80 years ago. Christmas 1944, Ardennes Forest. Collected booklet of Christmas stories of Bulge veterans. 60 pages, $15, including shipping. PayPal or Venmo leonsreed[at]gmail[dot]com. Proceeds to BOBA.
For any veteran of the Battle of the Bulge, Christmas was never again just another holiday. Nine days after the commencement of von Rundstedt’s offensive, Christmas Day occurred while the battle was at its peak fury. By Christmas Day, everyone knew they were dealing with an all-out German counteroffensive and most of the units that were going to be engaged had arrived in the theater of action. And, for the most part, the battle continued to rage as if December 25 was just another day.
The common denominator of memory for Bulge veterans was the relentless, unforgiving cold. The bone-chilling cold that sank into your soul. The 24/7 losing battle to keep your feet dry. The impossibility of digging a foxhole. Wearing every scrap of clothing you could dig up and still being cold. The fear of frostbite and trench foot.
There were other demons as well. The ever-present fear of German tanks, “screemin’ meemies,” and tree burst shrapnel. The fear that every American GI you didn’t know was one of Otto Skorzeny’s men, an English-speaking assassin or saboteur, someone whose directions would send you straight into a German trap.
For most GIs, the memory of Christmas 1944 was the memory of just another day of fighting, perhaps interrupted at some point during the day with the realization that, “Hey, some Christmas, huh?” But for some, there were genuine moments of tenderness, joy, and “goodwill toward men.” For some, the day brought special joy. A few had an opportunity to show kindness to civilians or received kindness from them. Some remembered a tiny detail that brought back memories of better days: a scraggly Christmas tree with improvised decorations, or singing Christmas carols. Some made it to a church or some other facility temporarily converted for religious usage and had a special spiritual experience.
Christmas dinner, sometimes delayed, was for some a real feast, “best Christmas dinner ever,” while for others it was a mostly frozen drumstick shoved into their hands by an equally chilled GI, headed on toward the next foxhole. A few salvaged some moments of joy in the midst of the combat.
And for all GIs, there was the universal longing for the end of the war and a return home to a normal life. Staff Sgt Frank Lembo could have been speaking for all GIs in a series of letters to his fiance, all written around New Years Day.
“New Year’s evening and now all the holidays are gone, and my fondest hope now in this coming year we will be able to get back together again. … When I’m on a boat and heading home, then and then alone will I believe this is over with.”
“I was just thinking about that last day together that we had, and how perfect it was, and how long a way I’ve come since then. I can remember that boat ride to England, our trip across the Channel, going into action and suffering a thousand deaths when we heard our first artillery shell, the mad dash across France – a ride with its wine, flowers, ripe tomatoes and eggs – the storming of our first river and the fighting beyond, Christmas in Belgium, New Year in Luxembourg… Yes we’ve come a long way. We’re a little tired, a little older, and a little bitter. We fight hoping each battle is the last one with thoughts of going home and enjoying a peaceful life. Our thoughts run to our sweethearts who we long for, each letter being a five-minute furlough with the one you love ~ yes darling just thinking.”
The memories the old soldiers kept were as varied as the old soldiers themselves. For some, there were the memories of the nice moments. Others remembered the not-so-nice moments but used the occasion to be grateful for their current blessings. Many expressed pride in a job well done while others recalled “the real heroes,” the ones who didn’t make it home. With the passage of time, memories softened for some and some opened up and described their experiences. But many others never got beyond the ghosts of 1944, and for them, Christmas season remained a lonely struggle. But one way or another,there were few Bulge veterans for whom Christmas season didn’t involve a return to the woods of Belgium or Luxembourg.
