URANIUM, that vital ingredient of radiation sickness and nuclear annihilation, was big news as March gave way to April in 1979.

At the Three Mile Island power plant in Pennsylvania, a stuck valve came close to sending a molten blob of the stuff scorching its way down to the water table. It also released radioactive steam into the air.

The major film of the moment was The China Syndrome, which eerily predicted just such a disaster.

Most local newspapers struggled for a home town angle, but the Adver had no such problem.

Luckily for us, vast consignments of an even deadlier isotope of uranium regularly trundled along the M4 in an unmarked van.

“Killer Cargo on the Road,” said an Adver headline which seemed sensationalist but wasn’t.

We wrote: “Enough radioactive material to cause a nuclear disaster passes by Swindon almost every week.

“An innocent-looking high sided van, flanked by two range Rovers carrying armed guards, makes up the convoy of potential death.

“With its nightmare cargo, the convoy travels regularly along the Wiltshire stretch of the M4 – just yards away from other vehicles and dangerously close to Swindon and its 110,000 inhabitants.”

Our reporter added: “I understand the convoy’s destination is Aldermaston – the country’s major atomic weapons research establishment.

“And its radioactive material is plutonium – the stuff atomic bombs are made of.

“Its starting point isn’t clear, but it could be Bristol Docks. Radioactive material is imported into the country.

“Throughout its journey, armed Ministry of Defence policemen guard the convoy. One specially-equipped Range Rover leads, while the other follows the van.”

We made sure to mention the ongoing Three Mile Island crisis, reporting that almost all young children and pregnant women in the area had been evacuated.

The spoilsports at the Ministry of Defence refused to comment.

Our headline about a killer cargo appeared neatly over two stories.

The other was about specialist Swindon firefighters being sent to Priory Street, Corsham.

“A lorry driver stopped to ask the way,” we said, “and set in motion a deadly poison alert.

“He found cyanide was leaking from a plastic drum on his articulated vehicle.”

As a tooth-sized glass capsule of cyanide is enough for a suicide pill of the kind favoured by spies and war criminals, the threat posed by a drum’s worth scarcely bears thinking about.

Fortunately the Swindon fire crew neutralised it and the road was reopened after four hours.