Joyeux Nöel

Originally Published December 21, 2018

The year is 1943. It’s Christmas Eve, but in Nazi-occupied Paris, Christmas is nothing more than a distant memory. The dark streets were illuminated by small, dim lamp posts with no Christmas lights in sight, the eerie silence loomed over the once bustling city with not even a distant sound of church bells or Christmas carols; no lights in the windows, no Christmas trees, nothing. The city was lifeless; lifeless as the grave, lifeless as a match unlighted in a box, lifeless as the fallen men who stood on the front line defending the nation from all the odious apparatus of the Nazi rule no more than three years ago. And above all the historic French buildings, the long romantic paths along the river Seine, the famed Notre Dame, the glorious Arc de Triomphe, and the mighty Eiffel Tower, there flew the treacherous crimson banner of the Swastika.

It all seemed like the most terrible of days, but to Julia Fremont, it was nothing special. This was her third year of a Nazi Christmas, her third year of subjugation. As she had done all the three years past, she sat on her window-sofa and stared out into the dark, snowy street, single tears slowly streaming down her cheeks as the memories of the happy Christmases she had with her family and the memories of her once happy life back home in Strasbourg before the invasion, before she was evacuated to Paris; before this seemingly never-ending war.

She thought of her father, Martin, a once constantly merry and jolly man always so overwhelmed with excitement every Christmas morning, now a stern, angry machine, spending every hour of his day with the French Resistance fuelled by a furious burning determination to break France free from the fierce grip of the Gestapo and to bring down the despised Nazi regime once and for all. He had been shot badly in the leg recently after a skirmish in the streets and was at home resting up, but even still he worked away for the Resistance war effort in every way he could, meaning, either way, Julia hardly got to speak to him other than the quick ‘goodbye’ or ‘I love you.’ Despite only lasting a mere few seconds at a time, these were the moments she cherished the most. She thought of them as the last remnants of the peacetime, when everything was good. Then, she had memories of her mother, Isabella; all the times they spent baking and cooking in the kitchen together come Christmas morning, having the best times of their lives. Now, she worked with her husband in the Resistance as a typist and code-decipherer, sometimes even being called up for a mission. Finally, she remembered her dear sister, Kayleigh, always so jolly and the one who always looked on the bright side – the one person in the entire world Julia truly felt she could turn to for support about anything at any time. She would have been sixteen about now if she had not been so forcefully taken away and abused by a lone SS officer, then left for dead in some nearby alleyway during the initial invasion of Strasbourg just two years ago. This only added to the family’s already tremendous sombre, not to mention the underlying yet ever-growing hatred that burned like a mighty forest fire in Julia’s heart for all Germans alike. It was no wonder, for first, they took her beloved sister, then her Christmas, and finally her country to thee she vowed to protect so dearly. From the moment they took her sister, she believed every German regardless of who they were as worth nothing more than the bullet. Thus was the power of revenge upon oneself, for as much as she knew it to be wrong she could not help herself from harbouring such feelings. There was only one day in the entire year where Julia’s entire family would be together at home. That day, was Christmas Day. However, it just was not the same as her Christmases past in Strasbourg. The Nazis had established an anti-religious policy meaning that all churches in the city were closed off, some even destroyed. There were no church bells, no masses, nothing. Even at home, things were never the same. The memories of her overjoyed father on Christmas morning, memories of her and her mother in the kitchen baking and cooking, and memories of opening her gifts below the tree with Kayleigh were now nothing more than just that; memories. And even at that, the memories were slowly fading away with every second that passed of this godforsaken war. Even still, she looked forward to Christmas Day greatly, for finally, she would have one full day in the year where she could be with her family.

There was no doubt that Julia hated the Nazis with all her heart; she hated all Germans for that matter. She believed it to be good and honourable that her parents were contributing so much to the cause, wishing she could too. There was also no doubt that she missed her family dearly. She always told herself that this was simply the price of war, just one more sacrifice among many she had to give up to destroy the Nazis. But, with every day, every week, every month, every year that passed, she just had a harder and harder time believing herself. For an hour she sat by the window staring blankly out into the street crying, for an hour she remembered these moments and missed them so greatly and dearly beyond descriptions.

Suddenly, as if a light bulb had flickered on inside Julia’s head, a thought came over her as she stared out into the snowy street. Why was she accepting this as the new Christmas? Why did she give in to the Nazi tyranny? She had never been one to submit so blindly to the authority! This year, she was going to save Christmas. It was a daunting task, some might even claim it to be unfathomable, ridiculous that the thought was to even pop into her head, and part of her agreed. It was so completely and utterly impossible for her, a 14-year old girl to restore the tradition she held so dear to her heart against the will of such a powerful and influential power as the Nazi regime, let alone during a war. But another part of her, possibly the remnants of the innocent child she once was, gave her hope. She assured herself that maybe, just maybe, she had a chance in the slightest to bring back the Christmas she knew and loved, the Christmas she held so dearly in her heart. After two years of a treacherous Nazi Christmas, she was ready more than ever to take the chance.

Bright and early the next day on Christmas morning, Julia wakes up overwhelmed with feelings of excitement and joy, a feeling she has not felt in what feels like forever. She puts on her favourite woollen sweater and long woollen pants, made and gifted to her by her grandmother for her ninth birthday just one year before the war began. Then, she opens a small tin, a makeshift piggy bank, and gathers all the Francs and Reichmarks she had been saving up over the past two years for no particular reason, perhaps for a day exactly like this one. Within ten minutes, she is off and away on her bicycle, riding away through the surprisingly isolated streets of Paris.

Julia spent her morning of that joyous Christmas day riding her bicycle around Paris, a risky move since she had to sneak past multiple Nazi guards, patrols, and checkpoints along the way. First, she made her way to the local marketplace where she bought all kinds of food; cheeses, meats, fruits, vegetables, breads, pastries, anything she could get her hands on that could be used to make an improvised Christmas dinner. While she was there, she also bought small treats such as chocolates and candies, things she could use as simple gifts or stocking-stuffers. Then, she went door to door inviting about three of her now well-acquainted neighbours to her home for the evening, including her childhood best friend Marquis Cremieux and his father Jacques Cremieux. She even managed to invite some off-duty Resistance members, most good friends with her parents, in particular, a Scotsman working alongside the French Resistance named Alastair Scott. Finally, she purchased some Christmas decorations from a small local Christmas store and managed even to find a star, a true rarity of a Christmas decoration since the Nazis had banned the use of a star at the top of the tree due to its Jewish origins. Finally, she returns home and sits by the window looking around outside yet again. However, not a single tear flowed down her cheek. She was smiling, certainly for the first time in a very long time.

As soon as the clock struck six, the numerous people began to show up at Julia’s small French historical townhome. Although it was not many she invited, it was hard nevertheless to keep up with the many people that strolled in that faithful Christmas evening. First came Alastair, the Scotsman fighting with the Resistance. He came in with a rather glamorous attire, with a bright and colourful woollen Christmas sweater in stark contrast to his regular olive-green coloured uniform of the British Expeditionary Force. Next came Julia’s best friend Marquis; whom she greeted with a warm hug, and his father Jacques, both old family friends from back home in Strasbourg. For the hour that followed, neighbours, friends, and family showed up one after another to the door, each and everyone filled to the brim with a sense of Christmas spirit never felt since the time before the war.

At first, Julia’s father was extremely surprised and, for that matter rather angry that Julia had invited so many people to their home. The war had made him wary, afraid, paranoid of people outside his family, and he most certainly did not take well to the sudden surge of people. But, he did not say anything to Julia, nor did he confront her about the matter. Part of him knew this was dangerous; to hold such a celebration in a desperate time of war. But another part of him, the part that clung on most to his childhood and his own Christmases past, knew that he likely would have done the same. Julia had uncovered a memory, a long forgotten memory stored far in the deep recesses of his brain, the feeling of overwhelming joy and happiness, the Christmas spirit within him. The feeling only grew stronger from there on out, and soon enough he was smiling and laughing away, indeed for the first time in many years. Julia and her mother worked hard and quickly in the kitchen in a tremendous effort to create an improvised Christmas dinner. Julia prepared the extraordinary assortment of French cheeses, meats, and breads, setting them beautifully on a large, smooth board of pine wood and then began working on the mashed potatoes, while her mother roasted the chunk of beef to be used in place of the turkey and baked her traditional Buche de Noel for dessert. There was always something special to Julia about cooking with her mother; just to share the experience with her was contentment enough even if the two hardly spoke throughout. A few hours of the bustling party passed, although it certainly felt like mere minutes considering how much fun everybody was having. Every heart in Julia’s home that Christmas evening was overflowing with joy and a sense of Christmas spirit that seemed to Julia just yesterday to have perished in its entirety from every soul in the land. When her job in the kitchen was done, she went to sit by the fireplace with Marquis and Alastair. She greeted the two with a smile as she sat down, but for a short moment, she did not say anything. She was at such a loss for words, for she was so filled with this feeling of joy and happiness which had become estranged to her since the start of the war. Now that the so joyous feelings had returned to her, she could not help but smile so warmly, warmer than the very fire that sat burning and crackling in front of her. The fire, before a symbol of destruction, made evident when she saw Strasbourg burn before her eyes, a symbol of anger and hatred that figuratively burned in her heart for every German she saw, now became a symbol of joy, hope, comfort, and light. The fire now seemed to her as the last glimmer of light in the vast darkness that was this seemingly never-ending war.

Julia’s moment of reflection was cut abruptly short by a loud sound coming from the right of her; what could only be described as one resembling that of a dying duck. The sound that followed that irksome quack was that of extreme laughter. Alastair was teaching Marquis how to play his bagpipes, which most certainly did not go too well in regards to the sounds it produced. Within seconds of Julia turning to the right, Alastair was on the floor dying of laughter while Marquis desperately tried to make a clear sound on the pipes, his face turning red as a tomato in the process. Soon enough, Julia herself began to giggle, eventually leading to the entire house erupting in an extraordinary roar of laughter lasting for minutes on end. After a few short but fun moments, the laughter began to die down. Alastair began to remember when his father had first taught him how to play the bagpipes back home in Scotland all those years ago. It was clear that Alastair missed those days tremendously, just as how Julia missed her days in Strasbourg. Oh, how the war had changed everybody, French and British alike.

In a combination of missing home and a sudden recollection of Christmas spirit, Alastair closed his eyes and began to sing to himself softly. Gradually, his deep, aggressive, raspy Scottish voice slowly began to swell and grow louder just as how an orchestra swells on a glorious crescendo. He was singing a traditional British song called “I’m Dreaming of Home,” a song many of the French had become well-acquainted with in their own language over the course of the war. Alastair’s voice filled the room in a rough yet beautiful melody, enough to drive the room down to a quiet hush. Driven by nothing more than a sense of Christmas spirit and the triumphant warmness of love, the pleasant melody made from his mouth; “I hear the mountain birds, the song of rivers singing. A song I’ve often heard; it flows through me now, so clear and so loud. I stand where I am, and forever, I’m dreaming of home! I feel so alone! I’m dreaming of home!” Alastair pulled the pipes to his mouth and began to play the beautiful tune with clear perfection as a true Scotsman would; the honourable sound of the bagpipes emanating through the room stirring the emotions in the hearts of every man present. The mesmerizing sound of the Great Highland Bagpipe took Julia away into a whole other world as if its beautiful sound had captured all her being. Almost involuntarily, she and Marquis began to sing along in French, their contrasting voices meeting in an enchanting harmony; “J’entends les oiseaux de montagnes, la musique de la rivière chantante.” Many more surrounding the two began to join in, and, soon enough, the whole house began to sing in glorious and beautiful unison. “Une chanson que j’ai souvent entendu; elle me traverse maintenant, si claire et si forte. Je reste ou je suis, et pour toujours, Je rêve de chez moi! Je me sens si seul! Je rêve de chez moi!” After the song, the entire house erupted in scrupulous applause. Everybody was laughing, cheering, clapping, and smiling. It was certainly a beautiful moment, for Julia especially. However, just seconds before Alastair pulled the pipes to his mouth to begin yet another song, the room silenced just enough to hear the fateful melody through the stone walls of the French townhouse. The singing began first with a single voice, then gradually swelling into a gorgeous melody encompassing all who were present. “Ich höre die Bergvögel, der Klang der Flüsse, die singen. Ein Lied, das ich oft gehört habe; es fließt jetzt durch mich hindurch, so klar und so laut. Ich stehe wo ich bin, und für immer, Ich träume von zu Hause! Ich fühle mich so allein! Ich träume von zu Hause!”

The entire house fell silent. All feelings of hatred or anger that any soul in that room harboured for the Nazis or the Germans as a whole disappeared as the feeling of surprise came out dominant, even for Julia. The Germans; the common enemy of French and Scottish alike, the very people who put their nations in bondage, were now singing along to that Scottish song in a gesture of friendliness, humanity, and hope. Nobody knew how to feel, nobody but Julia, that is. There was no doubt that the song struck feelings of home, love, joy, and the general Christmas feeling in everybody’s heart. However, whereas everybody else was focussed upon the fact that it was the Germans who were singing, Julia had surrounded herself in the beauty of the moment, she had immersed herself in the music. The thought did not even cross her mind that it was none other than her mortal enemy singing along with her. At that moment, whether the singers were Scotsmen, Frenchmen, or Germans had mattered not to Julia. After a few rather long moments, Julia began to sing. It was an entirely involuntary movement, for the Christmas spirit and the sense of indifference stored deep within Julia’s heart of which she had seen briefly in parts had now become known to her in its full form. This time, in what little English she knew, she began in a harmonious tune. “Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o’er the plains!” Everybody in the room turned to look at Julia, some as a sign to stop and others out of a certain stark curiosity. On the second line, Marquis and Alastair echoed Julia, hesitantly out of instinct but for some reason also compelled by an unknown and overpowering driving willingness to sing along. “And the mountains in reply, echoing their joyous strains!” At this point, Julia’s father had pushed through the small mass of people to physically stop Julia, knowing exactly how dangerous this action was. However, before he could say anything to Julia, the faint melody echoed back through the walls. “Gloria! In Excelsis Deo!” After hearing this, Julia’s father withdrew, involuntarily and against his logical judgement. Julia, Alastair, and Marquis, as well as a few more people captivated by the surprising echo of the Germans, replied in unison. “Gloria! In Excelsis Deo!” Almost immediately after, Alastair picked up his pipes yet again and squeezed the bag to produce the underlying sound of the bagpipe’s bass drones. Then, he began to play the melody. This time, almost the entire house began to sing along, as if that incident with the Germans had never happened at all. The beautiful sounds of the bagpipes and the harmonica together with the united voices singing echoed through the dark streets of Paris. Some sang in English, some sang in German, and some sang in French. The mass of conflicting languages, however, came together to sing the Latin chorus, arising as a single mighty united voice from the mass of a thousand. “Gloria! In Excelsis Deo!”

After that harmonious song of joy and peace concluded, every soul in both houses clapped and cheered as loud as they could, even those who were skeptical and opposed to the idea in the first place. It was an unforgettable moment of tremendous beauty because in those faithful five minutes two mortal enemies had laid aside their differences to unite as one for a splendid musical harmony. In the midst of the joyous occasion, some Germans gathered some small gifts and began making their way across the street to Julia’s home. Soon enough, every German in the house made their way across with small gifts of offering to their British and French adversaries. It was worth noting, however, that a few skeptical and rather fear-mongering Nazi SS officers tucked their pistols into their concealed holsters as they made their way across. Finally, the first German at the door, a young teenage girl, gave the door three light knocks then stepped back slightly, gently clenching a Swiss-made chocolate bar in her hands.

The sound of the three gentle knocks was enough to bring the house from roaring joyous applause to dead silence. Every heart in Julia’s home jumped in a sense of unsuspecting surprise. This was followed by a sudden chill running down their spines, the blood within their veins running cold as ice. For a few seconds, everybody simply turned to stare at the door in silence, some pale with terror and others with straight faces stone cold. Finally, after that short yet chilling ordeal, Alastair leaned over to the window and slightly pulled the curtains aside to confirm his and everybody else’s suspicions. It was really happening. Right outside their door stood a crowd of thirty or so people; right outside their door was their mortal enemy who had set them into this treacherous bondage every soul in that home had come to know by heart. At that moment, every feeling of Christmas spirit built up in the moments prior disappeared as the natural instinct of war took over yet again. It was one thing to sing and celebrate with the enemy from afar, it was another to be with the enemy face to face. Finally, after a few moments where the tension ran tremendously high on both sides, Julia broke through the silence as a tank shell breaks through walls, a sight she knew all too well from the invasion of her home brought about by the very people standing in front of her separated by nothing but a stone brick wall. She made her way to the door as her heart pounded out of her chest, as every bone in her body shook uncontrollably in a sense of unparalleled fear. Everybody simply stood staring in terror, the gripping fear preventing them from saying anything as hard as they may have tried. Julia rested her hand upon the cold metal doorknob. It was now or never. She turned the doorknob and slowly pulled the door open, at last, to see the face of her faceless mortal enemy. Her fate was sealed.

As Julia opened the door, she was greeted with the face of a young girl about the same age as her. She had sparkling blue eyes, long flowing dark hair laced throughout with highlights of blonde in varying shades, and a warm, joyful smile, almost like Julia herself. She smiled at the girl before stepping aside, holding the door open to invite her and all those behind her in. Everybody continued to stare at the entering mass of people, many greeting them with a warm yet clearly tense smile with others simply looking on with a stark curiosity. Even Julia’s father remained to stare, for even though he tried to say something he simply could not form words from his mouth no matter how hard he tried. This was, however, until he saw the two tall and muscular men entering in at the back of the crowd. They were dressed in the stone-grey uniform of the Nazi SS, the same treacherous establishment that kidnapped, abused, and killed his beloved daughter Kayleigh two years ago. Their hats were marked with the signature terrorizing skull and crossbones, their chests were lined in medals and ribbons, their collars plastered with the insignia of the SS, and, perhaps worst of all, their arms were wrapped in the crimson band of the Swastika. The sight of these two men was enough to flush out every little inkling of Christmas spirit in Martin, likewise for Julia. Immediately, he ran over to the kitchen and drew a pistol from the drawer, screaming at the top of his lungs in extreme anger and a lust for revenge. His finger lay on the trigger, ready to kill a man with nothing more than a squeeze. Amidst the confusion, Jacques also drew his own weapon and aimed it at one of the men. In retaliation, the two SS officers drew their weapons from their concealed holsters and aimed it square at their heads, one at Martin and the other at Jacques. In the panic, even Alastair drew his Sten rifle he had forgotten to unpack from his backpack. All the while, everybody else screamed in terror, ducking down and covering their heads to open the lines of the standoff. For it was well understood among every soul present that the bullet cared not if you were French, British, or German. It cared only for taking the life of the man standing in front of its barrel by the hand of the man standing behind it.

At this moment, Julia became extremely conflicted. The sight of those treacherous stone-grey uniforms of the Nazi SS had angered her so greatly to the point where she longed to get her hands on a weapon of her own and end the lives of the two men herself, finally fulfilling the promise of revenge she made to her dear sister in that godforsaken Strasbourg alleyway as she lay lifeless in her arms. But then, she began to think of the girl, the girl waiting outside the door as Julia first opened it to let the Germans in. She remembered the warm smile the girl gave her and the look in her sparkly blue eyes. It was not one of emptiness, darkness, and hatred, but one of joy, happiness, and warmness. She began to believe with all her heart that under any other circumstances the two could have been the greatest of friends, it was that underlying pointless compelling hatred she harboured for every German alike that made this friendship impossible, that stripped away in its entirety the sense of blind indifference she had once held for her fellow human being. She began to see much of herself in the girl, relating more to her than those who blindly judged her and called “Death to the Krauts” at the top of their lungs with no sense or consideration for the fact that they too were human. This was not the true Christmas she had been trying so hard to revive but never being able to it its entirety for a completely unknown reason. At this moment, it all became clear to her. Christmas was a time of joy, kindness, happiness, a time to spend with family and friends, and perhaps most of all, a time to set aside one’s differences and conflicts with the people around them to rejoice in the birth of the Saviour and the joyous holiday season. That was what Christmas was truly about, and up to this point Julia never fully accomplished her goal of reviving the Christmas she knew and held so dear to her heart. For this was the unrivalled power of the atrocious storm of war; its ability to blind an individual so greatly to the point where they forgo their sense of indifference to replace it with absolute hatred for all those who stand against their cause, falsely disguising it as the undaunted love for one’s nation, when in reality it was precisely the opposite. It was atrocious, and Julia would not stand for it. After all, if she were still alive Kayleigh would not stand for it. Julia was to fulfill the promise she made to her sister, but through kindness in place of revenge.

In a moment of unparalleled anger, Martin chambered his pistol with an aggressive rack of its slide. He rested his finger on the trigger, ready to apply just a little bit more force to end the lives of the two men. In response, Alastair pulled the charging handle on his Sten rifle with a raw metallic charge, ready to unleash a storm of bullets on a moment’s notice. In a sudden yet fluid motion, the two SS officers racked their own weapons as they remained pointed at Martin’s head. All hell was about to break loose, and in preparation of it, the entire world stood still in mute witness. Finally, mere milliseconds before the first shot was fired, Julia arose suddenly to her feet with a scream of fear beyond description, jumping directly into the paths of all five shooters. Every barrel was now aimed directly at Julia’s head. It was a moment of pure horror where Julia simply shut her eyes as tight as she could and hoped that it was not too late. Fortunately, she was right. Alastair was first to lower his rifle, seeing immediately what the storm of war could push a person to do. The two officers slowly tucked their pistols back into their holsters, and Jacques set his own weapon on the ground in front of him. Finally, as Julia opened her eyes, she turned to look at her father, who still had his weapon pointed in the direction of the two men as his hands shook furiously. With her usual warm smile, she got her father to set down his weapon on the kitchen countertop.

Julia then stepped back and looked down at the girl who was originally waiting outside the door. She helped her to her feet with a smile as everyone else, British, French, and German alike, watched on in shock and awe. After a few short moments, Julia spoke. “Bonsoir!” she began in a comforting yet clearly shaky tone. The girl formed a smile, the same warm smile they were both so good at doing. “Guten Abend!” she responded. “Fröhliche Weihnachten!” “Joyeux Noel!” The two then embraced each other in a long hug, a symbol of a newfound friendship not just between the two girls, but between every soul present regardless of nationality. The two then began to converse in what little English they knew. “What’s your name?”Julia asked. “Monika,” the girl began. “Monika Steinhäuser. And yours?” ”Julia. Julia Fremont,” she replied. Monika smiled at Julia, and Julia smiled back. Monika then picked up the wrapped Swiss chocolate bar from the ground which she had meant to give Julia at their first meeting. Julia then reached into her sweater pocket and drew a chocolate bar she had bought in her Christmas shopping, originally meant as a treat for herself. The two exchanged their gifts and smiled at each other. Then, one of the Nazi SS officers ran out of the house and across to pick up a box of dried German sausage his mother had made and sent as a Christmas gift for him. He crossed back into the house and handed it to Martin as a gift. Martin looked up and smiled at the man, rushing over to the cellar to get a bottle of French red wine as his own gift. At last, the two mortal enemies, a French Resistance fighter and a Nazi SS officer exchanged gifts. Soon enough, everybody stood up to exchange gifts with one another. They traded woollen hats, gloves, and scarves, cigarettes and alcohol, chocolates and sweets, cakes and pastries, coffees and teas, all the like. Finally, Julia’s mother Isabella walked out to the dinner table from behind the kitchen counter, carrying the whole assortment of dishes and setting them down onto the table. “Christmas dinner!” she exclaimed joyfully. As if the standoff just a few minutes ago had never occurred, the entire house cheered in unison as Julia and Monika giggled joyfully. This would be a moment that the two of them would remember forever. Even if the moment may eventually become lost in the apparatus of time, never for as long as they live will it become lost in their hearts.

That evening’s Christmas dinner was tremendously special, not just for the French, but for all those present. Even though tradition had to be bent slightly in respect to the war, nobody seemed to care. Everybody sat around the small dinner table, some pulling up wooden wine barrels as stools or simply standing, spending the rest of their special Christmas evening indulging in all sorts of gorgeous Christmas cuisine of French, Scottish, and German origin alike (although the Scottish dish was limited to a few charred Scottish bacon rolls which Alastair had swiftly and, most certainly, unsuccessfully crafted up in the short span of time.) The entire house lit up in bustling conversation, sharing warm stories of home, telling jokes, and introducing each other to friends and family. Julia and Monika grew extremely close, as did Marquis and his newfound friend Otto who tried to teach him how to play the harmonica and in the same way as before with Alastair and the bagpipes, resulting in a ghastly yet hilarious sound that gave everybody a good laugh. Julia even brought her violin down from her room to show Monika and played an assortment of Christmas music that emanated throughout the household as a beautiful melody.

After Christmas dinner, Alastair went through his backpack and quickly discovered a deflated football, immediately being stuck with a great idea. He spent the next ten minutes or so desperately trying to blow air into the ball, turning himself purple as the French wine he just had at dinner. Triumphantly yet tremendously out of breath, he raised the inflated ball into the air and announced to all who were present that he was starting a game of football outside in the backyard. Everybody cheered, especially the children, slipping on their coats and making their way outside. Soon enough, Julia and Monika found themselves on opposing sides, not with rifles aimed at each other, but in the intense football showdown of France (and Scotland) vs Germany. Near the end of the game, it was tied 2-2. Marquis and Julia were making the final approach for the net, much to the mixed reactions of the crowd. In a moment of extreme intensity, Julia took the shot only for the goaltender to make an almost effortless glove save. On the rebound, however, Marquis got hold of the ball and gave a slow pass to Alastair for a one-timer. As Alastair took the shot, everybody around him began to die of laughter, much to Alastair’s confusion. Even the goaltender, one of the SS officers, snapped out of his focus and slumped down to the ground laughing, opening the areas for the ball to slip in. France and Scotland had won 3-2, but something drastic had happened in the process. Red with embarrassment, Alastair turned to look at his feet, and, much to his disgruntlement, discovered the cause of the tremendous laughter. His signature Scottish kilt had flown up in play.

Shortly after the game, everybody began to gather around the general vicinity of the warm, crackling fireplace in the living room to warm up. The loud and sudden crackling of the burning wood, the comforting warmness of the fire, and the all too familiar campfire scent were enough to make everyone feel at home, whether that home was Strasbourg, Paris, Berlin, Dresden, or Glasgow. Amidst the warm feelings of home, Julia looked to Monika. Immediately, they knew what to do. As the room softened to a quiet hush, Julia began to play “I’m Dreaming of Home” on her violin as she sang along in a heart-piercing, beautiful melody with Monika. This time, however, they both sang in English as one united voice. “I hear the mountain birds, the sound of rivers singing.” Immediately, Alastair, Marquis, and Otto lit up in joy, with Alastair playing along on the captivating Scottish bagpipes, Otto playing on his harmonica, and Marquis singing with glory as if it were the Vienna Opera. “A song I’ve often heard,” With each gorgeous line that was sung, more and more people began to sing along. “It flows through me now;” Soon enough, every soul in the home sang their hearts out to the gorgeous Scottish melody. The harmony of instruments had captured the hearts of each and every individual, and the Christmas spirit had finally driven out the storm of war. “so clear and so loud.” The last few lines encompassed all who were present, stirring every emotion in their heart and bringing some to tears of joy at the hands of the song’s striking beauty. It was as if a thousand voices had united as one while the conflicting sounds of the instruments grew together in a captivating harmony. “I stand where I am, and forever I’m dreaming of home! I feel so alone! I’m dreaming of home!”

After the song, Julia set her violin beside her chair as everybody around her began clapping and cheering. She arose from her feet amid the celebration and strolled over to sit on her window sofa, Monika following closely behind. As she sat, she scanned around the room. Everybody was laughing, cheering, and talking, amongst each other all motivated by nothing but a sense of pure joy. To Julia, this was what Christmas was truly about; joy, and at last, that so treasured feeling of joy had become known to her in its full form once again. Just the day prior she had sat in this same spot, crying her heart out in an empty house and longing for the dear Christmas feeling to return to her. Just twenty-four hours later, it all came back. This Christmas would surely be one she would remember for as long as she lived. She turned around to gaze out into the dark streets of Paris. This time, however, not a single tear streamed down her cheek. She was smiling, smiling so warmly, lovingly, and joyfully like she never had before.