“You know the match never even happened, said the curmudgeonly Aldershot cabby. “Nah, just a myth. Mind you, Jesus wasn’t born on Christmas neither.” He’d still not finished. “And Father Christmas actually used to be green till they turned him red for a Coke ad.”

On Wednesday night a football match was played between the British army and German armed forces to commemorate the centenary of the match that was, or wasn’t, played in no man’s land during the first world war Christmas truce.

The Game of Truce was held at the Electrical Services stadium, home of Aldershot Town FC. Even those loyal to Aldershot admit the town has seen better days. Shop after shop is boarded up, ageing Gurkhas wander along the streets aimlessly, the sky looks as if it’s never seen blue. Even the front entrance to the 99p shop is locked.

British army’s Calum Wilkinson and Bundeswehr’s Christian Freudenberg during the match. Photograph: Mike Egerton/PA

It might have been a national event, but it wasn’t much of a local one. No one seemed to know about the match, or care. There is something heartbreakingly desolate about this garrison town.

Carl D’Ath, a Millwall fan down from the east end of London, was looking on the bright side. “It’s the ideal place to host the match. Aldershot is the home to the British army. There’s been a lot of coverage of the Christmas Day ceasefire, and it’s important we remember it. Hopefully this will add to it, and some younger people will get educated too.”

If the 1914 match didn’t happen, it should have. As for the truce, that was indisputable – cigars, songs and stories were swapped, hair was cut, bodies were buried. A century on, what could better symbolise man’s common humanity in the midst of such senseless carnage? And common it was. This wasn’t a truce for the officer class. It was the squaddies taking spontaneous and unilateral action.

Two men wearing replica uniforms watch the football match between the British army and German forces at Aldershot Town FC. Photograph: Toby Melville/Reuters

The generals and politicians made sure the next year that the war machine would never again be brought into disrepute. Soldiers were threatened with court martial if they laid down their weapons and embraced the enemy. There were to be no more truces.

The football match in no man’s land has always loomed large in our collective consciousness. That’s not surprising – the truce and the poets were the only decent thing to emerge from the war that was supposed to end all wars. In recent weeks it has become the subject of controversy, with Sainsbury’s and Uefa accused of hijacking and sentimentalising the match to sell their wares with advertising campaigns.

In Aldershot, both squads were training early in the morning. The two captains went head-to-head for a photo shoot, as if it were a boxing match. Sgt Keith Emmerson, captain of the British army, looked like Vinnie Jones on steroids with his livid blue eyes and shaved head. Alexander Hess, Germany’s urbane captain, could have stepped straight out of Brideshead Revisited.

British army personnel celebrate the winning goal as they watch the commemorative football match. Photograph: Toby Melville/Reuters

Hess said it was an honour to captain the German army on such a night. “For me and the German army it is a special thing. To remember how soldiers played on ice and sang together.”

“It’s a massive commemoration of everything that happened 100 years ago,” Emmerson said. “It’s nice to commemorate all those who have fallen, especially those who served in that conflict.”

Many people know that the assassination of Franz Ferdinand started the first world war, but few can explain what the war was about. Did the two captains know? They eyed each other in silence.

Members of the British armed forces watch the Game of Truce in Aldershot. Photograph: Ben Stansall/AFP/Getty Images

Senior army press officer Chris Fletcher intervened. “Now this is about a football match, not about why we had a first world war.” Was the army censoring the Guardian? “I’m just directing you that this is about a football match. Not why we had a first world war.”

Emmerson and Hess were quickly whisked off, but not before I asked if they knew what the score was in the original match 100 years ago. “3-2 to Germany,” Hess said instantly.

Brian May, formerly in the Royal Navy and now representing the pressure group War Stop, believed the original match has huge historical significance – but could have had more. “That was humanity breaking out at the time of war and if only those soldiers had been able to carry on doing that it could have been the beginning of the end of the war.”

May, a big man in a black beret, took out a book he was carrying called War Is A Racket by General Smedley Butler. “He was one of America’s most decorated generals and he explains everything; how the American manufacturers made huge profits. The young soldiers gave their blood and the business people made vast amounts of money.”

Had he managed to interest either armies in the book? He grinned. “No, they didn’t seem to want to know.”

The Band of The Royal Logistics Corps marched down the pitch before, surreally, launching into Michael Jackson’s Thriller. Re-enactors stood on the sidelines, armed with swords, guns and walking sticks.



Before kick off, the players were introduced to dignitaries including FA head Greg Dyke, army chief General Sir Nicholas Carter and Sir Bobby Charlton. Silent Night, sung in alternate English and German verses, echoed spookily and beautifully, round the half-empty stadium (a good crowd of 2,547 at Aldershot, whose most recent home match in the Conference league drew less than 1,000.

After three minutes, the British took the lead, lance Corporal Calum Wilkinson slotting in the rebound after German goalkeeper Andreas Forster fumbled a shot. The hare-paced Emmerson constantly menaced on the both wings while signaller Ryan Paddock kept the Germans at bay with last-ditch interceptions.

In the second half Lance Corporal Sam Agar put a beautiful ball through, and German goalkeeper Corporal Andreas Forster saved well with his legs. Forster kept the Germans in the match with his legs, his toes, his back and his favourite sit-down save. In the 90th minute the Germans hit the bar, then the British hit the post- the British deservedly held on to win 1-0.

This was a football match with a difference – the police wore red berets, the team sheets contained name, rank and number, and the fans chanting Red Army really meant it.

There was something eery about the whole evening – not least the uniformed squaddies stood on the East Bank, still and impassive, camouflaged like military ghosts of Christmas past.