"But, don't you realise, ma'am, that to get into Brussels you have got to go through the German lines?"
We began to discuss the question.
He was an American who had friends in Brussels, and was going there on business. His name was Richards. He was a kindly nice man. He could speak neither French nor Flemish, and had a Belgian with him to interpret.
"What do you think I ought to do?" I asked.
"Go back," he promptly said. "If the Germans stop you, they'll take you prisoner. And even if you do get in," he added, "you will never get out! It is even harder to get out of Brussels than it is to get in."
"I'm going to chance it!"
"Well, if that's so, the only thing I can suggest is that if you do manage to get into Brussels safely, you go to the American Consulate, and shew them your papers, and they may give you a paper that'll help you to get out."
Passport from the Australian High Commissioner.