We both then said things to each other which neither understood, and agreed to do a swap.  I brought out my wire clippers and, with a few deft snips, removed a couple of his buttons and put them in my pocket.  I then gave him two of mine in exchange.

Whilst this was going on a babbling of guttural ejaculations emanating from one of the laager-schifters, told me that some idea had occurred to someone.

Suddenly, one of the Boches ran back to his trench and presently reappeared with a large camera.  I posed in a mixed group for several photographs, and have ever since wished I had fixed up some arrangement for getting a copy.  No doubt framed editions of this photograph are reposing on some Hun mantelpieces, showing clearly and unmistakably to admiring strafers how a group of perfidious English surrendered unconditionally on Christmas Day to the brave Deutschers.

Slowly the meeting began to disperse; a sort of feeling that the authorities on both sides were not very enthusiastic about this fraternizing seemed to creep across the gathering.  We parted, but there was a distinct and friendly understanding that Christmas Day would be left to finish in tranquillity.  The last I saw of this little affair was a vision of one of my machine gunners, who was a bit of an amateur hairdresser in civil life, cutting the unnaturally long hair of a docile Boche, who was patiently kneeling on the ground whilst the automatic clippers crept up the back of his neck.

CHAPTER IX

SOUVENIRS—­A RIDE TO NIEPPE—­TEA AT
H.Q.—­TRENCHES ONCE MORE

A couple of days after Christmas we left for billets.  These two days were of a very peaceful nature, but not quite so enthusiastically friendly as the day itself.  The Germans could be seen moving about in their trenches, and one felt quite at ease sitting on the top of our parapet or strolling about the fields behind our lines.

It was during these two days that I managed to get a German rifle that I had had my eye on for a month.  It lay out in the open, near one or two corpses between our trenches and theirs, and until this Christmas truce arrived, the locality was not a particularly attractive one to visit.  Had I fixed an earlier date for my exploit the end of it would most probably have been—­a battered second-lieutenant’s cap and a rusty revolver hanging up in the ingle-nook at Herr Someone-or-other’s country home in East Prussia.  As it was, I was able to walk out and return with the rifle unmolested.

When we left the trenches to “go out” this time I took the rifle along with me.  After my usual perilous equestrian act I got back to the Transport Farm, and having performed the usual routine of washing, shaving, eating and drinking, blossomed forth into our four days’ rest again.

The weather was splendid.  I went out for walks in the fields, rehearsed the machine-gun section in their drill, and conducted cheery sort of “Squire-of-the-village” conversations with the farmer who owned our farm.