Now it can be Told by Philip Gibbs — Read

I heard no carols in the trenches on Christmas Eve in 1915, but afterward, when I sat with a pint of water in each of my top-boots, among a company of men who were wet to the knees and slathered with moist mud, a friend of mine raised his hand and said, "Listen!"

Through the open door came the music of a mouth-organ, and it was playing an old tune: