City prepares for the worst on the first weekend of war; LOOKING BACK.

Byline: Dan O'Neill

FRIDAY, September 1, 1939. And thousands of Cardiffians heard the news that meant any faint hopes of peace had finally vanished.

At 5.45am, 70 years ago today, Hitler's tanks swept across the Polish border, bringing a new form of warfare to the world, a new word to the language - Blitzkreig, lightning war. And as the Luftwaffe bombed every major Polish city we wondered, how long before those bombers come to Cardiff? How long before we, too, were at war? We were taking no chances. The Blackout began on that first Friday of the month, soon one in five pedestrians would be injured in after-dark accidents while the death toll on roads doubled. So great was the demand for blackout material that some shops would sell it only if customers bought other goods as well. Cardiff's Lord Mayor threatened to report such profiteering shopkeepers. Newport's Mayor went one better. He named them in the local press. A busy weekend.

Thousands of young men went off to Territorial Army camps, the National Museum was closed while its most precious treasures were taken away for storage in strong rooms and the windows of the City Hall's fs amous Marble Hall were bricked up to protect the prized statues. Meanwhile, some things went on as usual. At Ninian Park 20,000 saw City lose 4-2 to Notts County and not one guessed that this was the last league game for seven years. That day some of racing's great names were riding at Manchester, Gordon Richards and Harry Wragg among them, but no one knew when they'd next be lining up. The St Leger, due the following week was abandoned, the Jockey Club meeting to discuss racing's wartime future.

And then the nation awoke on Sunday, September 3. The streets were eerily empty, the people of Britain waited for the news no one wanted to hear. At 11.15am the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, addressed the nation.

"I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street," he said.

An ultimatum had been delivered to Germany that morning, he said. Unless we were told by 11 o'clock that Germany was prepared to withdraw troops from Poland a state of war would exist between us.

Then the crucial words: "I have to tell you that no such undertaking has been received and that consequently this country is at war with Germany."

As ministers left No 10 to be cheered by a crowd that had quickly appeared (not these days) an air raid siren sounded. Lord Halifax, the Foreign Secretary, walked "without haste" to a shelter in an adjoining building. Next morning's papers would report that "His attitude set a fine example to all present".

No, the Nazis weren't that quick - it was a false alarm.

Back in Cardiff the Registry opened so that couples could marry before, as the Echo termed it, "men were called to the colours". We announced that the city's first war bride was Nancy Thomas, who married Thomas Tims in St Andrew's Church. Were they reunited after the war? We can only wonder.

That night the King broadcast to the nation and the Empire.

He said: "The task will be hard. There may be dark days ahead, and war can no longer be confined to the battlefield. But if we keep resolutely faithful to our cause, ready for whatever service or sacrifice it may demand, then with God's help we shall prevail."

Every Cardiff household received a copy of the speech with a facsimile of the King's signature.

Monday, September 4, Echo-sellers besieged on the streets as they shouted the latest news. And the big news, trumpeted on placards, was that "Mr Winston Churchill, who was First Lord of the Admiralty when Britain last went to war, returns to the post".

But ominously in that same Echo were reminded of the threat German submarines had posed when Britain last went to war. Most adults remembered the sinking of the Lusitania in May, 1915, when 1,198 lives were lost. Now, on the first day of a new war, the liner Athenia had been torpedoed, 112 dead, the first British casualties. By the end of the month 20 British ships would be sunk by U-boats.

Hospitals in Cardiff were cleared in anticipation of the 100,000 deaths the government expected during the first weeks of war, mortuaries were stacked with cardboard coffins, in some areas lime pits were readied for mass burial. Stirrup pumps and long handled shovels to deal with incendiary bombs were handed out along with reminders to Always Carry Your Gas Mask.

Towns and villages across Wales were told to prepare for evacuees and a new cry was heard echoing across the country, "Put that bloody light out," as we stumbled through the blackout.

That was how it was during the first weekend of war, 70 years ago.

CAPTION(S):

Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain had to tell the nation we were at war with Germany after Hitler refused to withdraw troops from Poland