Oh my name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school
From Belgium and to Flanders, Germany to here
I fought for King and country I love dear.

Twas Christmas in the trenches and the frost so bitter hung.
The frozen fields of France where still no Christmas songs were sung.
Our families back in England were toasting us that day.
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.

I was lying with my mess mates on the cold and rocky ground.
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 singing b_____ well you know, my partner says to me.
Soon one by one each German voice joined in in harmony.
The cannons rested silent and the gas cloud rolled no more.
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.

As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent.
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen struck up some lads from Kent
For next they sang was Stille Nach tis Silent Night says I.
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky.

There's someone coming towards us now the front line sentry said.
All sights were fixed on one lone figure trudging from their side.
His truce flag like a Christmas Star shone on the plane so bright.
As he bravely trudged unarmed into the night.

Then one by one on either side, walked in to No Mans Land.
With neither gun nor bayonet, we met there hand to hand.
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
And in a flare lit football game we gave them hell.

We traded chocolates, cigarettes and photographs from home.
These sons and father far away from families of their own.
Tom Sanders played the squeeze box and they had a violin.
This curious and unlikely band of men.

Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more.
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war.
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wonderous night.
Whose family have I fixed within my sights.

Twas Christmas in the trenches and the frost so bitter hung.
The frozen fields of France were warmed, the 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 forever more.

Oh my name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas comes since World War I, have learned its lesson well.
For the one's who calls 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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