There was no talk of “a merry Christmas” this year. No one wanted to be merry even. With all the horrors of war, no one could feel “Christmassy”. It sounded so strange the first time we had “God Save the King” sung in church as a prayer – the congregation all kneeling with bowed heads and singing it seriously, slowly and reverently. It usually comes as a finish to mirthful festivities, or as a wind-up to some rollicking entertainment, but now that is all changed, and so has the significance of the fine old national anthem.