CELEBRATING CHRISTMAS ON THE MEUSE 



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talion had been at work, some cutting the 

 holly and dragging it in from the wood- 

 lands, others wading out into the waters 

 of the marsh and climbing great poplars 

 after mistletoe that grew in clusters high 

 up among the branches. Ivy had been 

 gathered in long ropes and twined about 

 the pillars of the nave. The altar, chan- 

 cel, choir, and transepts, all were fresh 

 and gay with green. The very walls were 

 hung with it, so that I had to look twice 

 to see the shell-scarred plaster beneath 

 or the tattered Stations of the Cross in 

 their frames. 



AN UNFORGETTABLE SCENE 



Cedar, spruce, holly, ivy, mistletoe, 

 everywhere the Christmas greens, every- 

 where a clean, fresh breath of out-of- 

 doors, until the old and broken church 

 must have thought itself young again, 

 must have stirred to feel within its walls 

 a spirit of reverence that had already 

 softened the scars of war, hiding them 

 under the holly wreaths and garlands. 



The service was short and simple ; just 

 the singing of a few old carols, then the 

 celebration of the Holy Communion. The 

 fact that the form used followed that of 

 the Episcopal Church made no difference 

 whatever to the men of various denom- 

 inations in the nave. It was curious to 

 note how the broadening strain of battle, 

 the common hardships and sacrifice, had 

 done away with all feeling of sect. 



Later in the day, other services were 

 held at Reville and the villages round 

 about, but in spite of more elaborate 

 singing and the attendance of the regi- 

 mental bands, the impressive effect of the 

 carol service at dawn was lacking. 



The scene in that ruined church at 

 Peuvillers was one never to be forgotten, 

 as the growing light sparkled through the 

 remnants of old glass upon the crowded 

 uniforms half hidden along the shadowy 

 vaults of the aisles. It was a picture from 

 the Middle Ages, accentuated by the white 

 vestments of the clergyman standing high 

 in the tapered chancel. 



"EriEnd or Eoe" 



Close by the church door, as we were 

 leaving, I saw the men gathered round a 

 granite boulder, a sort of rough monu- 

 ment. Evidently it had been placed there 



in the graveyard by the enemy during the 

 period they had held the plain of the 

 Woevre. The inscription was carved 

 boldly across the face of the rock in Ger- 

 man. It read : 



"Whether it be friend or foe, 

 In death alike united. 

 To those who fell in defense 

 Of their fatherland, 

 1914." 



By a curious coincidence that monu- 

 ment of fellowship and forgiveness be- 

 tween foes, a rare enough thing in this 

 war of bitter feeling and national hatred, 

 stood in the very churchyard where for 

 the first time in many months our men 

 had had a chance to attend divine service. 



Taken in connection with the ending 

 of the war so few weeks before and the 

 Christmas carols of peace and good-will 

 we had just sung, it went a great way to- 

 ward showing us that some of the Huns, 

 at least, had been men who could respect 

 the dead and appreciate the sacrifices of 

 patriotism, regardless of country. 



A STADIUM OE MUD 



By noon the cheering effect of sunshine 

 had long since departed and Christmas 

 Day returned to the usual drizzle of 

 northern France. Had it been possible to 

 produce more mud, or deeper mud, or 

 sloppier mud, the Meuse Valley would 

 undoubtedly have done so ; but the limit 

 had been reached some weeks before. 



The fields were utterly impassable. 

 Where the ground had not been carved 

 into huge shell craters full of water, it 

 was just brown and yellow clay of a con- 

 sistence that stuck to our hobnails and 

 would not let go. That was bad enough, 

 but it kept on increasing about our shoes 

 so alarmingly at each step that we had to 

 carry a stick and pry off great hunks of 

 it every minute or come to a standstill 

 through lack of power to move our feet. 



The roads — what four years of war. 

 lack of care and the shell fire of a modern 

 battle had left of them — were somewhat 

 better. They were muddy all right, but 

 only to a depth of two or three inches. 

 and the mud was of the soft and slushy 

 variety, resting on more or less solid un- 

 derpinnings. That was a great help, for 

 we could slop along comfortably enough 

 without being pulled to a halt. It is no 



