Christmas In The Trenches Song Lyrics


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Christmas In The Trenches by Trace Adkins

My name is Francis Tolliver. I come from Liverpool.
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders, to Germany to here,
I fought for King and country I love dear.
It was Christmas in the trenches where the frost so
bitter hung.
The frozen field of France were still, no Christmas
song was sung.
Our families back in England raise a glass to us that
their brave and glorious lads so far away.
I was lyin’ with my mess-mate on the cold and rocky
when across
the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound.
Says I “Now listen up me boys”, each soldier strained
to hear
as one young German voice sang out so clear.
“He’s singin’ bloddy well you know”, my partner says
to me.
Soon one by one each German voice joined in in
The cannons rested silent. The gas cloud rolled no
as Christmas brought us respite from the war.
As soon as they were finished a reverent pause was
‘God rest ye merry, gentlemen’ struck up some lads
from Kent.
The next they sang was ‘Stille Nacht”. “Tis ‘Silent
Night'” says I
and in two toungues one song filled up that sky.
“There’s someone commin’ towards us” the front-line
sentry cried.
All sights were fixed on one lone soldier trudging
from their side.
His flag of truce, like a Christmas star, shone on
that plain so bright
as he bravely strode, unarmed, into the night.
Soon one by one on either side walked into no-mans-
with neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to
We shared some secret brandy and wished each other
and in a flare-lit football game we gave ’em hell.
Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to
But the question haunted every heart that lived that
wonderous night
“whose family have I fixed with
in my sights?”
It was Christmas in the trenches where the frost so
bitter hung.
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of
peace were sung.
For the walls they’d kept between us to exact the work
of war
had been crumbled and were gone for ever more.
My name is Francis Tolliver. In Liverpool I dwell.
Each Christmas come since World War One I’ve learned
it’s lessons well.
That the ones who call the shots won’t be among the
dead and lame
and on each end of the rifle we’re the same.

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