Nar, Henry’s got three an all.’

 ‘Why don’t we make it easy?’ said Henry. ‘The one who bags the next Fritz wins the ten bob.’

‘For a God fearing bloke, how come you’ve no qualms about shooting Fritz?’ asked Albert.

‘Because those arrogant bigots would love nothing better than to grind the world beneath their Prussian jackboots. Besides the Church of England is the only true Christian faith; therefore Fritz is the next thing to a heathen and it is my Christian duty to protect my country against the foreign heathen.’

‘What happened to the milk of human kindness then?’

‘Went, when Fritz invaded France. Anyway you’ve killed as many as me. What’s your excuse?’

‘Me? I’ve got no bloody excuse. It’s my job. But I don’t hate them like you do.’

Henry turned to me, and I said, ‘Don’t ask me. I just do me duty and keep me head down.’

‘What about you Nobby?’

‘Me? I...' The lad paused as if he wasn’t sure and then said, ‘For my king and country, I suppose.’

 The discussion might have escalated into a full-blown argument if the sergeant and the rum orderly hadn’t appeared. ‘Double ration tonight lads, seeing as it’s Christmas Eve,’ the sergeant said. The orderly dished out the rum and after checking all was well, the sergeant told us to enjoy our Christmas Eve and moved on. It was dark by then, so we opened a couple of tins and sat around eating bully and sipping rum, until Albert – never a one for sitting around – jumped back on the firing step, looked over the top and said, ‘Well I never? Come and take a look at this lads.’

After a bit of a grumble we climbed up beside him and took a look. All along the German lines rows of candles and even small illuminated Christmas trees had appeared. Then a lone voice singing “Stille Nacht” broke the silence. For a while he sang alone and then one by one other voices joined in until the men in both lines were singing and we spent the rest of the night singing one Christmas carol after another.

Christmas morning, a voice from the German line called out, ‘Hey Tommy.’

Henry was on the step in a flash looking for a target. ‘Yes Fritz?’ he called back.

‘Merry Christmas,’ the voice called.

Albert joined Henry, made him put down his rifle and called out, ‘Merry Christmas Fritz,’

Well, before you could say “Oh come all ye faithful” Albert and the German, Hans, were out in no mans land having a grand old natter. We joined them and in a short space of time men from both side poured from the trenches and met in the middle to exchange greetings. But before we could get to know each other better the dead had to be collected and buried. Once the grisly task was done we stood around quietly in small groups remembering friends, drinking Snaps, French brandy, and swapping cigarettes. Then Kurt, a friend of Hans, produced a set of Indian clubs and began to juggle. Soon all along the front, men were doing their party pieces. There were stilt-walkers, fire-eaters, magicians and singers galore. There were even several barbers giving haircuts and shaves. Then the inevitable happened, a football appeared and an England v Germany match began. Despite what you might imagine the match was a friendly and England might have won if the officers from both sides hadn’t arrived and ordered all the men back to their trenches.

We said goodbye to our new friends and made our way back.

‘Good barber that Heinz,’ said Nobby.

‘An Kurt can certainly juggle those clubs,’ I said.

‘Yes, and that Hans seems a nice chap too,’ said Henry'

‘You want to watch it Henry,’ said Albert with a grin. ‘You might be having a change of heart.’

Orders were given that the unofficial ceasefire would end that day and hostilities would recommence on Boxing Day morning. Well, we couldn’t refuse orders could we? So we decided that when firing commenced we’d aim high, which we did. Unfortunately the officers and N C O’s on both sides didn’t and when young Nobby was killed, Albert shot Hans and claimed the ten bob in the tin. 

F. Watson.

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