The 1945 attack was murder on an epic scale. In its victims' names, we must not allow a nuclear repeat in the Middle East When I first went to Hiroshima in 1967, the shadow on the steps was still there. It was an almost perfect impression of a human being at ease: legs splayed, back bent, one hand by her side as she sat waiting for a bank to open. At a quarter past eight on the morning of August 6
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