When the Sky Became the Front Line

The square you're standing on right now, the Stadswaag, was the scene of something that shook Antwerp to its core in September 1914. German Zeppelin bombers drifted silently over the city in the dark and dropped bombs on this very area. Explosions tore through the night, fires broke out, and panic spread through the streets. The physical damage was relatively contained, but the psychological damage was enormous.

For centuries, Antwerp had felt protected by the river Scheldt and its ring of fortifications. Those were defenses built for armies marching on foot or sailing upriver. Nobody had built a wall against the sky. The Zeppelin attack made that gap brutally clear.

In the days that followed, the military scrambled to set up early anti-aircraft defenses and scan the skies for approaching airships. For ordinary residents, though, the shift was simpler and more personal. War had stopped being something that happened elsewhere. It was right here, falling from above, landing on streets where people lived and worked.

Antwerp would face more bombardments before the war was over, but this was the night that first forced everyone to look up with fear rather than wonder.