Christmas Presence

Christmas Presence

"If it don't get merrier than this by Christmas, it won't be up to
much."

Statement of Leutenant Johannes Frieland, 133 Saxon Regiment. Christmas
Day, 1914.

We came up to take over the trenches on the front between the
Frelinghein and Houplines, where our Regiment and the Scottish Seaforth
Highlanders were face to face. It was a cold starry, night and the
Scots were a hundred or so metres in front of us in their trenches
where, as we discovered, like us they were up to their knees in mud. My
Company Commander and I, savouring the unaccustomed calm sat with our
orderlies around the Christmas tree we had put up in our dugout.

Suddenly, for no apparent reason, our enemies began to fire on our
lines. Our soldiers had hung little Christmas trees with candles above
the trenches and our enemies, seeing the lights thought we were about
to launch a surprise attack. But, by midnight it was calm once
more.

On Christmas morning I awoke very early and emerged from my dugout into
the trench. Fancy all this hate, war and discomfort on a day like this!
I thought to myself. There was a cloudless blue sky, the ground hard
and white and fading off towards the wood a thin low-lying mist. It was
uncannily silent.
An informal cease-fire had been arranged for the retrieval and burial
of the dead of both sides yet when I looked cautiously out over the
parapet I was astonished to see our soldiers exchanging cigarettes,
Schnapps and chocolate with the enemy. Later a Scottish soldier
appeared with a football, which seemed to come from nowhere and a few
minutes later a real football match got underway. It was far from easy
to play on the frozen ground, but we continued, keeping rigidly in the
rules. Play lasted for no more than an hour and all the amateur
footballers, although very tired, played with great enthusiasm.

Us Germans really roared when a gust of wind revealed that the Scots
wore no drawers under their kilts. The game ended with a score of three
goals to two in favour of Fritz against Tommy. There was definitely
something in the air, some indescribable something. The whole spirit of
Christmas seemed to be there, so that I felt it must have had some
effect on the situation here today.

II

The Spirit moved on experiencing an impulse that in its mortal form had
caused crinkling around the eyes and agreeable bubbling in the abdomen.
Its immortal dominion encompassed the globe and its gaze spanned aeons.
Not limited by physical laws it could watch the first sparse stirrings
of primordial life and the affairs of the 21st century in the blink of
an eye. It observed the scuttlings of man with infinite patience and
compassion; it knew their hearts like a mother. It had taken mortal
form and moved among them countless times, always choosing this winter
solstice period that even men and women instinctively recognised as
sacred, when their hearts were most open. Their mythologies
incorporated its manifestations but their limited comprehension could
barely conceive its overwhelming vastness. Its attention moved to 1977
and it focused on an urban road in the land men knew as Northern
Ireland.

III

"Fenian bastard!" "OUT"
They were only lads, most no older than 10 or so. An icy, spitting rain
had stolen their enthusiasm for soccer and recent events had turned
their banter to the old subject, the Troubles. The hate they had known
all their lives turned them into a mob and as a mob must have a focus
they had come to Colm O'Connell's yard. Too old or too stupid to move
out when other houses in his road were bombed out or just crumbled into
ruin Colm stayed the only catholic in the Protestant Gillivray
Road.

The arrival of an Army jeep sent the lads running shouting final
insults over their shoulders. Colm watched the jeep move slowly past,
automatic rifles silhouetted against the gunmetal sky. Across the
street, one boy remained. Jamie Farrally had tagged along after his
older brothers but had somehow missed the cue to run as they had done.
He stood now staring at Colm through the fairy lights around his front
window.
Suddenly the impulse took Colm to go into the street, taking with him
an almost forgotten football from the hall cupboard.

"Here, son," he called.

"Fenny out," called the boy, unsure in the absence of his brothers how
to deal with this unexpected turn of events. Colm tossed the ball into
the air and, keeping eye contact with the boy kept it up with gentle
taps from shoulder, head or knee. He finally headed the ball in Jamie's
direction.

"Come on, son, see if you can get it past me."

Jamie didn't move, wanted to run but didn't know which way. The ball
bounced and rolled away from him.

Colm went and retrieved it and began dribbling it up and own, feeling
slightly absurd in his carpet slippers on the damp pavement.

"Georgie Best," said Jamie suddenly.

"Aye, that's me!" laughed Colm "Now I'm Gordon Banks. Take your best
shot."

Jamie kicked the ball unsteadily, wildly and unexpectedly with his left
foot. It sailed easily past Colm and bounced off the wall. They both
cheered. Three times Colm made the save with an exaggerated dive, but
Jamie scored two good goals before they finished.
When they parted, Jamie kept the ball which carried the signatures of
several world class players, on the understanding of a return fixture
the following Sunday.

IV

Satisfied, the Spirit moved it's ceaseless focus to a place in what was
once Mesopotamia where the great Sumerian civilisation had flourished
and passed, as all mortal constructs must. Now, in the 21st century a
man slept deeply, an armed guard vigilant outside his door. This man
was the leader of a nation. In the affairs of men he was isolated, but
his actions pivotal.

The Spirit saw another man in another land, possibly the most powerful
man in the world, carrying on his father's work as leader of what men
call the United States of America. The pleasant impulse filled the
Spirit again. Here was a challenge indeed!

(c) Kendra Kerr Duncan 2002