My name is Francis Tolliver. I come from Liverpool.
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders, to Germany to here,
I fought for King and country I love dear.
It was Christmas in the trenches where the frost so 
bitter hung.
The frozen field of France were still, no Christmas 
song was sung.
Our families back in England raise a glass to us that 
day,
their brave and glorious lads so far away.
I was lyin' with my mess-mate 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 singin' bloddy well you know", my partner says 
to me.
Soon one by one each German voice joined in in 
harmony.
The cannons rested silent. The gas cloud rolled no 
more
as Christmas brought us respite from the war.
As soon as they were finished a reverent pause was 
spent.
'God rest ye merry, gentlemen' struck up some lads 
from Kent.
The next they sang was 'Stille Nacht". "Tis 'Silent 
Night'" says I
and in two toungues one song filled up that sky.
"There's someone commin' towards us" the front-line 
sentry cried.
All sights were fixed on one lone soldier trudging 
from their side.
His flag of truce, like a Christmas star, shone on 
that plain so bright
as he bravely strode, unarmed, into the night.
Soon one by one on either side walked into no-mans-
land
with neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to 
hand.
We shared some secret brandy and wished each other 
well
and in a flare-lit football game we gave 'em hell.
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 with
in my sights?"
It was Christmas in the trenches where the frost so 
bitter hung.
The frozen fields of France were warmed as 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 for ever more.
My name is Francis Tolliver. In Liverpool I dwell.
Each Christmas come since World War One I've learned 
it's lessons well.
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the 
dead and lame
and on each end of the rifle we're the same.