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IN THIS ISSUE

• We reprint a story sent by Kate Brookfield some years ago
• Bruce Galway sends a parody of The Night Before Christmas
• The editor remembers a long-ago camp Christmas
• Marilyn Magid tells of an invitation to an Alaskan Christmas party
• Rafiki sends a Christmas wish to women
• Dick Monaghan composes some unbelievable opening sentences
• Betty Fehlhaber, Burke Dykes, Jack Peaker, and Tom Williamson suggest URLsThe editor sends you a Christmas card

Kate Brookfield posted this excerpt from a book by David G. Stratman, "We CAN Change the World: The Real Meaning of Everyday Life":

THE CHRISTMAS TRUCE IN THE GREAT WAR

On Christmas Day, 1914, in the first year of World War I, German, British, and French soldiers disobeyed their superiors and fraternized with "the enemy" along two-thirds of the Western Front. German troops held Christmas trees up out of the trenches with signs, "Merry Christmas." "You no shoot, we no shoot." Thousands of troops streamed across a no-man´s land strewn with rotting corpses. They sang Christmas carols, exchanged photographs of loved ones back home, shared rations, played football, even roasted some pigs. Soldiers embraced men they had been trying to kill a few short hours before. They agreed to warn each other if the top brass forced them to fire their weapons, and to aim high.

A shudder ran through the high command on either side. Here was disaster in the making: soldiers declaring their brotherhood with each other and refusing to fight. Generals on both sides declared this spontaneous peacemaking to be treasonous and subject to court martial. By March, 1915, the fraternization movement had been eradicated and the killing machine put back in full operation. By the time of the armistice in 1918, fifteen million would be slaughtered.

Not many people have heard the story of the Christmas Truce. Military leaders have not gone out of their way to publicize it. On Christmas Day, 1988, a story in the Boston Globe mentioned that a local FM radio host played "Christmas in the Trenches," a ballad about the Christmas Truce, several times and was startled by the effect. The song became the most requested recording during the holidays in Boston on several FM stations. "Even more startling than the number of requests I get is the reaction to the ballad afterward by callers who hadn´t heard it before," said the radio host. "They telephone me deeply moved, sometimes in tears, asking, ´What the hell did I just hear?´´"

I think I know why the callers were in tears. The Christmas Truce story goes against most of what we have been taught about people. It gives us a glimpse of the world as we wish it could be and says, "This really happened once." It reminds us of those thoughts we keep hidden away, out of range of the TV and newspaper stories that tell us how trivial and mean human life is. It is like hearing that our deepest wishes really are true: the world really could be different.

EDITOR´S NOTE: I have a recording of this song by John McDermott, the Scottish tenor who immigrated to Canada some years ago and is one of the Three Irish Tenors. (Perhaps that should be Celtic Tenors.) I can´t listen to this song with dry eyes; it is an incredibly moving story.

Bruce Galway sends this parody:

A WOMAN´S VERSION OF THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

´Twas the night before Christmas and all through the kitchen
I was cookin´ and bakin´ and moanin´ and bitchin´.
I´ve been here for hours, I can´t stop to rest.
This room´s a disaster, just look at this mess!

Tomorrow I´ve got thirty people to feed.
They expect all the trimmings. Who cares what I need!
My feet are both blistered, I´ve got cramps in my legs.
The cat just knocked over a bowl full of eggs.

There´s a knock at the door and the telephone´s ringing.
Frosting drips on the counter as the microwave´s dinging.
Two pies in the oven, dessert´s almost done;
My cookbook is soiled with butter and crumbs.

I´ve had all I can stand, I can´t take anymore;
Then in walks my husband, spilling rum on the floor.
He weaves and he wobbles, his balance unsteady;
Then grins as he chuckles, "The eggnog is ready!"

He looks all around and with total regret,
says, "What´s taking so long ... aren´t you through in here yet?"
As quick as a flash I reach for a knife;
He loses an earlobe; I wanted his life!

He flees from the room in terror and pain
and screams, "MY GOD, WOMAN, YOU´RE GOING INSANE!!"
Now what was I doing, and what is that smell?
Oh darn, it´s the pies! They´re burned all to hell!

I hate to admit when I make a mistake,
but I put them on BROIL instead of on BAKE.
What else can go wrong? Is there still more ahead?
If this is good living, I´d rather be dead.

Lord, don´t get me wrong, I love holidays;
It just leaves me exhausted, all shaky and dazed.
But I promise you one thing, If I live ´til next year,
You won´t find me pulling my hair out in here.
I´ll hire a maid, a cook, and a waiter;
and if that doesn´t work, I´LL HAVE IT ALL CATERED!

The editor remembers

A CHRISTMAS IN THE CAMP

You may remember my story about living in a small logging camp on the Shuswap Lake in BC in 1930, when I was eight and my sister, Nell, was seven. One of my memories is of a Christmas we spent there.

Mother took great pains to make the occasion a special one for us. She cleaned and baked and sat up nearly all Christmas Eve, finishing the dresses she was making for us (and she was no seamstess.)

We had a fir tree cut from the forest behind the camp, decorated with carefully-preserved ornaments and strung with cranberries and popcorn. It also sported live candles, which I now realize was very dangerous in a log house.

Since we were so far from the nearest town, 12 miles by water, everything we got from Santa had to arrive via the scow that served the lake - only by now the lake was frozen over, and supplies were delivered by horse and sleigh. The few "store-boughten" presents we received were ordered from Eaton´s catalogue, and took weeks to arrive. We did get home-made presents, however; one was a toboggan our Uncle Albert made by steaming a board over pots of hot water, which made it possible to turn up one end into a semblance of the real thing.

Mother baked huge batches of fruitcakes and pies and cookies, in addition to the vast amount of food she had to prepare for the hungry loggers every day. Our Christmas "turkey" was a 12-pound steelhead trout, freshly caught and stuffed and baked.

I have fond memories of that Christmas, so obviously we were happy with our presents and the unusual fare. We probably appreciated those simple things much more in that isolated location than we did the more elaborate presents we received after we left the camp forever.

Marilyn Magid forwards this story about an

ALASKAN CHRISTMAS PARTY

Tom had been in the liquor business for 25 years. Finally, sick of the stress, he quits his job and buys 50 acres of land in Alaska as far from humanity as possible. He sees the postman once a week and gets groceries once a month. Otherwise it´s total peace and quiet.

After six months or so of almost total isolation, someone knocks on his door. He opens it and a huge, bearded man is standing there.

"Name´s Lars, your neighbor from forty miles up the road. Having a Christmas party Friday night. Thought you might like to come. About 5:00."

"Great," says Tom. "After six months out here I´m ready to meet some local folks. Thank you."

As Lars is leaving, he stops. "Gotta warn you, be some drinkin´."

"Not a problem," says Tom. "After 25 years in the business, I can drink with the best of ´em."

Again the big man starts to leave and stops. "More´n´ likely gonna be some fightin´ too."

"Well, I get along with people, I´ll be all right. I´ll be there. Thanks again."

"More´n likely be some wild sex, too."

"Now that´s really not a problem," says Tom, warming to the idea. "I´ve been all alone for six months! I´ll definitely be there.

"By the way, what should I wear?"

"Don´t much matter. Just gonna be the two of us."

Rafiki sends this poem especially for women:

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO MY WOMEN FRIENDS

If I were ol´ Santa, you know what I´d do?
I´d dump silly gifts that are given to you
And deliver some things just inside your front door,
Things you have lost, but treasured before.

I´d give you back all your maidenly vigor,
And to go along with it, a neat tiny figure.
Then restore the old color that once graced your hair,
Before rinses and bleaches took residence there.

I´d bring back the shape with which you were gifted,
So things now suspended need not be uplifted.
I´d draw in your tummy and smooth down your back,
Till you´d be a dream in those tight-fitting slacks.

I´d remove all your wrinkles and leave only one chin,
So you wouldn´t spend hours rubbing grease on your skin.
You´d never have flashes or queer dizzy spells,
And you wouldn´t hear noises like ringing of bells.

No sore aching feet and no corns on your toes,
No searching for spectacles when they´re right on your nose.
Not a shot would you take in your arm, hip or fanny,
From a doctor who thinks you´re a nervous old granny.

You´d never have a headache, so no pills would you take.
And no heating pad needed since your muscles won´t ache.
Yes, if I were Santa, you´d never look stupid,
You´d be a cute little chick with the romance of a cupid.

I´d give a lift to your heart when those wolves start to whistle,
And the joys of your heart would be light as a thistle.
But alas! I´m not Santa. I´m simply just me,
The matronest of matrons you ever did see.

I wish I could tell you all the symptoms I´ve got,
But I´m due at my doctor´s for an estrogen shot.
Even though we´ve grown older this wish is sincere:
Merry Christmas to you, and a Happy New Year.

Dick Monaghan sends these opening lines for novels that never made it because they were too unreal for publication:

REJECTED NOVEL OPENINGS

1. "He was a poor but honest corporation counsel...."

2. "To hell with the stockholders; as Chief Executive Officer, I tell you our first concern is social justice."

3. "I may be the conductor of the orchestra, but you as soloist will be in full control...."

4. "As president of the local union, I must caution you that the health of our company comes before anything else."

5. "I may be running for office, but I do not seek and will not accept the support of groups or individuals I find do not support my ideals."

THIS WEEK´S SUGGESTED SITES

Betty Fehlhaber recommends this site:

Burke Dykes forwards the URL for a cool rendition of White Christmas:

Jack Peaker forwards another puzzling site:

Tom Williamson writes: Each time this holiday card is viewed, BC Hydro will make a donation to BC Children´s Hospital. To view and hear the e-card, visit the following link:

To read about the impact of the extraction of oil from the tar sands:

TO YOU AND YOURS, MY BEST WISHES FOR A WONDERFUL CHRISTMAS

For the editor´s Christmas greeting, go to

Alternatively, please visit http://www.jacquielawson.comand select the Pick Up Card option in the menu. Then enter your card code, which is: 1345830061192

If you have any problem at all viewing your card, please click here:

Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth; that can transport the sailor and the traveller, thousands of miles away, back to his own fire-side and his quiet home! - Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers, 1836