ON THE BEACH

Fifty years ago today I was 11 and along with so many other people around the world really had no idea whether we'd all make it through the weekend. The Cuban Missile Crisis was heading towards its climax, and lots of children my age and older were fully aware of what was going on. I lived on an RAF nuclear bomber station which we knew was a prime target, so there'd be no question of hiding under the table with the windows taped up waiting for the BBC Home Service to tell us it was time to come out and rebuild civilisation. Some of our friends' dads were aircrew who were flying on daily patrols in Vulcans carrying H-bombs not knowing whether there would be anything to return to or anywhere to land. And yet there wasn't panic on the streets, our parents still sent us to school, everyone went to work and shopped, people joked about what they'd use the four-minute warning to do. I suppose we just kept calm and carried on. I still sometimes find myself surprised to be here after all this time though it seems the human race hasn't learned any more common sense.

On The Beach was a novel by Nevil Shute written in 1957 about a post-nuclear war world where the last survivors were waiting for the end. I think I read it when I was about 11 or 12.

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