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Foreign News
January 20, 1917
The Hays Free Press
Hays, Ellis County, Kansas
What is this article about?
A journalist describes narrow escapes from shellfire during a motor ride near Antwerp, Belgium, in the ongoing war, noting how soldiers have grown accustomed to the danger.
Clipping
OCR Quality
98%
Excellent
Full Text
GETTING USED TO SHELLS
Narrow Escapes Do Not Even Provoke a Comment in the Present War.
As we bowled down the road toward a group of brick houses on the left, a shell passed not more than 50 yards in front of us and through the side of one of these houses as easily as a circus rider pops through a tissue paper hoop. Almost at the same instant another exploded—where I haven't the least idea, except that the dust from it hit us in the face. The motor rolled smoothly along meanwhile, and the Belgian soldier driving it stared as imperturbably ahead of him as if he were back at Antwerp on the seat of his taxicab.
You get used to shells in time, it seems, and, deciding that you either are or are not going to be hit, dismiss responsibility and leave it all to fate. I must admit that in my brief experience I was not able to arrive at this restful state. We reached at last the city gate through which we had left Antwerp, and the motor came to a stop just at the inner edge of the passage under the fort, and I said goodby to the young Englishman ere he started back for the trenches again.
"Well," he called after me as I started across the open space between the gate and the house, a stone's throw away, "you've had an experience, anyway."
I was just about to answer that undoubtedly I had when—"Tzee-ee-ee-ee-r" a shell just cleared the ramparts over our heads and disappeared in the side of a house directly in front of us with a roar and a geyser of dust. Neither the motor nor a guest's duty now detained me, and, waving him goodby, I turned at right angles and made with true civilian speed for the shelter of a side street.
The progress of the motor seemed slow and disappointing. Not that the spot a quarter of a mile off was at all less likely to be hit, yet one felt conscious of a growing desire to be somewhere else. And though I took off my hat to keep it from blowing off, I found that every time a shell went over I promptly put it on again, indicating, one suspected, a decline in what the military experts call morale.
—Collier's Weekly
Narrow Escapes Do Not Even Provoke a Comment in the Present War.
As we bowled down the road toward a group of brick houses on the left, a shell passed not more than 50 yards in front of us and through the side of one of these houses as easily as a circus rider pops through a tissue paper hoop. Almost at the same instant another exploded—where I haven't the least idea, except that the dust from it hit us in the face. The motor rolled smoothly along meanwhile, and the Belgian soldier driving it stared as imperturbably ahead of him as if he were back at Antwerp on the seat of his taxicab.
You get used to shells in time, it seems, and, deciding that you either are or are not going to be hit, dismiss responsibility and leave it all to fate. I must admit that in my brief experience I was not able to arrive at this restful state. We reached at last the city gate through which we had left Antwerp, and the motor came to a stop just at the inner edge of the passage under the fort, and I said goodby to the young Englishman ere he started back for the trenches again.
"Well," he called after me as I started across the open space between the gate and the house, a stone's throw away, "you've had an experience, anyway."
I was just about to answer that undoubtedly I had when—"Tzee-ee-ee-ee-r" a shell just cleared the ramparts over our heads and disappeared in the side of a house directly in front of us with a roar and a geyser of dust. Neither the motor nor a guest's duty now detained me, and, waving him goodby, I turned at right angles and made with true civilian speed for the shelter of a side street.
The progress of the motor seemed slow and disappointing. Not that the spot a quarter of a mile off was at all less likely to be hit, yet one felt conscious of a growing desire to be somewhere else. And though I took off my hat to keep it from blowing off, I found that every time a shell went over I promptly put it on again, indicating, one suspected, a decline in what the military experts call morale.
—Collier's Weekly
What sub-type of article is it?
War Report
Military Campaign
What keywords are associated?
Shelling
Antwerp
Belgian Front
War Experience
Trenches
What entities or persons were involved?
Belgian Soldier
Young Englishman
Where did it happen?
Antwerp
Foreign News Details
Primary Location
Antwerp
Key Persons
Belgian Soldier
Young Englishman
Outcome
no casualties reported; narrow escapes from shells.
Event Details
During a motor ride toward brick houses near Antwerp, shells passed close by and exploded nearby, but the Belgian driver remained imperturbable. The group reached the city gate, where another shell hit a house ahead. The narrator sought shelter in a side street while the motor returned to the trenches.