They Wept for Joy

 By Walter F Stevenson

I have never seen the spirit of Christmas so profoundly manifested in such unlikely circumstances as I did on Christmas Day, 1943.

I was in a British division that was part of the American Fifth Army in Italy.  Casualties had been continuous and heavy since we had landed at Salerno. By December, we were advancing slowly north of Naples – cold, very wet, very muddy, quite weary, and a little homesick. Never had the prospect of Christmas seemed so bleak and far away.

Taking advantage of a lull in the fighting, we decided to take up position on a small farm. The countryside was deserted, so we were surprised as we opened the farmhouse door to find a farmer and his wife and seven children. They invited us to join them for evening soup. When others had fled, this family had decided to stay together in their home.

God had protected them, the farmer told us. The young children, ranging from two to fourteen, had been huddled in the cellar for days. Two girls had sores on their legs, another had been hit in the back by a piece of shrapnel, and the father’s arm was injured. Most of the cattle had been killed, the barn had been burned, and the retreating Germans had taken their horses, most of their food, and some of their household items. They had no soap, no medical supplies, and very little food, but the house was sound, they were together as a family, and they didn’t want to move.

With their cooperation, we set up a command post in their house. I was a medical orderly, so our commanding officer told me to do what I could for the children. The entire battery was concerned for this family, whose Christmas prospects seemed bleak indeed.

Without telling them, we collected precious bars of toilet soap, talcum powder, candy, and various odds and ends for the children and their parents. We found a small tree that had been uprooted; it was not a traditional Christmas tree, but we decorated it with silver paper, colored wrappers, and cordite bags. When we had finished, it was the best Christmas tree we had ever seen, decorated with all the love those soldiers wanted to lavish on their own families. At bedtime on Christmas Eve, we could hear the children praying for the English soldiers and their families.

When we presented our gifts to the parents early Christmas morning, they wept with joy. That Christmas dinner was something special. It was a combined operation by our command post cook and the farmer’s wife.  It was the first time any of us had spaghetti for Christmas and the first time the Italians had eaten English Christmas pudding. I will never forget the children’s delight over such simple presents, and the hugs and kisses that brought tears to every eye. The family couldn’t speak English, and most of us spoke very little Italian, but we all understood that farmer’s toast: “If the spirit that is here now could be in the hearts of all men, this war would never have happened.”  For some of those soldiers, it was their last Christmas on earth, and for those of us who survived, it was certainly the most memorable.