‘LET THERE BE PEACE ON EARTH TONIGHT’

Boyhood Memories of Christmas 1944

By Fritz Vincken

            I was twelve years old, when on a night in April 1944, a heavy bombing raid on the city of Aachen left my family homeless.  My parents’ bakery had burned like a torch and together, we all were evacuated out of the smoldering ruins to a village near the river Rhine, where we found shelter.

          Ten miles away was Neuwied, a town where my father was placed to supervise the operation of a large bakery, owned by the chief master of the local retail bakers’ guild.  Then, a few months later, this bakery, too, was war damaged beyond repair.  Father, then 48-years-old, was about to be drafted to become a soldier, but fortunately, the chief master knew the right people and was able to have him conscripted as a “field baker,” to bake bread for the German army.  He was ordered to report for work somewhere along the Belgium border.

          It was late summer and the allied invasion was rolling towards Germany and it seemed unstoppable.  There was an assumption among many that the war would be over before the end of autumn, and plans were made to go into hiding, while waiting for the front to pass by.  Only a few feared the Western Allies.

          One evening, my father arrived in our village with a small army truck, picked up mother and me, and drove all through the night to take us to be in his proximity.  There about 20 miles from where he was housed at the bakery, deep inside the Ardennes Forest on a wooded mountain, there was a clearing on whose edge stood a lonely hut, empty and forsaken.  A Belgian friend had shown him the way to this hidden refuge and helped to prepare for our arrival.

          “Here you’ll have to spend the next three to four weeks,” father told us hopefully, “then the war is behind us.”  It was not to be.

          Weeks turned into months as the front stiffened and in December, Hitler surprised the Allies with a last bold offensive, later named the Battle of the Bulge.                

We were still living in our cabin; deep snow had compounded our isolation and cut us off from the outside world.  My father, who had supplied us with provisions until well into November, couldn’t get through to us anymore.

          Our cabin had two small glass windows; an oven built from bricks for heat and cooking, ample firewood was stored in a nearby shed.  Our basic foodstuff would last us a few more weeks.  Before the big snow fell, I would make my way down into the valley

to a potato clamp, where wild boars had dug a hole through the heavy cover.  I went there with my knapsack as often as weather permitted.  There was a deserted farmhouse with its gate wide open.  It had been pillaged of any food, but there were some candles scattered on the floor.  Knowing how much we needed them, I picked them up.  There was also a lonely inhabitant, a scrawny rooster that followed me in his search for something to eat.  Mother named him “Hermann,” and he became our boarder for a while.  His appetite was voracious, our oatmeal supply dwindled fast and he became very plump.

          Hermann’s frequent crowing grew louder too, which was worrisome in our lonely hideout.  About a week before Christmas, all hell broke loose.

          Up from the valleys came the sound of heavy fighting, carbine-gun staccato and the howling of rockets.  We felt safe in our cabin, but as a precaution, Hermann was silenced.

          It was hard not to worry about father.  We hoped for the best, which in his situation was to have become a Prisoner of War.  For him, that would mean relative safety in an American camp.  By the 24^th of December, the weather cleared up.

Temperatures dropped overnight to below freezing, but the sun rose on a bloodless blue sky.  All day long, many hundreds of Allied planes flew on their deadly missions undisturbed.  The gloomy, heavy roar of their engines would remain forever entrenched in my mind.

When darkness fell in late afternoon, the sudden quietness was conspicuous, as countless stars reclaimed the heavens.  Long icicles had formed outside our windows.

One single candle lit the vicinity of our stove, where mother was preparing a hearty soup, of which Hermann was the most substantial ingredient.  Our thoughts were with father, whom we missed now more than at any other time.

          At that moment, we could hear some noise outside…quiet human voices.  Mother hastily blew out the candle and we waited in fearful silence.  There was a knock, careful and full of anxiety, then another.  My mother went to the door.  I slipped behind her and when she opened it, there were two men in the doorway, like phantoms against the endless white background.  They wore steel helmets and mother asked then where in God’s name they’d come from on a night like this.  One answered in a strange language and pointed to a third man, sitting in the snow.

We knew by then they were American soldiers.

My mother paused.  She realized very well how dangerous the situation was, they were armed and could have forced their entrance, and yet they stood there and asked with their eyes.  And there was someone on the ground, who seemed more dead than alive.  “Commit rein,” said my mother and made an inviting gesture toward the door.  The soldiers carried in their comrade and placed him on my mattress.  One of them had a little knowledge of French and, assuming we were French speaking Belgians, tried to communicate.  Mother responded with relief.  She had learned to speak French as a child, while attending a convent school in neighboring Belgium.  Now she was told about the German offensive and how they had lost their battalion and wandered for days through the snowy Ardennes Forest, carrying their buddy who was wounded in his thigh.

We relit the candle.  It was warm in the cabin and now, after I had helped the soldiers take off their heavy coats, they looked like big friendly boys.  And that was the way mother treated them.  We learned that the stocky, dark-haired fellow was Jim; his comrade, tall and slender, was Ralph.  Herby (real name Harry), the wounded one, was now sleeping on my bed.

“Get me some more potatoes,” mother told me, while she lit an additional candle.  “We need more soup.”

By that time, a very tempting smell spread through our room and before long, dinner was ready.  I put plates on the table and we all sat down to eat, when suddenly, there was another knock at the door.  Without hesitation, I rushed to open the door, expecting more straggling Americans outside.  There were soldiers, four of them, all armed to the teeth.

With one look, I realized they wore the uniform familiar to me after five years of war.  They were men of my people.  Germans!  I was almost paralyzed with fear, for though I was still a child, I knew the harsh law of war:  Anyone giving aid and comfort to the enemy will be shot.  Would it all come now to a horrible end?

While I stood and just stared, my mother stepped behind me in the doorway.  I couldn’t see her face, but her calm voice eased my fear a little.  “What a freezing night to be out in the open,” she said to the men.  “You look like you could use a hot meal.”

The soldiers seemed surprised at the sight of a woman and a young boy at this time and place, but happy, to have found a German family in this borderland.  They returned mother’s greeting with a friendly smile.  “We have to wait for daylight,” explained one, who wore the shoulder straps of a corporal.  “Do you have a little warm space for us to get some rest and perhaps a bit of sleep?  We won’t trouble you too much.”

“Of course, you can stay with us,” mother replied as cheerfully as she could.  “I wouldn’t leave you outside on a cold night like this.”  She appeared very motherly and her friendly reception obviously impressed the weary warriors.  “You can also have a hearty chicken soup with us.”  Through the half open door drifted the overpowering aroma of Hermann’s stew into the clear winter night and the men sniffed enthusiastically.  “But,” my mother added with a calmness born of panic, “we also have three other half-frozen guests who came a little while ago, asking for shelter.  For God’s sake, let there be peace tonight.”

“What is this?” the corporal protested gruffly, catching mother’s hint at once.  “Who’s inside?  Amerikaners?”

          Disaster seemed just moments away.  Mother looked at their faces and said, “Listen to me, boys, all of you could be my sons, and so could those three in there.  One of them is badly wounded and they are just as cold and hungry as you are.”

          The mother’s voice became very firm as she spoke directly to the corporal, “This is Christmas Eve and there will be no shooting around here!”

          The corporal was speechless.  Endless seconds of silence followed.  No inkling of support came from his little group, who seemed more than ready to accept this unexpected invitation.  Mother broke the stalemate.  “Enough talking,” she commanded with convincing authority.  “Place your weapons here in the woodshed and hurry up.  Dinner is almost ready.”

          That did it.  “She is right,” the corporal told his men.  “We all need something hot to eat.”  The soldiers stepped toward the shed and placed their arms on a pile of firewood.  It was quite an arsenal when I covered it with an old blanket.

          Mother had hurried inside already, when we approached the door.  I could hear her rapidly speaking French, then Jim said something in English.  Never before had I felt my heart throbbing as at that moment.  The Americans, realizing there were Germans outside and uncertain about their hostess’ negotiation, turned to their guns.  Meanwhile, the Germans had entered, looking at them with suspicion, but apparently unarmed.  Mother, with her left hand got a firm hold of Jim’s rifle; with her right she took a pistol from Ralph.  What a relief!

Never losing her motherly smile, she now tried to find a seat for everyone.  We had only three chairs, but mother’s bed was big, and two of the newcomers were placed side by side with Jim and Ralph.  For two minutes, perhaps three, there was a strain in the room; you could almost feel the tension this unique situation emanated.  When all were assembled around the table, cautious glances were exchanged, and then suddenly, Herby moaned in his sleep.  One of the Germans inquired in what seemed to be fluent English about the American’s injury.

          While inspecting Herby’s wound, he told Jim and Ralph the good news:  only flesh was cut, no bone was hurt and the cold had helped to prevent infection.  “Are you a doctor?” mother asked him.  “No, but I hope to be one some day,” he replied with a smile.  Then he proceeded to apply some dressing and a bandage from his first aid kit.  “His weakness is caused by a severe loss of blood.  What he needs now is rest, liquids and good nourishment.  He’ll be alright.”

          By now, the strain had disappeared and all seemed relaxed.  While Herby was being attended to, I had added water and some more potatoes to increase the soup’s volume.  Hermann wasn’t growing any bigger at this stage and, besides mother and myself; we had seven hungry mouths to feed.

          The corporal unscrewed the cork from a bottle of red wine and one of his men brought a large loaf of rye bread to the table, which mother sliced and put on a plate.  From the wine, mother reserved a small portion for our patient, the rest was equally divided.

          At last, the soup was ready to be served and the heavy, steaming kettle was placed on the table flanked by flickering candles.  Mother finally sat down on an improvised seat at the table’s head.  All eyes were looking at her.

          The mood had become somewhat festive, almost solemn and even though they were very hungry, no one would start eating.

          Ralph took the hands of those sitting next to him, Jim did the same and all of the sudden we were holding each other’s hands like they do in America when giving thanks to God.

          Mother spoke a spontaneous prayer for all of us, thankful not only for our meal, but also for this night of peace and togetherness.  “And bring an end to this terrible war, so that we can all go home where we belong.  Amen.”

There were tears in her eyes and as I looked around the table, the soldiers were filled with emotion and their thoughts were many miles away.  Now they were boys again, some from America, some from Germany, all far from home.

          After dinner, we had American instant coffee and pineapple pudding in small olive-green cans.  Then, cigarettes were passed among our guests, but before the smoke, there was my mother who went to the doorstep and asked us to join her to look at the stars.  It was a wonder winter night with the heavens sparkling with thousands of lights and the brightest of all was Sirius, which mother said was like the Star of Bethlehem, a harbinger of peace and the answer to millions of prayers.  No one spoke.  All had their private thoughts and might have dreamed of the time when this bloody war would be over and done with.

          The soldiers slept on their heavy coats, while I found space in my mother’s bed.  Herby woke in the early hours and was fed an invigorating drink of red wine and sugar.  Morning came soon enough and our patient felt much stronger.  For breakfast he ate with all of us what was left of the chicken soup.  He couldn’t walk, of course, so a stretcher was made with two strong sticks and canvas from a German tent square.

          Then the corporal explained to Jim and Ralph how to find their way back to the American lines, while the medic translated his words into English.  A German compass changed hands.  “And watch your step, there may be mines out there.  And if ‘Mustangs” come your way, wave with your arms like madmen.”

          After this, they all received their weapons back and the time for departure had come.  It was a farewell like among old friends; they hugged merrily and promised to meet again “as soon as the damned war is over.”  Jim and Ralph kissed mother’s cheeks.  Herby was placed on his stretcher and with big smiles on their faces the three Americans were on their way.  While walking, they turned their heads toward us and waved.  We waved back until they disappeared between the trees, happy for the encounter and sad because it was so short.  “They’re people just like us,” I heard the corporal mumble to his men.

Now it was time for the German soldiers to return to their regiment when my mother – to mind and the soldiers’ complete surprise – asked the corporal “please take us along.”    

This impulsive decision was based on sound reasoning.  Isolated for many weeks, hoping father was in safe American captivity at best, we could not remain in this lonely hut for much longer.  Now was the chance to leave this inhospitable winter woodland in the company of four strong men.

To the corporal, it was a sacred duty to honor mother’s request to escort us civilians out of no-man’s-land.

We trudged in a row through the deep snow down to the valley where it was easier to walk.  Darkness had fallen when we arrived at a small, badly ruined town.  It was here, that our new friends had to say goodbye to us.  Of this, I have no memory.  I was asleep walking, holding on mother’s hand.

Both my parents knew the address of a relative who had been evacuated from the war zone to a place in central Germany.  That’s where we were heading now.  The following night a German army tuck gave us a ride to Koblenz.  From there we went by train on a journey of many detours and several days, through ruins and destruction, to the city of Gotha.  Now, only a few more miles and we would reach our destination.  But first, mother and I went to a soup kitchen, next to the railroad station where ladies from the Red Cross attempted to feed many hundreds of refugees who arrived at all hours from the eastern provinces.

Here, amidst the countless hungry, like in a fairy tale, we spotted a familiar face, albeit unshaven – it was father!

“You look like a vagabond,” mother gasped.  “And so do you!” father replied and we all had a good laugh.

He had been on the road for two weeks, heading for the same address as we.  Somewhere on his way, father had been stopped by a local Nazi party official who detained him as a potential deserter.  Taken to a ground floor office at the town hall, he was to stand facing the wall, while this ardent freak telephoned with the dreaded military police reporting he had “just intercepted another one.”

Father intensely feared for his life.