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"Really you would hardly have thought we were at war. Here we were, enemy talking to enemy. They [are] like ourselves with mothers, with sweethearts, with wives waiting to welcome us home again. And to think within a few hours we shall be firing at each other again."
- Masterton, Gunner of the Royal Artillery
"It is weird to think tomorrow night we shall be at it hard again. If one gets through this show it will be a Xmas time to live in one’s memory. The German who sang had a fine voice."
- Captain R. J. Armes, 1st North Staffs
x x x
Royal Artillery. 1st Battalion Northern Staffordshire.
Northern France. The Western Front.
24 December 1914.
The trenches are covered in a thin layer of ice. The air is cold and the night sky is clear. Arthur does not dare lift his head above the ground, but he knew if he were that no man’s land would be veiled in ice, white covering the red of spilled blood.
Arthur breathes on his fingers, warming them up as he holds the pencil above his letter
Dear Morgana,
I'm sure that I need not write to you about the war, for I know you and you've probably already become a nurse against all of father's raging and ranting. You won't listen to me, but remember that I told you not to get entangled in this war. There really is no point then in telling you about what I've seen
and done
. As you can tell though, I'm well, and I'm sure you would be glad to hear that a certain Lt. Knight is also well. He sits beside me as we write, our fingers falling off in the freezing weather. Christmas is tomorrow. It doesn't feel much like Christmas here. But all the same, I'll wish you and everyone back home a Happy Christmas,
-Arthur Penn
Arthur folds the paper and tucks it away. He will send it off as soon as he can, but the letter will probably make it to England after the New Year. He hopes that Morgana, if she has decided to enlist as a nurse, won't be taken over seas. There are already plenty of soldiers that need to be tended to at home.
For days, weeks, and months it had felt like all Arthur could hear was the crash of metal, the whistle of bullets, and the pounding of shells.
Tonight, it is quiet. Without the normal cloud cover, it's colder than normal. As Arthur looks up at the stars, his hands cold against his rifle, he remembers a time not too long ago when he stayed awake on Christmas Eve. The adrenaline coursing through his veins as a child had been a different one than now.
He had heard rumors of a truce, but Arthur didn't know if any nation would listen to what Pope Benedict had to say. He didn't think they would. Christmas seemed far away from this place.
In the dead of night, he knows that he isn't the only one awake. Next to him Leon leans against the wall, his eyes closed, but Arthur knows all it would take to wake him would be a tap on the shoulder.
"Stille Nacht. Heil'ge Nacht."
Arthur looks up suddenly. His fellows’ faces just as confused as he feels.
"What are the boches doing?" A soldier asks. Arthur shakes his head, listening to the sounds from the other trench.
"Someone's singing." Leon says, perfectly awake.
The german soldier, somewhere in the other trench continues singing. "Alles schläft; einsam wacht." Arthur thinks it's the first time he's ever liked listening to the German language. It had never been this soft and calm before. Arthur was almost soothed by the voice.
"Oi! Fritz! Some of us are trying to sleep!" A british solider calls out.
Arthur can't help but laugh, and others join him before they remember where they are and who is singing. The soldier doesn't stop, and he sings it all the way through. Arthur can't help but think the words to Silent Night as the German sings Stille Nacht.
"You think they're missing home as much as we are?" someone asks.
"Shut your mouth, boy." Another soldier snaps harshly. Arthur knows as well as everyone else that they can't afford to think about the other side. Not when all of them have looked to the other side to see boys just like them staring back.
The soldier stops singing. It's quiet again.
"Get some sleep boys. Tomorrow’s another day." It’s just something to say, because they all know they won't sleep. He knows he’s not the only one thinking of home, especially tonight. Arthur eventually dozes off, but he barely catches a few winks of sleep before he must wake again.
In the morning Arthur walks the trench, keeping warm by pacing a bit and rubbing his hands together. He can see his breath and his uniform doesn’t do much against the cold. At least there isn’t much wind in the trenches.
There’s a shout from the German trench. Everyone tenses as they look up, waiting for a shell to explode or a reign of bullets. Nothing happens. The fields are as quiet as they were last night.
"Frohe Weihnachten!" shouts a German solider from the other side.
"What?" Arthur asks Leon, whose German is more passable than Arthur's.
"Merry Christmas" Leon says, a bit of a smile on his lips, though it's more of a sad smile than anything else.
The next sentence Arthur hears, he only understands two words: "Nein" and "Feuer." Arthur has been hearing the call of German officers call out "Feuer frei! Feuer frei!" for months now. Except today, someone calls for a cease fire. No one has been firing, but there’s a call to lay down arms.
Arthur sees Valiant, a trigger happy private, cradle his rifle more closely. Across the way a boy’s eyes are wide and next to him a soldier’s eyes are shut tight with fear. Arthur watches Leon nervously flip his matchbox over in his fingers. No one responds to the German soldier.
It’s Christmas morning. Last year, Arthur had been warm by the Christmas tree as he and Morgana sipped tea and watched the fire crackle in the hearth. This year, he is cold as he wonders if he will die the next day. His enemy has called out a cease fire. Arthur can’t help but thinks of peace on earth and goodwill to men.
He grabs the matchbox out of Leon’s hands.
“What are you doing?” Leon asks as Arthur drops his rifle into the mud. He grabs onto the trench wall and climbs.
Leon doesn't stop him. No one stops him, but everyone watches. Arthur knows they think he's a deadman walking.
Across the barbed wire Arthur can see the frozen field that is no man's land. On the other side, behind German barbed wire, is another soldier. He waves.
Arthur can’t speak German, but repeats the words he knows "Nein Feuer!"
The soldier nods at Arthur’s broken German, holding up his hands showing that he has no weapons.
"Weihnachten!" The soldier shouts.
"Christmas!" Arthur answers.
Arthur steps over the barbed wire and his enemy copies him. He sees a couple heads pop up from the German trench, only their helmets and tentative eyes above the ground. Arthur’s heart races in his chest as he steps forward, over the mud and ice of no man’s land. Behind him he can hear his fellow soldiers whispering and he knows Leon’s eyes are on his back.
When Arthur and the German soldier are only a few feet apart they stop to look over each other. The German soldier is no more than a boy. He is skinny, pale, with black hair that sticks up with the wind. He watches Arthur tentatively, eyes looking over his uniform and face. Arthur wonders if he sees what Arthur sees, a boy just like him.
Arthur holds up his hands and reaches for his coat pocket slowly to show he means no harm. He pulls out the cigarettes and the matchbox. He puts one between his lips and holds out one to the soldier. The German soldier steps forward and takes the cigarette between two fingers. He says something in German that Arthur doesn’t understand.
“Need a light?” Arthur says as he strikes the match and holds it out, cupping his hand against the wind. The German soldier leans in close as Arthur lights the cigarette, before lighting his own.
“Danke” says the soldier as he pulls in his first breath.
“Bitte.” Arthur says, the German looks up with some surprise. Arthur shrugs, acting more confident than he feels as the smoke exhaling from his lips.
They pull back, standing quietly in the middle of the field despite the cold. They do not speak, but only watch each other and enjoy the warmth that the cigarettes provide. When their cigarettes are at their ends, they throw them on the ground, mirroring each other as they stamp them in the mud.
The German soldier points to himself and says “Merlin.” He holds out his hand.
“Merlin.” Arthur repeats, forgetting the danger of knowing his enemy’s name. Arthur throws caution to the wind and takes the hand in a warm grip. He gestures to himself. “Arthur.”
“Arthur.” The German says, adding on something that Arthur thinks probably means ‘nice to meet you’ but he can’t bring himself to think they are meeting under the worst circumstances.
Behind Merlin, Arthur sees more Germans lifting themselves out of the trench. None of them have weapons. He turns to see the British soldiers watching from their own trenches, eyes on Arthur and Merlin.
Merlin says something, catching Arthur attention again. Arthur doesn’t understand and he shakes his head. Merlin gestures over his shoulder and then to the field. Arthur follows his gaze and sees the broken bodies of the fallen soldiers. British and German bodies alike scatter no man’s land. Behind Merlin a few German soldiers lift one of the bodies and take it back to the trenches. Merlin repeats what he said before. Arthur doesn’t know the words but he understands what he means.
“Bury your dead. We’ll do the same. We won’t fire if you won’t.” Arthur says. Merlin gives a short nod.
With a few broken words and a pack of cigarettes, two enemies have made an agreement.
Arthur turns to his fellows, and gestures for them to come up. Leon is the first to climb out, followed by a few young soldiers. The morning is filled with soldiers looking for their fallen comrades, mourning them, and burying them with barely a few spoken words. Arthur sees Merlin watching the two groups on either side of the field, some silently carrying back bodies and others openly mourning their friends.
Merlin says something. His lips are turned down and his eyes are sad. Again, Arthur doesn’t understand, but he can feel the tug in his chest and the prickle in his eyes. Merlin sniffs and Arthur sees him wipe his eyes with quick fingers so that Arthur will not see.
“Me too, Merlin.” Arthur says, kicking the mud beneath his feet. “Me too.”
It is surreal to stand next to Merlin. In the middle of the field on Christmas morning, they stand guard between opposing soldiers as if they were the sentires of no man’s land.
Soldiers, German and British alike, wander across the field. As morning fades to afternoon, soldiers stand in the ice-covered field, and tentatively look at each other, just as Merlin and Arthur had only a moment before. They shake hands, exchange words as best they can. Someone on the German side has pulled out rum and offered it to a couple British privates. Arthur sees Leon speaking broken German to a soldier who is holding a German newspaper.
Merlin says something, catching Arthur’s attention. He knocks Arthur’s shoulder, making him lose his footing for a moment. He mockingly glares at Merlin before bumping him back, which makes Merlin smile. Arthur can’t help but return it with a grin of his own.
Merlin pulls something out of his coat and after a moment, Arthur sees that it's a pocket-watch with a photograph inside. He shows Arthur and the word ‘mutter’ is close enough to English for Arthur to understand. Merlin looks like his mother, pale with dark hair. She holds a baby in her arms that Arthur assumes is either Merlin or a younger brother.
“You?” He asks as he taps the photograph and then points at Merlin. He nods, and Arthur thinks Merlin must be her only son.
“She’s beautiful.” Arthur says. He knows Merlin won’t understand, but he adds anyway, “I’m sure you miss her.”
Merlin runs a thumb over the picture and Arthur’s heart clenches. Merlin can’t be older than seventeen, still just a boy missing his mother. Arthur is twenty two but he feels ages older as he looks at Merlin. Before he can think further, Arthur pulls out his cigarette case where he holds his photograph of Morgana.
He holds it out to Merlin whose fingers trail over the photograph. Morgana sits in her favorite dress, black despite the fact that she wasn’t in mourning. She said the color suited her. Her eyes are determined on the camera as if she disapproves of the onlooker. Arthur had insisted on bringing this photograph, telling Morgana that he won’t ever forget her glare if he takes this one. He runs his hand over the photograph, wiping away the dust.
Merlin asks something and Arthur doesn’t understand. Merlin taps the photo and blows a kiss at Arthur before tapping the photograph again. Arthur bursts out laughing and he shakes his head. “My sister.” Arthur gestures to himself and shakes his head at the photo, trying to convey what he means. Merlin nods with understanding.
As they put away their photographs, Arthur hears a shout. Startled, Arthur looks up he sees Owen, a young British soldier, kicking around a football with a German soldier. Arthur looks to Merlin, who seems just as surprised, and pleased, as Arthur feels. The ball flies across the field, landing a few yards from where Merlin and Arthur stand. They look at each other and then at the ball.
“Come on, Merlin. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Arthur says as he jogs over to the ball and kicks it to Merlin.
Merlin smiles and kicks it back. Owen and the German soldier run over to join and in less than a few minutes they have started a game of football in the middle of a battlefield. No sides have been decided and it becomes a free-for-all of kicking the ball and showing off.
At some point Merlin slips across the mud, landing unceremoniously on his back. Arthur laughs as Merlin curses loudly in German. Surprisingly, Arthur understands some of these words.
" Scheiße .” Arthur repeats as he grabs hold of Merlin’s forearm and pulls him onto his feet. “No need to to curse, Merlin. It is Christmas after all.” Merlin’s eyes widen in surprise before he lets out a laugh.
Merlin says something with a roll of his eyes and the only word Arthur understands is “scheiße ” but Merlin is obviously making fun of Arthur for knowing German curse words. The next word is easy to interpret. “ Arschloch .” Merlin says with a smile.
Arthur laughs. His cheeks hurt from smiling, so out of practice lately.
“ Arschloch .” Merlin repeats with a snort.
Arthur laughs as he pulls Merlin into a headlock, pulling off his own cap and rubbing it into Merlin's head. Merlin splutters and protests in German as Arthur pressed his knuckles over the cap and into Merlin’s hair. It's something Arthur had done with his friends on the schoolyard as a boy, and with Merlin he felt so much younger than he had felt in the trenches only a few days ago.
Merlin playfully pushes Arthur away with a laugh, his hair a mess underneath Arthur’s cap. Merlin adjusts the cap on his head and makes a mocking face, as if impersonating Arthur.
“Oh it's like that, is it?” Arthur says and makes a face at Merlin.
They play like this for a while, wandering to a far edge of no man’s land where there is a tree and some rocks. They sit by the rocks under the barren tree, not speaking since communication was almost impossible, but sitting and watching their comrades on the field. When the sun begins to set, the soldiers start to retreat back into their respective trenches.
Merlin looks over at Arthur, a sad smile on his lips. He pulls off Arthur’s cap from his head, smoothing down his hair and straightening out the fabric in his hands. He hands it to Arthur, saying something softly.
Arthur shakes his head. “Keep it.” He says, pushing the cap back to Merlin’s chest.
Merlin’s brows pull together as he looks at the cap, but he nods. Quickly he pulls out a utility knife and cuts off a button from his uniform pocket. He hands it to Arthur with an earnest expression and another soft phrase in German. Arthur takes the button, feeling it between his fingers before nodding at Merlin in thanks.
They walk back to no man’s land in silence, back to where they had greeted each other.
They face each other and Arthur is at a loss for what to say. He wishes he could be Merlin’s friend, to get to know him, to laugh and play with him as he did today. But Arthur knew they could not have that.
“When all this is over-” Arthur says, trying to gather up hope as he speaks, “Well…” Arthur realizes Merlin won't understand and he wants him to, he wants him to know that Arthur cares and wishes for something else. Spoken words won't be understood...but written words…
Arthur pulls out a scrap of paper from his jacket and the pencil he had been using to write Morgana’s letter. He writes his thoughts quickly on the paper before folding it and giving it to Merlin.
“Here, just take this.” Arthur says.
Merlin’s brows pull together as he looks at the words. “Maybe we will see each other again. Under better circumstances. -Arthur Penn.”
Merlin frowns, “Englisch.” He shakes his head furiously as he points at the paper.
“Find someone to translate it.” Arthur says, knowing that if Arthur could not, someone will be able to tell Merlin what he feels.
Merlin is still confused, so Arthur pushes the note toward Merlin again, close to his chest. “Take it.”
Merlin’s lips are pursed in thought but he nods.
Merlin tucks the note in his pocket and copies Arthur by taking a piece of paper, ripping it at the bottom and writing something down. He hands it to Arthur, but there isn't a single German word on the note that Arthur understands. His heart clenches, and he wants to hear Merlin's thoughts but he knows he will have to wait. Arthur silently tucks the paper away with a nod. One day he will find someone to translate it.
Merlin touches the cap on his head for a moment and Arthur can feel Merlin’s button in his pocket like a lead weight. It's silent and there aren't many soldiers left on the field as the sun sets. Merlin’s eyes catch Arthur’s, and with a soft expression Merlin holds out his hand. Arthur takes it in a warm grip, holding on for a second too long. He can't find much to say, but it doesn't matter because his actions with Merlin that day had spoken for him.
“Frohe Weihnachten” Merlin says like a goodbye.
“Happy Christmas” Arthur says.
They turn around and walk back to the trenches. Tomorrow is another day.
***
London. The Private Residence of Mr. Arthur Penn.
A year after The Great War.
11 November 1919.
“A calling card for you Mr. Penn” George says as he enters the library.
Arthur doesn’t look up from his book as George places the calling card in his outstretched hand. He takes a moment to finish the page before looking at the card.
He reads the card, ‘You seemed to have lost your cap, arschloch.’
Arthur’s brows pull together. “What in the name of-?”
A man walks in, dressed in simple trousers and a wool jacket. Arthur doesn’t know him, and Arthur is surprised George would let a stranger into his home. It’s the cap that the man pulls off his head that gives him away. Arthur has not seen that cap in five years, since his first Christmas in the trenches.
He stands up abruptly, dropping his book to the floor with a thud. “Merlin?”
“Hallo, Arthur.” Merlin says. His German accent is thick and in the middle of London an accent like that is damnable. Arthur doesn't have a clue how he made it here.
Merlin holds onto the cap between nervous hands. It is well worn, more so than it had been in 1914. Merlin is older and his eyes darker. Arthur knows just as well as Merlin what they have seen.
“I read your note.” Merlin says in English.
Arthur’s eyes look to his desk where Merlin’s button and note are carefully kept inside the drawer, the note dirty after the years in the trench and the button rubbed smooth after Arthur held onto it through so many sleepless nights. On that Christmas night in the trenches Leon hadn’t been able to read the note, but months later Arthur had found someone who could. ‘Ich wünschte, wir hätten uns vor dem Krieg getroffen. Pass auf dich auf. Merlin Emerson.’
“I wish we had met before the war.” Arthur says now, remembering his shaking hands as someone finally spoke the words he had looked over for months. “Take care of yourself.” Arthur says softly.
Throughout the war, as Arthur crawled in the mud, ran through the French countryside, and up until he was shot in the leg in 1917, Arthur had thought of those words. Even now he wonders why they had been in the war, especially when they were fighting men like Merlin.
“I am happy to see you safe.” Merlin says, his English better than any German that Arthur picked up over the years.
“For the most part.” Arthur says, feeling the old ache in his leg, the wound that sent him home. Suddenly his throat begins to close as he looks over Merlin. He doesn’t have to see the wounds to know there are scars on Merlin, inside and out.
Arthur steps forward, and just like before Merlin meets him halfway into an embrace.