BosnMate
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- Sep 10, 2010
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"A Christmas War Story."
Many years ago,when I was considerably younger, I had a job packing mules into the Sierra Nevada mountains. We packed supplies for forest service trail crews, dudes camping and of course fishermen and hunters, not always staying over night, but depending on the miles in and out, there were times when we'd sleep over. My boss was a WWII combat veteran, and when he told a war story it usually started with, "I forgot my jacket and froze my," and then he'd go on. I tended to believe his stories, because 15 years after the war was over, he was still forgetting his jacket. This particular trip the Forest Service trail crew was being moved many miles further into the mountains and it took two of us to handle all the horses and mules involved, so this time the boss went with me. We were moving a camp that was already in the mountains, so we went in empty, and although they had a cook and we ate dinner with them, the boss and I put our beds away from the trail crew, actually spending the night bedded down in the trail in order to keep the stock from going home. In the mountains the animals were tied to trees until dark, then some were hobbled and belled, and the bunch turned loose in the meadow to graze all night, to be caught up at first light before they would be inclined stop eating and start home. If you haven't done it, you will never know what a comforting sound it is to hear a bell when you wake up in the high mountains during the dark of the night. After the stock was taken care of and night had settled in, the coffee pot was on the fire, and we were relaxing, leaning back on some convenient rocks, or sitting on an empty pack box, drinking scalding coffee out of a tin cup and swapping lies. In that part of the mountains, timberline is at 10,500 feet. We weren't quite at that elevation, but never the less, nights tended to be crisp and cold. This night fit that description, moonless, with stars shining in the black sky as only stars can shine at that altitude. Sparks from the fire rose straight up until winking out, only to be followed by more at the next pop of the dry dead branches that made up our camp fire. Once again, my boss had forgot his jacket, and he was cold to the point of shivering, so he commenced building up the fire, in the process stirring up cascades of sparks, finally sitting back, he started telling war stories that started once again with "I forgot my jacket." At that point I was treated to several very interesting tales told by a combat infantryman that had crossed the Rhine, naturally leaving his jacket behind someplace. He had a long and involved story of a patrol where they had been fed BS about linking up with Patton, and Life Magazine would be there taking their picture. Nobody bit, so the patrol was assigned, and he drew one of the short straws. On that patrol they were standing in the road wondering where Patton was, when they heard motors, and one guy says, "there's Patton," and another suggested it didn't sound like Patton, so they got off the road and hid, and it was the Germans retreating. Later they got in a fire fight with a German patrol, and they never did find Patton or Life Magazine. I don't know the timeline of his stories, I doubt they were in any sort of an order, but I remember he wasn't involved in the battle of the bulge, and I wish I'd remembered more details, but here is the last tale he told me that night. It's a story that made him a bit emotional. It concerned a time when he was a guard at a prisoner of war camp. I don't remember where he said they were, but it must have been December of 1944, because the story takes place on Christmas Eve near the end of the war. The battle of the bulge was going on, Patton had turned his army, and was racing to the relief of Bastone, but at the time of his story he was somewhere away from the fighting guarding prisoners. Dark comes early at Christmas time, and that evening he was in one of the guard towers of the POW camp. There was snow on the ground, and the night was crisp and quiet, silent like only happens when you are out in snow covered country during a windless winter evening. Because it was a prisoner of war camp, unlike everywhere else, it was lighted, so the guards could see what was going on. A group of prisoners had gathered together, after curfew and he said he'd never forget the sound of their feet squeaking on the snow. There was a tense moment until the prisoners reached the first tower, then the POW's started to serenade the guards with Christmas Carols. The prisoners went to each tower Caroling, and I include a link which is a rendition of the song that he remembered the most, only keep in mind it would have been all male voices without music, with no other sound in the crisp air.
Merry Christmas to all my T Net friends.
Many years ago,when I was considerably younger, I had a job packing mules into the Sierra Nevada mountains. We packed supplies for forest service trail crews, dudes camping and of course fishermen and hunters, not always staying over night, but depending on the miles in and out, there were times when we'd sleep over. My boss was a WWII combat veteran, and when he told a war story it usually started with, "I forgot my jacket and froze my," and then he'd go on. I tended to believe his stories, because 15 years after the war was over, he was still forgetting his jacket. This particular trip the Forest Service trail crew was being moved many miles further into the mountains and it took two of us to handle all the horses and mules involved, so this time the boss went with me. We were moving a camp that was already in the mountains, so we went in empty, and although they had a cook and we ate dinner with them, the boss and I put our beds away from the trail crew, actually spending the night bedded down in the trail in order to keep the stock from going home. In the mountains the animals were tied to trees until dark, then some were hobbled and belled, and the bunch turned loose in the meadow to graze all night, to be caught up at first light before they would be inclined stop eating and start home. If you haven't done it, you will never know what a comforting sound it is to hear a bell when you wake up in the high mountains during the dark of the night. After the stock was taken care of and night had settled in, the coffee pot was on the fire, and we were relaxing, leaning back on some convenient rocks, or sitting on an empty pack box, drinking scalding coffee out of a tin cup and swapping lies. In that part of the mountains, timberline is at 10,500 feet. We weren't quite at that elevation, but never the less, nights tended to be crisp and cold. This night fit that description, moonless, with stars shining in the black sky as only stars can shine at that altitude. Sparks from the fire rose straight up until winking out, only to be followed by more at the next pop of the dry dead branches that made up our camp fire. Once again, my boss had forgot his jacket, and he was cold to the point of shivering, so he commenced building up the fire, in the process stirring up cascades of sparks, finally sitting back, he started telling war stories that started once again with "I forgot my jacket." At that point I was treated to several very interesting tales told by a combat infantryman that had crossed the Rhine, naturally leaving his jacket behind someplace. He had a long and involved story of a patrol where they had been fed BS about linking up with Patton, and Life Magazine would be there taking their picture. Nobody bit, so the patrol was assigned, and he drew one of the short straws. On that patrol they were standing in the road wondering where Patton was, when they heard motors, and one guy says, "there's Patton," and another suggested it didn't sound like Patton, so they got off the road and hid, and it was the Germans retreating. Later they got in a fire fight with a German patrol, and they never did find Patton or Life Magazine. I don't know the timeline of his stories, I doubt they were in any sort of an order, but I remember he wasn't involved in the battle of the bulge, and I wish I'd remembered more details, but here is the last tale he told me that night. It's a story that made him a bit emotional. It concerned a time when he was a guard at a prisoner of war camp. I don't remember where he said they were, but it must have been December of 1944, because the story takes place on Christmas Eve near the end of the war. The battle of the bulge was going on, Patton had turned his army, and was racing to the relief of Bastone, but at the time of his story he was somewhere away from the fighting guarding prisoners. Dark comes early at Christmas time, and that evening he was in one of the guard towers of the POW camp. There was snow on the ground, and the night was crisp and quiet, silent like only happens when you are out in snow covered country during a windless winter evening. Because it was a prisoner of war camp, unlike everywhere else, it was lighted, so the guards could see what was going on. A group of prisoners had gathered together, after curfew and he said he'd never forget the sound of their feet squeaking on the snow. There was a tense moment until the prisoners reached the first tower, then the POW's started to serenade the guards with Christmas Carols. The prisoners went to each tower Caroling, and I include a link which is a rendition of the song that he remembered the most, only keep in mind it would have been all male voices without music, with no other sound in the crisp air.
Merry Christmas to all my T Net friends.
Kat
