WHEN the news on everybody’s lips is happening elsewhere, newspapers such as the Adver like to find a local angle.

This week in 1969, doing so was more of a challenge than usual, as the big story was happing about a quarter of a million miles away, where Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin had reached the Moon.

Fortunately we had a secret weapon in the form of a travel agency and one of its customers.

Armstrong had barely planted his flag when an initially unnamed would-be lunar tourist arrived at the Yeomans Miller travel agency in the town centre.

The following day we revealed: “The man who is determined to get to the Moon – he has already placed a booking – is a Swindon trader, 49-year-old Mr Reginald Barnes, proprietor of the children’s wear shop at 111 Commercial Road.”

Mr Barnes lived in Buckingham Road and was married with a 16-year-old daughter. He had been interested in astronomy and related subjects for many years, but said the Apollo project fired his imagination.

Yeomans Miller accepted his booking, but were unable to give him a departure date or a price. Some commentators estimated at the time that the first commercial trips, when they became available, might cost as much as £25,000, but Mr Barnes doubted that they would be so expensive.

His wife, Theresa, and daughter, Linda, didn’t share his desire to follow in the Apollo astronauts’ footsteps.

Mrs Barnes said her only air trip had been a holiday flight to Jersey, and added: “That was enough for me.”

On the day of the landing we managed to put a local slant on our editorial cartoon. Two Moon creatures were shown raking a reflection of the earth in a stream while one astronaut said to another: “These Wiltshire Moonrakers are never gonna believe this.”

The more enterprising of our advertisers also did their best to get in on the act. The Queen’s Drive Service Station invited customers to “ZOOM into orbit in a brand new Fiat.” Anybody managing this unlikely feat and then surviving re-entry in a small yet stylish Italian car would surely have welcomed another invitation – to “SPLASH DOWN” at the Cavendish Car Wash in Cavendish Square.

The Apollo programme became a major symbol of the late 1960s, but that week Swindonians were invited to give some thought to another – the Permissive Society.

Although permissiveness had yet to make many inroads in Swindon, or for that matter anywhere beyond the rough circle where the M25 now sits, there was plenty of debate about it.

An Adver story began: “A call to oppose the relaxation of obscenity laws was made to Swindon women last night – and though some rallied to the banner, there were those who had their doubts about the battle.

“The campaign commander is Sir Gerald Nabarro, who is enlisting public support against recent moves to get the obscenity laws repealed.

“His advocate at last night’s Standing Conference of Women’s Organisations in Swindon was County Councillor Mrs Daphne Bampton, who mentioned the conclusions of an Arts Council working party.”

Sir Gerald was a high-profile, elaborately-moustached and frequently ridiculed national politician. He was fond of publicity but not so keen on, among other things, pop music, multi-culturalism and sexual liberation.

Daphne Bampton was a well-respected local politician with a reputation for decency, fairness and standing up on behalf of vulnerable people.

Her opposition to the relaxation of obscenity laws stemmed from her belief that freely-available obscene material might turn people into monsters. She cited the case of Moors Murderers, jailed only three years earlier, who had amassed a collection of pornography.

In a neat quirk of fate, we reported these latest concerns about permissiveness while running large adverts showing Racquel Welsh, a major sex symbol of the era, wearing a fur bikini.

She starred as a prehistoric woman in a film called One Million Years BC, which was half of a double bill coming to the ABC – now the Savoy pub – with historical fantasy adventure film She, starring former Bond Girl Ursula Andress.

The half-page broadsheet showed the two actresses side by side, but also found space for minor characters including a pterodactyl.

Another sign of the times was the replacement of vast swathes of dim and cramped town and city centres by shiny new office buildings. Unfortunately it was sometimes difficult to find occupants.

The most notorious example was the Centre Point building in London, but Swindon was touched by the phenomenon.

“No Takers for Swindon’s Giant Office Block,” said the headline over a story about two blocks in Fleming Way.

One, known at the time as the Oddenino building, still stands above what is now Debenhams. Only two of its six storeys had been provisionally let.

Nearby was the structure then known as the AEU Building, which was also empty – although admittedly an ongoing official wrangle over rear access didn’t do much to enhance its appeal to potential occupants.