A cold Christmas on the battlefront

It was cold. Bitterly, bitterly cold. The day was Dec. 24, 1944. I remember how cold it was even now — 55 years later. I was 19 years old and fighting with the allied forces in France during World War II. I was far, far away from my Utah home.

I had come ashore at Omaha Beach at Normandy on D-Day. Since that time we had been advancing through France trying to drive the Germans back. The French countryside was ravaged from the effects of the fighting, evidence of the devastation everywhere around us.

The fighting had calmed, probably because of the terribly cold winter, and my squad had been pulled back from the front for two weeks of much needed R & R (rest and recuperation.) Perhaps, too, it being the Christmas season had something to do with the fighting slowing down.

We were bunked 12 men to a tent. Considering the cold and miserable conditions at the front lines, we were very grateful to be in a tent with an oil-fired heater, especially on Christmas Eve.

This was my second Christmas away from home. I had joined the Army after graduating from high school. Needless to say, I was a little homesick, and my thoughts turned to my parents and home. I wondered how things would be. Would mom and dad have a real Christmas dinner complete with pumpkin pie, steamed pudding, and mom's heavenly chicken dumpling soup? In my mind, I could almost taste it.

My folks were alone this Christmas. Both were in frail health, with no one home to help them with chores and other things. All three of their sons, (their only children) were fighting for their country and all were far away from their central Utah home. My younger brother Floyd was on the island of Guam serving in the Navy, my youngest brother Van was somewhere in the South Pacific on a Navy destroyer.

As Christmas Eve descended on our camp, I continued to reminisce about the Christmas Eve activities from Christmases past. My first real combat experience was coming ashore at Normandy. That terrible and frightening day, and many of the subsequent days of fighting, had caused me to think seriously about the purpose and fragility of life. As we were holed up on the beach I promised to myself, and to the Lord above, that if I survived this war, I would spend the rest of my life trying to make a difference for good.