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Incredible World War I-dated ALS in German, signed “Otto,” 24 total pages, 4.5 x 7, December 25 and 26, 1914. Addressed from the field in the Belgian city of Comines-Warneton, a lengthy handwritten letter from Otto Hahn to his wife, Edith, penned on Christmas day during the Christmas truce, a series of widespread unofficial ceasefires along the Western Front. In part: “What might you be doing right now and how did you celebrate yesterday? I toasted you yesterday with champagne and thought about home more than usual. It is our favorite family holiday, and even here at the front, you cannot escape the old Christmas spirit. Even the way things look is not at all very different from home. Every man here at headquarters received a big platter with gingerbread, cigars and other lovely things. A beautiful Christmas tree blazed in the room, and the long tables were decorated with pine bows and tiny Christmas trees. We sang our favorite old Christmas carols, and Mr. von Stössel gave a speech that was lovely and moving and ended on a note of hurrah for the Emperor and the Fatherland.
There was even a small religious service for the unit. I had instructed my people, of course only those who weren't out in the trenches, to come earlier, at 4:30, because many of them were expected at the parties arranged by the units to which, until recently, they were attached. But at 4 I received the order to report to the Regiment Commander in Comines at 5. Therefore, I had to leave and couldn't be there for my own party. Although my celebration consisted mainly of distributing beautiful woolens of which all the troops here received in abundance in gift parcels. Additionally, for the corporals and non-commissioned officers, I had small individual gifts, such as chocolate, coffee cubes, tea tablets, etc., etc; all things of which I had extra and don't need anymore in that quantity.
For the evening I let the men brew themselves a grog; coming out of my own pocket were 12 bottles of rum I bought in Lille. More than half of them were used yesterday. For those people coming out of the trenches today, there will be grog again and small presents. Those in the trenches already got 5 cigars each and a morsel of chocolate that I sent out last night. Today, I received yet another delayed crate containing gift packages for each of my men with the following: 2 pouches of tobacco, 10 cigars, 1 book of war songs, 1 booklet from a priest, 1 bag of condensed milk, 1 bar of chocolate, 1 big handkerchief, 1 stearin candle. It's a lovely assortment, and they are very happy about it. Each man in our regiment got a package like that, in addition to the packet of woolens that contained at least one shirt and one pair of underpants, 2 pairs of socks, etc. We have another whole big sack of woolens lying here.
In Comines there is apparently so much more that our battalion doesn't even want to pick it up. It is a fact that the care from Germany has been splendid. Sometimes I suspect that part of it could be found useful back in Germany itself. From all the woolens I took one wonderful, extra thick pair of underpants there were 12 of them in the box. I replaced it with one of mine that I had made for the wedding and which I have never worn. The one I took is three times as thick as any underpants of mine.
As I was saying, yesterday I had to go to the Regiment in Comines. There I heard officially what I had known unofficially for some time, namely that our brigade will be relieved from the front line for a few weeks of physical and mental rest and do guard duty in a Belgian town. So last night at 3, half of the 70th Regiment was relieved in the trenches by the other half, and by 6 they were already heading to Lille, from where they will still be transported today a little further by train. The other half will remain in the trenches for 3 days and then follow them.
But now about our difficulties. The troops replacing our regiment in the trenches do not have machine guns. In our important position, my 4 guns must stay at the front at all costs. They are indispensable. For a moment I feared that one would tell me that my poor guys would not be relieved. But it's not as bad as that. But I have to stay here with my company, the newly arriving regiment has to command units and I, i.e., my men, have to train the new units on the machine guns. As soon as I can attest that the new men are trained, we can request to be detached and sent back to our troops. So for now I will step into the unit of the new regiment. Well, I have to close now and go to Comines.
Now I can continue to write a bit. It is 10:30 in the evening, a deep stillness; only in the far, far distance is there the weak sound of cannons every now and then. I am all by myself in Warneton, in the cozy room that was Dr. Scheiler's, our regiment's doctor, until tonight. A clock is ticking softly, and it's as quiet as in peacetime; quite improbable, and so Christmas-like. The entire regiment staff left early today; I stayed behind, my men are in the house next door and only Rehfeldt and a few others are upstairs and probably sound asleep. I heard no news at Headquarters in Comines. I will be informed about this and that later on; The only thing for sure is that I am attached to the new regiment that is relieving us so that I can train them in the use of machine guns.
Additionally, it is certain that while we are staying at our base, they won't get to see the four machine guns. I will be able to return with only two. Only the gods know whether we will continue to be a machine gun company. The lieutenant colonel is cursing that the machine guns need to be replaced with others. But no one knows if we can get more that easily now. For the moment it doesn't worry me at all.
For the moment I am sitting here on Dec. 25, alone with you, my love, and thinking of all that has happened over the past few months and of the past few wonderful years that you and I have spent together. I am smoking a fine cigar…I have German gingerbread before me from your 500-gram letter of yesterday, and cocoa at my side that Rehfeldt brewed before he left. As I was driving to Comines yesterday on my machine gun truck, several big shells were flying into Comines. The nauseating smell arose, and you had that oddly thrilling sense of war, as in all the times before. By evening it was quiet. And here during the day it was also quiet. No gun shot, no cannon, neither ours nor the enemy's disrupted the Christmas spirit in the area. What a contrast with yesterday, where everything down to the smallest detail was put on possible alert. Every single man was instructed to be on absolute alert.
Here in Warneton the Christmas celebrations, but in Comines something unusual. I am afraid I shouldn't even talk about it, I am convinced the senior officers are suppressing it, but it is true: even our soldiers in the trenches celebrated Christmas. Who knows just how it began? A Bavarian rifleman started it, after the British across the way shouted Merry Christmas when they saw our men raising a Christmas tree on a pole out of the trench. The Bavarian rifleman crawled forward and stared at the English in their trench, or maybe he crawled forward just a little and they encouraged him to come closer. He came back with cigarettes and tobacco. One believed him; he went back again and returned with several Scottish Highlanders in their short kilts who went all the way to our trenches. Our men joined them. Not a shot was fired. Cigarettes were smoked, candles were placed on the edge of the trenches; they spoke with one another. They didn't chat only yesterday, but today as well. Officers from our regiment crossed over and the troops came out in throngs. The war was suspended. The Christmas peace had done it. Today not a shot was fired here, not tonight, either. It was a public peace that lasted all the more because everybody had expected the opposite. My machine gunners tell me there probably won't be any shooting tomorrow either. The British apparently said they were to be relieved by the French. It's a good thing our men will be relieved as well. It's hard to decide whether to be happy or outraged by all this. For my part, I am deeply happy about this one-day peace. I have to tell my men that it is not right, even on Christmas Day. That it is dangerous, etc., but deep inside, I think it is beautiful. But what luck that they will be relieved. It would be hard to shoot men, to beat them to death with the butt of your rifle, to run them through, after you just exchanged cigarettes and food. So it cannot be allowed; other things count here, and you must suppress your feelings. I, myself, am glad that I wasn't out there myself at that time, because I would probably have done the same thing. Can one imagine greater contrasts than what I describe and what we experience every single day?
A few days ago here in Warneton, a company had lined up for roll call. An enemy pilot saw that and shortly thereafter a few shells fell. One of them hit a house next to the soldiers. 9 were killed, 19 wounded, most of them seriously. It happened further down on our street. An officer's substitute with whom I had enlisted, from the 9th company, was hit in the trenches a few days ago-he's dead. The non-commissioned officer who, at the time, wanted to pull Lieutenant Colonel Rode off the road, and was wounded, just died of his wounds. And on it goes. My dear PhD candidate and Reisenegger's assistant, Dr. [Martin] Rothenbach, whom I wanted to have so much as my assistant again, was killed. The same for Prof. Hinrichsen with whose wife we were just at the Sackurs in July. He sang songs accompanied by the lute with a small but beautiful voice. But I suppose you know that already. As you probably also know of the accident at the Hahn Institute that killed Sackur and cost Jost his right hand.
Dear Edith, sad things happen not only in war. There is enough suffering in Germany, too. One hears all that, pushes it aside and goes on living, carefree and cheerful. Yesterday we drank Champagne and smoked good cigars and sang Christmas carols under the Christmas tree. And then you go back to the trenches, check the guns to see if they are cocked and ready, and make sure that everybody has enough ammunition. When I got to Comines tonight, I turned into the cloister of the bombed-out monastery, in whose basement the headquarters of the regiment are housed, and there was a Christmas service for the Bavarian troops. Many hundreds of men who are currently billeted in the basement ruins of Comines listened to the words of the priest who spoke calmly and clearly and without pathos. Then they all sang ‘Silent Night, Holy Night.’ The air was foggy and chilly, the moon shone pale through the fog, but it was light enough for me to see. There stood the black wall of men, surrounded by church ruins, singing the familiar song with muted voices where only yesterday shells had burst inside. It was moving and, in this setting, unforgettable. If only one could hold onto images like that. A few minutes later, all soldiers again.
The 7 phone operators assigned to the regiment are to report to me tomorrow morning. For as long as I am here, these 30 new men will also be under my command; I will be responsible for their meals, and they will have to follow my orders. The coachman outside has broken the axle, and the men are poking fun at him. That's life. The unforgettable is right next to the small worries and efforts of everyday life, and lucky is the fellow who can preserve his good mood, his cheerfulness, and his strong nerves. Dec. 26. The night was peaceful and calm, just like the day before. And it got very cold overnight. But even yesterday, when my feet were getting cold, I put on your fur galoshes over my thin slippers. They are wonderful for the room, but they would be ruined in the wet trenches in no time. But they are surely also great in hard frost.
But now back to the real reality. For some time now our artillery has clearly indicated that our ‘Christmas peace’ is at an end. They are shooting so close to us with heavy artillery that my window panes rattle. I believe it was ordered so that one sees that the truce is over. The other side also now seems to be starting up again, too, so we're back to the nice order of war.
Today I put on those wonderful thick underpants from the gift package and feel quite cozy and warm. I only don't dare go into the cabin [toilet?] because the window there is gone and it is ridiculously cold in there. But sooner or later, I'll have to go, of course. (Your father would tell the joke of the man and Cape Horn now.) In general, I have the impression that for some – boom, a shell just hit somewhere close by – time, I have been gaining weight again after having become nice and slim during my active time in the trenches. A few [shells] are coming in right now it seems to be getting lively around here, again.
Dear Edith, I haven't thanked you yet for the many beautiful letters that you have sent. I have gotten almost everything from the 24th, including the cinnamon stars, the almond cookies, the gingerbread. I have gotten the letters of 10-22, 24, 25 and 27, your birthday. And for your birthday candle that I set up quietly, I must apologize that you weren't congratulated by the Frankfurt family on your birthday. I forgot to remind them two days earlier. Last year I did that and they wrote. Without reminding them earlier, it's naturally out of the question that they would think about it. There is no little book with birthday listings, and if there were, nobody would ever check. So don't be angry with us Hahns, they do mean well by you. And you know that, too. I was happy that ‘Foff’ took care of things so punctiliously punctually. It shows me, once more, the timely resoluteness of action as it befits a Prussian soldier. (N.B. I would also like to act decisively in this instance, but, oh, who knows how long that may still be!) Be quiet, Willi, what do you want.
Well, I am losing the thread here. Rehfeldt got his watch on Christmas Eve. He unpacked it himself and was really very happy. He is such a loyal man, and keeping the fire burning and stealing the necessary coals keeps him busy all day. He just went upstairs to fix us home fries for lunch. I'll try to do without meat after all the Christmas sweets. Too bad that I can't get any mail for a while now. With our battalion gone, I'll have to wait for letters and Christmas packages until I am with the battalion again. At least I don't see another way how to get the things here. But in one regard, it's not so bad about the packages, since I really have more than plenty of everything, that I cannot even comprehend it. In addition, there are 6 bottles of Champagne in my room that belong to the staff, which I recently bought in Lille (3Fr. a bottle). I want to return them to the staff but could easily drink one or two. Maybe I'll have one New Year's Eve, all by myself, thinking of home. But often one makes plans here without knowing where one will be and whether one will have time, etc. In any case, the bottles are here in my room. Maybe I'll invite Rehfeldt to share one with me.
I got so much mail recently that I got quite spoiled. From Emmy and Rainer in the Black Forest, from Carl and Tili, from Leo and Ellchen, Miss Meitner. Cammerer, Reisenegger. Reisenegger writes me that he has accepted a position with the…society. He wanted to be taken back by them so that he wouldn't be drafted even when it was the turn of the veteran reserve. He doesn't seem to be too anxious to serve in the war.
Tonight the quiet here in my house will come to an end. 2000 men are coming here that we have to billet. Then a staff from who knows where will want to move into this relatively well-preserved house, but I will try to hold onto my room and, when possible, not look after the ‘new men’ too much. It is nice when one can also be alone a little. It's supposed to be a home-militia that still is at full strength, that's only been moving in stages, which will replace our 20th and 35th regiments. So they are not coming from the front. Well, they're in for a surprise!
Well, I will try to go out riding for a bit; one of my drivers will come along. It's time I got firm in the saddle if I am to ride back ‘at the head of my company.’ It's a good thing that I am to ride now because my pedestrian form isn't what it once was. But my two knees aren't strong enough yet; they still sometimes do what they want. I just remembered another big Christmas wish: if Mr. Pohl is a good tailor. please have him make me an officer's coat. The fabric not light, but dark gray, the buttons dull as one wears them now. I've been walking around in the regiment coat, but later, if one should be detached from time to time and end up in the city. I would prefer the elegant coat of an officer. Fabric not too thin so that it keeps me warm, too. In the meantime, I've already had my potatoes. Maybe I'll get as far as Comines on horseback. There I can mail this letter. My best wishes for the New Year. Have a cheerful punch and think a little about me and be happy that I will be pulled out of the war for a few weeks. Farewell, my love. A thousand greetings from your Otto. Rehfeldt sends his greetings and thanks you. Everything written with your fountain pen.” In fine condition. Accompanied by the original envelope.
Hahn's interest in radioactivity was sparked during the year he spent at Sir William Ramsay's London laboratory at University College (1904-1905). By 1912, he had been named head of the department of radioactivity at Berlin's Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for Chemistry, where he was soon joined by the young Austrian physicist, Lise Meitner (1878-1968), who is briefly referred to in our letter.
However, according to Hahn, ‘then an event occurred that was to create a long interruption in the work started at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for Chemistry; in August 1914 World War One began. I [Hahn] was immediately drafted as a vice-sergeant in the Landwehr [reserves]. Lise Meitner stayed at the Institute, but not for long. She volunteered for service in the Austrian army and served behind the front lines as an X-ray technician,’ (Otto Hahn: A Scientific Autobiography).
Germany entered the conflict gripped by a pro-war fervor, dubbed the Spirit of 1914, and confident the fighting would be brief. The country had every reason to believe in a swift victory as it had the most prepared military of all the combatants. However, hardships soon appeared in the form of food shortages at home and at the front. German stores of gunpowder ran out after only a few months and the Germans turned to chemists who created everything from synthetic coffee to synthetic gunpowder. The conflict was groundbreaking not just because of its scope, but also because of new methods of fighting. Innovations in weapon technology (such as tanks) led to trench warfare, in which the lines of defense were static and the result was often a deadlock.
It was during his first few months of service that Hahn participated in one of the most astonishing acts of goodwill ever seen on any battlefield in any war. In December 1914, huddled and frozen in rain-soaked, muddy trenches, eating the same gruesome rations each day, and with front lines often no more than 60 to 70 yards apart, soldiers from each side faced the first Christmas of the war with despair. Suddenly, minor acts of fraternization occurred between the opposing forces. Sometimes one side would shout insults to the other but later yell out ‘Encore!’ to encourage the holiday singing that sporadically sprang up across the front lines. These unusual contacts continued until the British corps commander, General Smith-Dorrien, issued a directive on December 5, 1914, that demanded that field officers encourage ‘the offensive spirit of the troops, while on the defensive, by every means in their power. Friendly intercourse with the enemy, unofficial armistices and the exchange of tobacco and other comforts, however tempting and occasionally amusing they may be, are absolutely prohibited.’
Two days later, on December 7th, Pope Benedict XV proposed a Christmas truce, to which the Germans readily agreed. Despite the Allies' refusal to participate, many German units went ahead with their holiday celebrations, and British forward observers were shocked when one day they noticed hundreds of small, lighted Christmas trees perched on top of the trenches, accompanied by the singing of ‘O Tannenbaum’ and other traditional carols.
Gradually, a measure of trust was established and, as Otto Hahn describes in this extraordinary 24-page letter, soldiers in many areas crawled out of their trenches, shook hands with the enemy, showed pictures of their loved ones, and exchanged cigarettes, stories, and souvenirs. In at least one documented case, members of the Bedfordshire Regiment and German soldiers set up a game of soccer between their trenches and played until the ball was punctured by barbed wire. A Christmas truce had also been declared for a sadder reason: both sides wanted to recover their fallen comrades whose corpses were strewn across the bleak and cratered no-man's land.
Our letter was written from the Belgian town of Comines-Warneton (Komen-Waasten) following the German invasion in August under the Schlieffen Plan, an operation meant to secure a German victory over France on the Western front. What the Germans expected to be an easy and swift victory was, in fact, slowed by a surprisingly vigorous Belgian resistance. Hahn penned this letter during these momentous and historic days before his transfer to a special unit that made use of his scientific expertise.
In January 1915, Fritz Haber enlisted Hahn and other colleagues into Pioneer Regiment 36, dedicated to chemical weapons development to give the Germans an advantage in the trenches. ‘Otto Hahn…first objected that what he was doing was contrary to International law. But his objections were overruled and Haber seems to have determined to win the war single-handed…Otto Hahn became a participating 'observer' and the future Nobel Laureates in Physics, James Franck and Gustav Hertz also joined him. But it must be recorded that Max Born, another young physicist at Haber's Institute and a future Nobel Laureate refused to take part.’
The German military first began using chlorine gas alone or mixed with phosphogene in January 1915, and the Allied forces soon followed suit. The use of mustard gas followed, with one-quarter of all battlefield deaths caused by such chemical weapons. Hahn was not the only scientist whose expertise focused on the war effort. The Fritz-Haber Institute was transformed into a research facility for weapons development and it was in a subsequent blast while working with explosives that physicist Otto Sackur (1880-1914) was killed, as Hahn notes in our letter. Relating the same incident, he is also likely referring to German chemist Friedrich Wilhelm Jost (1903-1988), who conducted research in the area of volatile materials. He also mentions his colleague, German chemist Hermann Reisenegger (1861-1930).
An amazing first-hand account of this touching moment in history, all the more interesting since it is written by one of the world's most notable scientists. Hahn resumed his work with Meitner after the war and their investigations into the application of radioactive methods to chemistry during the next few years were followed, in the early 1930s, by Enrico Fermi's announcement that he had obtained radioactive materials through the neutron bombardment of uranium 235. It was only after much additional research that Hahn and his collaborators discovered ‘that one of the products from uranium was a radioactive form of the much lighter element barium, indicating that the uranium atom had split into two lighter atoms. Hahn sent an account of the work to… Meitner who, in cooperation with her nephew Otto Frisch, formulated a plausible explanation of the process, to which they gave the name nuclear fission,’ (Encyclopedia Britannica).
The work of Hahn and his colleagues made very real the potential of using a chain reaction for weapons development. With the advent of the Second World War, it was believed that Germany would try to develop such a devastating weapon, but Hahn did not participate in this effort. Nonetheless, in 1945, he and several other German physicists and chemists were held for questioning by Allied troops, and removed to England where Hahn was detained until January 1946, and where he learned in November 1945 that he had been awarded the 1944 Nobel Prize for chemistry. It was also in England that ‘to his profound dismay, he heard of the application of his discovery when nuclear weapons were detonated over Hiroshima and Nagasaki.’ Thereafter he was a vocal opponent of nuclear weapons. In 1955 he collaborated with other Nobel laureates to draft the Mainau Declaration, cautioning against the abuses of atomic energy, and in 1957 he publicly protested Germany's acquisition of nuclear arms. A remarkably detailed and evocative account, written amidst the backdrop of trench fighting, chemical weapons development, and, by December 1914, flagging optimism that the war would soon be over.
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