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Praetorium Honoris

Tuesday, December 20, 2022

Truce in the Forest

(Source)
I had read this story years ago, probably in the Reader's Digest when it was originally published. Thanks to the internet, I was able to track it down in just a few minutes.


Truce in the Forest, by Fritz Vincken¹

It was Christmas Eve, and the last desperate German offensive of WWII raged around our tiny cabin. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door…

When we heard the knock on our door that Christmas Eve in 1944, neither Mother nor I had the slightest inkling of the quiet miracle that lay in store for us. I was 12 then, and we were living in a small cottage in the Huertgen Forest, near the German-Belgian border. Father had stayed at the cottage on hunting weekends before the war; when Allied bombers partly destroyed our hometown of Aachen, he sent us to live there. He had been ordered into the civil-defense fire guard in the border town of Monschau, four miles away.

“You’ll be safe in the woods,” he had told me. “Take care of Mother. Now you’re the man of the family.” But nine days before Christmas, Field Marshal Von Rundstedt had launched the last, desperate German offensive of the war, and now, as I went to the door, the Battle of the Bulge was raging all around us. We heard the incessant booming of field guns; planes soared continuously overhead; at night searchlights stabbed through the darkness. Thousands of Allied and German soldiers were fighting and dying nearby.

When that first knock came, Mother quickly blew out the candles; then, as I went to answer it, she stepped ahead of me and pushed open the door. Outside, like phantoms against the snow-clad trees, stood two steel-helmeted men. One of them spoke to Mother in a language we did not understand, pointing to a third man lying in the snow. She realized before I did that these were American soldiers. Enemies!

Mother stood silent, motionless, her hand on my shoulder. They were armed and could have forced their entrance, yet they stood there and asked with their eyes. And the wounded man seemed more dead than alive. “Kommt rein,” Mother said, finally. “Come in.” The soldiers carried their comrade inside and stretched him out on my bed.

None of them understood German. Mother tried French, and one of the soldiers could converse in that language. As Mother went to look after the wounded man, she said to me, “The fingers of those two are numb. Take off their jackets and boots, and bring in a bucket of snow.” Soon I was rubbing their blue feet with snow.

We learned that the stocky, dark-haired fellow was Jim; his friend, tall and slender, was Robin. Harry, the wounded one, was now sleeping on my bed, his face as white as the snow outside. They’d lost their battalion and had wandered in the forest for three days, looking for the Americans, hiding from the Germans. They hadn’t shaved, but still, without their heavy coats, they looked merely like big boys. And that was the way Mother began to treat them.

Now Mother said to me, “Go get Hermann. And bring six potatoes.”

This was a serious departure from our pre-Christmas plans. Hermann was the plump rooster (named after portly Hermann Goering, Hitler’s No. 2 man, for whom Mother had little affection) that we had been fattening for weeks in the hope that Father would be home for Christmas. But, some hours before, when it was obvious that Father would not make it, Mother had decided that Hermann should live a few more days, in case Father could get home for New Year’s. Now she had changed her mind again; Hermann would serve an immediate, pressing purpose.

While Jim and I helped with the cooking, Robin took care of Harry. He had a bullet through his upper leg and had almost bled to death. Mother tore a bed-sheet into long strips for bandages.

Soon, the tempting smell of roast chicken permeated our room. I was setting the table when once again there came a knock at the door. Expecting to find more lost Americans, I opened the door without hesitation. There stood four soldiers, wearing uniforms quite familiar to me after five years of war. They were Wehrmacht – Germans!

I was paralyzed with fear. Although still a child, I knew the harsh law: sheltering enemy soldiers constituted high treason. We could all be shot! Mother was frightened, too. Her face was white, but she stepped outside and said, quietly, “Froehliche Weihnachten.” The soldiers wished her a Merry Christmas, too. “We have lost our regiment and would like to wait for daylight,” explained the corporal. “Can we rest here?”

“Of course,” Mother replied, with a calmness, born of panic. “You can also have a fine, warm meal and eat till the pot is empty.” The Germans smiled as they sniffed the aroma through the half open door. “But,” Mother added firmly, “we have three other guests, whom you may not consider friends.” Now her voice was suddenly sterner than I’d ever heard it before. “This is Christmas Eve, and there will be no shooting here.”

“Who’s inside?” the corporal demanded. “Amerikaner?”

Mother looked at each frost-chilled face. “Listen,” she said slowly. “You could be my sons, and so could they in there. A boy with a gunshot wound, fighting for his life, and his two friends, lost like you and just as hungry and exhausted as you are. This one night,” she turned to the corporal and raised her voice a little, “This Christmas night, let us forget about killing.”

The corporal stared at her. There were two or three endless seconds of silence. Then Mother put an end to indecision. “Enough talking!” she ordered, and clapped her hands sharply. “Please put your weapons here on the woodpile, and hurry up before the others eat the dinner!:

Dazedly, the four soldiers placed their arms on the pile of firewood just inside the door: three carbines, a light machine gun and two bazookas. Meanwhile, Mother was speaking French rapidly to Jim. He said something in English, and to my amazement I saw the American boys, too, turn their weapons over to Mother. Now, as the Germans and Americans tensely rubbed elbows in the small room, Mother was really on her mettle. Never losing her smile, she tried to find a seat for everyone. We had only three chairs, but Mother’s bed was big, and on it she placed two of the newcomers side by side with Jim and Robin.

Despite the strained atmosphere, Mother went right on preparing dinner. But Hermann wasn’t going to grow any bigger, and now there were four more mouths to feed. “Quick” she whispered to me, “get more potatoes and some oats. These boys are hungry, and a starving man is an angry one.”

While foraging in the storage room, I heard Harry moan. When I returned, one of the Germans had put on his glasses to inspect the American’s wound. “Do you belong to the medical corps?” Mother asked him. “No,” he answered. “But I studied medicine at Heidelberg until a few months ago.” Thanks to the cold, he told the Americans in what sounded like fairly good English, Harry’s wound hadn’t become infected. “He is suffering from a severe loss of blood,” he explained to Mother. “What he needs is rest and nourishment.”

Relaxation was now beginning to replace suspicion. Even to me, all the soldiers looked very young as we sat there together. Heinz and Willi, both from Cologne, were 16. There German corporal, at 23, was the oldest of them all. From his food bag he drew out a bottle of red wine, and Heinz managed to find a loaf of rye bread. Mother cut that in small pieces to be served with the dinner; half the wine, however, she put away, “for the wounded boy.”

Then Mother said grace. I noticed that there were tears in her eyes as she said the old, familiar words, “Komm, Herr Jesus. Be our guest.” And as I looked around the table, I saw tears, too, in the eyes of the battle-weary soldiers, boys again, some from America, some from Germany, all far from home.

Just before midnight, Mother went to the doorstep and asked us to join her to look up at the Star of Bethlehem. We all stood beside her except Harry, who was sleeping. For all of us during the moment of silence, looking at the brightest star in the heavens, the war was a distant, almost-forgotten thing.

Our private armistice continued next morning. Harry woke in the early hours, and swallowed some broth that Mother fed him. With the dawn, it was apparent that he was becoming stronger. Mother now made him an invigorating drink from our one egg, the rest of the corporal’s wine and some sugar. Everyone else had oatmeal. Afterward, two poles and Mother’s best tablecloth were fashioned into a stretcher for Harry.

The German corporal then advised the Americans how to find their way back to their lines. Looking over Jim’s map, the corporal pointed out a stream. “Continue along this creek,” he said, “and you will find the 1st Army rebuilding its Forces on its upper course.” The medical student relayed the information in English.

“Why don’t we head for Monschau?” Jim had the student ask. “Nein,” the corporal exclaimed. “We’ve retaken Monschau.”

Now Mother gave them all back their weapons. “Be careful, boys,” she said, “I want you to get home someday where you belong. God bless you all!” The German and American soldiers shook hands, and we watched them disappear in opposite directions.

When I returned inside, Mother had brought out the old family Bible. I glanced over her shoulder. The book was open to the Christmas story, the Birth in the Manger and how the Wise Men came from afar bearing their gifts.

Her finger was tracing the last line from Matthew 2:21, “…they departed into their own country another way.”


I thought this a nice Christmas story, something worth sharing as we celebrate the season.

Peace be with you.




¹ Vincken, Fritz, “Truce in the Forest,” Readers Digest, January 1973, pp 111-114. (Secondary Source)

48 comments:

  1. What a nice story, thank you. Merry Christmas.

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  2. d-----t ... got dusty in here again

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  3. Hey Old AFSarge;

    Durn Dust *Sniff* Excellent Story. I had momentary flashes of GI's ,snow, German Soldaten in Feldgrau, Christmas Tree and Peace on Earth.

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    1. It got to me as well, I had the same mental images as you.

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  4. Stupid random dust storms in the house. I should dust more...

    Thanks Sarge. We can always use reminders of human kindness, perhaps now more than ever.

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  5. Yeah, quite dusty. Coffee is cooking, that'll help me swallow the lump, too. Happy Christmas.

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  6. That hits right in the feels. My eyes are leaking.

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  7. Beautiful story. Too bad we can't behave like this today.

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  8. Thanks, that was great. If we could just scale that up enough...

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  9. Crusty Old TV Tech here. Never heard that one before. Casa COTT had a sudden attack of onion cutting syndrome. Well done. Froehliche Weihnachten to all!

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  10. Amen. Gets me more every year. The power of the Feast and, almost equally, the power of Mom.

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  11. That epidemic of dustiness certainly is contagious. Thanks for sharing.
    Merry Christmas to all, everywhere.
    John Blackshoe

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  12. Very nice story. Thank you.

    My father served in the Battle Of The Bulge. It was a very difficult time for all. At one point he and several of his men were trapped behind enemy lines for several days. He and his men pretended to be Germans being sent to infiltrate the Americans. They drove their Dodge Power Wagon past the checkpoint and across the line over to the Allied side while doing the Heil Hitler salute. Nobody stopped them. He and his men got bronze stars for that escapade.

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    1. One of the most confused battles in history, the GIs won it, not their generals.

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  13. We have to wonder how many stories just like this may have taken place. We’ll never know. We have to keep these kinds of memories as well as the horror of the reality they faced, perhaps the next day.
    A most merry Christ-filled Christmas time to all who read here!
    Thanks Sarge.

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    1. It's the little kindnesses that get us through.

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  14. Great Find, Sarge. Perfect for the season. Gotta agree with D4's comment above. I had similar thoughts, but, as usual, he's better at putting words to them than I.

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  15. Thanks, Sarge. I really should dust the house more often. There was another Christmas story in the American Legion magazine in the 70s/80s (that I have misplaced and as I remember it). It was Christmas Eve at a field hospital in Italy. Carols were playing from the loudspeakers as ambulances slithered through the mud and cold rain in the darkness. Most of the wounded had not had a decent meal in weeks. Tonight, there would be a special Christmas Dinner -Turkey with all the trimmings. Then it was remembered how the Italian civilians with gaunt starved faces patiently waited in the rain with pails by the garbage can to glean what scraps of food. Unspoken, every wounded soldier who could struggle out of his sickbed and through the chow line walked out with a heaping mess kit. With Silent Night playing and the rain hiding their tears, each carefully poured their precious Christmas Dinner into an awaiting pail...

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  16. Dave's comment dredged up a recollection that there was some sort of unsanctioned Christmas truce activities on the western front in WW1, but I do not know the details.
    I think during the Civil War there were also occasional unofficial cease fires and exchanges of pleasantries and sharing of supplies between the sides out on the picket lines.
    Some soldiers still have a great deal of humanity and compassion towards other humans, even in war time. Others, not so much and would gladly slit your throat after pretending to be human. I may be stereotyping, but middle eastern and Russian types seem to be overly represented in the latter. Not sure where the inscrutable Orientals might be, but guess they would also be on the "whose been bad list."

    There have been a number of cases where former enemies have later struck up respectful relations, and perhaps some friendships. One example is a former Luftwaffe pilot and an AmMerican bomber crew which he spared after making them a mission kill, without sending them to their deaths.
    John Blackshoe

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    1. There's even a pretty good movie about that Christmas truce in 1914: Joyeux Noel.

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    2. Seamus Kennedy does the best version of John McCutcheon's song "Christmas In The Trenches." A hankie will help with the dust. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=roAIksSI_0k

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    3. Allergies man, must be the allergies ...

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    4. Re the WWI Christmas Truce:
      A fictional representation:
      https://youtu.be/P1dZTsjhEJc

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  17. Might be hope for the human race yet!

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    1. If not Hope, always maintain curiosity for what the day brings. Meanwhile, always Maintain!

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  18. Great story. Thank you for sharing it. If only we could all learn from this, on different sides of front lines, aisles, or what have you, on Christmas or otherwise,

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    1. We all have more in common than most like to admit.

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  19. Found this earlier today. Have hankie handy. https://theviewfromladylake.blogspot.com/2022/12/a-christmas-eve-to-remember-50-years-on.html

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