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...from the brown Tiber, from the seven ancient hills, from the great stone piazza before St. Peter's, from the dusty brick and weathered marble of the Colosseum and the Forum. Now out of that sun came the sound and the sight Rome had long been spared: the drone of a hostile air fleet, the wings of hostile bombers...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Battle Of Sicily - THE AIR WAR: The Arsenal City | 7/26/1943 | See Source »

Perhaps three million stunned people, jampacked in a city that normally houses about 1,000,000, scanned the sky or scurried to the shelters they had hoped never to use. Now the drone grew mighty, the wings trailed shadows over the rooftops. But no bombs yet, for a brief space. Only the glint and flutter of leaflets falling, with this message...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Battle Of Sicily - THE AIR WAR: The Arsenal City | 7/26/1943 | See Source »

...Fred Kreiger, band director, and also editor, printer and advertising salesman of the Boise City News, had had a hard day at the print shop. He got to bed after midnight. Fred heard the drone of a plane, a whistle, a crash, an explosion. He pulled on his britches and ran for the street. Said he: "My first thought was an enemy plane. Then I thought, why in heck. . . ? After I saw how deep the bombs bored into the pavement, I was glad I hadn't hid under that big paper cutter at the office...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: War: The Bombing of Boise City | 7/19/1943 | See Source »

...lucky for Keene that he did take his time. The pilotless Catalina began to drone over land. Keene did not know what land, but he did not care. He buckled on his parachute and bailed out over British New Guinea. Bush natives showed him the way to Port Moresby. The last he saw of the Catalina and her oblivious crew, she was flying steadily...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: World: Ordeal of Corporal Keene | 2/15/1943 | See Source »

What coughers in the audience are to indoor concerts, honking horns, backfire, the drone of airplanes, the crash of thunder and squirpling crickets are to summer concerts. Most audiences and musicians have learned to take such incidental orchestration in their stride. But at Vancouver B.C.'s open-air pavilion, Baritone John Charles Thomas encountered one alfresco sound too many-a persistent bullfrog in a nearby pond. Every time Baritone Thomas began to sing, the bullfrog answered. Thomas hit a low note, the bullfrog followed him. At last Thomas was about ready to holler "Uncle." Before he began his next...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Music: The Rivals | 7/27/1942 | See Source »

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