Priest recalls Christmas at Guadalcanal
Editor's note: This was originally published in The Press on Christmas eve, 1997.
Our mail this week includes a letter from Mike Bernardo. a Marine who was on Guadalcanal, in the southern Solomon Islands, on Aug. 7, 1942. Guadalcanal, roughly 700 miles east of Papua, New Guinea, was of strategic importance to the American sea lines of communications between Hawaii and Australia. The Japanese intended to build an air base there that would destroy the sea lines of communications with Australia. On Aug. 8, 1942, in the battle of Savo Island, the Allies lost four cruisers and the U.S. Navy withdrew, 48 hours after putting the Marines ashore. Japanese air, land and sea power was relentless, determined to drive the invaders into the sea. Control of the island would not be determined until January 1943.
A Catholic priest, Father Frederic P. Gehring, C.M., said mass to our American servicemen on Guadalcanal Christmas 1942. Here is a Christmas message from the Padre:
Christmas is always a time for memories. The Church lives on the memories of a God-man born in a crib at Bethlehem, and that memory of Bethlehem is enough to quicken a cold and selfish world into a warm and kindly spirit of Christmas.
For most of us there is usually one Christmas that we will always remember. I still cherish the memory of a Christmas 44 years ago. It wasn't a white Christmas, on the contrary, it was mild and warm and a million stars were twinkling down at us from a tropical sky.
Men were flocking to my chapel-tent where a midnight mass was to be held. They were fighting men. Men who a short while before were boys who had aged overnight in their baptism of fire. Men who saw their comrades die. Men who heard the whispered messages of their comrades for their dear ones at home. Men who plunged through jungle underbrush; braved enemy fire, walked along a blood stained coral beach, so that they could be present for their first midnight Mass away from home.
These men wanted Christmas. They wanted the full spiritual joy that comes after absolution from a priest. They wanted to kneel before the altar of God and pray for their loved ones at home. They wanted to talk to the Prince of Peace and pour out their hearts to him. Telling him they were tired of this jungle warfare. They were tired of killing and avoiding being killed.
For these men, there was no church, no crib. A chapel-tent was their stable. An improvised altar was their crib. An American flag was draped behind the altar and it made them realize why they were out on that faraway South Pacific Island.
There were still a few hours before midnight mass. I was hearing confessions while sitting on a stump of a tree a short distance from my chapel-tent. My yeoman, Al Landes, loaned to me from the 6th Seabee Battalion, brought my small portable harmonium (reed organ) and placed it outside my tent. Men grouped around it singing Christmas carols, a rugged little Jewish boy, former light-weight prize fighter, Barney Ross, volunteers to play for them.
I had finished the e line of confessions and joined the group. Al called over "Padre, get your fiddle and join us." It didn't take much coaxing. I went into my tent and, while dusting off my fiddle, Barney Ross winked at me and said, "Come on, Jack Benny, give it all you've got." With that we struggled through the Christmas hymns and songs with a background of husky voices in cadence with the fiddle and harmonium. Then Barney stopped. He looked around at his comrades and then up to me saying "Fellows, for many of you, I know this is your first Christmas away from home. I know that most of you, like myself, are thinking of your dear mother and dear ones at home. The re's an old Jewish song I would like to sing for you. It's called "My Yiddisha Mama" in Yiddish, then in English. I could see eyes welling with tears and every now and then one of the lads would ease his way into the darkness where they would have their private little crying spell.
That was a Christmas I will never forget along with the midnight mass that still lingers in my memory as the season brings its spell of Peace on Earth to men of good will.
The smoke of the battles of World War Il , Korea and Vietnam have long since subsided. The banners of our services have been placed in their standards.
Our heroes who gave their lives for their country and now lay beneath the white crosses that mark their final place do not see the dark clouds of war hovering overhead in various parts of the world. The peace they fought and died for seems but temporary.
The rush of buying and giving seems to have crowded out the spiritual side of this great feast. For some "Xmas," Christmas spelled with an X, almost seems to border on frolic. But it was no frolic for our boys in the stern dark days of war. Those boys on that war-torn Island of Guadalcanal, or on the ships quietly sailing troubled waters, or in planes scanning the skies for enemy plants. They weren't thinking of gifts from home or of sending gifts at that time. They wanted the spiritual joy that comes from being close to Christ on Christmas. May it be so for our Guadalcanal campaign veterans today. May we thank God this Christmas for giving us another year to share the blessings of this season with those we love. Let us pray that we can find, in the world today, men who can sit around a table and form concrete plans for world peace.
A blessed Christmas to all.
Father Frederic P. Gehring, C.M.
Graham Crutchfield is an officer and volunteer active in Kootenai County veterans organizations.