Richard Nelville Hall - Mort pour la France 1915

[Croix de Guerre]

Richard N. "Dick" Hall - Born May 18, 1894 in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Son of Dr. Louis P. and Elizabeth D. Hall. Educated Ann Arbor schools, University of Michigan and Dartmouth College, Class of 1915. Joined American Field Service, June 15, 1915; attached Section Three. Killed by a German shell near Hartsmannsweilerkopf, Alsace, night of December 24 - 25, 1915. Croix de Guerre. Buried Moosch, Alsace, France.

[Croix de Guerre]

Richard N. "Dick" Hall - Born May 18, 1894 in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Son of Dr. Louis P. and Elizabeth D. Hall. Educated Ann Arbor schools, University of Michigan and Dartmouth College, Class of 1915. Joined American Field Service, June 15, 1915; attached Section Three. Killed by a German shell near Hartsmannsweilerkopf, Alsace, night of December 24 - 25, 1915. Croix de Guerre. Buried Moosch, Alsace, France.

[Croix de Guerre]

Richard N. "Dick" Hall - Born May 18, 1894 in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Son of Dr. Louis P. and Elizabeth D. Hall. Educated Ann Arbor schools, University of Michigan and Dartmouth College, Class of 1915. Joined American Field Service, June 15, 1915; attached Section Three. Killed by a German shell near Hartsmannsweilerkopf, Alsace, night of December 24 - 25, 1915. Croix de Guerre. Buried Moosch, Alsace, France.

[Croix de Guerre]

Richard N. "Dick" Hall - Born May 18, 1894 in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Son of Dr. Louis P. and Elizabeth D. Hall. Educated Ann Arbor schools, University of Michigan and Dartmouth College, Class of 1915. Joined American Field Service, June 15, 1915; attached Section Three. Killed by a German shell near Hartsmannsweilerkopf, Alsace, night of December 24 - 25, 1915. Croix de Guerre. Buried Moosch, Alsace, France.

[Croix de Guerre]

Richard N. "Dick" Hall - Born May 18, 1894 in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Son of Dr. Louis P. and Elizabeth D. Hall. Educated Ann Arbor schools, University of Michigan and Dartmouth College, Class of 1915. Joined American Field Service, June 15, 1915; attached Section Three. Killed by a German shell near Hartsmannsweilerkopf, Alsace, night of December 24 - 25, 1915. Croix de Guerre. Buried Moosch, Alsace, France.

 

 

The Church at Moosch, modern day

[Croix de Guerre]

Richard N. "Dick" Hall - Born May 18, 1894 in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Son of Dr. Louis P. and Elizabeth D. Hall. Educated Ann Arbor schools, University of Michigan and Dartmouth College, Class of 1915. Joined American Field Service, June 15, 1915; attached Section Three. Killed by a German shell near Hartsmannsweilerkopf, Alsace, night of December 24 - 25, 1915. Croix de Guerre. Buried Moosch, Alsace, France.

[IMPERIAL QUEST]

Tom,

 

Great post. Loss of life is always sad, but think of the additional pain inflicted on the loved ones being that he was killed during Christmas...I am sure that future Christmas' were never the same for them.

 

BTW...I love the now and then shot of the church.

[Croix de Guerre]

"All this time, as in all the past months, Richard Nelville Hall drove his car up the winding, shell-swept artery of the mountain at war — past crazed mules, broken-down artillery carts, swearing drivers, stricken horses, wounded stragglers still able to hobble — past long convoys of Boche prisoners, silent, descending in twos, guarded by a handful of men — past all the personnel of war, great and small (for there is but one road, one road on which to travel, one road for the enemy to shell), past abris, bomb-proofs, subterranean huts, to arrive at the paste de secours, where silent men moved mysteriously in the mist under the great trees, where the cars were loaded with an ever-ready supply of still more quiet figures (though some made sounds), mere bundles in blankets. Hall saw to it that those quiet bundles were carefully and rapidly installed — right side up, for instance — for it is dark and the brancardiers are dulled, deadened by the dead they carry; then rolled down into the valley below, where little towns bear stolidly their daily burden of shells wantonly thrown from somewhere in Bocheland over the mountain to anywhere in France

 

— the bleeding bodies in the car a mere corpuscle in the full crimson stream, the ever-rolling tide from the trenches to the hospitals of the blood of life and the blood of death. Once there, his wounded unloaded, Dick Hall filled his gasoline tank and rolled again on his way. Two of his comrades had been wounded the day before, but Dick Hall never faltered. He slept where and when he could, in his car, at the poste, on the floor of our temporary kitchen at Moosch — dry blankets — wet blankets

— blankets of mud — blankets of blood; contagion was pedantry — microbes a myth.

 

At midnight Christmas Eve, 1915, he left the valley to get his load of wounded for the last time. Alone, ahead of him two hours of lonely driving up the mountain. Perhaps he was thinking of other Christmas Eves, perhaps of his distant home, and of those who were thinking of him. . . . The next American to pass, found him by the roadside halfway up the mountain. His face was calm and his hands still in position to grasp the wheel. A shell had struck his car and killed him instantly, painlessly. A chance shell in a thousand had struck him at his post, in the morning of his youth.

 

Up on the mountain fog was hanging over Hartmanns Christmas morning, as if Heaven wished certain things obscured. The trees were sodden with dripping rain. Weather, sight, sound, and smell did their all to sicken mankind, when news was brought to us that Dick Hall had fallen on the Field of Honor. No man said, "Merry Christmas," that day. No man could have mouthed it. With the fog forever closing in, with the mountain shaken by a double bombardment as never before, we sat all day in the little log hut by the stove, thinking first of Dick Hall, then of Louis Hall, his brother, down in the valley.

 

Dick Hall, we who knew you, worked with you, played with you, ate with you, slept with you, we who took pleasure in your company, in your modesty, in your gentle manners, in your devotion and in your youth — we still pass that spot, and we salute. Our breath comes quicker, our eyes grow dimmer, we grip the wheel a little tighter — we pass — better and stronger men."

 

Waldo Peirce

[ww1collector]

"All this time, as in all the past months, Richard Nelville Hall drove his car up the winding, shell-swept artery of the mountain at war — past crazed mules, broken-down artillery carts, swearing drivers, stricken horses, wounded stragglers still able to hobble — past long convoys of Boche prisoners, silent, descending in twos, guarded by a handful of men — past all the personnel of war, great and small (for there is but one road, one road on which to travel, one road for the enemy to shell), past abris, bomb-proofs, subterranean huts, to arrive at the paste de secours, where silent men moved mysteriously in the mist under the great trees, where the cars were loaded with an ever-ready supply of still more quiet figures (though some made sounds), mere bundles in blankets. Hall saw to it that those quiet bundles were carefully and rapidly installed — right side up, for instance — for it is dark and the brancardiers are dulled, deadened by the dead they carry; then rolled down into the valley below, where little towns bear stolidly their daily burden of shells wantonly thrown from somewhere in Bocheland over the mountain to anywhere in France

 

— the bleeding bodies in the car a mere corpuscle in the full crimson stream, the ever-rolling tide from the trenches to the hospitals of the blood of life and the blood of death. Once there, his wounded unloaded, Dick Hall filled his gasoline tank and rolled again on his way. Two of his comrades had been wounded the day before, but Dick Hall never faltered. He slept where and when he could, in his car, at the poste, on the floor of our temporary kitchen at Moosch — dry blankets — wet blankets

— blankets of mud — blankets of blood; contagion was pedantry — microbes a myth.

 

At midnight Christmas Eve, 1915, he left the valley to get his load of wounded for the last time. Alone, ahead of him two hours of lonely driving up the mountain. Perhaps he was thinking of other Christmas Eves, perhaps of his distant home, and of those who were thinking of him. . . . The next American to pass, found him by the roadside halfway up the mountain. His face was calm and his hands still in position to grasp the wheel. A shell had struck his car and killed him instantly, painlessly. A chance shell in a thousand had struck him at his post, in the morning of his youth.

 

Up on the mountain fog was hanging over Hartmanns Christmas morning, as if Heaven wished certain things obscured. The trees were sodden with dripping rain. Weather, sight, sound, and smell did their all to sicken mankind, when news was brought to us that Dick Hall had fallen on the Field of Honor. No man said, "Merry Christmas," that day. No man could have mouthed it. With the fog forever closing in, with the mountain shaken by a double bombardment as never before, we sat all day in the little log hut by the stove, thinking first of Dick Hall, then of Louis Hall, his brother, down in the valley.

 

Dick Hall, we who knew you, worked with you, played with you, ate with you, slept with you, we who took pleasure in your company, in your modesty, in your gentle manners, in your devotion and in your youth — we still pass that spot, and we salute. Our breath comes quicker, our eyes grow dimmer, we grip the wheel a little tighter — we pass — better and stronger men."

 

Waldo Peirce

 

I once had the rear canvas flap (with the red cross) of Richard Hall's ambulance. It was inscribed in ink stating such. Bill Foley now has it. Dave

[Croix de Guerre]

I once had the rear canvas flap (with the red cross) of Richard Hall's ambulance. It was inscribed in ink stating such. Bill Foley now has it. Dave

 

 

I have heard about that piece Dave but I didn't know that you had owned it. Did it come from Waldo?

[ww1collector]

I have heard about that piece Dave but I didn't know that you had owned it. Did it come from Waldo?

 

Tom-that came in a trunk group at an auction in Belfast Maine. The trunk group was to a WW1 dentist. Dave

[1944]

Amazing Topic you have there and great pictures aswell i must say very well done

and yes it is always sad when someone looses their life while on active duty for the price of our freedom today

 

Thanks for sharing it . .

[Croix de Guerre]

From the book " Behind the Wheel of a War Ambulance" by Robert W. Imbrie of Section 1.

 

"It was on the 24th of December that we reached Maracel. "All hands and the cook" at once turned to and began transforming our mess quarters into something of a Christmas aspect. A nearby wood yielded plenty of greens and splendid bunches of mistletoe. Alas, that the third element which goes to make mistletoe the most attractive of plants should have been lacking. By evening the shabby little room had assumed a festive appearance. The place already boasted of---it really should have apologized for---a decrepit billiard table with three almost round balls---rounder at least than the average potato. From somewhere a venerable piano was dragged forth from a well-deserved seclusion and though it had a number of "sour" notes and when pressed too hard was inclined to quit altogether, all things considered, it did nobly. By the time those things were accomplished and evening mess over we were "ready for the hay," though in this case it was straw.

 

Christmas came in with fog and smatterings of rain, weather typical of what the next six weeks would produce. In the "big car" a dozen or so of us went into Beauvais for church, greeting everyone we met en route with "bon noël." The church was cold, the service of course entirely in French. Therefore, we were glad when it was over, but also rather glad we had gone. Noon mess was a meager affair as most of the food was for the evening "burst." The cars which Freddie and I had brought up from Paris had been stocked with good things and when we sat down that night it was to turkey with cranberry sauce and, thanks to the thoughtful kindness of an American woman, there was even mince pie.

 

It was at this dinner that I met for the first time our Commanding Officer, the C. O., or as he was generally known "the Lieut." A well-assembled, handsome man who spoke English perfectly, having lived for some years in the States, he had a merry eye and a reckless nerve which gave his men confidence, for they always knew that, however exposed a poste might be, the "Lieut." would be there. He was a man to whom danger was a tonic, an ideal leader for a volunteer unit such as ours. Afterwards in the tense days the Squad experienced at Verdun it was his smilingly imperturbable front which helped us through. On the side of the Boers, he had fought through the South African War, purely from love of adventure, and had the distinction of having had a thousand pound reward offered for him by the British. In one of the few speeches I ever heard him make, Lieutenant de Kersauson that night outlined our probable future program. The section which had been on active service in the field for nearly a year, had been sent back of the line to Beauvais, where there was a motor parc, for the general overhauling and repair of the cars. He hoped, the Lieutenant stated, that we should be in Beauvais no longer than a fortnight by which time the cars should be in shape and he promised us that then we should "see action."

 

The day following Christmas we received word that Dick Hall of Section III had been killed by shell fire on Christmas eve, news which had a sobering influence upon us all and brought a more intimate realization of the conditions we should face."

[Croix de Guerre]

Thinking of Dick Hall this Christmas Eve -

[Croix de Guerre]

Thinking of Dick Hall this Christmas Eve -

[RCleary171]

I recently found this link to Richard's grave site.

 

Bob