gŏđŏ
in the magic of Christmas
$.%/0) /ŏ 1.%*#ŏ0$!ŏ%./0ŏ+.( ŏ . the soldiers of other countries, even with the Germans, as if we were a large family. Music and peace replaced the bombings... which will start again tomorrow. Why can we not always live in harmony? My heart and spirit are with you. I look forward to seeing you all. Some kind ladies have knitted hundreds of pairs of socks for us. We enjoyed the treats, the cigarettes, the wine, the music. Thank you Papa, for including me when blessing our family on New Year’s Day. A tradition so dear to our hearts! Imagine me kneeling be- side Alex. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR TO THE WHOLE WORLD! PEACE ON EARTH! April 1916 Spring brings hope. We’re progressing with courage and determina- tion. Our chaplain sang a beautiful Easter mass. He speaks to us of the Lord’s resurrection, of the resurrection of peace. The war must stop so peace can be restored. Your loving Frank. End of May 1916 ǯ ϐ In Flanders Fields Autumn 1914, 100 years ago... Great Britain, the mother country, called on to young Canadians to Ǥ ϔ ǡ sailed by thousands to Europe. The governments were convinced that the war would last only three months. What adventure: visit and pro- tect Europe, be home for Christmas! Among those vibrant young people, Frank St-Denis, 19 years old, from Plantagenet. Excerpts from his letters, in which he concealed the atrocities of the war, provide insight of life, of Christmases on ϔǤ December 1914, England We’re in Salisbury, completing our training. Then we’ll move into France to counter the German forces. We won’t be home for Christmas, but peace will be restored. With that in mind, it’s easier to accept the ϐ Ǥ ǡ ǡǡ ragoût , the fruit cake.
December 26 th Despite everything, we had a pleasant Christmas, starting with the Minuit, chrétiens , the midnight mass in French and many Christmas carols. Benefactors brought us well-appreciated treats. The English la- dies make plum-pudding which is like our fruit cake. We had Christmas trees, good meals, music. The lucky ones like me opened their mail. Thanks Mamma, for the fudge. Thank you all for the letters, the news. Several guys received nothing. There were Ǥϐ is painful. N ext year we’ll be home! February 1915, France Sometimes I write for the soldiers who are unable write. Some never receive anything from their families. After Christmas they were depressed. A new organization is born: the war time godmothers. Their mission: write to the lonely soldiers, send them parcels to Ǥ ϐ Ǥ I persevere to give Alex, Bessy, Aurèle, Ernest and all the children of the world the chance to grow up in a peaceful country. Too many children suffer from the war! May 1915 We proved our valour and loyalty at Ypres and St-Julien. We’re es- tablishing for ourselves a reputation of famous, powerful Canadian soldiers. The English generals treat us with respect. I’ll soon be home! Mamma, I’m craving for your pouding chômeur . You’ll bake some for my return? Christmas 1915 A wonderful moment of truce! We celebrated and fraternised with
, by our Ǥ ϐ- ing poppies. John has written this poem in memory the fallen soldiers, but we are alive and we bear the torch. We hope the war will soon be over. After this war, which was to last only a few months, the world will understand that we must never again start another one, that respect, peace and love must prevail every-
where. I think of you very hard. God bless you all! Your Frank who loves you. Even before Frank’s last letter ar- rived, his parents received this dreaded message. : Your son Frank St-Denis died in action on June 21, 1916. Like hundreds of other young men, my great-uncle Frank experienced two
ϔǤ ǡ ϔ Christmases far from home. In this centennial year of the First World War, it seems fair to honor these brave men and women who suffered ex- ǡ ϔ in the course of too many wars. Frank spoke of resurrection, and then of the duty to carry the torch. To pass this torch, to pay tribute to all the military, I dedicated to those unforgettable yet often unsung heroes a few chapters in my recently published historical novel Les sillons de mon père . To all our faithful readers, I wish a frater- nal world, free from hostilities and conflicts, a Christmas of peace, joy and love, a Christmas tha t lasts forever.
Colette St-Denis
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