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Dear all
A hundred years ago… on
December 25, 1914, as much discussed of late, the Western Front went relatively
quiet and some British, French and German troops even fraternised with the
enemy, singing carols, playing football and chatting together in No Man’s
Land. But over in the east a section of
the Ottoman Army, fighting the Battle of Sarikamish, which began on December 22
in the Caucasus mountains, marched for 14 hours in heavy snow – towards a
crushing and relentless defeat by the Russian Army eventually concluded on
January 17 (32,000 Ottoman troops killed in action, another 15,000 dead from
illness, mainly induced by frostbite; 28,000 Russians dead one way or the
other).
In five months, the war had already gone global with battles
fought on every continent. Meanwhile, Sam Sutcliffe, an under-age volunteer at
16, and his slightly less under-age brother Ted, 18, had managed to get home
for Christmas in Edmonton, north London...
FOOTSOLDIERSAM SPEAKS
Despite
their officers in the 2/1st City Of London Battalion, Royal Fusiliers,
overlooking their men’s fervent desire to see their families, as described in
last week’s blog the soldiery protested to the brink of mutiny, their
complaints were received and understood and a thousand men got the couple of
days’ leave they craved.
Back home from their billets in Tonbridge
on Christmas Eve with soldier’s pay rattling in their pockets, Sam and Ted
played their part in a festivity more elaborate and heart-felt than anything
they’d experienced in the poverty-pinched years of their childhood (with their
father depressed by his part in “ruining” the family business in Manchester, back
when Sam was a toddler, and their mother embittered by their social and
financial descent):
‘With money in their
pockets, the brothers bought a turkey in the market place along with fruit,
sweets… and Turkish cigarettes, probably costing 4d* for ten instead of the
usual 2d for English — their rich aroma seemed to lend an air of opulence to
that small home.
So they all settled down to spend a really
happy Christmas together. This might be the last family gathering for several
years and, for once, all of them did their utmost to make the occasion
memorable — starting that night with the collective manufacture of decorative
chains from strips of coloured paper and flour paste. A gay touch in the living
room.
Mother spent much time at the coal-fired
cooking range. It took skill to stoke it and arrange the dampers so that pots
of vegetables on top kept boiling while the bird and stuffing in the oven
roasted without burning.
Pa had bought a bottle of cheap claret, a
favourite of mother’s though, to put it mildly, a bit sharp for the tastes of
the youngsters. But all protested that they liked it. Drinking some fizzy
mineral water, of which they’d bought several large bottles — “penny monsters”
— soon softened its harshness. What with playing games, telling yarns about
Army experiences, and resting between unusually large meals, the hours passed
quickly.
They all praised Ma’s cooking and even Dad
put aside the load of worry which always appeared to be crushing him… and
smiled occasionally. The war was hardly mentioned, although this Christmas
should have marked the end of hostilities according to many forecasters.
Everyone knew it was not going well, and flickers of fear disturbed even
reasonably optimistic people.
But, just for the moment, self-indulgence
quite rightly ousted serious thinking and all felt the happier for trying to
encourage forgetfulness and joyfulness among others.’
* fourpence in old £sd = 0.3p in post-decimal sterling
Wishing you all the best,
dear reader, and a happy New Year — FSS
Next week: Sam reflects on the best of times in Tonbridge, the worst of
times to come...
