re: In 1914, In a frozen hell, soldiers found the meaning of “Goodwill Towards Men.”

Merry Christmas. I read this every Christmas and it reminds me that what truly binds us together as people is not the stuff, the team, the societal emotions; it's the love of God, family, and life. This event transcended all worldly desires to emulate the most valuable desires of man: Peace, love, hope, kindness, mercy, forgiveness, and faith. Thank you for your post this morning. The Lord of light and love bless all.

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Or Thomas from Birmingham, who liked Irish whisky and blonde girls with pretty voices.

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This fellow, as I understand, returned to Birmingham and grew the Peaky Blinders into a formidable crime family.

Imagine if they had simply maintained the truce and stopped fighting.

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Imagine if they had simply maintained the truce and stopped fighting.

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There were instances of this in WWI. The French mutinies of 2017 where they refused to attack. They were unilateral though.

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They played soccer, so they were still in Hell

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After playing soccer, they realized killing each other was better and went back to that.

We were never going to go to war against the French and English though. And there were American interests aiding the White Russians, for naught.

You wouldn’t have found enough support to openly war against Russia

It doesn’t bother me. Some people just don’t like to read more than a couple sentences

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I can’t help but think that something integral to the West died after the truce that day, ground down in the mechanization of the war and wars that came afterwards.

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The men were chewed like burger,
Wilting wheat before the thresher,
As chattering machine guns claimed whole pals brigades of sons,
The war that was to be a jolly rout was far from pleasure,
As mankind met modern murder in that hell of World War One.

Artillery rained down and blew me mate's brains out his backside,
As hills were turned to plains without a single plow in sight,
And forests turned to toothpicks,
Grass to mud and blood and gore,
As the cannons flashed unending belching thunder through the night.

The Vickers gun spewed lead as fast as we could keep it loaded
The barrel got so hot it steamed like fog in the Ardennes,
I couldn't hear the screams when the grenade fell and exploded,
As O'leary held his belly trying to keep his insides in.

The trenches lay like rows of graves grave where only frost flowers bloomed,
Where we shivered in the frigid mud and spoke with steaming breath,
'Til gas shells came and rolled towards us bringing clouds of doom,
And cried out for our mothers as we drank in poison death

The galloping of hooves awoke me cruelly from my dreaming,
The whiz-bang boomed and I could feel the wet earth raining down,
The dirt fell from my ears and I could hear the horses screaming,
The riders strewn like broken toys all scattered on the ground.

Our boys they died in droves with each charge that was undertaken,
A generation cut to ribbons for a bit of mud,
The dying cried out through the night, the song of the forsaken,
And paid the price for cravens with each drop of valiant blood.

Were that that war to end all wars had ended senseless dying,
For politicians safe at home who sent them all away,
And no more children wept o'er graves to sounds of mothers crying,
But still they die in foreign lands up to this very day