As the shadows deepened, tempers became sharp. Fifty soldiers, crowded together, hungry, cold, haggard from lack of sleep and thirst, realized that this Christmas was to be one that we would not, we could not forget. It was three days now since we had eaten, since we had had any sleep, any restful sleep. Our thirst was almost unbearable. If we bumped a neighbor, he complained; if we said a strong word, others complained; if we talked of home, some complained; and if we did not talk of home, others complained.

The cans we used for latrines were full and overflowing. We had heard aircraft but, thankfully, we had not been attacked as the train behind us had been. We were to later learn that 76 of our buddies had died from the attack by our British allies.

The tension grew and magnified until it seemed something must explode. Was this Christmas? Were we to lose our self-control because of our miseries? Had we lost our brotherly love? Were we to lose our minds under the stresses and hardships, under the hunger, the cold, the loneliness, the terrible thirst? It seemed we could bear no more, when someone in the car started to sing, "Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright," This song that originated in this war-torn part of the world seemed to have the inspiration for the occasion.

The angry voices quieted, other started to join in: "Round yon virgin Mother and Child. Holy infant so tender and mild." The chorus swelled, not in musical harmony, but more important in brotherly harmony, and understanding. As the song continued, we were all singing — singing from our hearts as we had never done before: "Sleep in heavenly peace; sleep in heavenly peace." The song ended, the voices again were heard, but were quiet voices, and friendly, and filled with understanding one for another. This Christmas Day we had experienced a warmth and fullness of spirit that we had never experienced before, nor would we or could we forget. Once again we prepared for the night, to lie down, nap, turn over and rise and exercise, and to think of our next Christmas, hoping and praying that it would be a Christmas as we remembered, that seemed only a dream, a Christmas with joy, and peace.

About the author...

Clyde K. Yeates is a semi-retired CPA living in Hyrum, Cache County. He and his wife, MarGene, have six children, a foster daughter, 26 grandchildren and 10 great-grandchildren. Clyde entered the Army Air Force in May 1943. He was taken prisoner on Sept.8, 1944, and released in May 1945.