Andrew William Hall was born 27 February, 1887 at Broke, N.S.W., the eldest
child of Thomas Henry Hall and Mary Ann nee Smith.
Andrew enlisted as a private in B Company, !8th. Battalion on 5 May 1915 and
embarked at Sydney on “Ceramic” for Egypt on 25 June presumably
to complete training. He proceeded to Gallipoli from Alexandria 15 August. While
serving on Gallipoli Peninsular he was promoted to Corporal 21 November and
again promoted to Sergeant on 12 December to replace Sergeant Sandy who died
of wounds. Sgt. Hall disembarked at Alexandria ex Mudros 9 January 1916.
Andrew transferred to 5th. Brigade Machine Gun Company on 8 March 1916. He embarked
from Alexandria 17 March arriving at Marseilles on the 23rd. On 16 September
he transferred from 5th. Bde. M.S.G. to the 18th Battalion. Sgt. Hall was reported
as M.I.A. on 29 September and found to be have been killed in action by a Court
of Enquiry on 3 February 1917.
Evidence of Pte. W. A. Sellars, 2223:
Informant states that Sgt. Hall took part in a raid at Ypres on date mentioned
and returned safely, but hearing that Sgt. Hooper, another of the party, was
missing he returned and tried to find him, and never came back. It is believed
in the Co. That he was probably taken prisoner.
From “Hell’s Bells and Mademoiselles” by Joseph Maxwell V.C.
Silent raids to cut enemy wire without artillery preparation became our next
hectic job.
Those were the days when members of raiding-parties blackened their faces and
hands and left behind everything that might help the enemy to identify the battalion
opposite to them. Losses were established by numbers repeated verbally to N.C.O.s
on returning from a raid. - - -
That night Sergeants Andy Hall, Jock Cooper, and I blackened our faces in the
same dugout. Andy and Jock were two of the most perfect physical specimens one
could meet. They were both six feet tall, broad, solid, and every inch soldiers.
I drew number thirteen. Hall said that rather than go through with the devil’s
number he would ask to be excused from the raid.
“Right,” I replied. “We will test the luck of number thirteen
by taking a third light for a cigarette from this match. I will take the third
and if superstition counts for anything I will be carried back from this raid
in pieces.”
Rolling grey clouds muffled the stars as we lined up in the trench and waited.
“Two minutes to go, boys,” murmured Captain Lane, glancing at his
watch.
Bob Dryden and his men slithered back into the trench and reported that the
wire had been cut and that the enemy would probably receive the shock his life
when we went over. A hissing whisper:
“Get ready. All set. Come on.”
With a wild yell that echoed on the night wind, we were over the top. There
were only about twenty-five yards to cover to reach the German front line. But
at that moment dozens of flares leapt to life and spun to earth like mad will-o’-the-wisps.
That patch of torn earth was flooded with a ghastly radiance that rivalled the
light of day. The air rocked to the bursting of hand-grenades and the rattle
of machine-guns ripped along the line. We were dazzled and blinded. My chest
struck high enemy wire. It slackened, then sprang taut, flinging me clear. I
cannoned against Captain Lane, and with enemy bombs dropping in a deadly shower,
we crouched on our bellies on Mother Earth. We once more crawled to the wire,
but could not find an opening. We flung our Mills bombs, then I heard Lane,
beside me, groan.
“Look out,” I bellowed. A stick-bomb dropped to earth, then rolled
against his side. It bounced a yard or two, then exploded.
Poor old Paddy got the full issue. I grabbed his hand which was covered with
blood, and dragged him into a shallow shell-hole. There, over us seemed to fly
all the machine-gun bullets in the world. Paddy could not manage to crawl.
Paddy, whose upper lip appeared to have been shot away, and whose body was torn
by more that thirty wounds, rolled over the parapet. He dropped on a bayonet
which pierced his thigh.
The raid was an utter failure. When numbers were checked my two pals, Andy &
Jock, were the only missing. We were told officially, later, that these two
fine fellows had penetrated the German front line but were wounded so severely
that they died of their wounds a few days later. The irony of it. I, who had
carried the devil’s number, I, who had taken the third light from the
same match was left. They were gone. By some amazing chance of fate, out of
those who reached the enemy wire that night, I was the only one not wounded.
Captain Lane, riddled with pieces of steel, doggedly fought for his life; won,
and was invalided back to Australia.
History of the 18th. Battalion.
18th Battalion Living History Group.
Contact Gary Standen