Coronavirus diary, Tuesday 31 March

When the world watched and waited

The coronavirus pandemic has made the world today more dangerous than ever. But has it? Looking back to 1962, the threat was not a virus but a bomb, the atomic bomb. In the summer of that year the Russians were secretly installing nuclear missiles on the Americans' doorstep: Cuba. It was not just a danger to America but to the world. For a week in October, the world held its breath as the United States and the Soviet Union stood on the brink of nuclear war. Then came word of an agreement to end the crisis. 

October 1962 was the most dangerous moment in the 'cold war', which lasted for decades. Rather than describing the effect on Britain, I reproduce part of a chapter from my book, Don't Hold the Front Page. 

Don't go down the bunker, Daddy!

War was imminent. A nuclear strike was feared. The call came for me to report for duty at a secret Cardiff location, a deep bunker where I would be part of the team to deal with the impending disaster. There was nothing for it but to say goodbye – probably a final farewell – to my wife and children; the war bunker was not for families; they would have to bear the brunt of the terror without me. Yet I was not in the forces; just a local government officer who had to answer the call of duty, whatever the personal cost. What is in the bunker, I got on with my job working out a plan to keep the public informed about the war situation, and if that nuclear strike came, to provide life-saving advice.

That fearful, tearful scenario did not happen, thank God, but it could have. The secret bunker was real enough, although its location was known by my wife and probably most of the citizens of Cardiff. The threat of that 'call up' for duty was also real, and the reason for the weekends I spent in that bunker. The exercises had silly names, of course; one I remember was typically Welsh: Operation Scrum Half, involving the local authorities, armed forces, the police, fire and other emergency services.

The man the man in charge, the supremo, was Peter Davey, the county chief executive. If war came his powers as laid down by the government would be awesome. He would be a dictator, in charge of all the services, with the power of life and death – for examples he could order looters to be shot. 

The man the man in charge, the supremo, was Peter Davey, the county chief executive. If war came, his powers as laid down by the government would be awesome. He would be a dictator, in charge of all the services, with the power of life and death – for examples he could order looters to be shot. 

Those weekends were deadly serious, and more useful than we at first thought. They taught us how to deal not only with the unthinkable horror of a nuclear attack, but other emergencies much lower down the Richter disaster scale - an airliner crashing in a heavily built-up area of the city, or devastating floods or fires. My job, as wartime emergency information officer, was to devise ways in which to get information and advice to the public.

The ultimate challenge would be a nuclear attack, with those who survived huddled in their homes or in recommended safe places.

The only way to communicate in the first aftermath of the explosion would be by transistor radio and I spent most of the weekends writing news bulletins to be broadcast at set times (to preserve radio batteries). In a real emergency these bulletins would have gone out probably on the hour so that people knew when to tune in. Later, brave souls (possibly me) might have to venture above ground and tour the streets with a loudspeaker van literally amplifying any messages. 

The disaster plans were all down in a bulky manual so that all services would work together. Luckily we suffered no  disaster big enough to use those ultimate, terrifying emergency powers. 

I still wonder, though, if the worst had happened how I would have reacted to the command to leave home and family for a 'safe' bunker. If I had stayed at home and did not report for duty, would my chief, the supremo, have had me shot? 

Don't Hold the Front Page, Bob Skinner, Graffeg, 2005