This is The Guardian.

And why that's dangerous by Daniel Immervar.

On an August morning in 1945,

600 meters over the Japanese city of Hiroshima, a small sun came briefly into existence.

A few remember a sound, but the flash printed shadows on the pavement and sent buildings thrashing.

The explosion, 2000 times greater than that of any bomb yet used,

announced not only a new weapon, but a new era.

It was a stunning military victory for the United States.

Yet jubilation there was undercut by uncertainty and fear.

The newsman Edward Armer observed.

It took only a moment's reflection on the bomb's existence to see the harrowing implication.

What had happened in Hiroshima and three days later in Nagasaki could happen anywhere.

The thought proved impossible to shake, especially as within the year on the ground accounts emerged.

Reports came of flesh bubbling, of melted eyes, of a terrifying sickness afflicting even those who

devoided the blast. All the scientists are frightened, frightened for their lives,

a Nobel-winning chemist confessed in 1946.

Despite scientists' hopes that the weapons would be retired, in the coming decades they proliferated,

with nuclear states testing ever more powerful devices on Pacific Atolls, the Algerian desert,

and the Kazakhstan Step.

The fear, the pervasive enduring fear that characterized the Cold War is hard to appreciate today.

It wasn't only powerless city dwellers who were terrified.

Select and fortify a room in which to shelter the UK government grimly advised.

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