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This story talks about the horror of war, bloodshed, rape, and violence.

Mid December 1914 near Ypres, Belgium

It was still dark when Helen and her mother Mary stepped outside the decaying farmhouse that was their home. Mary immediately reached down and pulled Helen’s torn coat closer around her, in a vain effort to keep her daughter warm and dry. The weather was brutal. For weeks, rain had pounded the area causing flooding. The rain joined forces with the wind and the cold to blast the countryside. It was as if Mother Nature had summoned all her strength to wash away the blood that stained the fields where man sought to annihilate their fellow man.

Helen and Mary climbed into the one-horse wagon and snuggled down between several bales of straw and pulled tarps over them. Mary’s brother, Noah climbed up onto the wagon seat and shook the reins at the horse. Reluctantly, the scrawny, old horse headed down the road, the wheels of the wagon making deep tracks through the sucking mud.

Noah lived a mile from Mary and Helen on a small farm where he worked. He had insisted that they make the trip, despite the weather. Even though Noah, sitting up on the wagon seat would be exposed to the biting rain and wind, he hoped the weather would help them. The three of them could have taken the train. It would decrease the time the trip would take, and they would have been protected from the weather. It was likely, however, that they never would have made it to their destination. They would have been at the mercy of the soldiers guarding the rail lines. Noah’s hope was that any soldiers they might encounter would have little interest in a poor farmer transporting a load of straw. He doubted the soldiers would leave their dry guard shacks to closely inspect a poor farmer.

Belgium was at war. In the summer of 1914, much of Europe was a tinderbox needing only a spark to ignite what would become known as World War I. Germany’s plans for world domination included efforts to conquer France by crossing through Belgium. Although Belgium sought to stay neutral in the conflict, Belgium denied the passage of German troops to reach French territory thus violating Belgium’s neutrality. Germany invaded Belgium on May 10, 1914, unleashing the dogs of war and all their fury.

It was not wise of Noah, Mary, and Helen to travel that day. They would have been safer staying close to home. Noah and Mary, however, felt they had no choice but to go. They had received a message that their mother, Louise was ill and near death. Her only request was that Noah, Mary, and Helen come to visit. If Louise had understood the danger, she would not have asked.

The war had already claimed Liam who was Mary’s husband and Helen’s father. Liam was a good and righteous man who had refused to provide support to the Germans in tracking down the Belgium resistance fighters. Both Helen and Mary saw Liam die in front of their home with a bullet to his head. Their only consolation is that Liam died quickly with no suffering. He could have seen Mary and Helen raped and killed before his death but the two of them had been spared. Mary and Helen should have been mourning. When war comes to you, however, it seldom provides time to grieve.

Noah and Mary were traveling to see their mother, Louise, for what they knew would be the last time. Thirteen-year-old Helen would see her grandmother for the last time. The three of them all hoped that Louise would be lucid. After a long, difficult life, dementia at times stole Louise’s reason. All three of them silently prayed that she would know who they were on their last visit.

The trip in the wagon took the entire day. They stopped only a few times to provide the horse with some water and a brief rest and once for Noah to check out something he spotted in a ditch beside the road. When Noah returned to the wagon, he told Mary and Helen it was only dead cows. There was no reason to tell them that it was the decomposing bodies of a Belgian family. The horrors of war have no end.

The sun had set when the wagon pulled up to Noah’s and Mary’s childhood home. It no longer resembled, however, the place of happy memories. Though it still offered shelter to their mother and younger brother, Jules, it had been robbed of anything of value to the soldiers. In war it is easy to be thankful for small things. The fact that Louise and Jules were left unharmed was a blessing.

It was also a blessing that Louise recognized Noah, Mary, and Helen. The matriarch of the family was extremely frail. Her heavy clothing could not conceal her weakening body. There was a sparkle in her eye, however, at the sight of her children and granddaughter.

Jules put the horse away in the dilapidated stable and fed him from the small amount of grain he had hidden away. The visitors would spend the night but leave in the early morning to return home. A wagon moving through the darkness would arouse too much suspicion if noticed at night. It would be a painfully short visit for the family and Jules knew that his mother’s time on earth was short. Nonetheless, he was grateful that Mary, Helen, and Noah had come. It meant the world to his mother. He only hoped that they would make it back home. He prayed silently, “God, give us a night of humanity in a world where all humanity seems to have been lost.”

The family huddled around the small woodburning stove and talked of the happy days of the past when they were young and war was not present. Jules put together what he could for a meal by placing the small amount of meat and vegetables he had left and heating it on the stove. Considering the circumstances, the stew was delicious and took away for a short time the almost constant hunger known to the victims of war.

It was in the early morning when Louise asked Jules to go into the kitchen and bring out her small wooden box. Louise took it from Jules and opened it gently touching the papers inside as if saying goodbye. Closing the box, she turned to Helen and said, “Helen, these are the recipes that I have used to feed my family all my life. I want you to have them.

“Thank you, Grandma. Which recipe is your favorite?”

“My favorite recipe is the Speculoos cookies,” replied Louise.

“I promise I will make them soon, Grandma,” said Helen.

The family continued to talk about happier times while wishing they could slow the rising of the sun when Noah, Mary, and Helen would leave. When Jules went out to hook up the horse to the wagon, they all knew the time had come to say goodbye. Noah, Mary and Helen hugged Louise, walked out and climbed into the wagon.

The dogs of war slept quietly as Noah, Mary, and Helen returned home. There was evidence of their insatiable lust for violence everywhere but as had happened on the previous day to visit Louise, no one approached them. In the early darkness, they arrived home. Exhausted from their trip, they slept peacefully, at least as peacefully as people at war could sleep.

Mary and Helen returned to their daily routines—at least their routines since the war began. They took small amounts of food from where Liam had hidden them. They kept enough to satisfy their needs for a few days and shared the rest with close neighbors. Liam had hidden more than enough food for his family to make it through the winter. It was tempting to bring a large amount into their home, but German soldiers frequently roamed the area and confiscated whatever food and other supplies they found. Anyone with a large supply of food or other necessities, if they were lucky, would watch their home burn. If they were unlucky, they would burn with it.

Four days after their trip a neighbor stopped by and handed a letter to Mary. The letter was from Jules. Mary sat down before opening it.

“Dear Mary,

Mom passed away in her sleep last night. She was at peace and had lived a long and wonderful life. It meant everything for her to see you, Helen, and Noah.

Love,

Jules”

Mary walked to Noah’s home and shared the news with him. Noah showed little emotion. War had already started to harden him. When she returned, Mary went into the house and found Helen going through Louise’s recipes. Seeing that her mother had been crying, Helen knew that her grandmother was gone. Mother and daughter embraced and tears began to flow.

It was Helen that first stopped weeping and dried her eyes.

“Helen, it’s OK to cry,” said Mary.

“Mother, I don’t want to cry. I want to bake cookies. I promised Grandmother, and it will soon be Christmas.”

Mary looked at her brave little girl who had already seen too many of the horrors of war. It would have been understandable had Helen hidden herself in her room. Instead, she was already focused on her promise to her grandmother and recognizing the most important day of the year.

In 1914, Helen was not the only person seeking to celebrate Christmas in a world where peace and joy were hard to find. On Dec 7th, Pope Benedict XV issued an appeal to the leaders of Europe “that the guns may fall silent at least upon the night the angels sang.” Benedict hoped a truce could set the stage for the countries at war to negotiate peace. His efforts were fruitless, however, with little interest shown by the leaders of the militant countries.

Soldiers of every country, however, have a unique ability to accept an opportunity of their liking and move it forward even if it has not been fully approved. Thus, soldiers of both sides seized the initiative and began efforts to arrange a peaceful Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Unit commanders issued orders that their soldiers should only fire their weapons if fired upon by the enemy. German soldiers began to place Christmas trees outside their trenches and sing carols such as Silent Night. The British soldiers responded and began to sing Christmas carols as well. Eventually soldiers from both sides walked toward their enemy, shook hands, exchanged small gifts, and began what would be known as the Christmas Truce.

Helen’s wish to make Christmas cookies was easier said than done. The ingredients were hard to find. Things that were taken for granted in times of peace and prosperity were priceless in times of war and scarcity. Helen asked her mother what she could do. Her mother smiled and told Helen to follow her. After bundling up in their coats, Mary led Helen out to the old tool shed that had once held the farming tools used to cultivate the fields. It now stood empty; its tools hauled away early after the beginning of the military occupation. Mary found a wooden crate tall enough and strong enough to allow her to stand on and reach up into the rafters and pull down an old toolbox that Mary and Helen carried into the kitchen. Opening the box, Mary pulled out bottles of cooking spices—enough to make many cookies.

“When the soldiers started coming and taking our things, your father started hiding things that he knew we would need. He had planned to take these to Louise. He would want you to use them now. We don’t have everything we need, but we have enough. We will make do with these.”

And so, late in the afternoon of December 23, Helen and her mother began baking cookies. They baked well into the night. If you wish, call it a Christmas miracle, but the ingredients they had, allowed them to bake far more cookies than the two of them could have imagined—reminiscent of the Bible story of the loaves and the fishes. Early in the morning hours when Mary and Helen finally went to bed, the kitchen held many bags of cookies that they would deliver on Christmas Eve.

Despite being up so late the previous night, Mary and Helen were up early the following morning excited about the prospect of sharing their cookies with their friends and neighbors when they heard a knock on their door and a voice shouting.

“Ms. Mary! Ms. Mary! It’s me, Olivia. My mother is in labor and the doctor can’t come. Please come help her Ms. Mary.”

Mary rushed to the door and found a little girl of ten, the daughter of her best friend who lived half a mile down the road.

“Tell your mother I’ll be right there.”

“Helen, we have to go, Emma is in labor.”

“Mother I don’t think I can help you much and I have to deliver the cookies,” said Helen. I’ll be safe and I’ll be home before dark.”

Mary was torn. She did not want to leave Helen alone, but the resolve on Helen’s face was that of a grown woman determined to complete her promise. Mary hugged Helen, grabbed her coat and rushed to help bring a new child into a war-torn world.

Helen quickly dressed and carried a few bags of cookies to the nearest neighbors. They were all grateful and thanked Helen.

Returning home, Helen noticed the small cart that lay outside their home. Her mother had always used it for gardening. Helen knew she could carry many more cookies in the cart than on her back. Helen filled the cart and then walked boldly onto the road and began to share cookies with every friend and stranger she met.

As Helen walked, she noticed an unusual quiet. The deadly guns of war were silent. Helen came to a fork in the road and remembered that her father had told her never to go down the left fork as the battlefields were close. It was then that Helen heard a voice that was that of her father.

“Go to the battlefield Helen. You will be safe. Share the gift of your cookies with everyone.”

And so it was, that on Christmas Eve, 1914, a young girl of thirteen walked onto a battlefield pushing a small cart filled with bags of cookies. She walked bravely among the soldiers who had decided that on this Christmas there would be no fighting. Helen handed a bag of cookies to every soldier she came to until two soldiers, one German and one British stopped her and said, “Let us help you.”

Together, Helen and the two soldiers passed out the cookies. Then, two men walked with Helen to where the wounded had been placed. Some had horrible wounds but smiled when Helen handed them the cookies. One wounded soldier reached for Helen’s hand and held it as he said, “Child, I will not live to see another Christmas, but you are young and brave. Please teach the world that there are better ways than the death and destruction of war. Help the world to find a better way.”

As Helen’s cart became empty, the sun was setting over what would become known as Flanders Fields. Helen remembered her promise to her mother to be home before darkness and told the two soldiers that she must leave. The two soldiers looked at each other and then one said, “You do not have to walk home alone; we will accompany you and ensure that you are safe.”

Mary had returned home after helping to deliver a precious baby boy. Mother and son would be fine. She was beginning to worry about Helen when she heard a knock on the door followed by Helen’s voice. Opening the door, she was stunned to see Helen standing between two soldiers. The British soldier spoke.

“It’s OK, Ma’am. We mean you no harm. Your daughter was kind enough to share her cookies with us. We only walked with her to ensure that she got home safely. You have raised a wonderful and kind daughter. You must be very proud of her.”

It took Mary a few seconds to speak. “Yes, I am very proud of her. Thank you for walking her home.”

“Good night, Ma’am and Merry Christmas,” said the soldier.

When the two soldiers returned to the battlefield and prepared to go to their respective units, the British soldier realized he had one cookie left. Turning to the German, he broke the cookie in half and said, “May I share my last cookie with my enemy?”

The German replied, “I will not share a cookie with my enemy, but I will share it with someone I hope someday to call my friend.”

December 24th, 1999, near Ypres, Belgium

On December 24th, 1999, a group of people met on the site of the Christmas Truce of 1914 to establish a monument lest it be forgotten what had happened there. One person in the crowd had been there in 1914. Helen was now frail and used a wheelchair but remembered vividly the events of Christmas Eve in 1914.

As the ceremony ended and the crowd began to leave, a woman approached Helen and introduced herself.

“Are you the young girl who brought cookies here and passed them out to the soldiers?”

“I am,” smiled Helen, “How did you know?”

“I have heard your story many times. The German soldier that walked you home that night was my grandfather. After the war, he became a minister. At Christmas, he always gave his favorite sermon about a young girl who taught peace by sharing cookies amidst a horrible war. It is an honor to meet you.”